Katya
I know something about this area of Russia. There are no mountains here, no great forests. There are patches of woods here and there, rolling hills, and flat plains now covered in snow. From what I remember from school, this is a fertile and lonely farm country. In fact, I can’t see a house or anything, and I can easily see a kilometer or two. Of course, there could be a town or village over the next hill. We can’t know. We can only walk.
“What was your favorite subject in school?” he asks.
“I thought we weren’t going to talk.”
“We have to do something to kill the boredom. Otherwise, we’ll go crazy out here. It’s either talk, or sing, and you don’t want to hear me sing.”
I laugh. “I don’t want to sing either.” I glance over, and I spot a hint of pain in his face, a bit of grimace. He’s hurt worse than he lets on. “I liked school,” I admit. “I wasn’t the smartest girl in the class, but I was smart enough and my teachers liked me. Math wasn’t my best subject. I preferred literature. I read every book I could. When I was reading, I didn’t hear my parents arguing. I didn’t feel so hungry either. I was someone else, someone that everyone loved or respected. I remember long afternoons in my room with a book and some tea. My favorites were mysteries. I loved mysteries. I still do. I love how detectives figure out everything, even when I couldn’t. Everything changed for my family when I was twelve and I joined the program.”
“Program?”
I glance sideways at him. He really doesn’t know anything. “The program is when a girl is chosen by Anakin to come to America.”
He looks astonished. “You were picked when you were twelve?”
“Yes. We all are. Once I was enrolled into the program, my parents were given money and our lives improved greatly. A teacher came two times a week to teach me English.”
The wind blows hard but not as hard as last night. It’s cold, and I know we can’t last a night in this wind, even if we can keep walking. How many kilometers can I walk? I’m not sure, but I guess perhaps twenty or thirty. No, that’s probably too many in the snow, I don’t think I can do more than fifteen. “What about you? Did you like school?”
“I didn’t go to school.”
“What? Don’t all Americans have to go to school?”
He winces. “I guess they do, but I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I’ve got time,” I say softly.
“I guess it’s because I was sold to Anakin when I was four years old and he didn’t think school was what I needed.”
I’m so shocked I stop walking and stare at him in astonishment.
He stops too.
We stare at each other.
I take a deep breath. “Hunter, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be. I would probably have hated school. Besides, I liked hanging around on the corner.” He starts walking again.
I follow him “The corner?”
“That’s what we call the streets. You go out and be with wise guys, criminals. If they take a shine to you, they teach you what’s going on.”
“What did they teach you?”
“How to use a gun, how to avoid the cops, how to deal drugs, how to hold up a liquor store. You can learn a lot on the corner.”
“Did the police catch you?”
“Couple times. Nothing I couldn’t chisel down.”
“Chisel down?”
“In America, they always charge you with the worst crime they can. So, there’s always room for a lesser crime. You get caught for dealing drugs, and they charge you with a big felony. But if you’re not an asshole, they’ll chisel it down to possession only. Then, you pay some money. In my case, Anakin does and you don’t go to prison. It’s a game. The prosecutor gets a conviction without much work, and I get to go back to the corner and carry on working for Anakin.”
“So you enjoy working for Anakin?” I say slowly.
“I don’t know anything else,” he says simply.
I watch him intently. “Have you ever killed anyone, Hunter?”
He hesitates, and I think I already know the truth. He will probably lie, but I will know. He has killed. That changes him a little in my eyes. I have never met a killer before.
“I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve killed. Mostly, I don’t even need a gun. I’m strong and pretty good with my hands.”
“Hands?”
“I can handle myself in a fight. Comes in handy cause you don’t want to kill someone. And if you’re carrying a gun, the cops don’t like it. They charge you with more crimes.”
“That you can chisel down,” I finish for him.
“Yeah.” He grins. “There’s that.”
“When I was five, I wanted to be a ballerina,” I tell him. “I think every active girl in Russia wants to be a ballerina or a gymnast. That dream only lasted until I understood my parents weren’t rich enough to pay for lessons.”
We reach the top of the rise and we can see a good way off. Far away, I spot a town, some decent sized buildings or houses. Or it could be just something in the air, some sort of mirage. I can’t be sure.
“See it?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “A town.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know. A long walk.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
We start down the hill, and I wish we were closer. Hunter isn’t doing all that well. His limp is getting worse and I can hear the pain in his voice. It’s funny how the voice changes when there’s pain involved.
“Where do you live in Detroit?” I ask, hoping to take his mind off his pain.
“On the north side.”
“I’m glad it was you Anakin sent to pick me up,” I say.
“It’s not over yet,” he mutters.
I know that. Anakin sent him to bring me back. If he doesn’t do that, he’s in trouble. Do I care if he goes back and Anakin hurts him? Yes, I do. I don’t want him to get hurt. Before we leave Russia, I will try to convince him to run away with me. I’ve heard that America is rich, so rich anyone can live like a king. Florida, I think we should run away to Florida together.
“No matter what happens, I’m glad it was you,” I say softly.
