by Dan Smith
I shook my head and scanned the trees. I studied the branches, searched for any sign.
‘Who is he that he can come and go without leaving tracks?’ Petro asked.
‘When he wants,’ Viktor added. ‘Otherwise he leaves enough tracks for any idiot to follow. Who is this man?’
I looked at my sons, understanding what this meant. The question now was not whether the child thief could kill us whenever he wanted, but why had he not done so already? And how long did he intend to wait before he tried to take another of us?
16
It didn’t take long to find the trail he had left for us, two sets of prints, one large one small. For the most part it looked as if Dariya was walking well. There were places where she seemed to have fallen, perhaps been dragged, but they were brief.
‘She’s strong,’ I said aloud. ‘To be walking like that. He must be feeding her, keeping her well.’ And even as I said it, I saw a meaning I hadn’t intended. Like the Baba Yaga fattening up children before they were ready to be eaten.
‘I still don’t understand how he left no tracks,’ Viktor said. ‘We’re following tracks right now, aren’t we? So why has he left these but didn’t leave any last night?’
‘He wants us to find these ones,’ Petro said. ‘He wants us to follow. He didn’t want us to follow last night so he covered his tracks.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he had a camp,’ Petro said. ‘Somewhere he was keeping Dariya.’
‘Right,’ I agreed. ‘He wanted us to know he’d been there, but not to follow him. Nothing else makes any sense. I should’ve gone to look. Last night. I should have investigated what I thought I saw. We might be going home with Dariya right now.’
‘If we’d caught him, though,’ Viktor asked, ‘you think he would’ve told us where Dariya was?’
‘Yes.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘There are ways to make men tell you what you want to know.’
Both boys were quiet.
‘He must’ve used the trees,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about how he could have done it and it’s the only way. He must’ve climbed across the low branches and that’s why there were no tracks.’
‘You sure he didn’t fly?’ Viktor asked.
I smiled that his thoughts had followed the same pattern as my own. ‘I’m sure. He’s just a man.’
‘Who comes and goes as he pleases,’ Viktor said. ‘Like he’s playing a game.’
‘He is playing a game,’ I said. ‘That’s why we have to be vigilant if we want to win. I’ve let us down once; I won’t do it again.’
We followed the tracks for another hour or so, veering close to the edge of the woods, passing the houses of another village.
‘That looks like Uroz,’ I said. ‘Which means we’ve come almost fifty kilometres. We’re still going east.’
‘Maybe we can go down there,’ Viktor suggested. ‘Maybe they’ll have something for us to eat.’
‘And maybe they won’t,’ I said. ‘Maybe the place will be under the control of the OGPU. No, we have to keep going while we still have daylight.’ I thought about the screams during the night. ‘We have to keep going.’ And I thought about Dimitri, that first night, wanting to go after Dariya straight away. I wondered if maybe the child thief had been watching us then, ready to shoot the first person to follow him.
‘Papa.’ Petro stopped and grabbed at my coat, disturbing my thoughts, making me look up. ‘Something there. Someone.’
Immediately I crouched, dropping my rifle from my shoulder. Viktor and Petro did the same, but I damned myself for daydreaming, for not being as observant as I needed to be. Not much more than an hour ago I had told myself how vigilant I needed to be, and already I was failing. My instincts and senses were dulled by the cold and the hunger, and by age. I was growing old, and each day was taking a little more of my steel. I should have seen the shape through the trees before either of my sons saw it. It was my duty.
I looked to where Petro was pointing his rifle and lifted my own weapon, pulling the stock against my shoulder, wrapping the sling around my left hand to steady it. We were just past Uroz now, half a kilometre maybe, the houses behind and out of sight. A single figure was standing close to the trees, facing our direction. It was lighter out there, so he was only a silhouette, and to him we would be shrouded in the murk of the forest, but he was stationary and he was staring in our direction.
I put my eye to the scope, bringing the man into focus. It was hard to make out his features. His demeanour was that of an old man, though. He stood hunched, his shoulders slumped, his back bent, his head low.
