Somehow, Aynur managed to make it to the treeline unscathed. She scrambled behind a wide, gnarled trunk and leaned back against it, gulping down air as she waited for the burning in her legs and lungs to subside. The bandits were still firing, but after a few seconds, she realized that their shots weren’t landing anywhere near her; very carefully, she risked a glance back at the outpost, just in time to see one of the bandits cut down by a spray of bullets.

She couldn’t deny feeling a certain satisfaction at the sight.

Whoever was shooting at the bandits had managed to draw their attention completely away from Aynur, giving her a gift-wrapped opportunity to slip away unnoticed. She had no idea who it was or what their motives were, but she couldn’t think of a single possibility that made it a good idea to stick around. The stalkers hidden in the trees had probably been waiting for just the right moment to hit the bandit camp, and she and Lampochki had provided the perfect distraction. She definitely did not want to get caught in their crossfire.

Hoping to be far away by the time the bandits even remembered she existed, Aynur crept north, keeping to the underbrush as much as she could. She moved in spurts, ducking from tree to bush, pausing behind each bit of cover until she felt it was safe enough to move to the next. One particularly thorny bush gave her some trouble, catching on her hood and yanking it back when she tried to move forward. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered as she jerked free and saw that the bloody mutant thorns had left a tear several inches long, splitting the edge of her hood. She’d have to get some thread and a needle along with everything else when she finally made it to Freedom HQ..

“Oh, [i]fuck.[/i]” Her money. Every ruble she had was back at the checkpoint. Aynur buried her face in her hands, her eyes shut tight against the tears of frustration that threatened to spill out. She might be able to score some medical supplies once she got to the bunker in Yantar, but there was no way she’d make it that far without a guide, and she didn’t expect anyone to get her there as a personal favor. She had to get her money, and the only way she could see that happening was if every one of the bandits was dead. Normally, killing another human being was something she avoided at all costs, but Lampochki’s murder made the idea a little easier to stomach. Aynur might not have liked him much, but he was a good guy, as far as stalkers went -- and she had abandoned him. Guilt wormed its way into her thoughts, seeping out of old wounds that still crippled her, but instead of burying it like she always did, she let it crystallize into a sense of vengeful purpose.

Aynur saw that most of the bandits were focusing their fire on a spot forty meters east and just a bit south of her position. With their attention focused elsewhere, she was able to move quickly, and had covered about a third of the distance when she spotted Nomad. She hung back for a moment, trying to see if he was really the only one or if there were more stalkers hidden around him. Catching someone by surprise right now could earn her a bullet, and she didn’t want to take any chances. As she watched, the man broke cover to fire a few more shots at the checkpoint, then withdrew suddenly and gripped his arm, and she knew that he had been hit. Hoping to draw fire away from him, Aynur dropped to one knee, brought her AK-105 up, and sent a few bursts in the bandits’ general direction, then ducked behind the nearest tree. When bits of bark began to fly around her, she knew she had been successful, but she wasn’t ready to celebrate just yet. The bandits’ fire died down for a few seconds, and she sprung out from behind the tree, making her way carefully to the injured stalker. Cradling her rifle in the crook of her elbow, Aynur fished something out of her pocket: a small square of white fabric with a red cross and crescent sewn onto it, which she held out for the stalker to see as she finally scrambled over to him. She swung her AK around to rest against her back, then reached tentatively for his injured arm, stopping just short of touching it. If he gave her the go ahead, she would tend to his wound; but she kept one hand by her side, ready to grab her rifle at a moment’s notice.