11. BRAXTON
Chapter eleven
W ith my boots and socks dangling from one hand, my damp clothes in the other, I rushed inside after Daria. I tossed my things on the table and started to dress. Hopping on one foot, I struggled to pull up the wet fabric of my jeans.
I hated that we’d been careless—too caught up in the moment. The helicopter crew must have seen our gear lying out in the sun like a beacon. If so, they would be sending out ground troops in no time.
Daria was already in action mode, yanking on her pants and fastening them in one swift movement. She muttered curses under her breath in Russian, shaking her head as she pulled on her tank top, forgoing the bra. Before I could even get my jeans past my hips, her fatigues shirt was already on and tucked in.
“Shit,” I huffed, finally getting my jeans up and fastened. I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my shirt and buttoned the front while I watched Daria move like the trained professional she was.
Grabbing her tactical belt from the counter, she double-checked that the Glock was securely holstered. Her combat knife disappeared into one of her pants pockets, and she strapped the belt around her waist with military precision.
“We’ve got to gather up what we can,” she said. “I’ll find something to store water in. You hunt for a pack or bag we can use. We’re leaving the UAZ here.” She leaned over and rolled each pant leg up to her knees. “It’s too easy to spot and too loud. The river is our best bet for now. It’ll help mask our tracks, but it won’t stop them if they’re determined.”
I gave her a quick nod and followed her lead, rolling up my jeans. Next, I tied my boot laces together and hooked them around my neck to free up my hands.
The tension between us was palpable after the intimate connection we’d just shared—but we didn’t have time to hash out our complicated feelings. Not now. Survival came first. Everything else would have to wait. Right now, I trusted Daria’s instincts and was more than happy to follow her orders. She had kept us safe thus far.
I hurried through the house, scanning each room for anything useful. We needed to carry the few provisions we’d found, and with time running out, I wasn’t going to be picky. In the corner of a bedroom closet, I found an old rucksack. It was fraying at the edges but was solid enough. I took it, along with a blanket and a ball of twine I noticed sitting on the top shelf. These could come in handy, especially if we needed to set up some kind of shelter.
In the bathroom, I found a half-empty first aid kit tucked behind some dusty towels. It contained basic supplies— bandages, antiseptic, painkillers. Better than nothing. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Damn. I looked like hell—bruised face, bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them, and a scruffy beard. The cut over my eye probably needed a couple of stitches. But there wasn’t time to dwell on that now. I turned away, yanking down the plastic shower curtain with a sharp tug. It might come in handy—maybe for cover or to keep the ground dry under us when we stopped to rest.
Before moving on from the bathroom, I grabbed a towel and a few odds and ends I spotted in a drawer—small stuff that wouldn’t take up much room in the pack—and tossed them in. Then I slung the pack over my shoulder and headed for the kitchen. The flint and steel we’d used to start the fire earlier still sat near the stove. I stuffed them into my pocket, pausing for a second to glance around the room. Nothing else here, so I moved on.
Daria stood by the counter, holding a couple of plastic jugs. On the table, she’d laid out several MREs along with the other food we’d found.
I opened the front pocket of the rucksack and packed my few belongings—phone, wallet, passport, and the papers I’d left on the table. Then I tucked the Makarov into the back of my waistband, its cool steel pressing against my spine.
“Don’t turn that phone on,” Daria warned. “Not until we’re deep inside Ukrainian territory. Both sides can track even the slightest signal, and they’ll assume we’re enemy combatants.”
I nodded and zipped up the front pocket of the pack. I hadn’t planned on turning it on anytime soon, but her warning hit home. We could afford to take no risks. Still, the thought of contacting Nik lingered at the back of my mind. He had connections in Russia and across the world. He’d know how to get us out of this nightmare. Maybe he could even help Daria find a way out of her situation.
