Vasilisa the Brave - Chapter Two

Vasilisa shrugged her pack back up her shoulders. She'd have to adjust it at some point, it kept slipping down, but she was worried that if she stopped now, her momentum would slip away, and so would her courage. So she kept on walking, intimately aware of the weight of the gun by her hip and the rifle slung over her back.

Her trek across the city was taking a toll on her. She felt a warmth in her calves, and was worried that her shoes were a little too big. At some point she stopped and slipped into an alley then removed the big boots and put on a second pair of socks. It made the boots wiggle a little less with every step, as did tightening the laces. It was still a loose fit.

She wasn't sure she could do much about it, beyond finding smaller boots.

Her goal, right now, was the Office of Zone Exploration.

The office was as rowdy as usual, men in gear that was only a step away from the look worn by Stalkers. The only thing setting them apart was the uniformity. They all had army-surplus for cheap, and many of the explorators wore armbands, red, with the office's logo printed on it in golden paint. A Kalishnikov and a hammer, crossed over one another.

Vasilisa slipped past a few men by the entrance, tugging her scarf up as she passed. Some of them might recognize her, maybe.

Her father had started working at the Office of Zone Exploration some six, maybe seven years ago, when she was still so young that things were muddled. Her mom was sick, they needed the money, and work was not as readily available as it had been.

Her father had done a stint in the army, he knew how to handle himself, and was a confident, personable sort of man. More importantly, he was a local. That mattered to the office back then. They preferred people that had been around the area that the Zone now occupied before it had turned into the Zone it was now.

He came back and had fought with her mother about the job. She could remember it still. They'd fought again whenever he returned hurt. Sometimes it was just a cut, or some scrapes. Once it was with a trio of holes punched into him.

He had laughed, said that all three missed anything important because he had the creator's own luck on his side. He confided to Vasilisa, who had only been eleven at the time, that the luck wasn't the creator's, but rather something he earned from helping a Baba Yaga out of a bind once.

The money had been good. Not so much so that they could move to a nicer place, but they ate well, and her father bought good equipment, drank with officers, and they lived well, or as well as anyone could live in Pripyat.

Vasilisa missed those days.

She pushed the fond memories aside as she slipped into the office. There was the bar, where she'd once sat on a stool that let her meet the eye of some of the men that called her father a friend as they told wild and exaggerated stories of what they saw and did in the Zone.

She'd learned here, that the little marks across her mask were kill pips. One for each Stalker and monster killed in the Zone.

She wasn't looking for those men, the rough and tumble sort. No, she was looking for... and there he was.

Vasilisa cleared her throat, then moved across the room with the sure gait of someone that definitely belonged here. "Mister Melnyk," she said.

The man turned her way. He was the same Mister Melnyk that she remembered. The same one who'd made an appearance at her mother's funeral, the same one that signed the letter sent to her home, telling her that her father was dead. The same name as on the last cheque for a number of rubles that was barely enough to keep her going for six months.

"Oh god," Melnyk muttered. "Sorry, yes, can I help you?" he asked.

Perhaps he wasn't the same man. He looked a lot more tired, with a few more wrinkles than she remembered, and maybe a few stray hairs along his temples that were going grey. "Sorry to bother you, sir," she replied, keeping her voice as even as she could. "I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?"

"Yes? About?" he asked, though now he was taking her a little more seriously.

Vasilisa had something for this, a secret weapon of sorts, one that her father had mentioned to her with the occasional wink of good humour. Paperwork. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded envelope. It was from the Office of Zone Exploration, this very office, in fact, but it was nearly new.

She'd opened the letter very carefully, used an iron to make it look flat and perfect. The letter within was typed on a typing machine, on a page with the OZE logo at the top. At a glance, it looked as official and important as any other document she'd seen in her father's folders.

"I have this, it's a request, ah, I was hoping you could help me with it," she said.

Melnyk frowned, then rubbed at his head. "Yes, yes, follow me. Who did you say you were?"

"Alexander," she said. "I was just sent with this letter, sir. I don't usually do this kind of thing."

"Ah, of course," he replied. "You look young."

"My father is a director, he helped me get the job," she replied.

A look of disgust crossed Melnyk's face, but it was gone in an instant. "I'm sure I can help you. Forgive me, I've had a day."

"A hard one?" she asked. If she could get him talking about himself, then she'd be safe for a while. That was a trick her mom had taught her for dealing with men. Their favourite subject was always themselves.

"Two idiot girls showed up, dressed like old ladies off the street, and they were going on about how they'd be diving into the Zone as if it were no harder than taking a walk in the park."

"Oh," Vasilisa said. "Women have no place in the Zone," she said.

Melnyk chuckled. "You'd think some people would know better. Too many damned stories about the glories to be found in there. Some people can't tell propaganda from truth."

"Right," she agreed.

Melnyk led her to the back, where the actual offices were. The Office for Zone Exploration never struck her as a very self-important place. Sure, it was the government, but it didn't have that same sense of gravitas as other places.

It was probably the bar built into the front of the place, or the way that half of the people that worked here were what her father called government-backed-ruffians.

Melnyk slumped behind his deck, then gestured for the letter. Vasilisa hesitated for a moment. "Before I give you this, I have a question. Did you know a man who used to work for the office? Tall fellow, sharp features. Ah, he had a full beard and a scar across his left eye."

That last detail made Melnyk nod. "I think I know who you're talking about. What of him?"

"Is he still around? I owe him a drink."

Melnyk shook his head. "Zone took him. You know how it is."

"Ah. That's too bad," she said. She placed the letter down, then nodded. "I'll be off, then. Have a good day."

"Mhm, you too," Melnyk replied before he took the letter and started to open it.

Vasilisa was slipping away already. She started towards the same place she'd come in, then quickly turned to the side and walked along the edge of the room. The other side had the armoury, that would be guarded and watched. This side had stairs leading up to the second floor, where there were more offices and a break room, and most importantly, the room where documents were stored.

She ran up the stairs, walking as if she had every right to be here, but keeping an eye for people anyway.

There was no one out of an office, no one paying any attention.

The room with the documentation was at the rear, a large room made small by rows of shelving and metal cabinets. She had no idea how things were organised when she stepped in. She pressed her hand over her pocket, where her doll rested. She felt it twitch.

It didn't take too long to find the incident reports. They were sorted by date, and she knew exactly the date she was looking for.

Vasilisa had to pause, to stop the shaking of her hands, as she found the right folder. She peeked within, took in the names of the team her father was on, their location, the details that had returned with the few survivors.

It was enough.

***