“Do you think he did some real damage?” Nikolas shrugged. He didn’t know. Ben pursed his lips. “Permanently silent.” He continued the shave until Nikolas was returned almost to the aristocratic gentleman he’d first met in London then added slyly, “What an improvement permanent silence would be.” Nikolas pursed his lips then poked Ben hard in the belly. Ben laughed and jerked away, holding the razor well away from Nikolas’s face. “You want another scar? Christ, hold still, you moron.”
Nikolas very carefully plucked the razor from Ben’s hand and then tackled him down onto the sand. They kissed for a long time, tasting and relishing the mint of the toothpaste and the smooth skin. Ben was soft, his cock just rolling between them, but Nikolas was hardening. He glanced around, grimaced, then eased off a little. He rearranged Ben’s hair once more, then rose and offered him a hand. They walked back into the river to wash off the sand.
By late afternoon, they were all in clean clothes and sitting around a fire, eating freshly cooked fish. It’d been absurdly easy to catch the fish, as they’d used a net they’d discovered in one of the stores. It almost seemed like cheating after the way they’d had to live for so long. They were all waiting for Nikolas to decide what they were going to do. Ben knew, more than anyone, just how torn Nikolas was. He didn’t want to leave anyone behind, but splitting the group now was the obvious and best solution. Ben’s leg was bad, but frustratingly, it was nothing time and rest wouldn’t heal. He could only get time and rest if he stayed at the camp. Nikolas could have help back here by the end of October. The dilemma was clearly driving him mad.
Finally, it was obvious Nikolas could stand it no longer. He stood, nodded and croaked out, “Ben stays here with Emilia and her grandmother and Samuel. We’ll go to the camp.” He held Jackson’s eye. Jackson nodded and stood up.
“I’ll start packing what we need.”
There was a predicable amount of talk. Samuel wanted to go with the other men, but Nikolas told him he wasn’t fit enough to keep up the pace he intended to keep. Jackson could. Or he would within a few days with some encouragement. They took the barest minimum they needed, the map, most of the dried food, knives, the net, the things that made catching food easy, for they’d be on the move, but those left would have time and leisure to hunt and fish.
§ § §
They had a final night together. Jackson and Nikolas would be leaving at first light. They had a long way to go. Nikolas wanted to tell Ben all the things he needed to be doing: setting up traps, fishing lines…Who was he kidding? He wanted to tell Ben he didn’t want to go. He’d almost rather stay in this camp for twenty years like the men who’d lived here before them than leave Ben in the morning. It was fortunate, perhaps, he couldn’t speak and say any of this. This was worse than their separation the last time Nikolas had come to Russia and Ben had gone to Denmark. That’d been longer but it’d seemed more normal. Like normal people, they’d not feared the other would die before they could reunite. They did now. They had no illusions about what was ahead of them both.
Winter was coming.
§ § §
It was a very sad parting for all of them. Emilia was in floods of tears, which she’d managed to hold back until her grandmother started crying. Ulyana Ivanovna adored Nikolas, and Nikolas, of course, was the only one who could speak her language. Ben wasn’t going to let Nikolas down by embarrassing him, so he just helped him shoulder his pack, gave him a few last minute instructions and stood back. Nikolas was making an effort, seeing the brave front Ben was adopting, so in the end they all just got tired of it. The two men turned and left. Ben, Samuel and Emilia watched them until they were swallowed by the darkness of the forest. Ben turned away from the other two, limped into his hut and wasn’t seen for the rest of the morning.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sean Sands had gone quite mad. He’d fortunately been spared the knowledge of this, for he thought he was sane and very clever and that he’d outwitted the blond Russian. He’d also had the brilliant thought that if he returned to the plane he could retrieve his lovely new bow and his rifle, and then he’d show them. Perhaps he’d let the Russian hold his gun for a while. He liked the idea of Nikolas holding his gun, which was possibly the best sign yet he was completely mad. He’d eaten nothing since leaving the clearing, but he’d tried to eat pine needles and some bugs he’d found on a rotten log. He limped and hopped and sang to himself and thought about Nikolas. At last he found himself back at the end of the lake where it narrowed into the river. He screamed his jubilation and crowed how clever he was and danced in a circle on his shattered kneecap, the pain all part of his madness. He tried to run, not so heavy these days, but his gut had turned to wobble, and it bounced unpleasantly as he jogged along, tears streaming down his face at the thought of holding his beloved weapons again. He’d show them all.
