by Lee Stephen
Svetlana wiped sweat from her hands.
“What are you confident you can do?”
Before she could answer, Scott said, “Anyone missing is dead, Sveta. You have to understand that. Anyone missing is dead.” It was one of the few times Scott was thankful for Clarke’s soft style of leadership. Had Thoor, Lilan, or even he been in command of a mission, any such interruptions or dissidence would not have been tolerated.
It felt like a full minute passed. As Svetlana visibly weighed her options, the tension in the hangar continued to mount. Everyone else—the Nightmen, Travis, Boris, Derrick, Esther—they all remained disturbingly quiet.
Finally, Svetlana spoke. “If you say there may be a remote chance that someone is alive, then I must go.”
Scott knew what a mistake she was making. “Sveta, I know you want to be brave, but—”
“Scott, this is what I am here to do. One does not take this job to stay safe.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I understand. I do.” She tried to smile. “I will be fine.”
Scott held his tongue and looked away.
“Lieutenant Remington,” Clarke said, “I am giving you executive officer status for this operation. No offense to the commander, but you have experience he simply does not. Unless the commander has been on a bug-hunt like this one?”
Dostoevsky shook his head. “I have not, captain.”
“Settled. Remington has secondary command. Into the Pariah.”
The next few minutes felt like two lifetimes. As the chosen operatives of the Fourteenth climbed aboard, they reluctantly donned their armor and weapons. No one spoke.
Scott wished they would have been called to the defense effort in Europe. In a strange way, that would have felt safer. Urban warfare was dangerous, but nothing was as bad as a bug-hunt. He remembered his first and only true bug-hunt, at the high school in Arkansas, when he was with Charlie Squad. It was the first time he’d thought of his experience there as a rare asset. Not even Clarke had experienced something like this. Shooting a wounded necrilid at a crash site and stalking one in dark corridors were two different worlds.
“Lieutenant?”
Scott was jerked from his thoughts. Esther stood readied before him.
“I want you to know I’m prepared, sir.”
Scott could see the good intentions in her eyes. She was trying. But she had no idea.
“I’m here if you need me.”
How was he supposed to respond? The fantasy she saw in her mind and the reality of what lurked in Chernobyl weren’t the same. If she couldn’t handle Khatanga, how could she handle this?
As the Pariah cut through the sky, Scott focused on the setting itself. The Zone of Alienation was the region abandoned in the Old Era when Chernobyl had blown its top. Originally, it was supposed to have been uninhabitable for centuries, before de-radiation had been introduced. Now it was supposed to be clean. Still, no humans had returned.
He thought about reactor number four, the one that erupted. The radioactive fallout had covered several kilometers. Trees glowed red. Animals mutated. Human beings died. It was as legendary as it was horrible, because it was true.
Travis’s voice broke over the speakers. “We’re over Pripyat now.”
Scott peered out the transport’s porthole window. Stretched out below was the wasteland of the abandoned city. It had been the city meant to house the Chernobyl plant’s workers. Now, under the ice, everything looked old and forgotten by man. He wondered what kind of beasts were roaming the weed-infested streets. He wondered if they’d soon find out. Then, just like that, Pripyat was behind them.
The Pariah‘s forward motion changed, replaced by the gut-shifting lightness of descent. They were on their way down.
“Coming up to the plant,” Travis reported. “It’s gonna be cold.”
It would be more than cold—it would be freezing. Scott turned on the internal heating system in his fulcrum armor, as the other operatives around him did the same. Outside the porthole, he could see the surrounding area of Chernobyl. Everything looked exactly the same. Decrepit buildings surrounded by decayed forests. A vast expanse of ruins. The Pariah‘s landing gear whined down.
Though he couldn’t see it, he knew reactor number four was in front of the ship. Travis was probably looking at it now.
Necrilids. Not mammals, not reptiles, not insects. Just bugs—a term used to describe a monster from a child’s worst nightmare. Necrilids had a tendency to seek out the warmest environments—typically the bowels of the largest structures around. This place fit the bill perfectly. The animals’ body heat alone would warm the tight quarters.
Scott envied the operatives who weren’t present. They would escape these horrors. Scott wished he could escape them, too.
Across from Scott, Dostoevsky and Viktor checked their weapons. Auric and Nicolai did the same from further down. Glancing to the front of the troop bay, he saw Captain Clarke closing his eyes. Scott wasn’t sure if it was prayer or concentration. It needed to be both.
The Pariah‘s momentum shifted again and the ground drew nearer. They hovered meters from touchdown. Leaning to the porthole again, Scott finally saw the plant’s fossil remains.
The sarcophagus.
He couldn’t think of a more appropriate name for a structure that symbolized death and decay. A massive rectangular column of metal and concrete, it completely covered reactor number four. Prior to de-radiation, the plan had been to build new sarcophagi as the old ones fell apart. They were designed to keep radiation inside. This one’s huge, rotting shell stretched as high as a tower, like a gargantuan gravestone.
The cabin rocked gently, and then they were down. Travis spoke again. “We’ve got one van, parked by the main gate. Plant’s entrance is sixty meters ahead.”