Daria filled one of the jugs with water from the sink. “Get a good drink while you can. It’s going to be a long way before we’re safely across the Ukrainian border.” She handed me a glass. I filled it and drank fast, the cool water soothing my dry throat. She filled a second glass for herself, downed it in a few gulps, and then screwed the lid onto the first jug before filling the next one. She slipped it into the rucksack along with the MREs, oats, jam, honey, and a cooking pot.
“We need to move,” she said, handing me the pack. Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I glimpsed how much responsibility she carried and how much danger we were still in.
I slung the pack over my shoulders and adjusted the straps. It wasn’t heavy, but it would be cumbersome if I needed to react quickly to a threat.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Let’s go,” she replied, flying out the back door while she draped her boots around her neck by the laces.
Soldiers would surely be here soon. Time was against us, and we both knew it.
We jogged down to the riverbank and waded in, knee-deep. Daria moved ahead of me, swift and silent, barely disturbing the terrain—like she’d been doing this her whole life. Maybe she had. I focused on keeping up, the rucksack bouncing uncomfortably on my back with each step.
The river shimmered under the late morning sun, deceptively calm in some places where the current ran slower. I was grateful for the cover it provided us. We splashed through the shallows along the bank, not leaving any footprints in the mud. Staying beneath the overhanging trees would also help keep us hidden from aerial view. We needed every advantage we could get.
At first, the going was manageable. The river meandered gently, flanked by rocky embankments and low brush that offered decent footing. But after a few miles, the terrain changed. The river narrowed, the current surging faster, white-capped rapids forming in sections. Mossy rocks made the footing treacherous, and I stumbled, slipping on a particularly slick one. I barely managed to catch myself with my hand and avoid falling face-first into the water.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, shaking off the sting of the cold splash.
Daria glanced back, her eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk tugged at her lips. “You’ll be fine,” she said, turning away again. “We’ll cross soon and head southwest. Just keep moving.”
Easy for her to say. The water was unpredictable, rushing around my legs with surprising force. My feet ached, and my legs burned from the constant battle to stay upright on the uneven stones.
After what felt like an eternity, Daria stopped abruptly and pointed to something up ahead. A large tree had fallen, its thick trunk spanning the entire width of the river. It wasn’t much of a bridge, but it was better than attempting to trudge through rapids that could knock us off our feet—or worse.
“Come on, Mr. Boy Scout, let’s get this done. I don’t know about you, but I’m past ready to put my boots on.”
Daria went first, moving onto the fallen tree with an ease that I envied. She crouched slightly, holding her arms out for balance, and stepped lightly along the trunk. Halfway across, she paused, glancing over her shoulder to motion for me to follow.
“No pressure,” I muttered under my breath. I wiped the sweat off my brow with my shirtsleeve, eyeing the tree warily. It was wide enough to walk across, but the surface looked uneven—knots of wood, patches of moss, and wet bark making it far from stable.
I took a deep breath and stepped onto the trunk. My feet slipped on the bark, the dampness making every step treacherous. I bent my knees and focused on keeping my balance, placing one foot carefully in front of the other.
Halfway across, I stumbled. My foot shot out from under me, and my arms flailed. I managed to catch myself before going over, clutching the rough bark with my fingers.
Daria’s sharp gasp cut through the rush of the rapids. “Keep moving!” she barked. “Don’t look down.”
I gritted my teeth, stood up, and pressed on, step by step, until finally, I jumped down, hitting solid ground on the other side.
Daria stood waiting nearby, arms crossed. “See? You had nothing to worry about,” she said, already turning to lead the way again.
I huffed a breath and shook my head. “Yeah, yeah.”
We moved a few yards away from the river and found a small clearing in which to rest. The sun beat down mercilessly, but at least it was drying our clothes and feet. I dropped the pack and stretched my legs out. As soon as I sat still, a dull ache settled into my muscles from the hours of wading and balancing on uneven rocks.
Daria handed me a jug of water from the pack. I took a few big gulps, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat, and handed it back. After she’d taken a large drink, she pulled out two MREs and tossed one my way. The packaging was stamped with Russian Cyrillic. I raised an eyebrow, holding it up like I was inspecting hazardous material.
