Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  I hope the Myatezhniki have more respect for female contribution. Because I’ve had about as much of this cruel compassion as I can take.

  When the explosives specialists finish planning, we still have a few hours to kill. I’m dying to discuss the real plan. “Shall we go out tonight and grab some dinner before you leave?” I ask.

  “If you want.” Dima is noncommittal. “We could just get room service and stay in as well.” He stretches out on the couch.

  Is he trying to seem uninterested, so as to avoid suspicion, or is he trying to tell me we need to stay in to avoid suspicion? Everything feels suspicious right now.

  I need more information without looking like I’m grabbing for it. “Why don’t you decide?”

  “I’d like to review my notes. If I start now, we’ll know whether we have time to go out.” He motions for me to join him on the couch, and I curl up next to him. He kisses my forehead and pulls out his notepad.

  I scan his notes and notice that certain words are written in print. The rest are in script.

  23:00 hrs

  escort

  hide

  no

  matter

  what

  wait

  for

  Myatezhniki

  Go

  with

  them

  I look up at him with so many questions. His eyes don’t leave his papers. He continues to read over his notes and writes a few more ideas in the margins. I turn back to the paper, waiting for more details, but none come. The most crucial moment in our lives, and I have fewer than twelve words to go off. That’s the extent of our plan.

  I wish we could speak freely. I’m so tired of censoring our words.

  I play along as Dimitri goes over the rough details of the mission. He asks my opinion on his plans and even takes my advice. Then he checks the equipment list and reviews the credentials of the two bomb experts who are currently on planes and the GPR operators who will scan the ground for the buried bombs.

  He has an entire folder dedicated to procedures for preventing his team from hitting any booby traps, probably a standard resource for search teams. “Sergei would have protected the bomb from the wrong people. It’s possible that he rigged it to detonate if certain criteria weren’t met, but I don’t think that’s likely. He wouldn’t want to endanger anyone who might unknowingly dig there for legitimate reasons, like developing the island.

  Dima reads for another ten minutes then sets his notebook on the table facedown. He gives me a meaningful look. “It’s almost 21:00. I just need to go through my gear, but then I’m all yours. We can hit the restaurant downstairs when I’m done.”

  “Let’s stay in. I’ll order, and you can relax.” I kiss him.

  “Perfect.” He walks to the table and opens a military-grade duffle bag. He lays out guns, gear, and electronic devices on the table, cataloging them, testing them, and then placing them precisely as he wants them.

  “Will you need guns?” I ask.

  “We always need guns,” he says. The weapons look ominous. They’re a reminder of all the things that could go wrong tonight.

  During dinner, Dima tries to keep the conversation flowing. I find it harder and harder to speak without emotion.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he says.

  It’s only 22:30. Why does he want to go to bed? He’s meeting his team in ninety minutes, and my escort arrives in thirty. This must be part of his plan. But I’m also not one to be told what to do. When I’m discovered missing, my father will undoubtedly scrutinize every one of my final moments.

  “Is it my bedtime?” I fold my arms across my chest. “I doubt I’ll be able to sleep when I’m worried about you.”

  “Then just let me hold you until I have to leave. Please?”

  Dima crawls into bed in his clothes and pulls me in after him. He wraps me in his arms and closes his eyes. But I can tell by his breathing that he’s not asleep. I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Together, we wait.

  Every minute seems to last an hour. I count the thumps of his heartbeat until I lose track and start again. I feel more and more anxious with every passing thump.

  There’s a knock on the door in the living room. Dima jumps out of bed. “Time to move, Yulia. There are new clothes in the side pocket of my bag, dark colors. Get changed.” He shuts the bedroom door as he goes to answer the knock.

  Confused but determined to trust Dimitri’s plan, I change hurriedly and step into the living room. The man waiting there wears black, military-style clothing. He has a scar above his left eye and another across his massive biceps. His scars suit him. Everything about him screams fighter.