“Rad level?” asked Clarke.
Scott looked at the captain. There shouldn’t have been radiation anywhere.
“Less here than anywhere else on Earth,” the pilot answered.
Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Having a panel of scientists tell you de-radiation worked was one thing. Actually being there and finding out for oneself was something different.
“Lowering the door.”
Scott rose and walked to the rear entrance. Donning his helmet, he watched as Chernobyl appeared through the view screen inside of his featureless faceplate.
The Pariah had landed nose away from the plant, with the bay door opening toward it. Was that intentional on Travis’s part? If it was, it would be the first time he’d gotten it right. There were no plasma bolts or neutron beams to hit them when the door went down, as had been the case in Khatanga when Travis had landed the wrong direction. Maybe the pilot was learning. Scott stepped from the Vulture and took in the environment.
They were parked inside a concrete barricade that separated the plant from the rest of the world. Cracks and tangles of dead foliage adorned the barricade. Nothing was spared from neglect—not buildings, not equipment, not even the giant smokestack of reactor number four. It stretched skyward with all the grotesqueness of a dead hand reaching from the grave. Its red and white stripes were faded, and the passage of time stained its surface.
There was a good half-meter of snow on the ground, its untouched surface a stark contrast to surrounding deterioration. To the left, he could see a railcar’s unloading arm. There were probably tracks under the snow.
Looking behind, Scott surveyed the concrete barricade. It was as he’d suspected—not a trace of graffiti. To the rest of the world, this place didn’t exist.
“There used to be engineers stationed here,” said Dostoevsky, standing beside him. “Before de-radiation. They were here to monitor the plant’s progress after the explosion.” He hesitated. “I could not work here.”
Though Scott said nothing, he agreed. He allowed his sight line to travel down the smokestack. It looked frail, as though it could fall at any moment.
“Has anyone here been to the plant
before?” Clarke asked, stepping from the Pariah. No one answered, and he turned to Esther. “Go investigate the van by the gate. Find anything to indicate where they are.”
She affirmed and hurried away.
Clarke’s attention returned to the structure. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything more depressing in all my life.”
The statement’s profoundness struck Scott. This, coming from the captain of a torn-apart unit. From someone who lived in The Machine. Scott agreed with him.
“Oh, veck, it’s a wolf!” Travis stood at the top of the Pariah‘s rear bay door ramp, pointing to the structure ahead.
“Where?” asked Clarke. He engaged the zoom on his visor, as did several others.
Scott was among them. The sarcophagus and adjoining building grew large in his vision until he could see them in full-fledged detail. Scanning the area, he stopped at the structure that housed the smokestack. That’s when he saw the creature lying on the ground in front of the door, barely visible, its head lowered between outstretched front paws.
“That is not a wolf, you idiot,” said Nicolai. “That is a dog.”
The slayer was right, though at first glance, Scott couldn’t fault Travis for his error. The animal had all the lupine characteristics.
“All right,” said Travis, “then tell me why there’s a dog in the middle of Chernobyl?”
“Maybe the research team brought one with them,” answered Dostoevsky.
The animal was lying motionless in the snow. The only indication it was alive was the fact that its ears were straight up.
Travis looked at the captain. “What are we gonna do, sir?”
Clarke glared at him. “It’s a bloody dog, Navarro. We don’t need to alter our approach.” Taking several steps toward the structure, he motioned to the others. “Guns at the ready. Let’s go.”
With every step, the enormity of the structure became increasingly evident. If necrilids indeed were inside, it would take a full-fledged expedition to find them.
“If that is their dog,” Clarke said to the whole group through his comm, “we know which door they went through. Obviously.”
“Why do you think it’s sittin’ here by itself?” asked an uncharacteristically quiet Derrick. It was the first time he’d spoken all mission. “It looks dead.”
The dog wasn’t dead—just lifeless. As Scott drew within ten meters of it, he slowed to a stop. The others did as well.
The animal was medium-sized, its fur a patchy mix of brown and gray with a trace of white under its chin. It lay motionless, staring at the group. Its ears tilted forward slightly.
“That is a laika,” said Dostoevsky. “Looks like East Siberian.”
“Look at its face,” said David.
Scott zoomed in on the dog until it took up all of his view. The moment he did, he knew what David meant. The animal’s large brown eyes were wide open. Its brow was arched across the center of its forehead. It was the most worried look Scott had ever seen from any animal.
“That dog’s scared to death.”
Svetlana moved forward, but Dostoevsky grabbed her by the arm. “Sveta, stay back.”
Irritated, she shoved his hand away. “Do you see the dog? Does it look like it wants to attack? Did you ever think of why the dog is here and not inside the building?”
Scott considered her words. Why was the dog there, waiting at the front door of the plant? Why wasn’t it inside? When he thought about the answer, he felt chills. Dogs were more loyal than people. For a dog to abandon its owners…
Svetlana took another step forward. Crouching in the snow, she spoke softly in Russian. “Kommnye. Kommnye. Iji shudah, shch nawk.” She made several clicking sounds with her tongue.