“You trust these?” I asked, tearing it open cautiously.
“About as much as I trust the people who made them,” she said dryly, opening hers without hesitation.
I snorted and shook my head, glancing down at the mysterious contents. We ate in silence for a while, each bite confirming a universal truth—MREs were god-awful. Whatever mine was supposed to be—some kind of stew, I was guessing—it had a mushy, unidentifiable texture, and I struggled to swallow it down.
“I think this might actually kill us,” I muttered with a grimace, choking down another bite.
Daria chuckled softly, her lips quirking into a rare smile. “Death by rations. A fitting end.”
I frowned and dug around in the package. “At least this one has a chocolate bar and a package of dried fruit.”
“There are some water-purifying tablets and mints too. Those will come in handy over the next couple of days.”
“So how far do we need to walk before we hit the border or get to wherever it is you’re planning for us to go?” I asked. “I have no idea where we are.”
Daria tilted her head, thinking. “It was about one hundred sixty kilometers from the abandoned house in Chernihiv to the prison, heading east-northeast along unmarked backroads. But of course, it wasn’t a direct route like the one we’re taking. We’re going directly south to an area of the border where the terrain and another river make passage and monitoring difficult. About seventy-five kilometers from the prison.”
I whistled. “Then we have to go west. Who knows how far we’ll have to go before reaching an actual safe area once on the other side?”
“Yes, and there aren’t any roads along our route that I can remember seeing on the map I studied before we left. We’ve got a lot of terrain to cover too. That’s going to be pretty tough, but it’s doable. I’ve used this crossing once before but haven’t done it approaching from this direction. So I can’t give you exact figures or anything. I will tell you this though: at the border there are some trenches dug just across the river, but I don’t think they’re used by troops, because the water table is high in the area, and they probably flood every time it rains. They’re more of a deterrent for vehicles than anything else. They will be great for us to hide in overnight,” she said.
Mulling it over and doing some mental math, I figured it would take us the rest of today and all of tomorrow just to make it to the border. “Hmm, so even walking at a good pace, the best we can do is reach that area tomorrow night, right?” I asked.
She nodded. “If we’re lucky. We have to keep a close eye on possible Russian sleeper agents and special forces working clandestinely, because they know this is an easier area to breach in small groups. And of course, there may be the random booby trap or wild animal that we run into.”
“Yeah, it’d be a lot better if I wasn’t already dog-tired. Nothing a good dose of running for your life doesn’t cure.” I grunted, dreading the thought of what lay ahead, then wolfed down the chocolate bar and stuffed the bag of dried fruit in my pocket.
Daria finished her meal quickly, brushing the crumbs off her pants before crouching to pull on her socks. I did the same, rolling down my pant legs and sliding my feet into my dry, blessedly clean socks. After walking barefoot through the river for so long, having a solid pair of boots on my feet was a welcome relief. Daria laced hers up and rotated her ankles, releasing a sigh of satisfaction.
“These feel like heaven,” I muttered, tugging my laces tight.
She smirked, standing and giving her boots a firm stomp to settle them.
While Daria scanned the area one last time, I stood and threw the pack on, adjusting it on my shoulders and making sure the straps were snug. After a short while, she seemed satisfied and nodded toward the fields ahead of us. “Time to move.”
“Right behind you,” I replied, ready for the long trek ahead.
She ratcheted up our pace to a full-blown run, and we moved together in silence, pushing through the fields. Wheat and corn stretched endlessly ahead of us, the tall stalks swaying gently in the breeze, brushing and thrashing against our legs. The fields looked a little off—disheveled in some places, with sections where plants grew thick and tall only to thin out abruptly. It wasn’t exactly the neat, straight rows I’d always pictured when thinking of farmland.
I frowned, dodging a patch of tall grass in my path. “So, what’s up with these fields? Are farmers able to work this close to the border?” I asked, breathing heavily from the exertion.
