EIGHT

–

It has to have been at least another hour of walking when we finally see the first building. It’s tucked in-between a patch of trees, who have clearly taken over in the last few decades. It’s falling apart at the seams, the blue paint once covering the entire cottage is now peeling off in thick chips and the porch is caved in on itself. But it has a roof. I audibly sigh, and will myself to pick up my pace briefly to get closer to Mikey and ask hopefully, “Is this the village?”

He stops, and I hear that even he’s winded as he answers. “Not quite, but we should stay here. It’ll be safer on the outskirts. I’ve heard rumors of security checking some of the houses up ahead.” 

And security also means the possibility of other Stalkers, I deduct.

So, we venture inside.

The boys test the thresholds as we pass under them, stomping the floorboards as we walk. It seems sturdy enough to at least not collapse on us in the night. It was a bit musty inside, but with the windows long since broken, there was at least no mold. Slightly drafty, it had gotten cold quickly as the sun went down, but they seem to have a solution for that also, unpacking their tarps and blocking off the windows of the one room in the back of the shack that clearly used to be a bedroom.

Once the room was sufficiently sealed off, save for some sparse holes in the ceiling, they exchange the red lights for regular flashlights again, setting them up in the corners of the room to give us some light while cooking “dinner”.

It’s still silent between the four of us until Mikey, Nico and myself have at least half a meal in our stomachs. Lex hasn’t even started preparing his food, choosing instead to collapse in the corner against his bag and shut his eyes. Even with his face covered, his exhaustion is a brief moment of vulnerability that I couldn’t help but watch. Until I could tell I was staring and force my focus back on my food: a thick, beefy stew with carrots and potatoes that, thankfully, feels like it will keep my belly full for hours. 

Mikey scarfs down the last bite of his meal, and clearly considers making another one, but has some resolve and decides on conversation instead. “So, how was your first day?”

I have to snort a little, because the words that come to mind are many and varied. I settle on some optimism. “It’s certainly going to make for a good story.”

“Are you going to let your friend take the credit with you when she didn’t even have the balls to join us?” Mikey teased, and I can’t help but chuckle a bit.

“Dunno. I guess we’ll see how much money it makes me.”

“Ce?” Lex has been listening. His eyes, open and staring now, are sharp and piercing, the expression pressing a dent between his brows.

Mikey looks, seeing the same in Lex’s eyes as I had, and rolls his shoulders, leaning back against his bag like Lex was. Something in the air feels a little colder. “Ce ce?” 

“Ea este jurnalist?” 

“Da.”

“Si ai fost de acord cu asta?”

“Ah. Care este problema?”

“Care este problema?” Lex’s tone shifts dangerously close to angry, and when Mikey just shrugs, I can see Lex’s jaw flex under his mask. 

I try to defuse, darting my eyes between the two boys. “What’s wrong?”

Lex is staring at Mikey, like he expects the boy to explain, but Mikey just holds out a hand, giving Lex the stage. 

I can’t look away when he finally turns those icy eyes to me. “You’re making money on this?”

I stare back, but it’s all bluff. Really, I desperately want to escape his judgment. I consider pointing out that the three of them were also making money, but I knew how different it was, so I just play with my food.

“And you can’t write a fluff piece on Chernobyl and fuck off like the rest of them?” I’ve never heard this tone from Lex as of yet. It was sharp like knives and left me feeling breathless like the hike.

“I didn’t want to do a story that was just shallow and exploitative,” I try, carefully.

He’s already past the point of being talked down though. “And what do you think the result of this story will be? You’re shining a spotlight on us. It’s already gotten almost impossible to make this trip without someone like Mikey, who’s been doing it for years. What do you think will happen when stupid, thrill seeking Americans like you start deciding that an expensive guided tour just isn’t edgy enough for them? When people start getting lost out here? If someone dies? You’ll ruin it, for all of us. And it’s all we fucking have.” 

“Ty dramatyzuyesh…” Mikey chimes with Ukrainian – I’m starting to tell the difference – and a sigh, taking the heat off me for a second.

“Nu esti de acord?” Lex stands, demanding something from the other boys, but they both avoid his gaze, and in response he hisses, “lași.”

Feeling guilty that they were taking even a little of Lex’s scorn, I offer the only excuse I have to get his frustration back to me. “I’ll lose my job, if I don’t come back with something.”

“So lose your job,” Lex says, plainly, and when I can’t give more than a stare back, he adds, “or don’t. Sell us out for another month’s rent. It’s not like you’ll ever see us again.”

He moves to leave, and as he goes, intentionally kicks the extra cup of hot water I was saving to make tea after my food. It splashes away from any of us, but we all flinch regardless. 

“Lex. Opri. Ai grijă la securitate–”

“Da.” With that, he disappears, alone into the night.