Roadside Picnic (3 page)

“Listen, Red, how much would a full empty cost?”

At first I didn’t understand him. I thought at first that he was hoping to buy one somewhere. Where would you buy one? Maybe it was the only one in the world and besides he couldn’t possibly have enough dough for that. Where would he get the money from? He was a foreign scientist, and a Russian one at that. And then the thought struck me. So the bastard thinks that I’m doing it for the greenbacks? You so and so, I thought to myself, what do you take me for? I opened my mouth to tell him off. And I shut up. Because, actually, what else could he take me for? A stalker is a stalker. The more green stuff the better. He trades his life for greenbacks. And so it looked to him that yesterday I had cast my line and today I was reeling him in, trying to raise my price.

The thought made me tongue-tied. And he kept staring at me intently, without blinking. And in his eyes I saw not contempt but a kind of understanding, I guess. Then I calmly explained it to him.

“No one with a pass has ever gone to the garage before. They haven’t laid the tracks to it yet. You know that. So here we come back from the Zone and your Tender brags to everybody how we headed straight for the garage, picked up what we needed, and came right back. Like we just went down to the warehouse or something. And it will be perfectly clear to everyone,” I said, “that we knew ahead of time what we wanted there. And that means that someone set us on to it. And which of us three that could have been – well, there’s no point in spelling it out for you. Do you understand what’s in store for me here?”

I finished my little speech. We sat staring into each other’s eyes, saying nothing. Suddenly he clapped his hands, rubbed his palms together, and announced in a hearty tone:

“Well, if you can’t, you can’t. I understand you, Red, and I can’t pass judgment. I’ll go alone. Maybe it’ll go fine. It won’t be the first time.”

He spread out the map on the windowsill, leaned on his hands, and bent over it. All his heartiness seemed to evaporate before my eyes. I could hear him muttering.

“Forty yards, maybe forty-one, another three in the
garage
itself. No, I won’t take Tender along. What do you think, Red? Maybe I shouldn’t take Tender? He does have two kids, after all.”

“They won’t let you out alone,” I said.

“They will,” he muttered. “I know all the sergeants and all the lieutenants. I don’t like those trucks! They’ve been exposed to the elements for thirty years and they’re just like new. There’s a gasoline carrier twenty feet away and it’s completely rusted out, but they look like they’ve just come off the assembly line. That’s the Zone for you!”

He looked up from the map and stared out the window. And I stared out the window, too. The glass in our windows is thick and leaded. And beyond the windows – the Zone. There it is, just reach out and you can touch it. From the thirteenth floor it looks like it could fit in the palm of your hand.

When you look at it, it looks like any other piece of land. The sun shines on it like on any other part of the earth. And it’s as though nothing had particularly changed in it. Like everything was the way it was thirty years ago. My father, rest his soul, could look at it and not notice anything out of place at all. Except maybe he’d ask why the plant’s smokestack was still. Was there a strike or something?

Yellow ore piled up in cone-shaped mounds, blast furnaces gleaming in the sun, rails, rails, and more rails, a locomotive with flatcars on the rails. In other words, an industry town. Only there were no people. Neither living nor dead. You could see the garage, too: a long gray intestine, its doors wide open. The trucks were parked on the paved lot next to it. He was right about the trucks – his brains were functioning. God forbid you should stick your head between two trucks. You have to sidle around them. There’s a crack in the asphalt, if it hasn’t been overgrown with bramble yet. Forty yards. Where was he counting from? Oh, probably from the last pylon. He’s right, it wouldn’t be further than that from there. Those egghead scientists were making progress. They’ve got the road hung all the way to the dump, and cleverly hung at that! There’s that ditch where Slimy ended up, just two yards from their road. Knuckles had told Slimy: stay as far away from the ditches as you can, jerk, or there won’t be anything to bury. When I looked down into the water, there was nothing. This is the way it is with the Zone: if you come back with swag – it’s a miracle; if you come back alive – it’s a success; if the patrol bullets miss you – it’s a stroke of luck. And as for anything else – that’s fate.

I looked at Kirill and saw that he was secretly watching me. And the look on his face made me change my mind. The hell with them all, I thought. After all, what can those toads do to me? He really didn’t have to say anything, but he did.

“Laboratory Assistant Schuhart,” he says. “Official – and I stress
official
– sources have led me to believe that an inspection of the garage could be of great scientific value. I am suggesting that we inspect the garage. I guarantee a bonus.” And he beamed like the June sun.

