Chapter 3 #2
The corridor outside is dimly lit by security lighting, leaving the center of the aisles shrouded in shadow. The walls are the same rough stone as my cell, weeping with moisture. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the drip of water.
Kazimir moves almost silently, keeping me close to his side.
He’s supporting most of my weight, and I hate how weak I am, how much I have to depend on him.
My legs threaten to give out with every step.
My vision swims. I focus on breathing, on putting one foot in front of the other, on not collapsing.
As we pass the other cells, I force myself not to look inside of them.
I know better. If there are other women in there, other people suffering the way I've suffered, I can't allow myself to think about them right now. I can't save them. I can barely save myself. The guilt of it sits heavily in my chest, but I push it down. Survival first. Guilt later. Maybe there’s some way to convince Kazimir to come back for them later, some way to talk him into it, but I won’t help anyone by getting myself caught or killed now.
If there is a later.
There’s a short staircase leading up to the concrete floor surrounding the cells on all sides above us, with an opening in the center to look down—where guards would patrol if Iosef and his men actually thought there was any danger of us escaping.
They’re hardly an effort to scale, but right now, looking at them makes me want to crumple.
"I can carry you," Kazimir offers quietly.
"No." The word comes out more forcefully than I intended. "I can do it. You need to be ready if there’s someone on the other side of the door."
He shifts next to me, but he doesn’t argue, and I know I’m right. He can’t defend against anyone outside if he’s carrying me in his arms.
I grip the metal railing. It feels cold enough to burn against my palm as I pull myself up the first step. Pain shoots through my legs, my back, my ribs. Everything protests. Everything screams at me to stop.
I take another step.
And another.
Halfway up, my legs give out completely. I feel myself falling backward, and then Kazimir's arms are around me, catching me before I can tumble down the stairs.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "Just a little further."
I want to tell him I don't need his reassurance, that I don't need anything from him. But I don't have the breath for it. So I just nod and let him half-carry me up the rest of the stairs, his arm like iron around my waist, bearing most of my weight.
At the top, he pauses, listening. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, so loud I'm sure it will give us away. But the corridor ahead is silent and empty.
“Quietly,” Kazimir whispers, and we move forward toward the door ahead of us.
My legs are shaking so badly I'm not sure they'll hold me, but I lock my knees and stay upright through sheer force of will.
Kazimir moves slightly ahead, and I see him slide a gun out from inside his parka, his hand tight around the grip of it.
He pauses, reaching up to tug something else out from under the coat.
“Here.” His voice is low enough I can barely hear him. “Put this on.”
It’s a jacket made of a thick, chocolate-colored suede leather, I realize.
It’s not going to protect me completely against the cold here, but it’s better than going out into the snow in nothing but a slip and bare feet.
There’s nothing to be done about the shoes, but I slip the jacket on without arguing.
It’s warm, and it smells like him, I realize with a jolt.
It’s a warm, spicy, peppery scent, and the jacket swims on me, falling below the curve of my ass.
I wrap it around myself tightly, hating a little how good it feels and smells.
There’s a feeling of safety in it that I know isn’t real, but that I briefly cling to anyway.
“Behind me,” Kazimir says, his voice still very quiet. “When we get out, once I take down any guards, go to the left. I’ll take us toward the garage.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
Kazimir pads forward, slowly turning the knob of the door.
He eases it open and looks out through the crack, opening it wider as I follow him out.
I see the guard to the left of the door the second after he does, and by the time I’ve registered the man leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette in the pre-dawn light, Kazimir’s arm is already around his throat, choking him.
With a twist of his arm, the guard’s head snaps to one side, and he sinks to the snow.
Dead, I realize hollowly, and I wonder if I should feel bad about it.
This man never touched me. I’ve never seen him before.
Maybe he didn’t even know what Iosef and the other men were doing to me.
Maybe he had no idea what—who—was in those cells.
Or maybe he did. He’s here, working for them, and that’s enough at this point to make me not care.