He ran on, limping, dragging his leg, heavy on the ground, until suddenly he…wasn’t. He was in the air, upside down, swinging. He cried out at the pain in his back from the jerk. He thought his ankle might be broken. For one lucid moment he thought, spring trap! He’d run into the last of Nikolas’s spring traps, still good after all this time, just lying there waiting for him. He hung, blood rushing to his already demented brain. He tried to lift himself up to free his ankle, but he was too fat to reach over his pendulous belly. He swung, wondering what to do. He looked, upside-down, despairingly at the tree line, wondering if Nikolas would come and save him, but suspecting he probably wouldn’t.
§ § §
Nikolas and Jackson took it relatively easy the first day. Nikolas wanted to gauge the man’s fitness. Gym fit was not taiga fit. Following the river wasn’t as easy as it sounded. At certain points, the water plunged down into places they couldn’t climb, and they had to take long detours, navigating back with the compass. By the end of the day, Nikolas reckoned they’d done about twelve miles. It wasn’t enough. If he’d been on his own, he’d have continued through the night, but Jackson was exhausted already. To be fair to him, twelve miles through this terrain was the same as thirty on a smooth track. He’d done well. They couldn’t speak to each other, which was something of a relief. Nikolas didn’t want to talk about the others. Not yet. They made a fire for warmth and comfort and ate sparingly of their rations. Soon they would have to be covering twice the distance and catching food and cooking it. It was unthinkable.
Nikolas lay down by the fire, his head on his rucksack, wondering what Ben was doing, what he was thinking. Jackson lay down across from him, watching the flames. He tossed another branch on, and it sparked. One ember jumped and landed on the back of his hand. He swore and flicked it off, sucking on the blister that had immediately risen. Nikolas couldn’t help but think of Ruben Terry and his terrible ending. There were ways to die and then there were ways to die, and that was something no man deserved or should have to endure. It was an unfortunate train of thought, there in the darkness of the woods, just the two of them. The shadows suddenly seemed more absolute, the noises from the forest more threatening. He pulled his bow closer to his hand and saw Jackson had his knife in his. If Nikolas had had this bow before, he’d have put Ruben out of his misery, despite being out numbered five to one.
Nikolas suddenly sat up. He felt the sickening sensation of being in a plunging elevator, his circulation unable to cope with the rapid descent, leaving him lightheaded. Five. There had been five men around the fire torturing Ruben. Five ordinary sized men. He’d killed a sentry. One. Ben had killed three men when defending Emilia. Four. He’d killed the giant. Where was the fifth man? Nikolas felt his pulse pounding once more, blood ringing in his ears. Jackson was staring at him. Nikolas shot to his feet. He grabbed the man and croaked out, “There’s one more still alive. I have to go back. Stay here. Wait for me. I will find you.” He shook the man, desperate for him to understand.
Jackson gripped his arm tightly. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for you. Go!”
Nikolas went. He had no equipment, just a bur
ning need to return to the camp. Twelve miles and most of it uphill through the terrible terrain they’d struggled through all day. And it was dark. He cast all his doubts aside, all his fear and all his exhaustion. He’d made a terrible mistake. A mistake he’d have shot one of his own men for in the past. It was unforgivable. He cast aside his blame after a while. It didn’t help. What he was doing was hard enough without self-doubt and guilt dragging at his heels. When it was suitable to run, he ran. When he had to pick his way slowly, he took it incredibly carefully. He needed to get there, not break an ankle or leg in his haste. Now, without Jackson slowing him down, he was able to push himself to the limits he was capable of. He didn’t stop for water or rest or any of the other reasons he’d allowed his companion to stop. When dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, he could see the bend in the river and the camp beyond. He’d made it. All seemed well.
All was quiet.
A desperate scream then ripped through the air. Emilia! He plunged into the freezing water, half-swimming, half-wading and dragged himself out the other side, his feet losing traction on the sand. He rose and ran into the camp. He burst through the cabin door.
A man was on his back on the ground. Emilia was sobbing in a corner. Ulyana Ivanovna was standing over the man. He was dead. He had a knitting needle sticking out of his eye. The grandmother had another ready, just in case.