‘Did he see us?’ I whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ Petro answered. ‘I just saw him there and stopped.’
‘You didn’t see him do anything?’ I asked as the man moved. He shuffled to one side, leaning forward as if looking into the forest.
‘No.’
‘Viktor? What about you?’
‘No.’
I tried to get beyond my anger at not having seen him. I was a soldier, a hunter. I was accustomed to seeing the slightest movement, always watching for signs of life. But tiredness blunted me, and now there was anger to distract me. I couldn’t allow any of those things to prevent me from finding Dariya. I had to be without exhaustion, without emotion; I had to lock those things away. There was only one purpose and I had to let it drive me. If I faltered from that, even for a moment, it could mean a child’s death.
‘Is it him?’ Petro asked.
I continued to watch through the scope. ‘I can’t be sure.’ But I couldn’t help thinking that if it were him, if he had allowed us to come this close to him, then his game was over and we’d all be dead. If he had concealed himself, he could have shot each of us three times over before we could have worked out where he was.
‘Shoot,’ Viktor said. ‘It’s him.’
‘And if it isn’t?’
‘It is, Papa, it’s him. Trying to sneak up on us like he did last night.’
I continued to watch the man peering into the trees as if looking for us. ‘It doesn’t feel right. If it’s him, why is he out there?’
‘Who else would it be?’ Viktor said. ‘We have to shoot him before he shoots us.’
‘No, Viktor, it’s not him.’
‘Isn’t that what you thought last night?’
‘But why would he wait here and not far ahead? Remember how he shot Dimitri.’ I whispered my thoughts, reasoning aloud why this was not our child thief. I wanted Viktor and Petro to see the logic in his thinking, to understand that the man we were following would not present himself in this way. But that wasn’t the effect of mentioning Dimitri’s name. Instead, the word was like a hot knife to Viktor, bringing back memories of blood and death. The sounds Dimitri had made as he struggled with his life out on the steppe.
And while those thoughts cascaded through Viktor’s consciousness, they brought with them a powerful instinct to survive. In his mind he saw Dimitri dying, and he responded in a way that was only human. He knew he did not want it to happen to him. His reaction was all instinct. The instinct to survive.
So when the man took a step forward and raised his hand, Viktor fired his rifle.
The man at the line of the trees stopped mid-movement and his head snapped back. His body relaxed as if a hand had come from the sky, taken hold of his soul and ripped it out of him in one movement. He simply ceased to be. In an instant his life was gone, his body now vacated, and the empty vessel collapsed into the snow.
‘No.’ I lowered my weapon and looked at Viktor and Petro, both of them with their weapons still aimed, their expressions of surprise. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘He was going to shoot at us,’ said Viktor. ‘You saw it. He was going to shoot.’
But I saw doubt in my son’s eyes, and when I looked across at Petro, I knew he saw it too.
‘What?’ Viktor said. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I
’m telling you, he was going to shoot.’
‘All right.’ I looked back at the dark shape in the snow as I put my hand on the warm barrel of Viktor’s rifle and lowered it to point at the ground. ‘All right.’
For a few moments nothing happened. No sounds. Nothing. Then I rose to my feet and slung my rifle. I took the revolver from my pocket and glanced at Petro and Viktor.
‘Wait here,’ I said. ‘No more shooting.’
‘He was going to shoot,’ Viktor said. ‘He was.’
‘Stay with him,’ I told Petro, and he nodded, glancing at me briefly before looking at his brother again.
Viktor could only stare at the shape lying in the snow.
I made my way to the edge of the wood, keeping close to the tree trunks, trying to give myself as much cover as possible. I kept the revolver pointed ahead and I hunched low. As I came closer, so the body became clearer, and when I reached the last trees I could see we had reached the road between Uroz and Sushne. The narrow track that ran alongside the forest was covered with snow, just as everything else was, but it had been used some time since the storm yesterday. There were hoof prints, two sets from first glance, and ice had formed in the bottom of the prints so I guessed they had been made either last thing yesterday or first thing this morning. Someone had ridden this way on horseback.
