They were waiting for him, of course.

  The barracks were shrouded in darkness, but when he approached, panting heavily and stamping loudly to announce his presence, a cold and bright beam of light from a torch struck into his face. Adrian squinted, shielded eyes with his hand.

  “Southpaw, it’s me, Adrian,” he called meekly, raising his arms.

  In the darkness, dim silhouettes moved about, vague voices came from the inside. The torch went off. He came closer, and in no time, two bruisers grabbed him by the sleeves of his suit and shoved him inside. A dim lightbulb illuminated the room, cluttered with rusty pieces of broken machinery.

  “Finally,” Sowthpaw said curtly, stepping into the pool of light. “What took you so long? You’d said, it’s an hour's work?”

  “Was more difficult than expected,” Adrian shrugged wearily, dropping the backpack on the floor and kicking it towards the man. “There are patrols in the Forest, raiding the neighbourhood for mutant dogs. And Burakovsky has an eye on me. I could not get out easily.”

  “Fine.” Sowpaw swiftly bent down, opened the backpack, and glanced inside. When he straightened, his face beamed with satisfaction.

  “Good job, Adrian. I was afraid you’d lost your grip. I’m glad to be proved wrong. It’s just a shame I had to take measures to make you move swiftly.”

  Adrian swallowed.

  “And you’re a good partner, Southpaw,” he said hoarsely. “There was no need for abducting people who have nothing to do with it. Aren’t we old buddies who can trust each other enough without resorting to violence?”

  “Well, turns out, we are,” Southpaw chuckled. “But business is business. I need some warranties, you know?” He turned around. “Bring the boy in.”

  The bruisers rushed to the back of the barrack and disappeared behind a door. Southpaw lazily produced a pack of cigarettes, offered one to Adrian. Lighters snapped.

  “I have something else for you,” Adrian said, dragging deeply, and looking straight at his companion. In the dusk, he saw Southpaw’s eyes flicker with interest.

  “There’re specs here. Right now. An APC parked inside, near the main gates.”

  Southpaw squinted.

  “Specs? What the hell are they doing here after the rollcall?”

  “Well, I have no clue, I did not come too close. But this APC has a machine gun, and the guys look like they can use it. Perhaps they struck a deal with Burakovsky to help against mutants?”

  “You sure those are specs and not militants?”

  “I can tell a military uniform from the one scientists use,” Adrian replied with mild offense.

  Southpaw nodded slowly.

  “I’m not hinting anything, but if you want to get money as soon as possible, that might be a good catch,” Adrian said, feeling his throat going dry. “I’ve heard the guy talking to Burakovsky. He said they are only staying for the night. Perhaps, in the morning, a backup detachment will come?”

  Southpaw chortled and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Good lead,” he said, grinning widely. “Thanks, Adrian. I’ll check it out.”

  Holding his gaze, Adrian smiled tensely and nodded. Inside, though, he felt a wave of relief. The bait had been eaten.

  A loud thudding announced the return of the bruisers. The door at the back flung open, and Adrian let out a gasp, seeing Tim, who was hanging limp between the two escorts, his mangled face covered with blood and dirt. He was barely walking and wheezing hoarsely, but at least he was alive. Adrian darted towards them, and a second later, caught the boy in an embrace as the bruisers let him go.

  “Tim!”

  “Ad,” the boy croaked into his shoulder. Struggling to keep him straight, Adrian glanced at Southpaw. The man, still grinning, shrugged, as if saying: business is business.

  “Now get lost, you two,” he offered amiably. “We still have some work to do here.”

  Adrian clenched his teeth, but did not say anything. It was not the time yet. He took Tim’s arm, hoisted him up, and dragged him out of the barracks. No one followed them, and the door slammed shut behind his back with a loud thud.

  While they staggered through the empty alleys toward the dormitories, Tim did not say a word. Adrian did not ask questions either: everything he needed to know was written on his friend’s face. At the entrance, Adrian stopped and let the boy’s arm slide down from his shoulder before standing in front of him and catching his eyes.

  “Tim. Tim, you hear me?”

  The boy nodded slowly, wincing from pain. Adrian examined him closely. His face was bruised, nose likely broken, lips scratched, but overall, it looked like nothing threatened his life anymore. With good rest and plenty of patches, he should be fine in no time.

  “Can you walk up the stairs? The lads will help you. I need to run now, if I want to make sure those fuckers don’t get away with it.”

  “Ad, they will kill you,” Tim muttered, grimacing with fear. “They almost killed me. I… Shit, I was not sure I’d live till morning.”

  “I know. And I’ll make them pay for it. I promise. Don’t worry about me. I have it sorted out.”

  “Thanks for getting me out,” Tim said after a pause.

  “Of course. Now go, get some rest. It’s over now.”

  After a long pause, the boy nodded again. Adrian watched him limping toward the entrance door and disappearing inside. Then he turned and burst into a run.

