Chapter 7 Svetlana #2
It sounds like there are three of them… maybe four? I can't tell exactly. I peer around the tree trunk, and I can see them. They’re maybe a hundred feet from me; three men in dark winter gear, rifles slung over their shoulders, moving through the trees in a loose formation.
They’re searching for me.
"—probably dead already—" one of them says, and the others laugh.
"That pretty little thing? Shame. I would've liked a turn. Maybe we would have gotten one if we brought her back."
“I heard she screamed really pretty when Iosef enjoyed her the first time.”
There’s more laughter, the back-slapping chuckles of men trading jokes. The rage that floods through me is so intense it's almost blinding. My vision narrows, my breath coming faster. I can feel my pulse in my temples, in my wrists, everywhere.
They're laughing about what was done to me. Like it was entertainment. Like I was nothing. Their only disappointment is that they won’t get to do it, too.
My hands stop shaking.
I rise slowly, stepping out from behind the tree. The gun comes up, and I'm not thinking about technique or aim or anything other than how badly I want to see their blood on the snow, how much I want to see a flash of fear in their eyes before they go down.
I want them to stop fucking laughing.
"Hey!"
My voice cracks through the cold air like a whip. All three men spin toward me, their eyes going wide with shock, and for a moment, nobody moves.
Then one of them—the one who made the comment about wanting a turn—grins. "Well, well. Look what we have here."
The man next to him unslings his rifle from his back. “Looks like she saved us the trouble of tracking her down—”
Before I can think twice, I pull the trigger.
And nothing happens.
What the fuck? I shake my head, trying to clear it. Safety. There's a safety. Where's the fucking safety? My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest.
"Stupid bitch doesn't even know how to use a gun," the first one says, and they all start laughing again.
That sound—that fucking sound—
My thumb finds a switch on the side of the gun. I flick it and pull the trigger again, aiming toward the middle of where they are.
The recoil nearly knocks me on my ass, and the shot goes wide, bark exploding from a tree to the left of the men. But it wipes the smiles off their faces.
"Get her!" the one on the far left shouts, and then they’re moving, spreading out to circle around me. I fire again, and again, not knowing if I’m hitting anything. I just keep pulling the trigger, the gun bucking in my hands, the sound deafening.
One of them goes down—I don't know if I hit him or if he's taking cover. The other two are closing in, moving fast, using the trees for cover.
I’m not going to take any of them down, I realize, with a feeling that approaches despair. I think I’m out of bullets… or close. I have to get out of here before they catch me.
I turn and run, bolting through the trees.
A branch hits me in the face, opening up the wound on my mouth again.
I nearly trip and fall, wrenching my ankle, but I keep running through the snow, the drifts threatening to drag me down with every step.
Behind me, I hear shouting, and I know they’re going to catch me.
They're faster than me. Stronger. Not injured.
A hand grabs the back of my jacket.
I scream, spinning, and slam the gun into whoever's behind me. It connects with something—face, shoulder, I don't know—and there's a grunt of pain. The grip loosens.
I wrench free and keep running, but my feet tangle in something, and I feel myself falling before I hit the ground hard. The impact drives the air from my lungs, and the gun flies from my hand, disappearing into the snow.
No. No, no, no—
I scramble toward the drift on my hands and knees, searching frantically, when a boot catches me in the ribs, hard.
Pain explodes through my side. I curl up instinctively, gasping.
"Got her!" The voice above me is triumphant. "She's here!"
Hands grab me, hauling me up. I fight, clawing at the face in front of me, his eyes, anything I can reach. My nails rake across skin, and he swears, but his grip doesn't loosen this time. They were expecting a fight.
"Fucking bitch—" He backhands me across the face, and stars explode across my vision. My ears ring, and I taste blood. But I don't stop fighting, clawing and kicking and biting every time any part of one of them comes near me. I can't stop.
If I stop, I'll go back in that basement. Back in the dark. Back to being nothing.
I drive my knee up, aiming for the groin of the man holding me. He twists, and I hit his thigh instead, but it's enough to make him stagger.
"Hold her still!" Another voice, another set of hands grabbing my arms. There are two of them now, pinning me against a tree. I thrash, kicking, biting. My teeth find flesh, and I bite down hard. Someone screams.
"Crazy bitch!"
A fist slams into my stomach, and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I can't breathe. Can't—
"Iosef's going to be real happy to see you again," one of them says, his face close to mine. His breath is hot and smells of tobacco. "Maybe he'll let us have some fun first. What do you think, boys?"
The others laugh. That sound. That fucking sound. It makes my teeth grind together, makes me see red. I don’t care what they do. I just want them to hurt before it’s all over.
He leans in as if he’s going to kiss me, and I spit blood in his face.
The man jerks back and wipes it away slowly, his expression darkening. "You're going to regret that,” he hisses, his jaw clenching as his hand closes around my throat.
I can't breathe. Can't scream. The world is starting to go gray at the edges. I feel him lean into me, and there’s something hard against my thigh. I wonder if he’s going to fuck me while he chokes me to death, then tell Iosef they found my body out in the woods. If this is how I’m going to die.
At least it’s not in that compound, I think to myself as my thoughts blur. At least it was out here, fighting. At least I fought. At least I—
The gunshot is so loud it shocks me out of my thoughts, my ears ringing as the hands around my throat go slack. The man's eyes go wide, confused, and then he falls forward, collapsing against me as he slides down the tree, dead weight against my body.
There’s so much blood. It's hot against my skin, soaking through my clothes—I scream, shoving at him, trying to get the body away from me as I slip in the snow and my hands slip in the blood. I can't keep my footing. Can't—
I feel a pair of strong hands lock around my arms, pulling me free. Instinctively, I lash out, clawing and kicking at whoever has grabbed me now. I scream, snapping my teeth as I wrench in the hands that—
"Svetlana! It's me!"