  “Come get your gear, Yulia.” Dima has a gun, a holster, and a bulletproof vest ready. He helps me put it on with speed and efficiency. The weapons weigh heavy on my heart, and I pray I don’t have to use them. He pulls new gear from under the table to replace the items he just gave me.

  “Who is this?” I nod toward the large stranger.

  “Gosha.” Dima answers. “I’d trust him with my life. And more importantly, I trust him with yours.”

  “Where’s the cube?” Gosha asks.

  Dima tosses him a little black box. “I captured her hologram while she slept several nights in a row until I found a good one without a lot of movement.”

  He was filming me when I slept? As I process the violation, Dimitri reads my mind.

  “If you had known, it wouldn’t look natural. Gosha hacked the Peredacha with the looped footage of the two of us on the bed, so far as anyone knows, we’re still there. Once you’re gone, I’ll fake a five-minute glitch. When the feed comes back on, the cube will project a hologram of you alone, and I’ll be here getting ready to leave. Gosha has the hallway cameras set on loops so they look empty. You’ll get out without anyone seeing.”

  “So this is it?” I ask, a hard lump in my throat.

  “Great things are waiting for you.” He places both hands on my cheeks and kisses me. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

  “I promise.” My voice shakes as I try not to drown the flood of sorrow that fills the room. “End it, and then come find me,” I beg him, my heart feels like it’s bleeding.

  Dima nods, unable to speak. I wrap my arms around him and we cling to each other, both of us frozen in our pain. Gosha clears his throat and checks his watch. “We need to release the looped footage before the system scans for interference. Give us sixty seconds to be clear, then start the glitch. Let’s go.”

  Dima nods but holds me even tighter. “Go.” His voice breaks. “I love you.”

  I kiss him one more time but don’t trust myself to say another word.

  Chapter 37

  Gosha is not a talkative man. We’ve been sitting silently in a thick clump of muddy grass for an hour by the time Dima arrives with his team.

  I watch the men comb the field with their GPRs. The process seems to go on forever before one of them finally calls out.

  The men all congregate around the spot, and I move to get a closer look.

  Gosha reaches out to stop me. He motions toward the darkness. “Your job is over there.”

  “They’re here?” I squint, trying to make out forms in the light of the stars.

  “They’ve been here. They followed you.” He holds his gun in front of him and starts moving. “Stay low and stay quiet.”

  We move away from Dima and his team. It feels wrong. My gut tells me I need to be with him. I take a deep breath and trust in our plan.

  We creep toward a thick grove of trees, and I think I hear movement. When I turn to look, I meet the barrel of a gun. Gosha shields me from the weapon. He holds his gun in front of him, relaxed, but something tells me he could raise it and shoot in an instant.

  “Zdrastvootye,“ the voice says quietly. The barrel advances and with it an older man, probably sixty-five or seventy. From his deeply defined scowl lines, I suspect he rarely smiles.

 
; “Zdrastvootye.” I return his greeting. “Are you the Ghost?”

  “You were supposed to deliver the weapon to us. Not reclaim it for your father. Did you think we wouldn’t discover your deception?” He doesn’t answer my question. He resembles a Siberian tiger stalking his prey. He might as well be growling.

  More men step forward out of the trees. There are so many guns. My heart pounds beneath my useless vest. If these men want me dead, they’ll succeed.

  “Guns down,” the man directs.

  Gosha lays his weapon down as I struggle to release mine from the holster.

  “You will have the weapon,” I tell them, wiggling my gun free and carefully placing it next to Gosha’s. “My father watches me constantly. He needed to think I was working for him. We needed his team of experts to remove the bombs, just like you needed me to find them for you.” I cautiously try to understand the power dynamic with this group.

  “Who’s this?” the old man points his barrel at Gosha.

  “Her bodyguard.” Gosha motions toward me. “You’ll understand that trust is scarce at the moment. You’ve certainly prepared for the worst.”