Kazimir's hand tightens on my arm as he pulls me forward, against his side, and my eyes water as the cold of the snow against my bare feet registers. There’s a strong wind out, and I’m cold instantly despite the jacket, my feet going numb as we hurry forward.
Kazimir is moving us as fast as he can get me to go, and I grit my teeth against the pain, tears streaming from my eyes as he hugs the wall and moves us forward toward the garage.
We’re nearly there when we hear boots crunching on the snow.
Kazimir pulls me flat against the wall next to him, easing toward the corner as he waits for the footsteps to get closer. We stand there, me shuddering with cold, both of us barely breathing as the footsteps grow closer.
A guard steps just past the corner. He's young, maybe in his early twenties, and he looks half-asleep. He's carrying a flashlight, sweeping it lazily back and forth as he walks. Doing his rounds, probably, checking that everything is secure.
Kazimir moves like a striking snake. The man doesn’t even have a chance to cry out before Kazimir has yanked him backward, snapped his neck, and dropped his body into the snow.
I’m still processing what I’ve seen as he grabs my arm and urges me forward again, through the gap between buildings toward the garage.
My feet don’t hurt any longer, but that’s because they’re numb. I wonder, through the fog of pain, how exactly one gets frostbite. How long do my toes have to be frozen before I lose them?
I don’t know, but I’m very worried I’m going to find out.
It’s better than being locked in there. Anything is.
Kazimir eases us around the side of the garage to a side door. He tries the handle and curses under his breath as he realizes it’s locked. “Stay close to the wall,” he hisses, pulling a packet from his coat pocket—lockpicks, I realize a second later—and gets to work, crouched in front of the door.
I lean against the wall, trying to stay upright and conscious. The adrenaline that's been keeping me going is starting to fade, and exhaustion is rushing in to take its place.
"Almost there," Kazimir mutters, more to himself than to me, I think.
The lock clicks and the door swings open.
The garage is cold and cavernous, filled with expensive vehicles that probably cost more than most people make in a lifetime. I can see my breath fogging heavily in the air. The concrete floor is even colder than the rest of the building, and my feet scream in protest as we cross it.
Kazimir sweeps his gaze across the garage and quickly scoops me into his arms, carrying me straight toward a dark green Land Rover. The car is unlocked, and he opens the passenger’s side door, setting me inside.
The seat is buttery-soft leather, an echo from my old life.
I sink into it, my body screaming with relief at being off my feet.
I watch Kazimir walk toward the driver’s side of the car, but he pauses, quickly taking in the other vehicles.
He glances back at me, then pulls out a long, wicked-looking knife as he moves through the lines of cars, slashing the tires of every one that looks like it could handle snow.
He’s slowing them down, I realize, watching him through the fog of pain and heavy eyelids. Smart.
Kazimir goes to a metal box on one wall, finds a set of keys, and comes back, quickly, then slides into the driver’s seat, starting up the engine.
He fishes in his coat pocket and hands me something—a protein bar, I realize, as he presses the slick plastic packaging into my hand.
He glances around the car as it warms up and reaches into the back, plucking a water bottle from somewhere.
“Eat. Drink,” he says flatly. “It’s going to be a while before we can get you anything else. But slowly. Don't eat too fast or you'll be sick."
I stare at the bottle like it might be a mirage. My hands shake as I unscrew the cap and bring it to my lips.
The first sip is heaven. The second is agony—my throat is so raw that swallowing hurts. But I keep drinking anyway, unable to stop myself. The water is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted.
"Slowly," Kazimir warns again as he puts the car into gear, hitting a button on the roof that I realize must open the garage.
I ignore him. I drink until the bottle is half empty, until my stomach cramps with the sudden influx of liquid. Then I force myself to stop and recap it, saving the rest for when I can handle it.
The garage door begins to rise with a mechanical whir that makes my pulse spike. This is it. This is where we get caught. Someone will hear the door, will come running, will drag me back to that cell—
"Get down," Kazimir says. "Stay down until I tell you otherwise."
I slide lower in the seat, pulling the coat over my head. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Through the fabric, I can hear the garage door finish opening, feel the SUV start to move.