Nicolai scoffed. “What good is a dog that is a coward? A worthy dog would not be hiding by the door. We should kill it. It would make wonderful welcome mat for the room.”
“Zatknis. This is only a puppy.” She held her hand out to the animal. “You do not know what horrible thing this dog has seen. Do you not wonder why it is so afraid?” Clicking again with her tongue, she took a careful step closer. “Kommnye. Kommnye.” The dog’s tail swayed back and forth limply.
Clarke spoke through the comm. “Brooking, what have you found?”
After several seconds of silence, Esther replied, “There’s nothing, captain. No bags, nothing in the glove box, nothing anywhere. There’s not even a map of the reactor. I’m sorry.”
The dog slowly pushed to its feet.
“Very well,” Clarke said. “Return to us. Boris, I want you here as well.”
“Da, captain.”
As Svetlana reached out her hand, the dog approached her, sniffing cautiously. She laughed as it stopped at her leg. She rubbed her hands gently on its belly and back.
Scott watched as the dog’s tail finally wagged.
“You are a good boy,” she whispered, this time in English. She rubbed the sides of its face, and its pointy ears folded to the sides. “You are a cute little flopper.”
“Well, Ms. Voronova,” Clarke said, “kindly take ‘Flopper’ back to the ship. Do it quickly.”
“Yes, captain.” She carefully scooped the dog into her arms.
Scott turned back to the plant. It was time to refocus on the mission. “What’s the plan, captain?” There was no immediate response. Instead, Clarke scrutinized the structure. He was figuring out where to begin.
Scott refused to hold ignorance against the captain. Not for something like this. Scott’s first bug-hunt had been nothing remotely like Academy training. In training, you knew you would live. If you flunked out, that was as bad as it got. You wouldn’t be eaten alive.
“I will take lead.”
Scott raised an eyebrow in surprise. The captain’s courage was unexpected; Scott was impressed.
Clarke readied his E-35. Several of the other operatives—David, Derrick, Nicolai, and Auric—sported combat shotguns instead. Giving his assault rifle a quick check, Clarke said, “We move as follows. Jurgen behind me. Followed by Strakhov and Cole. We will clear the initial chamber, or corridor, or whatever we’re faced with.”
There’d be no map for this one, something that happened more than Scott liked to think about. There was a running joke among civilians that if someone claimed to be lost, they must be from EDEN. It wasn’t EDEN’s fault—it was the result of a war of global dimensions. Consistently accurate mapping was needed, yet impossible when a summons to anywhere on the planet could come at any time. Corporations were always redesigning their buildings. Some buildings were torn down completely. New roads were built; old roads were renamed and redirected. With near-exponential corporate growth, schematics regularly became obsolete. Especially for a heap like Chernobyl. New parts fell apart every year.
“tcvs on,” the captain continued, engaging his own. “There will be nothing resembling power of any kind.” He looked back at Scott. “Was your first bug-hunt in total darkness, too?”
Scott silently nodded.
Without another word, Clarke stepped through the entranceway with David, Oleg, and Derrick following behind him. Scott waited until Esther was back with them before leading her, Boris, and the other Nightmen inside.
15
Monday, November 14, 0011 NE
1452 hours
At the same time
Svetlana stepped into the ship, cradling the adolescent pup in her arms. She knelt by the cabin and placed the dog down. “Travis will take good care of little Flopper.”
“Flopper?”
She gave him a flat look and said, “Just watch the dog.” She turned to leave.
The dog watched as Svetlana walked away, standing up briefly as if to follow. After taking two steps in her wake, it stopped and simply stood still, its eyes following her every move.
Travis got out of his seat. “Hey, Flopper.” Crouching beside the animal, he scratched the top of its head. Without warning, the young dog jumped forward, arched its head, and let out a howl.
&
nbsp; “Whoa, whoa, hey there…” Travis said quietly, rubbing the dog’s back. “It’s all right.” He leaned into the cockpit and closed the bay door. The dog howled until the Pariah was sealed.
“Corridor clear,” Clarke said over the comm.
Scott took a position in front of his team of operatives. Staring into the darkness, he engaged his tcv for the first time. The passage came into view.
It wasn’t a natural corridor. By its appearance, it had once been a room or perhaps even a front lobby. It was impossible to be certain; the walls had all but completely crumbled. Debris, some of it twisted and half melted, stretched across the ceiling and floor. Age had taken over. If I were a necrilid, I’d choose this place, too, he thought. If for no other reason, to make people too afraid to come after me.
Everything reeked of oldness. Ancient, scarred walls framed rotten tiled floors. Disconnected cables and fixtures dangled from the ceiling. With every breath he took, musty dust particles were sucked into his helmet.
“Radiation level, still zero,” said Boris.
The technician stayed close behind Scott. Esther had crept behind him, too, and he heard her inhale sharply. “Disgusting filth,” she muttered to herself.
Paying special mind to Clarke’s team ahead, Scott examined every corner, even the ceiling. It was almost impossible to walk stealthily. With every step, the floor creaked and snapped. At least the temperature was low. He didn’t know if that would have a sluggish effect on the creatures, but anything remotely advantageous would be welcome.
