Capturing the perfect photograph reminds me of hunting with my father. It takes patience; the time of day, the angle of the wind, even a single wasted second – an unnecessary blink – can mean the difference between the perfect shot, and a missed opportunity. Often, you’re sitting and waiting for the moment to present itself. But sometimes, the shot has to be pursued. Stalked. Captured. 

In the end, it all comes down to perspicacity. A hunter is nothing without his eyes and ears, my father would say. And I will always be my father’s daughter; a child of the wild, he would sing.

I have my camera primed to my eye, the snout of a red fox peeked just into frame from the left of my telephoto lens. I hold my breath to steady my hands and focus, trigger finger ready when he moves into my crosshairs: perfect composition between the background of dilapidated buildings.

A twig snaps a few yards behind and I startle, the fox perking its ears before turning to run.

I exhale, then curse.

“Whoops. Was that my fault?” Natalie isn’t much of a hunter.

“It’s fine, I’ll just take another picture of the ferris wheel, I guess. Like every other tourist that’s had the misfortune of thinking this was a good idea for a vacation.” It’s impossible to hide my frustration, but I try not to let it become too sharp. We still have another night together in Kyiv, and I don’t want to ruin it with my cynicism. 

Natalie smiles playfully, her go-to response to my usual prickliness. “Oh come on, Eiv-Eeyore. Can’t you just enjoy an all expenses paid work trip like a normal person? Not everything has to be so serious all the time.”

I want to argue, for the millionth time, that I got into journalism with the expectation that things would be serious most of the time. Her unsavory nickname makes me feel guilty, though. She’s heard my whining enough for a lifetime, let alone the two years we’ve been working together. And if I’m honest, I’m a bit tired of repeating myself. 

I would feel differently, if we had been sent here for a real story. Our collaborative assignment – working title: CHERNOBYL: YOUR #1 POST-COVID FRIENDLY VACATION DESTINATION – isn’t what I consider a real story. 

It’s vapid and consumerist and elitist and –

“How ‘bout we go out tonight? We’ll be going back to Kyiv soon, and our flight home only leaves at ten tomorrow. That’s lots of time to get you loosened up with some shots, a bit of dancing even, maybe? I would absolutely hate myself if I left Europe without going to a European club.”

I consider bursting her bubble once more, and informing her that not all clubs in Europe are going to be crazy rave-fests like she thinks. I hold my tongue though, and try to instead shake off my negativity. Maybe some alcohol isn’t that bad an idea, actually. 

“Fine, but if you’re planning on hooking up with someone it’s not going to be in our hotel room.” Unlike Natalie, who sometimes scares me with her next-day functionality, if I’m going to have alcohol tonight, I’ll also need a few hours of peace to sleep it off.

Natalie gasps at my nonchalance. “You’d force me to go to a strange European man’s apartment alone?”

“How is that any different than going to a strange American man’s apartment, alone? Nat, you’re on Tinder like, every night.”

She considers, then giggles. “You’re right. I’ll just ping you the address when I get there and if you don’t have a play-by-play within the hour you can call the cops.”

“So, the usual.” I smirk when she bites her lip sheepishly. 

“Listen, don’t take too much longer. The tour guide said it was fine if you lag behind a bit to take the pictures you need but our shuttle goes in thirty. And you should stay within view.” 

“Oh, are the Chernobyl dogs vicious?” I ask, facetiously. Their welcoming tail wags and desperate begs for belly rubs when we arrived earlier that day suggested otherwise. 

“No, but I hear the Stalkers might be.” Natalie sees my interest peak, so she explains. “The Guide says there’s some people that come to Chernobyl illegally. Sometimes they try to steal from the tourists. I’m sure that camera might look like a good thing to snatch. Just keep your ears open.” 

Natalie knows I’m much like the animals I’d hunt with my father: flighty and a bit too aware sometimes. My ears are one of my strongest assets. If she meant to spook me though, it had the opposite effect. As she goes, I nod thankfully for her warning, not to reveal the morbid curiosity suddenly brewing inside me.

