— Don’t mess around.
— I won’t. — She sat on a stool by the stove, put her palms on her knees so I could see them. — My name is Vera. This is Alina. We are from IK-7. There was such a colony 120 kilometers from here. “The Seven.” Maybe you heard?
I had heard. Women’s correctional colony. Strict regime. The warden there, if memory serves, was some Kurganov. A “solid manager,” as they wrote in the district newspaper.
— I heard, — I grunted. — Go on.
Vera rubbed her face with her palms. In the dim light of the stove, her tattoos seemed almost black. Domes on her fingers. Crosses. A rose on the back of her hand. A serious set. Not some street punk.
— I’ve been in the zone for the sixth year. Article 105, part 1. Murder. — She spoke evenly, without emotion, like reading a protocol. — He beat my daughter. Beat her for two years. And she endured it because she was afraid. And then he hit her when she was pregnant, and she lost the baby. In the seventh month. — She fell silent. I saw the muscles on her cheekbones tense. — I found him and killed him. With a hammer. I don’t regret it. Never regretted it for a single day. My daughter is in another city now. Married to a normal person.
I was silent. I had heard stories like this more than once. Sometimes from suspects, sometimes from victims. The line between them often turned out to be thinner than a hair.
— And the girl? — I nodded at Alina.
— Alina has been in the zone for a year and a half. Article 159. Large-scale fraud. — Vera gave a bitter chuckle. — She worked as an accountant in a firm. The boss stole, then got scared of an audit and pinned everything on her. She didn’t even understand what was happening when they locked her up. 22 years old. No criminal record, no prior detentions. A first-timer.
Young Alina raised her head. Her eyes were inflamed, red. Her lips were cracked.
— I didn’t steal anything, — she whispered. — I just… I just signed papers he gave me. Didn’t even read them.
— They slapped her with a fiver, — Vera continued. — Sent her to us at “The Seven.” And here begins the most interesting part, father. The reason we walked through swamps for three days. — She leaned forward. Her voice became quieter, harder. — The colony warden, Kurganov Igor Semenovich. Heard of him? Respected man, district deputy, connections right up to the capital, controlled everything.
I lowered the carbine slightly. Not because I believed her, but because I was tired of holding it up.
— Don’t rush. In order.
Vera nodded.
— In order, then. Two years ago, Kurganov invented an entertainment for himself. A business, you could say. Called “Safari.” — She pronounced this word as if spitting out something nasty. — Rich people arrive. Even from abroad. They pay crazy money and get entertainment.
— What entertainment?
— Hunting, father. Hunting people.
I was silent. The stove crackled. Uglyum at my feet growled quietly — he sensed my tension.
— Kurganov selects prisoners. Young, healthy, beautiful. Tells them: there’s a chance for parole, for work at a site. They sign papers, they are taken out into the forest, and there… — Vera swallowed. For the first time, I saw her voice tremble. — There they release them into the forest. Give them a half-hour head start, and then hunters come out with guns, dogs, thermal imagers. And the hunt begins.
— You’re lying.
— I wish I were.
— Do you have proof?
— No. Just this. — She pulled up the sleeve of her robe. On her forearm was a fresh scar, jagged, pink. — Bullet. Two months ago. I was in that batch. Seven of us were released. Two returned. The rest… — She waved her hand. — “Accident at the logging site.” That’s what’s written in the documents.
— Not bad. — Vera turned to Alina. — Be patient a little longer. — And back to me: — I survived. Recovered in the infirmary. Thought, that’s it, got lucky. And then they came for Alina.
— For her?
— For her. Only not for a hunt. For her, Kurganov invented another entertainment.
Vera stood up. I raised the carbine.
— Sit!
— Look at her, ranger. Beautiful girl, right? Young. Intelligent. Unspoiled. Kurganov holds such ones in special regard. For special clients. — I shuddered. — Not for hunting, — Vera continued. — For pleasures. There are those who aren’t interested in shooting. They want something else. The girl is brought in, drugged with something and… — She didn’t finish.
— Kurganov has everything covered. The district prosecutor gets a cut, the police, the medical examiner. You won’t find loose ends.
I was silent. My mouth was dry.
— They came for Alina three days ago. At night. I heard them taking her out. I realized — that’s it. She won’t return. And I did what I did.
— What did you do?
Vera grinned. A nasty grin. Wolf-like.
— Knocked out the guard. With improvised means. Took the girl, and we left through a hole in the perimeter. There’s a spot there, I had my eye on it for a long time. Just in case.
— How did you get here?
— Walked. Three days. First along the road, then through the forest, then through the swamps. Alina was barely holding on. Her temperature went up to almost forty. We didn’t know where we were going. Just away from “The Seven.” Found this hut by accident. Thought we’d lie low, and then… And then — I don’t know. — She sat back on the stool. Tired. Heavily. For the first time, I saw her shoulders slump. — That’s the story, father. Now you know. You can call your people.
I stood and thought. The story was wild. Delirious. Hunting people, VIP clients, a corrupt warden. Such things happen in bad books. Not in life. But I was an investigator for 22 years. I’ve seen worse things. And I learned to sense when a person is lying and when they are telling the truth. Vera wasn’t lying.
— Suppose, — I spoke slowly. — Suppose I believe you. Suppose. You are escaped prisoners. A federal search has surely been announced. I am obliged to report. Regulations are regulations.
— Regulations, — repeated Vera. — Law. Order. Familiar words. — She looked up at me. — You look at me and see a criminal, a murderer, tattoos, scars, convict habits. And I look at you and see a man who ended up in this backwoods not because of a good life. Who knows that law and justice are different things.
I flinched. She hit the mark perfectly.
— None of your business.
— Not mine, — she agreed. — But listen, father. If you call the squad now, they will take us. Only not to the isolation ward. Kurganov will take care of that. His people will meet us before we reach the city. “Attempted escape.” “Shot while resisting arrest.” He has everything covered, understand? Everything.
— That doesn’t happen.
— It happens. You know it yourself. It happens…
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