  A giant of a man, also armed, walks into the clearing and grins at me. He brushes one of his loose curls off his forehead. His face is covered in a beard, and something about his size and smile seems incongruent. People that big never smile that much. He gently presses the first man’s gun barrel down.

  “Welcome to the team.” He offers his hand, and I look from his welcoming eyes down to his large hand. The gesture is surprising. It’s forward for a man to offer his hand to a woman but also somehow validating. He’s greeting me like I’m his equal. I take his hand and give him a second glance, trying to read his character. He’s younger than I would have imagined. I suspect that without the shadows darkening his countenance, he’s probably someone who is hard to look away from, like a war hero in a painting. Your eye is drawn to him, even when there is so much else going on around him.

  “She’s not on the team yet. We don’t have the weapon,” the old man grumbles.

  “They’ve found it,” the giant answers, focusing on me enough to make my cheeks burn in the darkness. “I think it’s just what we hoped for. The recovery team has never seen a weapon like this before. They’re out of their minds with excitement.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It’s hard to guess. They’re old bombs. They should have leaked nuclear waste through the area, but it’s uncontaminated. One of the experts mentioned something about ‘clean bombs.’ The core is nuclear, but it’s contained.” His grin widens as he studies my face. It’s like he’s searching for clues hidden in the curve of my eyebrows.

  His staring is beginning to make me uncomfortable. “Do I have jam on my chin?” I ask him, wanting the giant to turn his attention elsewhere.

  “Sorry. Strong family resemblance.” He grins. “You look just like . . .”

  The old man cuts him off. “The whole world knows she looks just like her mother. Shut up, and get the men ready to move.”

  “Why are they moving?” I ask, not liking the sound of this.

  “To get the bomb,” the old man says without looking at me.

  “Dima will bring it to you,” I tell him, “You don’t need all of these guns.”

  “We don’t trust the murderer.”

  “Then trust me,” I try again. “I’ve done everything you asked. Leave my team unharmed, or you’ll leave without me or the weapon.”

  “She’s going with you,” Gosha says, “if I have to throw her over my shoulder and strap her into your boat.”

  I glare at him, though I doubt he can see it through the inky night. Of course Dima had given him such orders.

  The old man orders someone hidden behind him. “As soon as the bomb squad has the weapon in the box, surround them!”

  “There’s no need for violence tonight,” Gosha says in his deep, commanding voice.

  “The voice of peace,” the old man wheezes with a scornful laugh. “Where were you when they were filling graves with bodies discarded from the work camps?”

  For such a small man, he’s fearless. He inches his way toward Gosha, who is easily twice his size.

  “Old man, call your men back,” Gosha says through gritted teeth. “Don’t do something stupid that we’ll all regret later.”

  “If they surrender, the soldiers will leave here tonight in one piece.” The old man looks Gosha straight in the eyes. I can see the truth in his gaze, and Gosha nods in acquiescence. But something still nags the back of my mind. I look toward Dima, attempting to make out his frame in the darkness, but I can’t find him. A sick feeling twists knots in my stomach.

  “Now,” someone whispers, and men take off running through the trees.

  Realization dawns on me. “Dima is not a soldier,” I gasp.

  “Dimitri’s execution order was signed years ago when he started exposing and executing our men.” The old man is unapologetic.

  “Chort.” Gosha curses before headbutting the old man, picking up his rifle and running as fast as possible through the woods.

  The man curses and grasps his bloody nose. Before I can run, he has my arm in a tight grip. “Don’t move,” he barks.

  I struggle to loosen his grip. A gunshot tears through the night, and my heart stops completely before it skips into a staccato, too-fast and too-frequent pulse.

  “You have to stop this,” I tell him. “We didn’t come here for violence. Call your men off.”

  He looks at me with unforgiving eyes. “We’re not the violent ones. Dimitri’s actions will determine whether or not his team lives. But I won’t risk the rebellion or any of our lives by that murderer living to hunt us down. We can’t return with him trailing us. There are children and families in our base.”

