“Understood. But I have conditions.” Ivashin gives a short laugh.
“Conditions? You’re in no position for that, inmate.” “I want my rifle. And a full load of ammunition.”
“They have a submachine gun. Your men with pistols won’t do much if those two dig in. You need a sniper.”
Ivashin thinks for a second. “Fair point. Fine. You get ten rounds. But that rifle points only at the shack. Swing it toward me and you take a bullet in the back of the head.”
Katya nods and leaves. Her plan is in motion. Tomorrow at noon, three forces will meet at the old shack.
The greedy camp chief and his handpicked guards. Rat’s gang, who think they’re heading for freedom. And the two armed escapees. In the middle of it all—Katya, the sniper.
The next morning begins in a hard blizzard. The sky is packed with gray cloud, and the wind screams around the barracks. Perfect weather to disappear. Or die.
Katya signs for the rifle and two clips of ammunition. She slips them into the deep pockets of her coat, feeling the cold weight of metal. Ivashin and three guards are waiting at the gate.
They’re in white camouflage smocks, armed with submachine guns and service pistols. But Katya’s careful plan falls apart immediately. The moment the gate cracks open, chaos erupts.
A logging truck comes roaring around the corner of a barracks. One of Rat’s women is driving. The truck slams straight into the gate, knocking down the sentry.
The siren starts screaming. Shots ring out. Total confusion.
Rat and her gang—seven women or so—burst from cover with shivs, axes, and one real pistol. Where they got it is anybody’s guess. Bribery, theft, maybe both.
But they don’t run for the truck. They run straight at Katya. “Stop!” Ivashin shouts, raising his weapon.
He never gets the shot off. A brick drops from the roof of the service block and hits him square in the head.
Another of Rat’s women. Ivashin goes down hard, unconscious. The guards open wild fire, but the women are already on them in close quarters.
Rat grabs Katya by the coat and jams a knife to her throat. “Move!” she screams, spitting in her face. “Take us to the shack or I cut you open right here!”
Katya sees the madness in her eyes. Sees the guards struggling with the women. Sees blood on the snow.
The quiet ambush plan is dead. This is now a dirty breakout. “To the woods!” Katya shouts. “Follow me!”
She runs, dragging Rat and the rest with her. They head for the gap in the fence the truck smashed open. The tower gun is silent.
Whoever was up there has already been dealt with. Eight women vanish into the trees. Behind them: sirens, dogs, and men yelling.
They run hard. One hour. Then two. Through deep snow, sinking to the waist.
Breath burning. Lungs on fire. Katya leads, breaking trail. She managed to grab skis at the gate.
The others stumble behind her, exhausted. Rat stays right on her heels. One hand never leaves the pocket holding the locket.
“How much farther?” Rat rasps. “Five miles,” Katya says over her shoulder. “There are weapons and skis at the shack. They’ll meet us there.”
“You’d better be right, sniper. If it’s a setup, you die first.” They reach the hollow as the blizzard begins to ease. The wind drops, and the woods go still.
Up ahead, on a snowy rise, stands the crooked roof of the old shack. Smoke rises from the chimney. “We’re here,” Katya says, stopping.
“They’re inside.” Rat pulls out the stolen pistol. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“Your friends from the men’s camp.” Rat smiles. She thinks she has won.
She turns to her women, half-frozen and ragged in torn prison coats. “That’s it, girls. We made it. We get guns, food, and skis, then we head for the border.”
“Freedom.” They start downhill toward the shack, waving and shouting. Katya stays where she is.
She knows what they don’t. The men in that shack are not friends. They are desperate, armed criminals. They are not sharing food or weapons with a pack of frantic women in prison coats.
To them, anything moving toward the shack is a target. A dark barrel appears in the window. A burst of automatic fire rips through the silence.
Snow jumps all around the women. One drops immediately, dead. Another screams and grabs her leg. “Down!” Rat yells, diving behind a fallen tree.
“It’s us! Don’t shoot! We’re with you!” Another burst answers her.
The men in the shack aren’t sorting anything out. They see a crowd running at them and open fire. Rat is stunned.
She looks at Katya, who stands behind a tree as calm as stone. “You!” Rat screams. “You set us up! You said they were waiting for us!”
“I said they were there,” Katya says coldly, working the bolt. “I never said they’d be glad to see you.” The situation is now a trap.
The women are pinned in open snow. The shack is firing on them. Behind them, the dogs and pursuit team are almost certainly closing in.
If Ivashin is alive—and Katya assumes he is—he won’t forgive this. Rat understands she is boxed in. “Kill them!” she screams at Katya.
“Take out the shooter or I bury your locket in the snow and you’ll never find it!” Katya raises the rifle slowly. She doesn’t care much about Rat’s gang.
But she does care about the locket. And she plans to survive. Right now, the men in the shack are the more dangerous problem.
She settles into the stock. No scope now, just iron sights. Distance about 150 yards.
The target is hard to see—mostly muzzle flashes in a narrow window. Katya waits. A real sniper lives on patience.
The gunman pauses to change magazines. A shadow moves in the window. Exhale.
Steady pressure on the trigger. Shot. The shadow jerks and disappears.
The submachine gun goes silent. “Got him!” one of the women shouts. Too soon.
The second man, the one with the shotgun, starts firing from another window. Katya works the bolt. The hot casing drops into the snow.
She shifts aim. This one is smarter. He barely shows himself. Then, from the woods behind them, comes the sound of dogs.
Pursuit. Right on time.
Now Katya is in a killing box. Armed men in front. Security team with dogs behind.
In the middle: her and a handful of desperate women with knives. Rat crawls toward her, waving the pistol.
“Do something! They’ll kill us all!” Katya looks at her evenly. “Give me the locket.”
“Later!” “Now. Or I leave. I’ve got skis.”
“I go, and they shoot you all where you lie.” Rat hesitates. The dogs are getting closer.
Voices carry through the trees. “Spread out! Don’t let anyone through!” Rat digs into her pocket, yanks out the locket, and throws it at Katya.
“Take it. Just cover us.” Katya catches the little silver disk in her left hand. Closes her fist around it.
Warm metal. Her daughter. Memory. Now her hands are free.
Katya tucks the locket inside her shirt. Then she studies the shack.
One armed man left. She looks back toward the woods. About ten men in pursuit.
Then she looks at Rat. “Listen carefully,” Katya says in a hard voice. “Crawl to the ravine on the right.”
“There’s a dead zone there. The shack can’t hit you. Follow the creek bed. The dogs will lose your scent in the water.”
“What about you?”