Two figures burst in behind Nikolas. Ben thumped into him, and it was a while in the gloom of the cabin for them to work out who was who and what had happened. That Nikolas had made it into the cabin before Ben or Samuel, who’d been a few feet away in a lean-to, threw everyone into complete confusion.
§ § §
Later, Ulyana Ivanovna told Nikolas she thought the man had only returned to the cabin to salvage some of his things. That he’d probably watched from somewhere on the ridge and seen Nikolas and Jackson leave. He’d not actually attacked either her or Emilia, but when she’d woken from a doze and seen him standing over the bed, she’d reached out for the first thing that came to hand. Her knitting needles always came easily to her hand.
Nikolas now made the decision that everyone would go together. Even if that meant they would be considerably slower, so be it. He wasn’t splitting the group again. It’d been the wrong thing to do in the first place.
Ulyana Ivanovna made the decision easier later that morning while the others were packing up, when she pulled Nikolas to one side. She rummaged in her knitting bag and pulled out a box and then laid another very old and dusty one on the ground alongside it. Nikolas pursed his lips and shook his head, not understanding. She opened up the first box, which Nikolas now saw was the hair dye she’d treated herself to in the States when fetching Emilia. She held up the bottle of liquid and explained, “Hydrogen Peroxide.” Then she showed him the dusty old box she’d apparently found in the cabin. “This is baking soda.”
Nikolas’s Russian struggled with both these concepts. He realised they weren’t things he’d heard in Russian very often before. She looked impatient. “They can be mixed together with boiling water and make an antiseptic.”
He made a face at the thought of hydrogen peroxide being put on a wound. She nodded. “It’s primitive and will hurt like all manner of things, but I’ve seen it done once when I had to attend a difficult birthing with my supervisor in a very remote farm. Then she used household bleach, but it’s the same principle, I suppose.”
He nodded and pointed toward one of the pots of boiling water.
§ § §
Ulyana Ivanovna prepared the Dakin’s solution as best she could remember. Ben was summoned. He, understandably, wasn’t as keen to have this solution poured into his open wound as the other two were to try it on him. He certainly didn’t want any witnesses and told Emilia and Samuel to go and find something useful to do down by the river. They got the message and left. Nikolas held him tightly around the shoulders as Ulyana Ivanovna unwrapped the bandages. She pressed and prodded, and then very gently poured the solution into the open wound. Ben howled like a man being tortured until he clamped down on the pain, digging his fingers into Nikolas’s arm and clearly forcing himself to silence. She waited a while, eased the now softened wound open more and continued with her job. Nikolas was feeling faint, just watching. Ben suddenly relaxed in his arms. Nikolas looked down. Ben was out cold. Ulyana Ivanovna just commented, “Good,” opened the wound fully and poured the rest of her solution in, massaging it around vigorously. Nikolas wanted to join Ben. He was glad he’d been Special Forces and not a midwife. He wasn’t sure he could inflict that much torture on anyone.
§ § §
When Ben came around, they were packed and ready to go. He was tightly bandaged. He was prepared to walk, although he couldn’t actually stand. Nikolas showed him what they’d been working on while he was out. It was a hurdle, the kind used for generations to carry the wounded or sick. One person dragged it along using a harness, and it ran on smooth runners at the back, half stretcher, half sled. They’d been lucky, they’d been able to use curved metal from bear traps to make the runners. The hurdle had been covered with fur.
Ben utterly refused to go near it. He wasn’t going to be dragged along like a fucking burden. Nikolas pulled him roughly to one side behind the cabin where they couldn’t be seen. He pointed to the hurdle and then to Ben. Ben began to shake his head again, and to his utter astonishment and dismay, Nikolas slapped him. Ben staggered back, holding his jaw. He’d jolted his leg so he began to hop with the pain. To his shame, he felt tears prick his eyes. Nikolas had hit him. It didn’t hurt so much as…hurt! Nikolas came closer and pointed at the hurdle once more. Ben began to protest. Nikolas hit him again. This time Ben went down, and it was even more painful. Nikolas stood over him then pulled him roughly to his feet. He put his lips right up to Ben’s ear and croaked in a pained, strangulated voice, “I love you enough to hit you until you get on that thing. Do not make me do it, because this is hurting me more than you.”
Ben closed his eyes. He nodded. He touched his forehead briefly to Nikolas’s in apology and meekly limped to the humiliating object. He then discovered he wasn’t the only thing being dragged along. They’d made two hurdles, and the other one was packed high with furs and trapping equipment and the rest of the dried meats and fish they hadn’t given to Nikolas and Jackson.