  “Call them off NOW!” I demand.

  “You’re not in charge!” He shakes me.

  “Dimitri has changed, and he will prove it. I can vouch for him!”

  The old man shakes his head. “Is there anything your father could do to regain your trust?”

  “This is different!” I plead.

  “You’re young and naïve.” The old man starts dragging me away from the melee. I dig in my heels, and he wraps his arms around me. I ram my elbow into his ribs, and he grips me tighter. He’s stronger than he looks. “What you’ll gain is better than what you’re giving up,” he whispers in my ear. If it were not for the vise grip around my waist, I might think he was trying to be kind.

  “I won’t force you to come. It’s your choice. But believe me, this is what your mother wanted.”

  “My mother saw the good in Dimitri. She never gave up on doing the right thing. And I’m telling you, this is not the right thing!” He stops struggling and releases me.

  “Come with us,” he pleads one last time. “If you knew all of his crimes, you wouldn’t fight for his life.”

  “He came here to make sure I got my freedom. I can’t leave him to die for me,” I tell him, my voice quavering.

  He sighs. “You’re all the same.”

  “You’ll have your bomb. Leave Dima, and I’ll come with you,” I beg.

  “No.” He folds his arms in finality.

  “Tell the Ghost that I did what he asked. Now I ask that he spare Dimitri,” I tell him.

  “How do you know I’m not the Ghost?” he croaks.

  I can’t put my finger on how I know, but I do. This man is not the leader.

  I run toward the sound of the angry voices, determined to save Dima even at the cost of freedom.

  Dima and his men are standing back to back, guns out toward the surrounding Myatezhniki.

  Dimitri’s voice carries through the night air. “I’ll surrender the weapon, but my men and I must leave here alive.”

  “Or I could just shoot you and take the weapon,” the giant man taunts.

  “You could try.” Dimitri is menacing in his control. “But we have a bomb, and we know how to detonate
it. We could all die together, rebel and soldier alike.”

  “Stop!” I shout, and in confusion, some of the men turn their guns toward me.

  Both Dima and the giant man yell for me to get back. Someone shoots, and the night erupts with violence and death. Men fall to the ground, wounded and shrieking in pain.

  I drop to the ground, trying to get below the bullets. A heavy body falls on top of me. I brace for the smothering weight, but it doesn’t come.

  “Stay down.” It’s the giant man. The gunfire ebbs and flows for what feels like an eternity until someone yells, “WE’VE GOT IT! FALL BACK.”

  The man raises off of me enough that I can see the rebels scattering. I don’t see Dima among the standing soldiers.

  The giant keeps me down until the rebels are all out of sight. “I’ll cover you,” he says. Then he rises, his gun at the ready.

  I run toward Dima instead of fleeing. The giant man groans. I fight my panic as I search among the fallen.

  I see Gosha first, hovering over Dima, applying pressure to a gunshot wound. All I can focus on is how much blood there is. I kneel beside him.

  “Go. Catch them!” Dima shouts at me.

  “I’m not leaving you like this,” I tell him.

  Dima groans in pain. “Yulia, if you love me at all, leave now!”

  “We have to get him out of here,” I tell Gosha. “Help me move him.”

  “Go now!” Dima screams.

  “I won’t leave you to die!” I scream back.

  “I’m not dying!” he says, and my panic subsides enough for me to take a good look at him. He’s right. He’s bleeding, but the gunshot is in the arm, not in a critical organ.

  “Dima.” Gosha nods to the soldiers who are staring at me. No one was supposed to know I was here.

  “Do it.” Dima closes his eyes and punches the ground with his uninjured fist.

  Gosha’s glare eviscerates me. “This is your fault,” he says. Then he stands, points his weapon toward a soldier leaning over his fallen comrade, and pulls the trigger. The soldier falls to the ground. I watch in horror as Gosha mows down the area with rapid-fire. He then walks through the field with a handgun, taking the last bit of life from every member of Dima’s team.