“What official sources?” I asked, and smiled like a fool myself.

“They are confidential. But I can tell you.” He frowned. “Let’s say, I found out from Dr. Douglas.”

“Oh,” I said. “From Dr. Douglas. What Dr. Douglas?”

“Sam Douglas,” he said drily. “He died last year.”

My skin crawled. You so-and-so fool. Who talks about such things before setting out? You can beat these eggheads over the head with a two-by-four and they still don’t catch on. I stabbed the ashtray with my cigarette butt.

“All right. Where’s your Tender? How long do we have to wait for him?”

In other words, we didn’t touch on the subject again. Kirill phoned
PPS
and ordered a flying boot. I looked over his map to see what was on it. It wasn’t bad. It was a photographic process – aerial and highly enlarged. You could even see the ridges on the cover that was lying by the gates to the garage. If stalkers could get their hands on a map like that ... but it wouldn’t be of great use at night when the stars look down on your ass and it’s so dark you can’t even see your own hands.

Tender made his entrance. He was red and out of breath. His daughter was sick and he had gone for the doctor. Apologized for being late. Well, we gave him his little present: we’re off into the Zone. He even stopped puffing and wheezing at first, he was so scared. “What do you mean the Zone?” he asked. “And why me?” However, talk of a double bonus and the fact that Red Schuhart was going too got him breathing again.

So we went down to the “boudoir” and Kirill went for the passes. We showed them to another sergeant, who handed us special outfits. Now they are handy things. Just dye them any other color than their original red, and any stalker would gladly pay 500 for one without blinking an eye. I swore a long time ago that one of these days I would figure out a way to swipe one. At first glance it didn’t seem like anything special, just an outfit like a diving suit with a bubble-top helmet with a visor. Not really like a diver’s – more like a jet pilot’s or an astronaut’s. It was light, comfortable, without binding anywhere, and you didn’t sweat in it. In a little suit like that you could go through fire, and gas couldn’t penetrate it. They say even a bullet can’t get through. Of course, fire and mustard gases and bullets are all earthly human things. Nothing like that exists in the Zone and there is no need to fear things like that in the Zone. And anyway, to tell the truth, people drop like flies in the special suits too. It’s another matter that maybe many many more would die without the suits. The suits are 100 percent protection against the burning fluff, for example, and against the spitting devil’s cabbage ... All right.

We pulled on the special suits. I poured the nuts and bolts from the bag into my hip pocket, and we trekked across the institute yard to the Zone entrance. That’s the routine they have here, so that everyone will see the heroes of science laying down their lives on the altar of humanity, knowledge, and the holy ghost. Amen. And sure enough – all the way up to the fifteenth floor sympathetic faces watched us off. All we lacked were waving hankies and an orchestra. “Hup two,” I said to Tender. “Suck in your gut, you flabby platoon! A grateful mankind will never forget you!”

He looked at me and I saw that he was in no shape for joking around. And he was right, this was no time for jokes. But when you’re going out into the Zone you can either cry or joke – and I never cried, even as a child. I looked at Kirill. He was holding up under the strain, but was moving his lips, like he was praying.

“Praying?” I asked. “Pray on, pray. The further into the Zone the nearer to Heaven.”

“What?”

“Pray!” I shouted. “Stalkers go to the head of the line into Heaven.”

He broke out in a smile and patted me on the back, as if to say don’t be afraid, nothing will happen as long as you’re with me, and if it does, well, we only die once. He sure is a funny guy, honest to God.

We turned in our passes to the last sergeant, only this time, for a change of pace, it was a lieutenant. I know him, his father sells grave borders in Rexopolis. The flying boot was waiting for us, brought by the fellows from
PPS
and left at the passageway. Everyone else was waiting, too. The emergency first-aid team, and firemen, and our valiant guards, our fearless rescuers – a bunch of overfed bums with a helicopter. I wish I had never set eyes on them!

We got up into the boot, and Kirill took the controls and said: “OK, Red, lead on.”

Coolly, I lowered the zipper on my chest, pulled out a flask, took a good long tug, and replaced the flask. I can’t do it without that. I’ve been in the Zone many times, but without it – no, I just can’t. They were both looking at me and waiting.