At the side of the track the man was lying face up with his arms by his sides, like a child playing dead. His head was twisted sideways so his cheek rested in the snow. Viktor’s shot had been a good one: the man had died instantly. The bullet had struck him in the face, just above his mouth, and had torn up through the back of his head, releasing his life. There was a large stain around his head, and the track behind him was sprayed with blood and brain.
And I could see, straight away, the man had not been alone. A few metres further along a second person was crouching at the side of the track, looking around in fear, hands raised to shoulder level.
I stepped from the woods and pointed the revolver at her.
‘Please,’ she mumbled. ‘Please don’t shoot me. Please.’
She was young. Not much older than my boys, maybe nineteen or twenty, and she wasn’t clothed for winter weather. She wore no coat, no hat. Her dress was dirty and there were red marks on her face that could have been first-stage bruises or might have been caused by the cold biting at her skin. Her hair was long, but not tied back as I would have expected. It was loose around her shoulders, tangled and wild. Like a young Baba Yaga, but her features were too soft for her to be mistaken for a witch. She had pale skin which heightened the flushed patches on her sharp cheekbones, and she had dark eyes.
When I told her to stand up, she shifted in the snow and I could see her feet were bare. And when I glanced down at the dead man I saw that he too had nothing on his feet. He was wearing a shirt and jacket but no winter coat.
‘Who are you?’ I asked, staying where I was, keeping the revolver levelled at her. I looked past her at the road, seeing nothing in the distance, risked a quick look into the trees to make sure Viktor and Petro were hidden.
‘Who are you?’ I asked again.
‘Aleksandra.’
‘And him?’
She didn’t look down at the body. ‘Roman.’
‘You knew him?’
She nodded.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Uroz.’
‘And what are you doing here? Like that – no shoes, no coat.’
‘They made me,’ she said.
‘Who?’
But she just stared.
‘Who made you?’
The shock was leaving her now. It was lifting from her like a dark shadow that had fallen over her but was now snatched by the wind and blown away into the trees. I saw the change in her face, saw the difference in her eyes, and then there were tears on her cheeks.
I lowered the revolver and went to her, putting an arm around her and leading her to the side of the track. She walked like she was just learning, her steps awkward and hesitant.
‘How long have you been out here?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Can you feel your feet?’ I asked her.
‘No.’
‘They look all right, but we need to get them warm. If they get too cold, there’s a strong chance of frostbite. You know what that is?’
‘Of course.’
Taking her into the trees, I called to Viktor and Petro, and spread Dimitri’s coat on the ground for her to stand on. I wrapped it around her feet.
‘Stay with her,’ I told Petro. ‘See if you can rub some warmth into her feet. And when they’re warm, make sure she puts these on.’ I put Dimitri’s boots and socks on the ground beside Aleksandra. ‘Viktor, you come with me.’
‘Is it him?’ he asked. ‘Did I get him?’
‘No, it isn’t him.’
Viktor looked at me. ‘It must be. He was going to—’
‘It isn’t him.’
‘But he’s armed.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He was going to shoot.’
‘No, Viktor.’ My son had been afraid and his mind had showed him what he expected to see. But the man he had shot was unarmed. I sighed and shook my head. ‘Come on. We have to move him before someone comes. Before someone sees.’ I began walking back to the place where the man lay by the road, but Viktor stayed where he was, staring.
‘Come on,’ I said to him. ‘Now.’
But Viktor just stood and stared. As if something was keeping him from moving his feet. He wanted to follow, he wanted to help, but something wouldn’t let him. He was still processing my words. He had killed a man, but it was the wrong man.
‘You have to try,’ I said. ‘You have to—’
‘I can’t.’