Daria glanced over her shoulder, her breath steady despite the grueling pace. “The farmers are still working these fields, just not like before the war,” she explained. “Some crops were left to fend for themselves early on, when the fighting moved closer. Many farmers had to scale back or leave. But they’ve come back as much as they can. The crops keep growing, even if the fields aren’t tended.”
I nodded. Even here, where there were no battles raging, life had been disrupted. Farmers were pushing through, planting, harvesting, surviving. It wasn’t exactly business as usual, but they were holding on. Everything here seemed caught in the same limbo—forced to keep moving forward but off-kilter from the chaos.
“Gives us good cover,” I said, eyeing the tall stalks that surrounded us.
“Exactly. Better than open ground,” she agreed.
The tall plants scratched the crap out of our arms and legs, but we didn’t have the luxury to care.
The air was thick—not just with humidity but with the fear of being hunted. Every odd noise stirred the corn around us and made my pulse spike. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder every ten seconds, hoping that Daria would pick up any threat long before I did.
She moved like a shadow, her footsteps barely disturbing the earth beneath her as she kept up a punishing pace. I, on the other hand, was struggling to match her stealth and sounded more like a lumbering cow. The damp ground softened some of the noise, but I couldn’t shake the worry that my next step would give us away and Russian soldiers would swarm us. I adjusted the pack on my back and focused on stepping where Daria stepped and keeping my head down.
She did stop every now and then, to pull a small device from her belt. It had a GPS that gave her our coordinates. Each time she did this, her eyes would dart to the horizon and scan the landscape. She was remaining vigilant, listening for any danger before it even got close. I admired her focus, the way she instinctively mapped out the safest route. The only thing keeping me from losing it was the fact that she hadn’t shown any sign of panic.
We kept traveling over the rough terrain as the hot sun moved across the sky, my lungs burning from the constant exertion, sweat trickling down my back. After what felt like hours, we slowed from a full run to a steady jog and eventually down to a brisk walk. My mind kept racing with thoughts of what might happen if they found us. What would I do if Daria got hurt—or worse?
I shook the thought off and focused on each step, counting them in my head like a mantra.
Suddenly, Daria raised a hand and froze. I stopped dead in my tracks. She crouched low, listening intently. The wind shifted, bringing the faint rustle of distant leaves. Nothing else. She exhaled through her nose, then slowly rose to her full height.
“I guess it was nothing,” she muttered. She checked the GPS again and returned it to her belt.
We pressed on, the miles stretching endlessly before us. My body ached from the constant movement, but I kept my mouth shut. If she could handle this without complaint, so could I. Neither of us attempted conversation. The silence between us was an invisible wall we were unwilling to break down—not yet. I wondered if she was thinking about the sex we’d had, and if I’d ever see her let down her guard like that again. The sheer bliss on her face when she’d come apart in my arms was burned into my mind.
Finally, as the afternoon sun began its descent and the oppressive heat became harder to ignore, we broke through the edge of a cornfield. Just beyond it, stood several plum trees tantalizing us with their branches full of dark, ripe fruit. Daria slowed and came to a stop under one of them. I was grateful; the exhaustion was starting to become difficult to ignore.
“We’ll rest here,” she said quietly. She looked ready for a break too.
I didn’t argue. The sweat clinging to my skin wasn’t doing much to cool me down, and the sight of the plums was a godsend. I followed her lead as she plucked one from a low-hanging branch, wiped it on her sleeve, and took a bite. A subtle sigh of contentment escaped her lips as the sweet juice hit her tongue.
I grabbed a plum for myself and bit into it. The sweetness exploded across my taste buds. God, these were so good. We picked a couple more and ate in silence for a few minutes, and my anxiety was momentarily softened by the simplicity of the moment.