Hunting another predator is different from hunting prey animals. Bait works best. But they can also be tracked, if you know how to think like a predator too. 

So, if I was hunting me, where would I go to track myself?

With Natalie out of yelling range now, the loud quiet of the long-dead city engulfs me again. When the wind blows, it rustles the leafy overgrowth, echoing between the cement walls of the abandoned buildings, surrounding me with noise. Higher ground is better for predators, because prey can hear just as well; the predator needs the advantage of sight.

I scan the buildings with renewed interest as I start back towards our guided group. Most of them are at least three stories; the roof, or even a top floor window, would make the perfect vantage point to keep track of our tour. I flick my gaze over each broken window, but I fail to catch a glimpse of anything other than decades old graffiti. 

Then, I hear the grind of rubble under a boot. I stop, checking my feet. I’ve been off the dirt path after following the fox. Only grass under my own shoes. So I turn back to the closest building, scanning the top floor over again, searching for movement. It’s difficult; the sun is high in the sky still, and I’ve always been a bit short-sighted without glasses. I linger on the last window, furthest from me, and for a moment I swear I see a shadow through the broken panes, but in the second it takes me to have the sense and raise the camera lens to focus in, the shadow is gone.

Maybe Nat's attempt to spook me had been successful after all.

Or maybe I’ve stumbled across another hunter.

Unable to help myself, or perhaps unwilling to concede to the terrible topic I am assigned here for, I check the time before taking a detour into the deteriorating cement skeleton. 

Despite trying my best to move quietly, my runners make the same grinding noise over the loose rubble as I climb the first set of structurally intact stairs I can find. Our Guide had made sure we knew these buildings were not safe to be in, but if the concrete has held up for so long, I’m willing to risk it a little. At least dying in a pile of rubble in Chernobyl would make for an interesting obituary.

I stretch my hearing as much as possible by the second flight, and think I make out someone, or someones, talking. The persistent dance of the heavy foliage creates a layer of white noise I can’t quite get my ears passed, though. 

I reach the top floor, and something shifts in the air. It’s suddenly very quiet. Maybe the invading vegetation hadn’t grown its way up this far yet. I feel my heart catch an extra beat, knowing the predator I was stalking is aware of my presence now also. Even a single breath could mean the end of the hunt. I can barely bring myself to peek around the threshold from the stairwell, holding another exhale as I do so.

“Boo.”

I yelp, the shock of the Shadow being right there when I rounded the corner into a main hallway sending me stumbling backwards, my shoulder blades finding the opposite wall roughly. Gathering myself from the scare, I watch a group of three boys – dressed head to toe in black including face coverings, despite the humid summer weather – turn tail and flee, cackling like hyenas as they go.

But wait, if they are running, I am still the hunter.

“Hey! Wait!” I act before thinking, scuffling back to my feet to take off after them. My camera is a bulky thing though, and it weighs me down. I pursue them down the hallway to the best of my ability, but these boys are track stars or something. I’m sure they will outrun me quickly, until I notice that they are headed towards a dead end. Ahead of them, the floor has given out, leaving a gaping hole between us and the other half of the building’s floor. So, unless they plan on jumping over that five foot gap…

Before I can even finish the consideration, they’re doing just that. Each of them launch over the gap, one after another with ease, landing on practiced rolls to avoid the full impact onto their legs. I grind myself to a halt just before the gap, realizing I am absolutely not capable of following. 

I’m panting from the pursuit, and the two first boys are already gone, around a corner to escape down a separate set of stairs. 

The third boy lingers on the other side. Maybe to ensure his friends get away safely, or maybe just to taunt me. The tallest of the three, he leans on a back leg to swing around and face me again, only the five feet of empty space between us. His face covering dawns a fanged, grinning mouth, resembling a Japanese-style Oni demon mask, and I can’t help but assume by the squint of his eyes that it’s hiding an equally as wide, mocking smile.

When I raise my camera to focus on the boy, he confirms my suspicion, lifting two fingers to his temple to offer a cheeky salute. I pull my trigger, and the camera shudders snap. 

And the boy disappears.