We hear the vehicle before we see it. It’s coming from behind, so we move to the side of the road and hold up our hands. We need the ride if we can get it. It’s a large truck, and it slows as soon as it sees us. We must look awful. They pass us and stop. We walk to the vehicle as a man climbs out and faces us. He doesn’t smile.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks in Russian.
“Our car broke down. We barely made it to the road.”
He opens the rear door. “Get in, get in. This is no day to be out for a walk.”
We slide into the backseat and the driver eyes me in the mirror. I don’t know how much he can see since I am well bundled. The American simply sits, as if he doesn’t know anything. The other man climbs into the front, and the truck starts off.
“I’m Dimitri,” the driver says.
“And I’m Vasili,” the other man says.
“I’m Katya,” I tell them. “And he’s Igor.”
Vasili looks sharply at Hunter. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s deaf.” I poke Hunter and make some hand signals. It’s nonsense, but I don’t think the men up front can tell.
Hunter signs back with just as much gibberish.
“You related?” Vasili asks, his eyes sliding over my uncovered hair.
“He’s my cousin,” I reply. “I was taking him to Moscow because they might be able to do something for his hearing.”
“It was certainly a bad storm last night. How did you survive?”
“We found a vacant house and managed to build a fire.”
“Then, you must be hungry. Dimitri, they’re hungry. We must feed our guests.”
“There’s no need,” I say quickly.
“We simply need to get to a rail station.”
“We’ll get you there. After we stop. What kind of people would we be if we sent you off hungry?”
I don’t like the sound of them, but I know better than to protest too much. I glance at Hunter who frowns at me. Their accents are thick, but I think he still understood the gist of our conversation. His eyes flash when the truck takes a side road that has been plowed, but is narrow and winding.
I feel the first stirrings of fear. Hunter is hurt and without food and all the walking we did, would be no match for these two brutish country men. No one knows where we are, and if we disappear, no one will ever know. They’ll feed us to the hogs or something. I have heard stories about men like Dimitri and Vasili.
We’re not on the road very long before we come upon a little drive that leads to a small house and two barns. Dimitri drives past the house and into one of the barns. There are some stalls, but no animals. He kills the engine and we all get out.
I manage to make eye contact with Hunter whose look says he’s aware of the situation, play along.
“We’ll have the food right away,” Vasili says cheerfully.
Out of the truck, I notice just how big Dimitri is. He’s a giant, dwarfing Vasili and at least a few inches taller than Hunter. He leers at me and I turn away. I don’t want him to get the idea that I am not a modest woman, but I’m afraid he already has ideas about me. If only I had thought to cover my hair this morning instead of leaving it loose, because I wanted Hunter to admire it.
Vasili leads us into the house while Dimitri appears to guard the rear. I look around desperately, but there isn’t anyone else around. It’s just me, Hunter and the two brutes. I feel my body tighten warningly.
The house could have been nice if it wasn’t so dirty and stinky. There’s trash all about; clothes are draped over the furniture. It smells of stale food and old sweat. There’s a table and chairs and a sink filled with dirty pans and dishes. These two live like pigs, and hungry pigs can be dangerous. On the walls hang paddles with sports team logos. They are fans.
“Sit down, sit down,” Vasili invites, waving towards the table.
Hunter takes off his coat and sits. I start to move forward, and I take one step before Dimitri grabs my arm. He’s incredibly strong. I’m going nowhere.
“I want to talk to you,” Dimitri says.
He smells like a goat and I feel my stomach contract with fear, but I know I can’t protest. He can crush me and I’m certain he can crush Hunter. “I have to stay with my cousin,” I say. “He gets scared when people don’t understand him.”
“Vasili will take care of your cousin. Right, Vasili?”
Vasili seats Hunter at the table, facing away from me. They’re separating us on purpose.
Hunter, when he isn’t weakened with hunger and hurt would definitely be strong enough to handle Vasili, but Dimitri is another matter.
“I’ll take care of him,” Vasili answers.
“I’m hungry,” I tell Dimitri. “I need to eat.”
He grins. “I’ll give you a nice big sausage to eat. You like sausages no? A nice girl like you.” He jerks me toward a door, a bedroom no doubt.
“Please,” I say. “Don’t do this.”
“You’re going to love it. And I guarantee to hurt you.”
“RAPE!” I yell in English.
“What is this?” Dimitri asks, frowning.
“Let me be,” I say in Russian. “You are a pig.”
“I will show you what a pig is like.” He picks me off the floor as easily as he would lift a kitten and carries me toward the bedroom.
“RAPE!” I yell again, kicking and screaming.
Hunter
All the hairs on my neck and back are standing and the muscles of my thighs are twitching to jump up and strangle the bastard who had dared to touch my Princess, but I have enough sense to know that would be the death of both of us. The only advantage I might have is that I’m supposed to be the deaf, idiot savant cousin. I don’t have a lot of time though to make my move.
The giant will not just rape her he will beat the shit out of her. I know men like him. They like to inflict pain. Makes them feel good. Makes them get hard. Making a girl scream and beg is how they get their rocks off. The giant will kill the girl when he and this other fool in front of me are done with her. Then me. I knew that from the moment they picked us up. And I’ve been ready for it ever since.