“So,” I said. “I’m not offering any to you, because this is the first time we’re going in together, and I don’t know how the stuff affects you. This is the way we’ll do things. Anything that I say you do immediately and without question. If someone starts fumbling or asking questions I’ll hit whatever I reach first. I’ll apologize now. For example, Mr. Tender, if I order you to start walking on your hands you will immediately hoist your fat ass into the air and do what I tell you. And if you don’t, maybe you’ll never see your sick daughter again. Got it? But I’ll make sure that you do get to see her.”

“Just don’t forget to give me the order,” Tender wheezed. He was all red and sweating and chomping his lips. “I’ll walk on my teeth, not just on my hands, if I have to. I’m not a greenhorn.”

“You’re both greenhorns as far as I’m concerned,” I said. “And I won’t forget to give the orders, don’t worry. By the way, do you know how to drive a boot?”

“He knows,” Kirill said. “He’s a good driver.”

“All right then,” I said. “Then we’re off, Godspeed. Lower your visors. Low speed ahead along the pylons, altitude three yards. Halt at the twenty-seventh pylon.”

Kirill raised the boot to three yards and went ahead in low gear. I turned around without being noticed and spit over my left shoulder. I saw that the rescue squad had climbed into their helicopter, the firemen were standing at attention out of respect, the lieutenant at the door of the passage was saluting us, the jerk, and above all of them fluttered the huge, faded banner: “Welcome, Visitors.” Tender looked like he was about to wave to them, but I gave him such a jab in the ribs that he immediately dropped all ideas of such ceremonious bye-byes. I’ll show you how to say good-bye. You’ll be saying good-bye yet!

We were off.

The institute was on our right and the Plague Quarter on our left. We were traveling from pylon to pylon right down the middle of the street. It had been ages since the last time someone had walked or driven down this street. The asphalt was all cracked, and grass had grown in the cracks. But that was still our human grass. On the sidewalk on our left there was black bramble growing, and you could tell the boundaries of the Zone: the black growth ended at the curb as if it had been mown. Yeah, those visitors were well-behaved. They messed up a lot of things but at least they set themselves clear limits. Even the burning fluff never came to our side of the Zone – and you would think that a stiff wind would do it.

The houses in the Plague Quarter were chipped and dead. However, the windows weren’t broken. Only they were so dirty that they looked blind. At night, when you crawl past, you can see the glow inside, like alcohol burning with blue tongues. That’s the witches’ jelly breathing in the cellars. Just a quick glance gives you the impression that it’s a neighborhood like any other, the houses are like any others, only in need of repair, but there’s nothing particularly strange about them. Except that there are no people around. That brick house, by the way, was the home of our math teacher. We used to call him The Comma. He was a bore and a failure. His second wife had left him just before the Visitation, and his daughter had a cataract on one eye, and we used to tease her to tears, I remember. When the panic began he and all his neighbors ran to the bridge in their underwear, three miles nonstop. Then he was sick with the plague for a long time. He lost all his skin and his nails. Almost everyone who had lived in the neighborhood was hit, that’s why we call it the Plague Quarter. Some died, mostly the old people, and not too many of them. I, for one, think that they died from fright and not from the plague. It was terrifying. Everyone who lived here got sick. And people in three neighborhoods went blind. Now we call those areas: First Blind Quarter, Second Blind, and so on. They didn’t go completely blind, but got sort of night blindness. By the way, they said that it wasn’t any explosion that caused it, even though there were plenty of explosions; they said they were blinded from a loud noise. They said it got so loud that they immediately lost their vision. The doctors told them that that was impossible and they should try to remember. But they insisted that it was a powerful thunderbolt that blinded them. By the way, no one else heard the thunder at all.

Yes, it was as though nothing had happened here. There was a glass kiosk, unharmed. A baby carriage in a driveway – even the blankets in it looked clean. The antennas screwed up the effect though – they were overgrown with some hairy stuff that looked like cotton. The eggheads had been cutting their teeth on this cotton problem for some time. You see, they were interested in looking it over. There wasn’t any other like it anywhere. Only in the Plague Quarter and only on the antennas. And most important, it was right there, under their very windows. Finally they had a bright idea: they lowered an anchor on a steel cable from a helicopter and hooked a piece of cotton. As soon as the helicopter pulled at it, there was a pssst! We looked and saw smoke coming from the antenna, from the anchor, and from the cable. The cable wasn’t just smoking – it was hissing poisonously, like a rattler. Well, the pilot was no fool – there was a reason why he was a lieutenant – he quickly figured what was what and dropped the cable and made a quick getaway. There it was, the cable, hanging down almost to the ground and overgrown with cotton.