Daria stood near me, her head tilted back slightly as she stared up at the sky through the leaves. A drop of juice rolled down her chin. Without thinking, I reached over and gently wiped it away with my thumb. Her gaze snapped to mine, her lips parting slightly.
I leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t. When our lips met, it was soft and tentative at first—just a brush. Then she leaned into me, her mouth warm and inviting as the kiss deepened. For a moment, all the chaos around us vanished, replaced by the taste of plums and the quiet hum of the breeze through the trees.
But just as quickly, she pulled away, taking a step back.
“We can’t do this.” She wiped at her mouth. “We can’t afford to be distracted by anything personal. What happened back at that farmhouse was a big mistake—giving away our location and the direction we traveled in. Honestly, I can’t believe they haven’t found us or sent another helicopter. Maybe we got lucky, and they didn’t see our stuff because they were incompetent. Who knows? But I’m not going to let my guard down again.”
I didn’t respond right away, waiting for her to say what else she was thinking.
“The sex,” she said, her eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression, “it was…great. More than great. But it was just two strangers finding solace in a stressful moment. Life-and-death situations do that to people.” She paused, frowning a little before continuing. “It can’t happen again. Right now, our only focus has to be getting across the border and into safe hands. After that, we go our separate ways.”
“Separate ways?” I repeated, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Yes. You have your life. I have mine,” she said. “We’re from two completely different worlds. Now that my cover is blown, there’s a huge target on my back. I’ll be on the run, and anyone near me will be in the FSB’s sights too. My job is done as soon as you’re safe.”
She shifted on her feet, her gaze softening just a fraction. “What happened between us—it’s just a fond memory now. Two souls passing by each other on their life’s journey. Nothing more.”
I clenched my jaw but didn’t argue. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that I wasn’t ready to walk away from her. But now wasn’t the time. Optimism had its place, and this wasn’t it. She had enough to worry about without me complicating things any worse than I already had. Besides, I wasn’t about to drop the bombshell about Nik and the kind of help he could offer—how I was practically related to a Russian mafia prince with a reach that extended far beyond what most people could imagine.
I swallowed my words and nodded instead. “Right. Let’s focus on finding a place to hunker down for the night.”
For a moment, she stared at me as if she didn’t quite believe I was letting it go that easily. I wasn’t, but there were battles worth fighting, and this wasn’t one of them. I searched my mind for something to steer the conversation away from this dangerous territory.
Finally, I broke the silence. “How do you know this area so well?”
Daria stilled for a moment, her gaze narrowing as if she was debating how much to tell me. She wiped her hands on her pants and glanced off toward the tree line in the distance. “I had to learn,” she said eventually. “My work required…familiarity with routes like this.”
“Work?” I prompted gently.
She gave me a look that was half-warning, half-placating. But instead of shutting me down completely, she sighed and pulled down on one of the branches of the tree. “Being a double agent isn’t just about passing information. It’s about knowing where to go, how to get people and certain hardware across borders without being seen. Smugglers, intelligence networks—we all use similar paths.”
I nodded slowly, processing her words. It made sense. Of course someone like her would know all the weak points in the system. Still, hearing her talk about it brought home just how deeply embedded she was in this war. She not only had to be good at what she did—she had to be a master of survival, always thinking ten steps ahead.
“You ever think you’ll stop and have a normal life?” I asked quietly.
Her eyes hardened, and for a second, I regretted asking, but finally she said, “I gave up on anything normal the day my mother died. I don’t know anything different…and now that my cover’s blown, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.”
There was no bitterness in her tone; it was just a cold statement of fact. I nodded again, letting the silence settle between us once more.
Daria pushed off the tree and grabbed a few plums, tucking them into the pack on my back. “We’ve had enough of a break. Let’s go.”
I finished the last bite and followed her, the taste of the fruit lingering as we moved into the forest. Though our break had been short, it had given me enough energy to keep pushing forward. And I’d learned a little bit more about this captivating woman. Daria was a puzzle I couldn’t solve, but I wasn’t done trying. Not yet.