  Southpaw did not waste time. When Adrian came prowling to the exit of the alley leading to the main street and peeked around the corner, the familiar figures were already standing beside the APC in a pool of lantern light. From his hideout, Adrian could not make out the conversation, but he saw Southpaw glancing about, and then talking quietly, but fervently, while Salzman was listening and nodding with a curious smile. Apart from them, there was not a soul around. Apparently, most of the garrison had gathered at the barrier.

  After a short conversation, Southpaw stepped back and beckoned with his finger. Salzman nodded, glanced over his shoulder, said something, and Adrian saw one more man, unfamiliar to him, dressed in a scientific suit, who stepped out from behind the APC. The three of them walked down the street, away from the gates. They passed by the alley exit, where Adrian crouched in the shadow, and soon their backs disappeared in the dark. But Adrian did not risk showing himself yet.

  Less than a minute later, in total silence, a group of men in military suits passed by his hideout, carrying rifles at the ready. Keeping the distance, they trotted in the same direction as the recent pair.

  Only after waiting for a few minutes and making sure there were no more people around, Adrian straightened and darted into the street.

  Halting beside the APC, he thudded against the armour.

  “Inny! It’s me!”

  The girl appeared above him, bending over the car’s sideboard.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” He did not want to go into details. “Give me the pistol, please.”

  “Here. Be careful.” The familiar handle slid into his hand.

  “I will,” he promised grimly, turned and hurried away, trying to catch up with Southpaw, Salzman, and the militants.

  ***

  Adrian did not come too close to the barracks. He knew that once the front door was blocked, there would be only one way for people inside to escape, and that was through the same maze of rooms where they kept Tim during the day. So he kept his distance and only lingered for a minute at the hilltop, from where he could see the two figures entering the barrack and disappearing inside, and five silhouettes, barely discernible, creeping in the darkness.

  The bruisers were standing at the door, chatting casually. Perhaps, if they looked closer, they would notice some movement in the shadows, but those guys were definitely not trained to spot an ambush, Adrian thought contentedly. Their main function was to scare away shelter kids, who would accidentally pass too close to the Southpaw’s den.

  So, when the troops silently leaped out of the darkness, aiming rifles at them, the bruisers froze and pressed against the barracks' wall without making a sound. In a second, they were pushed onto the ground, their hands cuffed behind their backs.

  Then one of the troops opened the door, lunged inside, and gunshots shattered the silence.

  Adrian froze, counting seconds. Two of the militants stayed outside, guarding the captured bruisers, while the rest went into the barrack. From his vantage point, Adrian could hear the firing slowly becoming muffled, as if the fight moved away from the front room.

  Adrian breathed deeply and darted away. He knew precisely where Southpaw would go if he was not shot immediately.

  Down the narrow passageways, weaving between densely placed buildings—barracks, storage hangars, workshops, garages, offices, kitchens. Rare lanterns cast pools of cold, bright light here and there, but everything in between sank deep into darkness, and he had to be careful not to stumble against some abandoned piece of junk or a garbage container. But he grew up exploring the orphanage’s territory, and he knew these passages better than the palm of his hand. From time to time, the sound of firing came faintly from behind the building walls, letting him know that he was moving in the right direction.

  He climbed atop a pile of old iron tubes and leaped over a fence, landing just in time to notice the hatch of a manhole sliding in front of him. Catching his breath, Adrian stopped. A second later, Southpaw pulled himself up and scrambled onto the ground, his eyes wide and his face sweating.

  “You!” he croaked, spotting Adrian and, for a moment, fixing his gaze on the young man. “Why the hell are you here?”

  “I heard the shooting,” Adrian said hastily, not letting him time to think. “Thought I’d come to help… What happened?”

  “It was a fucking setup! The spec brought soldiers with him! They’re after me!”

  “Oh shit,” Adrian said, feigning surprise as much as he could. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where to?”

  “They will probably raid the whole shelter. But I know a place to hide.”

  Southpaw bore a suspicious look at him. Something was changing in his face; Adrian could almost see rusty gears slowly rotating inside the man’s dumb head in a difficult thought process.

  “Man, I’m your partner, and I’m trying to help you. Are you coming, or not?” he pressed, and as if to add weight to his words, muffled shouts and beams of light came from inside the manhole.

  Southpaw made up his mind.

  “Let’s go.”

  Adrian nodded and dashed forward, making sure the man followed him.

  It was not difficult at all to break away from the chase. The militants who followed them were newcomers—Adrian made sure to tell Salzman that the professor should not ask Burakovsky for help. No, the pursuers were from the same detachment that came earlier that day to meet Adrian and take him away from the shelter. And obviously, they were completely unfamiliar with the shelter’s territory.

  So it only took the two of them to climb over a few fences, weave for a few minutes through the maze of passageways, before they broke out into the clearing, across which stood the palisade with barbed wire.

  “Wait,” Southpaw said, halting and panting heavily. “Wait. Where the hell are we going?”

  “To the Forest.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “Come on,” Adrian teased him. “Ten-year-old kids go there almost every day. It’s not that scary.”

  “Yeah, and they die at the same rate.” Southpaw spat. “I’m not going there.”

  “Don’t be a fool. It’s your best bet. There’s a good place just across the river. They will never find you there. They won’t risk venturing out either.”

