Vera appeared first. Climbed out deftly, cat-like, looked around. Then reached down. It was damp and cold in the cellar, Alina was shaking even harder.
— Gone for long? — asked Vera.
— No. They’ll be back. The senior one noticed tracks.
Vera cursed through her teeth. Briefly, angrily.
— So, until morning, maybe earlier?
— Maybe.
I threw more wood into the stove. Sat Alina closer to the fire, threw my blanket over her shoulders. Old, camel wool, from army times. She nodded gratefully, teeth chattering so hard she couldn’t speak. Vera sat opposite me, on the other side of the stove. Silent, waiting. Understood that it was my turn to speak.
And I sat and thought. It’s a strange feeling when life forces you into a choice you didn’t ask for. You’ve been running from such choices for eleven years. Eleven years hiding in the forest, convincing yourself that this isn’t escape, but wisdom. That a man has a right to peace. That I fought my war, served my time, suffered enough, and now I can just live. Quietly, unnoticed, in harmony with my conscience. But conscience, it turns out, didn’t go anywhere. It hid. Waited for its hour. and waited it out.
I looked at the fire and thought about that grey-haired man with fish eyes. A professional, immediately visible. People like that don’t retreat. People like that dig until the end, until they find what they’re looking for. And if they find it? Vera was right. They won’t leave witnesses. Neither them nor me.
I could still backtrack. Go out to them in the morning, say: “Made a mistake, old fool, they were hiding in the cellar, I didn’t know.” Hand over the women, get my reward, return to my former life. Only here’s the thing. I tried to imagine how I would do it, and I couldn’t. Physically couldn’t. As if something stuck inside, like a bone in the throat.
Kharitonov. Him again, damn him. So many years have passed, and he just won’t let go. Back then I stayed silent, submitted to the system, swallowed my powerlessness, retired. Convinced myself that I couldn’t do anything, that one man against the machine is not even a fight, it’s suicide. And then for 11 years I woke up at night and saw the eyes of that guard. An innocent man I failed to protect.
Now two more sat before me. Also innocent — in their own way, humanly. Vera killed scum who deserved death. Alina wasn’t guilty of anything at all, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if I give them up, they will die. I understood this clearly, without any illusions. Kurganov doesn’t let his victims go, they know too much.
So what, stay silent again? Submit again? Convince myself again that I couldn’t do anything? No, enough.
— Vera, — I said.
She raised her head.
— Listen to me carefully. I’m going to say something, and don’t interrupt. Questions later. You already understood this. But we can’t stay here either. By morning they will return with reinforcements, comb everything around. They have equipment, thermal imagers, people. I have a carbine, a dog, and two half-dead fugitives on my neck. The odds are not in our favor.
— I’m not half-dead, — Vera objected hoarsely.
— You aren’t. But your girl is — yes, look at her.
We both looked at Alina. She leaned against the wall. Breathing heavily, wheezing. Lips dry and cracked. Cheeks burning. Visible even from here.
— How long will she last like this? — I asked.
— I don’t know. A day, two. She needs antibiotics. And warmth, and rest.
— I don’t have antibiotics. Warmth and rest are not foreseen either. — I paused. — But there is another option. About twenty kilometers from here lives a man. An old acquaintance. We are not friends, to put it mildly. But he has a first aid kit and connections. If we can reach an agreement, he might help.
— And if we don’t agree?
— Then it will be bad. But we have no choice. We can’t stay here. And the girl won’t make it to a safe place without medicine.
Vera looked at me for a long time. Then asked:
— Why are you doing this?
I shrugged.
— I don’t know. Maybe my conscience woke up. Maybe I’m just tired of standing aside.
— They’ll kill you because of us. Do you understand?
— I understand. But better that than not being able to look in the mirror for the rest of my life.
She nodded. Slowly, seriously.
— I won’t forget you, ranger. However this ends, I won’t forget.
— Nikolai, — I said. — Nikolai Petrovich. Let’s keep it human.
— Nikolai Petrovich… — She smiled slightly. The first time in all this while. — And I am Vera Sergeyevna. Pleased to meet you.
We decided to leave in an hour, when Alina warmed up a bit. Meanwhile, I gathered everything necessary. Cartridges, a knife, a flashlight, rope, food supply for a couple of days. Not much, but extra weight is the enemy right now. We’ll have to walk fast. Off-road, in the dark.
I chose the path through the Rotten Marshes. The ones no one in their right mind would poke their nose into. Dangerous, yes. But they won’t look there either. They’ll decide we went the other way, towards habitation.
Uglyum sat by the door and watched me. He understood, smart head, that we were leaving for a long time. Maybe forever.
— Sorry, brother, — I told him. — That’s how it turned out.
He wagged his tail, saying, yeah okay, master. Where you go, I go.
Alina had come to her senses a bit by this time. Opened her eyes, managed to drink hot tea with lingonberry leaf. I added honey to it. Unknown when we’d get to eat properly again.
— Thank you, — she whispered, — for everything.
— Thank me later, if we make it out.
She looked at me like a fawn before a wolf.
— Will we make it out? — she asked. — Really?
I never knew how to lie, but it wasn’t the time to tell the truth either.
— We’ll try, — I said. — Now listen to me. We’ll go through the swamp at night. Walking will be hard, but you must endure, keep up, make no noise, do what I say. Can you handle it?
She nodded.
— I can handle it.
We left at midnight. The moon hung low, yellow, waning. Gave little light, but enough not to break our legs. We walked in single file. Me in front, Vera behind me with Alina. Uglyum brought up the rear. He always walks like that. Covers the rear.
The forest at night is a special world. Sounds differ, smells differ. By day the forest lives openly, for show, but at night it hides, lurks. Every rustle seems loud, every shadow — a threat.
The first hour we walked on firm ground along the stream. Alina held on. With her last strength, but held on. Vera supported her by the elbow, spoke quietly, encouraged her. I respected this woman more and more. Strong. Real.
Then the swamp began. Rotten Marshes. A disastrous place. All locals know this. Quagmire, deceptive moss, windows of black water under a layer of duckweed. One wrong step — and it sucks you in. Not immediately. Slowly but surely. You flounder, scream — only get stuck deeper. Many people vanished here over the centuries. Locals don’t poke their noses here, poachers even less so. But I did. Long ago, in the early years. Studied the paths, marked them with stakes. Not all, of course, the swamp is huge, but enough to pass.
— Step in step, — I told the women. — Not a step to the side, clear?
They nodded…
Comments are closed.