They were ready to go. Samuel climbed into the harness of the second stretcher, and Nikolas took Ben’s. They had to stop frequently because of the terrain. Then Ben had to walk a little way or climb down the ridges the same as the others, and Nikolas was able to help Samuel manoeuvre the other load. It cheered Ben up a little to do this and prove he wasn’t completely helpless. He felt it was helping his leg as well to move it. By nightfall they were only halfway back to Jackson. They made a fire, ate well, and did all the camp routine Nikolas insisted on: washing, and shaving for those who needed it.
Emilia, Ben was amused to see, hadn’t only regained her ability to talk; it seemed she’d regained a desire to as well, and the person she picked on to be the recipient of all her interesting and frequent observations was Nikolas—probably because he couldn’t answer back. She followed him around, commenting on everything he was doing and telling him endless long stories that she lost the thread of halfway through when something more interesting took her fancy. He bore it all with the stoicism of the truly brave, and Ben could only assume after their experiences in these woods, Nikolas was finding the chatter of a young girl one of the more harmless things he’d had to endure.
§ § §
Ulyana Ivanovna proved herself to be a true sadist when she produced some more of her Dakin’s solution, and Ben had to endure the whole process again. It didn’t hurt so much this time though. He even watched her pouring it in and bandaging him up. It hurt like hell still, but he didn’t pass out and was able to eat afterwards, much to Nikolas’s amusement. The next morning, he felt considerably better, but he stayed on the hurdle, resting in the places that were easy for Nikolas t
o drag him. By mid-afternoon they found Jackson’s small camp. He hadn’t been worried, he said. They saw from his drawn face he was making light of two nights on his own not knowing what was happening. Now they had another strong man to ease the burden for the other two. Jackson immediately took over for Samuel, and they set off.
§ § §
They walked steadily, day after day, eating the dried rations, Nikolas or Jackson hunting when the other was pulling Ben. By the end of the first week, Ben’s leg was healing. He could walk on it for short stretches, and there was no infection. Nikolas was also healing, his throat a little sore if he talked too much, but okay if he rested it. By the end of the second week, they were able to use Ben’s stretcher to redistribute the weight of the furs and other things they’d brought, for he could walk all day. A few days later, and they were very glad they’d made the effort to bring all this equipment. It began to snow in the afternoon. They stopped and made camp, and Nikolas and Ben constructed a shelter lined with furs with an opening for the fire and when they sat in it that night, they were warm and comfortable and very pleased with themselves. They woke to a completely white world, and it continued to snow for days. They were much slower now and needed to eat more. The hunting became harder. They lived mainly on fish, still finding that easy to catch with the net, but it all took time, time which Nikolas knew they should be using to move.
§ § §
By the middle of October, they realised they wouldn’t make the camp in time. They’d only come about half of the way they needed to. Once more, Ben urged Nikolas to leave, but he wouldn’t. Ben didn’t push it. They’d tried the separation thing, and it just didn’t work for them. Although they didn’t admit it to the others, they were having the time of their lives now. Every morning, they woke before sunrise and left the shelter, checking their traps and preparing breakfast for the others. When everyone was packed up and ready to go, they went hunting, keeping parallel with the others, occasionally reappearing from the trees to check on them but then disappearing back to their own pleasures, tracking, hunting and, of course, discovering the joys or otherwise of making love in the snow. It was the first real time for both of them—neither wanting to remember a fight in the snow in Denmark and what Nikolas had done then, fuelled on alcohol and rage. Nikolas claimed he’d never been made love to in the snow. Ben didn’t believe a word Nikolas ever uttered these days, which took some of the fun off lying for Nikolas, but he seemed to find sex in the snow novel enough, so Ben didn’t call him on the lies. They found inventive ways to use the snow: its coldness, the propensity to melt when put in warm places, the sudden shock it could produce thrust into faces and under warm clothing—and into other places. They didn’t think they’d laughed so much whilst making love ever. They became less serious about it and fooled around like kids, exploring and teasing. And when they were done, when they were soaked and shivering and cold and still laughing, they had a fire and a warm shelter and friends to return to. Neither Nikolas nor Ben wanted the time in the taiga to come to an end.
The Bridge of Silver Wings Page 14