Vasili pretends to prepare food. He pulls a dirty plate, a fork, and a butter knife from the sink and places them in front of me. Keeping my mouth slightly open I just look at him with a dense expression. He gives me a sly smile and makes sure to show me how he’s going to feed me. Then he goes to the small unbelievably stained fridge and opens the door. While his back is to me I glance around quickly. There is a big, sharp knife on the counter, and I think it will serve.
I grip the butter knife and move.
Vasili doesn’t hear me until I punch him in the kidney hard. He grunts in shock and pain then falls forward towards the open fridge. In a flash, I grab his chin and jerk back his head. The butter knife is dull, but it’s sharp enough if I find the right medium to stick it in. I jam it into his eye while I hold his mouth together. His scream comes out muffled and incoherent. The other eye is wide and rolling around wildly in its socket. He’s not small and the adrenaline is beginning to kick in. He’ll soon be hard to handle even with a knife in his eye.
I jerk him to the counter and grab the sharp knife. Pulling hard on his chin, I expose his white neck. The technique is a little messy, but it’s simple, quick, and effective. I stab the knife into his neck and rip it out towards the front. I catch the artery and blood spurts out in a red fountain. Since I’ve cut his windpipe too, he won’t’ be able to warn the giant, which is a good thing. I need all the surprise I can get. I drop him and he flops on the floor, still grabbing his throat. He’ll be dead in minutes if not seconds.
I don’t need to wait to be sure.
I limp to the door and hesitate. I tighten my grip on the bloody knife and take a deep breath. I hope I’m lucky.
I open the door soundlessly.
The giant has his back to me. His pants are around his ankles and he’s standing in front of a bed. His body is so big I cannot see Katya, but it is clear he has thrown her on it and has done something that has silenced her, but I’m pretty certain she’s still alive.
This is about as good as it gets for me and Katya. I cross the room as fast as I can and stab the giant in the back. I don’t think I hit anything vital, a lung maybe, but that’s not going to stop this beast.
The giant roars and whirls around. He is surprisingly fast for a man of his size. I head-butt him full on the forehead with all my might. With his pants around his ankles he’s not stable, his arms flail and he hits the floor with a loud thump. I can’t take the time to look at Katya. If I can’t take care of the giant, it won’t make any difference.
With the knife gripped in my right hand I drop to one knee.
The giant must think I’m going for his hard prick, because his hands go there to protect himself. But I’m not going for that. I want his hairy, unprotected thigh. I slash it fast and deep. I hit pay dirt when I nick his femoral artery. Dark red blood pumps out. I try to jump back, but I’m not quick enough.
He snags my pants.
I try to get away, and I might have had a chance if my ankle wasn’t beat up. His grip is too strong and I know he’s going to win this little battle. I toss away the knife because I have no fantasies about keeping it from him if he gets me. And he’s going to get me.
That’s a scary prospect.
I jerk away to prime him and then I spin and land both knees on his chest, hoping to drive out his breath. It doesn’t work. It hurts him, but it doesn’t stop him. He grabs my throat with one hand and starts to squeeze. I grab his hand with both of mine, but I don’t stand much chance of breaking his grip. Even as he bleeds out, he has enough strength to crush my thro
at and kill me. He looks me in the eye and smiles. He knows he’s going to kill me, even if he dies doing it.
I glare at him. We’ll die together.
The edge of a wooden paddle he must have been intending to use on Katya hits the giant in the middle of his broad face, breaking his nose, and causing blood to gush out. Dazed, his grip relaxes a mite, and I work to pry off his fingers.
No dice.
I look up as Katya hammers the giant again with that paddle, this time right on his forehead. The skin there splits and blood flows out. His grip relaxes still more—but not enough. My breathing is easier. I grab his thumb and use it to try and get his hand to let go. Blood is going everywhere as Katya hits him one more time, harder than ever. That does it. His eyes roll back, and his hand goes slack. I pull it off and roll away, hoping to get far enough away before he regains his senses, if he regains his senses.
Katya hits him again. Her face is twisted into a snarl. She wants him dead, very dead. She won’t stop until she’s sent him into the next world. She doesn’t need to. He’ll bleed out soon, like Vasili.
“Stop,” I croak.
She looks at me, her face is very white against the BDSM gag he fitted on her.
“He’ll bleed out. He’s dead already,” I tell her.
She steps back and tosses the paddle aside. She struggles to get the gag off. When she does, she throws it across the room and spits on the giant. It must be a Russian thing.
I’ve never spit on anyone. I stand, still keeping my distance. Some guys last longer than others. “Did he hurt you?” I ask.
She touches her cheek and I see it is starting to bruise.
“Shit. The fucking bastard! That’s going to show,” I curse. I limp over to him. He is still alive. His breathing labored and slow. Standing on my hurt leg, I kick him in the ribs. He doesn’t groan or show pain. It is too late for him. His body is shutting down.
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