‘Go and help the girl, then. Her name is Aleksandra.’ I looked back at where she was standing beside a tree, her body turned away as if she were trying to disappear into the cracks in the bark. She hung her head, her hair falling across her face. ‘Petro, you come with me.’
While Viktor went to stand with Aleksandra, neither of them speaking, Petro and I dragged the man away from the road. We each took an arm and pulled him into the trees, leaving a flattened mark in the snow, and a wide streak of blood. I could see how it turned Petro’s stomach, handling the body like that, but he didn’t complain. He averted his eyes from the man’s face and did what was necessary, and when we had dragged the corpse far enough, Petro let go of the man’s arm, leaving it to flop across his chest and slide away.
‘What Viktor did—’
‘He was scared,’ I told Petro. ‘We all are. He thought this man was going to shoot us. Kill you, maybe. Me.’
‘I know. I understand.’
‘Good. So he needs to accept it and get on.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
‘Is that what you do? Pretend it hasn’t happened?’
‘If that’s what it takes, yes.’
‘How do you do that?’
‘I don’t know. I lock it away.’
Now Petro looked down at the body. He put all his effort into forcing himself to see.
‘I think if Viktor hadn’t shot first, I would’ve killed this man,’ he said. ‘I was going to shoot him.’ There was fear and revulsion in his eyes as he connected with his brother’s emotions. He almost knew what his brother was feeling, because he was almost the one who had murdered this man. But there would also be a kind of relief that it hadn’t been him.
‘When people are scared,’ I said, ‘they’ll do almost anything to survive. Like what happened in Vyriv … He’ll be all right,’ I told Petro. ‘Give him some time.’ I looked across at Viktor and Aleksandra. Like two more trees in the forest.
‘She needs clothes,’ I said, bending down to remove the man’s jacket.
‘Will she be all right?’ Petro asked.
‘Of course she will. We don’t breed weak women. And our men can turn the
ir hearts to stone, so your brother will be fine too. Now, help me with this.’
Petro swallowed hard and helped with the other arm, pulling it from the sleeve of the jacket, keeping his eyes away from Roman’s face, not wanting to see the trauma inflicted by Viktor’s bullet.
We stripped the man naked, taking every scrap of clothing he had, and went to Aleksandra, giving her the shirt and trousers. ‘Your feet warm enough now?’ I asked, and when she nodded, I told her the socks and boots were for her. ‘They’ll be too big, but they’re better than walking barefoot in the snow. And you can keep the coat.’
As she was dressing, I took my entrenching tool back to the road, shovelling away the bloody snow, throwing a fresh covering across it while Petro brushed it smooth with a branch broken from a tree.
Coming back to Aleksandra, she refused to make eye contact. She kept her head down, her hair falling over her face, keeping it hidden. Close by, Viktor remained silent, staring into the woods.
‘We don’t have time to feel sorry for ourselves,’ I said. ‘I need to know why you were out here dressed like that.’
She said nothing, so I went to her, took her shoulders and shook her until she looked up at me. ‘Why are you here?’
She stared at me, her eyes widening, then her muscles tensed and she raised her arms, trying to break my grip and push me away. I held her tight as she struggled, and when she began to weaken, I let go and stepped back.
‘Well, good luck,’ I said, collecting my pack, slinging it over my back. I picked up my rifle and nodded to Petro. ‘Come on. Let’s get your brother. We don’t have time for this. The longer we wait, the further away they’ll be.’
‘They came a week ago.’ Her voice was hoarse.
I stopped and turned to look at Aleksandra. ‘OGPU?’
She shook her head, creased her brow like she didn’t understand.
‘Soldiers?’ I said. ‘Chekists.’
‘Yes.’
‘And they made you come out here like this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they … did they do anything else to you?’
‘It isn’t enough they took my father? That they took our food?’ There was anger in her eyes now, in her voice too, as if she was letting out something she’d kept inside. She saw we meant her no harm, and that had released the pressure inside her, but when she mentioned her father, her voice cracked and she squeezed her eyes tight.