  “Of course they won’t! There are damn mutants!”

  “Southpaw, I went for the backpack today, and what, did I die?” Adrian grabbed his hand, looked him into eyes. Adrenaline was rushing inside him, filling his brain with fear that Southpaw would not swallow the bait this time, and he barely understood what he was doing, but the right words came out by themselves. “Look at me! Do I look like a ghost? No, because I know safe ways there!”

  Southpaw glanced back. It was not difficult to break away, Adrian thought, just as it was not difficult to keep such a pace that the pursuers would always know roughly which direction they went. The searchlights showed at the end of the alley behind them. Mere seconds remained before they would be spotted.

  “Lead the way,” Southpaw grunted.

  Adrian nodded and darted towards the palisade. It took them no more than ten seconds to cross the clearing and dive into the bushes at its far end. But as they both collapsed onto the ground, a bright circle of light beamed on the fence just above their heads.

  Beamed, lingered for a second, and then swept away, searching elsewhere.

  “After you,” Adrian whispered, pointing at the hole under the fence.

  Southpaw swore under his breath, crouched down, and crawled into the hole, and the moment he emerged on the other side, he was entirely in Adrian’s power.

  Adrian slipped through after him, and they both rolled down the hill and splashed into the shallow stream. Everything around was quiet, the black wall of the Forest looming above them against the sky of almost the same color. Southpaw leapt up, shook off the water, and waded to the other side. He scrambled up the high bank and stopped hesitantly at the tree line, staring into the darkness that dwelled beyond the edge.

  “Where to—” he started, turning around, and choked on the words, looking dumbly at the muzzle of the pistol pointed at him.

  “Here,” Adrian said sharply. His voice and his hands both trembled ever so slightly from—from what? Anger, fear… excitement? He could not tell precisely. Perhaps it was a mixture of all of them.

  But one thing he could tell for sure: even though he had never shot a man before, this time, the feeling was strong enough to make him pull the trigger.

  “Hey,” Southpaw drawled, and even in the darkness, Adrian could see his face distorted with fear. “Hey. What the fuck is this, Adrian? Where did you get this funny toy from?”

  Adrian remained silent. His fingers clenched the pistol’s handle so tight it hurt.

  “Adrian, listen,” Southpaw said slowly, carefully choosing the words. “I agree, I’ve blundered today. I overreacted. I was a bit angry, and wanted to make my point… a bit heavier, you know? But in the end, I kept my promise, didn’t I? Tim is alive and safe…”

  He shouldn’t have said that.

  “You tortured him, you son of a bitch,” Adrian said, swallowing with effort.

  “The boys played a little bit. Nothing serious. He will be fine.” Southpaw’s eyes darted about him, as if trying to find a way to escape in Adrian’s face. Adrian stepped toward him, and he drew back, letting out a gasp.

  “Listen, we’re partners!” he cried. “You said it yourself, and I said it too, and I stick to my word! You need me, Adrian, just as I need you! I’ll get you better contracts, I’ll get you the best customers, I have very good connections! We can make a lot of money together! We will be the richest folks in this damn orphanage!”

  “This is my last day in the orphanage,” Adrian told him gleefully. “I don’t need you and your contracts anymore.”

  He made another step forward, catching his breath, and Southpaw made another step backward.

  “And I nearly died several times today because of you.”

  “Man, we used to be friends.” Southpaw’s voice was now weak and trembling, too. “We grew up together in this god-forsaken place. Don’t you remember that?”

  “And I think… I think that it’s people like you who make this place a lot worse than it already is,” Adrian said with difficulty.

  “Hey.” Southpaw shrugged. “This is the Zone, okay? Everyone survives the way they can! But I know you, Adrian. You’re a tough guy, but you’re not a killer.”

  No, he was not.

  But if he were to survive in the Zone, he ought to become one.

  Something drew his attention. Something far behind Southpaw’s back, a barely noticeable movement deep in the darkness of the wood. And before he saw it or heard it, he knew what was there, just as he knew that he had mere seconds to finish the business here.

  “I’m not a killer,” Adrian said. The words came out cold and estranged, as if it were not him speaking. “But someone else is.”

  He lowered the pistol. In the silence, Southpaw let out a loud breath of relief.

  Adrian pulled the trigger.

  The man screamed and collapsed, pressing both hands against his thigh. He writhed convulsively on the damp ground, moaning and wheezing.

  “I’ll see you in the afterlife. Think about Tim,” Adrian advised him, and then a quiet snarl coming from the grove informed him it was time to take his leave.

  “No!” Southpaw yelled behind him as he turned and hurried away toward the clearing. “No! My leg… Adrian! Don’t go! Don’t… Aaah!”

  The snarl turned into a loud growl full of rage, and Adrian burst into a run.

  A high-pitched shriek behind him rose and cut abruptly, as if smothered. The last thing he heard was the snapping of jaws and the ugly squelching of flesh being torn apart. When he reached the clearing again, tumbled down to the stream, crossed it, and climbed to the barbed fence, the Forest was already completely silent.

  He forced himself not to look back.