Kazimir.
His voice cuts through the panic.
I stop fighting, gasping, and shaking all over. There's blood all over me. I can’t stop shaking.
"Are you hurt?" His hands touch my face, my shoulders, checking for injuries, and I’m too shocked to pull away. "Svetlana, look at me. Are you hurt?" He leans in, his pale eyes wide with concern.
I can't answer. Can't form words. I feel like I’ve locked up completely, everything that kept me going up until this point freezing inside of me.
"We need to move." His voice is hard now, and there’s a distinct edge of anger to it. "The others heard those shots. They're coming."
"I can't—I can't—" I’m trembling so hard my teeth are chattering. I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams.
"Move or die. Your choice."
The harshness of it snaps something back into place. I look at him, but there’s nothing I can read in his expression; his face is a mask of ice. Weakly, I nod, and he hauls me forward, bringing me with him as he starts to run back the way I came.
Back toward the safe house.
My legs are shaking so badly that I can barely stay upright. Kazimir has one arm around my waist, half-carrying me, and it feels almost familiar now.
I wish it didn’t.
Behind us, I hear shouting, crashing through the underbrush. They're coming, more men… how many? I can’t tell. I keep facing forward, trying not to fall, terrified that if I do, Kazimir will leave me this time. He’s furious with me, I feel sure of it.
"There!" someone yells. "I see them!"
A gunshot cracks through the air, and bark explodes from a tree inches from my head. Kazimir returns fire without breaking stride, and I hear a scream.
We keep running.
He pulls me left, then right, changing direction constantly. I've lost all sense of where we are. There's only the burning in my lungs, the agony in my feet, the terror that the next bullet will find me.
There’s another shot. This one is closer. Kazimir shoves me down behind a fallen log, covering my body with his. I hear more shots, the sound echoing through the trees.
He fires back in quick succession, and I hear someone cry out.
Then silence.
We wait, pressed against the frozen ground, both of us breathing hard.
"Stay here," Kazimir whispers against my ear. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."
"Where are you—"
"Stay. Here." His voice is forceful, angry again, and then he’s up and on his feet, gone before I can argue and melting into the trees like a ghost.
I huddle behind the log, shaking violently, from cold or fear or adrenaline or shock, I don't know. Probably all of them, I think dimly.
The blood on my clothes is starting to freeze, stiff and crackling. I close my eyes and try not to think about the man's face as he died. The way his eyes went empty, right in front of mine. How good it felt to know that he was never going to laugh at anything, ever again.
He was going to kill me. They were all going to kill me, or worse. So why do I feel like I'm going to be sick?
I wait, shivering, counting the minutes as they pass, until I’m too cold to keep track any longer. I feel like I’m losing track of time altogether. I can’t tell if it’s been five minutes or twenty. Every second feels like an eternity out here.
The forest is silent except for the wind through the branches and the occasional crack of ice-laden wood. I don’t hear any gunshots or voices. I don’t know where Kazimir is, where he went, or why he’s not back yet.
My fingers are going numb. I flex them, trying to keep the blood flowing, but it's getting harder. The cold is seeping through my clothes, through my skin, into my bones.
I press myself tighter against the log, trying to make myself smaller. Invisible.
More minutes pass, and I hear a male voice. I tense, hoping it’s Kazimir, but then I hear another.
Thick Russian accents. None of them are Kazimir, I feel sure of that. My heart starts to race again, and fear rushes through me, making my hands shake for reasons other than the cold.
"—Saw them come this way—"
"—Split up. Cover more ground—"
"—Can't have gone far. Not with the woman injured—"
They're close now, I realize. So close I can hear their boots crunching through the snow.
I hold my breath. My lungs start to burn, but I don't dare exhale. If they hear me, if they see me—
A boot appears on the other side of the log. Less than six inches from my face. I can see the tread pattern. The way the snow clings to the leather. The frayed lace on the left side. I feel like I’m going to cry, but I can’t let myself. If I cry, they’ll hear me.
I press a gloved hand over my mouth, muffling any sound. Any breath.
"Anything?" Another voice, farther away.
"Nothing yet. Keep looking."
The boot moves. One step. Another. They're walking past me. My vision starts to tunnel. I need to breathe. I need to—
I let out the breath as slowly as I can, a thin stream of air that I pray doesn't make a sound. Then I inhale, just as carefully.
"—probably froze to death by now anyway—"
"Iosef wants proof. We can’t go back without a body."
Their voices are fading. Moving away. I wait. Count to one hundred. Then two hundred, my heart still beating so hard it hurts, until the forest falls silent again.
Where is Kazimir?
The question loops through my mind, growing more frantic with each repetition. What if they got him? What if he's lying somewhere in the snow, bleeding out? What if he's dead and I'm alone out here?
I can't stay here. If they circleback, they'll find me. And if Kazimir is hurt, or dead—
I need to move. I ran away in order to get out of here on my own, somehow, and I can still do that. If I can get out of this forest, if I can get to a road…
Maybe I can flag down a car. Maybe someone will help me. I can do this, if I can just…
I push myself up slowly, every muscle screaming in protest. My feet are in agony when I put weight on them, the brief respite of sitting makes the pain worse when I stand.
I look around, trying to orient myself, and it’s completely hopeless.
I don’t have any sense of how to navigate, and the trees all look the same.
The ground is a uniform white, our tracks already filling in with fresh powder as a lazy snow starts up again.
I have no idea which direction we came from. But I can’t stay here.
So I pick a direction and start moving.