Aynur gripped her AK tightly, anxiously, impotently. A chorus of snarls sounded around her as four blind dogs drew close, their noses quivering with an anxiety that likely rivaled her own. Suddenly, a shot rang out - two shots - three - two of the dogs crumpled to the ground, and the survivors promptly fled, tails tucked as they left their fallen brethren behind without a second glance.

“That’s four bottles. We’ve barely been out here an hour, Sister. If I have to keep rescuing you, I’ll be a very drunk man once this is over with, and you’re going to be very, very poor.” The pleasure in Lampochki’s voice was obvious. When Aynur decided to hire an escort for her journey to Yantar, she knew he would be the perfect man for the job: he was quick, bloodthirsty, and easily bought, agreeing to take her as far as Freedom HQ in the Garbage in exchange for one bottle of vodka for each kill he made to protect her. She realized now that choosing someone whose company she actually enjoyed, even remotely, might have been a good idea, but it was too late for that. He was a good shot, and most important of all, she was about 80% sure he wouldn’t stab her in the back, which was more than she could say for most stalkers. With credentials like that, she didn’t have to like him.

A plaintive whine caught her attention. Crouching down beside one of the felled dogs, she saw that it was still alive, though only barely. She laid a hand on its side, feeling the matted fur and jutting ribcage that rose and fell with each frantic, shallow breath. “You poor thing,” she murmured in Kazakh, as she stroked its shoulder and allowed herself one tiny moment of pity.

“Three bottles,” Aynur corrected. She stood, took aim at the dying dog’s head, and put the wretched thing out of its misery. “Finish the job next time if you want to get paid.”

---

Ten minutes later, they sat with their backs against a crumbling concrete barrier, the checkpoint to the Old Cordon about 60 meters behind them to the northeast. Aynur uncapped a bottle of water and took small sips while her companion tore hungrily into a hunk of bread. The sound of his open-mouthed chewing was disgusting, but she didn’t say anything. When he ripped off a piece and held it out to her, she held her silence, though her eyes widened in surprise at the gesture; after a moment, Lampochki grunted around a mouthful of dry crumbs and shoved the bread at her, finally forcing her to speak.

“No,” she said simply, placing her hand on his and pushing it away, gentle but firm. He rolled his eyes, shrugged, and swallowed.

“Let’s get moving, Sister.” Lampochki shouldered his pack and got to one knee, but Aynur put a hand out to stop him. Peeking over the slab of concrete, she surveyed the checkpoint, eyes moving from one building to the next in search of any movement. It was a well-known fact that Bandits liked to frequent this part of the Zone, and the checkpoint was a perfect spot for them to lie in wait, the slimy bastards. Yes - [i]there[/i] - he was half-hidden in the shadows, but she could just make out a rather seedy looking silhouette patrolling the upper level of the watchtower.

“Guard tower, upper level. I only see one, but..”

“Two more by the barracks, and there are bound to be more. No way we can bust our way through that.” Lampochki sucked in his upper lip, apparently deep in thought. He glanced over at the scrawny girl beside him, sighed, and said, "Give me your money."

"[i]What?[/i]” Hurt flashed across her face, followed quickly by contempt. “Lampochki, don’t--"

“It’s for the [i]bandits[/i], dumbass. Your money and your vodka. Whatever you can spare for these shitheads."

Aynur stared at him for a moment, her brows knit in frustration as she weighed her options. She could take another route - Nowhere wouldn’t be a challenge, even for her, but then she would have to make her way through the Swamps, which would likely defeat the whole purpose of trying to avoid contact with these damn thieving Bandits. And besides, fuck swamps.

Grudgingly, she reached into her pack and withdrew what little money and vodka she had, then handed her paltry offering over to Lampochki. He stood and walked out from behind the Jersey barrier, hands held high to show he came unarmed and bearing gifts. Aynur didn't like it. They had no guarantee that the bandits wouldn't just shoot them after taking their money -- or before, for that matter -- but as much as she hated going into this half-blind, she had to get through to the Old Cordon, and she couldn't think of a better way. Following a few paces behind her bodyguard, she adjusted her mask and hood before holding up her empty hands, noting every possible bit of cover that they passed in case things went south.

They made it about ten meters before the lookout in the tower spotted them. "Hold it!" he shouted in English, along with more instructions that Aynur didn't even begin to understand. Lampochki translated quickly. "They're coming out to meet us. Don't move until I tell you," he whispered. He began to chew on his upper lip again, and she could practically see the gears turning. "You're my son. Don't talk. You [i]can't[/i] talk. Slouch. Try to look sullen. Yeah, good, like that. Guess you don't really have to try too hard for that one."

Three of the bandits came out to meet them, exchanging what they obviously thought was witty banter; the way they carried their weapons, loose and lazy, indicated cockiness and a lack of murderous intent, at least for the time being. Apparently she and Lampochki didn’t look too threatening. Aynur was grateful for that. Two of the men flanked them while the third circled around behind and grunted, “Go,” one of the few English words she actually understood, but she waited for Lampochki’s nod before moving. When they made it to the fenced in courtyard, four surly looking men stood waiting, arranged in a rough semicircle around a fifth; his confident stance, lifted chin, and long overcoat marked him as a leader. A sick feeling began to grow in Aynur’s stomach. Something about this was wrong. She cast a worried glance at Lampochki, hoping to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“We just want to make it through to Old Cordon,” he said in heavily accented English, giving his hands a small shake to show the bribe he had so graciously prepared. Aynur wasn’t listening, and she had a feeling the bandits weren’t, either. Her eyes darted around frantically as she collected and absorbed every possible detail as quickly as she could: eight men surrounded them, a ninth in the tower; the two bandits at her 9 and 11 o’clock were about a meter and a half away from her, the space between them wide enough for her to slip through without touching either of them; the five men that she could see were all handling their rifles very attentively; their leader had worn a subtle but very self-satisfied smile from the moment they entered the compound, and nothing Lampochki had said thus far had changed that.

Aynur watched the bandits’ leader transfer his gaze to something over Lampochki’s left shoulder and give the tiniest nod -- behind her, a tracksuit rustled -- her fear gave way to adrenaline and a desperate desire to survive, propelling her forward just as one of the bandits shot Lampochki from behind. Quick as a hare, she darted through the opening between the two bandits in front of her, their surprise giving her just enough time to clear the group and hit open ground before they fired on her. Aynur ran as fast as her malnourished muscles would take her -- which was still pretty damn fast, considering -- zigzagging like a prey animal toward a small stand of trees, praying they would decide it was too much trouble to pursue her. Assuming, of course, she even made it to cover in one piece.