Predator. Escape from Tarkov
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“You are illegally entering private property. I will now call the police.”
My alarm system! I installed it myself. Fat lot of good it’s going to do me now. The police won’t even come out for murder.
“Stupid bitch!” swore somebody upstairs. “I almost started firing. Take that!”
There was a smash and the voice of the alarm fell silent.
“That’s more like it!”
Having reached my floor, I take a careful peek round the corner. My door is wide open and the hallway light is on, though I remember turning it off. There’s nobody in the doorway, but voices can be heard from inside the flat.
Let’s go!
Pressing my shoes to my chest and trying to make as little noise as possible, I cross the passage and turn on to the flight of stairs going up. And that’s where I lose my nerve. I flop on the floor right where I am. I just can’t go any further up. It was all I could do to get to the landing.
The voices sounded louder. It seemed clear the bad guys had found nothing and were now leaving.
“Rig up something there just in case.” It’s the same guy who was scared by the alarm system.
“What the fuck for? The owner’s lying downstairs!”
“You never know… One of his friends might drop by.”
“Ha! Like they’ll live that long. And what if his neighbour pokes his nose in?”
“What do you care about his neighbour?”
“Yeah, fair enough,” agrees the second bad guy.
There’s some scratching and scraping. While he’s waiting, the first guy has a smoke, judging by the smell rising up the stairwell.
“There we go. Just like they taught us. They’ll never put those bones back together.”
“With any luck the smartarses who hired us won’t give a fuck about the little details.”
The song of the lift doors opening rings out, and I’m left all alone.
What would the hero of an action film do now if they were in my place? They’d run down, find the tripwire, disarm it, and throw the grenade after the bad guys. As far as I know, they use grenades to make that sort of trap. Which means you could throw it just as the bad guys were coming out of the front door. No doubt that’s what an action hero would do, but I’m not in a film and I don’t know how to disarm a tripwire. During my year of military service, I only fired an assault rifle twice, and I’ve never even seen a grenade except in the movies.
So, I stay sitting there on the staircase. I heard doors slamming in the yard, and the roar of the motor pulling off. Then something flickered across the window. I didn’t need to look outside to know what that was. Galperin’s Mazda was burning. Along with the smoke, my last chance of escaping this nightmare drifted away.
I don’t remember how long I sat on the staircase. Nobody came in or out of any of the flats, and the house was completely silent, as if all the residents had given up the ghost. More likely, they’d all fled the city. It was only thirst that brought me to my senses. I desperately wanted something to drink, but I had nothing with me. I stand up. My bones crack and my muscles ache. How long have I been sitting here?
The Mazda had stopped burning and was now just smoking. The stinking fumes poured out of the windows and spread through the yard. I couldn’t see my mates’ bodies, so I assumed they were inside the burnt out car. Where to now? My empty water bottle was hanging on my belt, and my knife was in my pocket. That was all I had. No food or water, nothing.
I turn the corner and set off towards the same ransacked shop. There was mineral water there, and at least that’s something.
Strangely, I didn’t see a single passing car or person on the way. It was as if the whole city had died. At the end of my street as I turn towards the store, I see a fresh scratch with traces of paint on the side of a building. Clearly somebody had a close shave. And there’s the car. Turns out they didn’t get far anyway. The windows are smashed and the doors riddled with bullet holes. No luck for the driver. And then comes the smell… the smell of blood. Splashes of red cover part of the windscreen and spray across the passenger-side window. Summoning my willpower, I walk around the car and look warily inside. No luck for the driver – his last drive didn’t get him far. A giant of a man lies slumped across the wheel, his head sticking into the instrument panel. That’s one big guy. How did he ever fit behind the wheel? It’s clear why they shot him straight away. If someone that size had time to get out, there’d be no stopping him. His pockets are turned inside out and the glove compartment’s open. On the back seat, some eviscerated bags are scattered about in a spill of clothes, spanners, and screwdrivers. Looks like the guy was in a hurry. Looks like he didn’t get too far. The boot’s open, too, but there’s nothing in it apart from the spare wheel.
I feel terrible, and move away fast, willing myself not to throw up. But what would I throw up anyway? I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.
Time to get to the shop! Nothing’s changed much there since yesterday. Not much to tempt the window shopper in the ransacked store. And the bottles of water are still in one piece. I grab one thirstily and just drink and drink. Phew, that’s better! I almost empty the bottle.
Shit, how can I carry more than three or four? Christ, I’m an idiot. There was a bag in that car, wasn’t there? Didn’t look like it was covered in blood, either. I run back and grab the bag, and while I’m at it pick up some spanners, screwdrivers, and pliers from the floor. Why? Tools always come in useful. Now, back to the shop.
I managed to fit seven bottles of water into the bag, along with a few packs of bread snacks (beggars can’t be choosers), a packet of some grain or other – and that was all I could find. Everything else was sold out before I got there. I take a look around. Yesterday’s corpse is beginning to smell, or is that just my imagination?
Something catches my eye. What is it? I don’t get it. There’s an idea jumping around in the back of my head, but I just can’t work out what it is. It’s only as I’m leaving the empty shop that I realize what it is – a jacket! I should have taken the jacket off the dead driver. It was lying on the floor. But then, it was covered in blood. How could I put that on? “Don’t be fussy,” nags a voice in my head. “Are you planning to run around at night in just that shirt? Aren’t you the tough guy!”
Still, it’s not that cold yet. During the day your teeth don’t chatter, at any rate.
But then I remember my night on the staircase. There was no draft, but you wouldn’t say it was warm, either. And that was in a building. A residential building, mind, with a good heating system. A building I can’t go back to, either. What am I going to do, knock on my neighbour’s door and say: “Sorry, but they tried to kill me here yesterday and put a tripwire in my flat. Mind if I stay with you for a while?” I can imagine the response.
Which reminds me, where can I go? Round to one of my co-workers and risk catching a bullet? Clearly they were looking for us from some kind of list, and I doubt it was just the three of us on there. Apparently, it’s the people I was working with the last few days. So I might meet yesterday’s visitors at any of their homes.
So, where am I heading, then? Nothing comes to mind. Do I really want to crawl into some basement like a homeless guy? Well, the basements round here aren’t so bad. Hell, some of them even have offices in them. I’ve been in quite a few. True, they nearly always have steel doors. But then again, I’ve got tools now. And there’s an office I know not so far from here.