Her hand fell to her side. Her quivering fingers yanked at the pistol that rested in its holster. She fumbled it up and pulled the trigger, almost losing her grip. The sharp flash half-blinded her as the bullet ricocheted into the darkness with an angry scream. As the acrid smell of smoke settled, she saw her assailant drop Alyosha against the far wall and turn to face her.
He stepped forward into the moonlight, his eyes glinting as he stared at her. Her feet jittered helplessly against the floor where she lay, a pattering sound like summer hail on a rooftop. He raised a hand to his throat, where the flow of blood spilled out and down his chest. He glanced at his hand briefly, then at her. He shook his head and his lips formed into a hard grimace. He clasped his hand over his throat and began to advance on her. Alyosha lay behind him in the deep shadows, not moving.
She tried to raise the gun, but it seemed a heavy weight, barely lifting from the floor. She fired again blindly, sending sharp fragments of concrete whining into the dark.
His lips curled into a hideous smile, a twisted shape that couldn’t conceal the ugly nature behind it. “Some gifts weren’t meant to be shared,” he rasped contemptuously.
She raised her shaking hand in desperation, drawing upon a reserve inside her as she fired once more. He staggered backward, and a dark flowerlet began to spread on his abdomen.
“Rotten bitch!” he snarled. He began to rush at her.
She flung her other hand across her body and locked it around her wrist, lifting the pistol as he reached her, finger curling around the trigger in the fatal caress that had become such a part of her. In the sharp flash of light, she saw the bullet enter his forehead, his eyes widening with the realization.
His body seemed to grow insubstantial as his motion carried him toward her, dissipating within the stark moonlight in the way a shadow is dispelled. As her hand fell to her side, still clutching her pistol, she felt a warm rain of ashes fall across her, spilling out from empty clothes that deflated like a balloon emptied of its air.
She lay back, her breath coming in sharp gasps now and her heart hammering in her chest, driving away almost all thought before it. Her back arched in a sudden shock that sent ripples of pain through her shaking body. Her fingers seemed unable to release their hold on her pistol, as though they had been bonded together in an eternal embrace.
From across the room, she heard Alyosha stir, and emit a sudden cry of pain that seemed to find its twin within her. She blinked her eyes and pushed at the floor with her free hand, trying to roll over. Her arm folded beneath her, unable to move the way she wanted. Her legs scrabbled in the rubble, seeking somewhere to find a grip, and to enable her to move. Her tongue moved slowly across her lips like a dry awl, trying to wet them.
“Alyosha,” she whispered.
She stared dumbly at her arm as it rose in front of her almost of its own accord, fingers twisting into a claw, then relaxing. It fell away again and she somehow made it dig at the floor, pulling with a sudden strength that made her lurch forward a foot closer to where Alyosha lay.
She was dimly aware of the empty clothes lying across the path of moonlight before her, with their dark ashes spilled to all sides like a deep pool. She pulled herself across this pool, wondering if she would be drawn in and lost, yet unable to set aside this fear for her greater need to reach Alyosha. She felt only the hardness of the floor beneath the flattened ashes.
As she continued to drag herself forward, her limbs shaking and heart racing, her assailant’s clothes seemed to briefly cling to her before sullenly releasing their grip. Alyosha had gone still, making only small sounds of breathing in labored pain.
Her hand grasped forward again, yanking at the unyielding concrete as though to tear it loose. She moved forward again. Her cheek pressed now against the cold floor, her eyes not moving from Alyosha, who lay huddled in the darkness on the other side of the room. She clenched her teeth against another wave of pain and yanked again, now fully in the moonlight that streamed in from overhead.
Time seemed to pass more slowly as she continued to repeat her movements. Her right arm trailed behind her, attached to the gun her hand wouldn’t release. Her feet moved in useless patterns that did little more than stir dust and debris. Her other arm reached forward, fingers descending like a claw to the strewn rubble covering the floor, tearing at it and digging in to pull her closer to where Alyosha lay. She was vaguely aware that her fingers were bleeding freely now where her fingernails had been torn away by her efforts. She grasped and yanked once more, measuring time by the shortening distance between them.
As her breath drew in and out in quiet gasps, she began to become aware of the sharp scent of blood coming from her own fingers, and from Alyosha’s still form. She felt something unfamiliar stir with the realization of the scent, the way a memory that has been long forgotten begins to try to awaken. She pushed the distraction away and called upon all of her focus as she pulled herself across the floor. Now her body lay in the cold shadows on the other side, closer to where he lay slumped against the far wall.
She felt a new sensation begin to settle over her, one that was more immediate and could not be set aside as easily as the other. She recognized this one in the way it began to make her lids grow more heavy and her limbs begin to become sluggish. She clenched her teeth and yanked as hard as she could, fighting against the feeling that wanted to envelop her, trying to reach Alyosha before sleep took its final hold upon her.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, drawing on all her discipline for this one task she still demanded. Her hand seemed to no longer be a part of her as it moved in its slow and deliberate rhythm, repeating over and over. After what seemed a long while, she felt her body come up short.
She opened her eyes. She was against the far wall, nestled in the darkness with Alyosha. She tried to speak but her lips couldn’t seem to form words. She saw him watching her now. His hand slowly moved across the ground, finding her hand. His fingers clasped around it. He tried to smile to reassure her, but her eyes closed and she knew no more.
* * * *
WHEN SHE AWOKE, she sensed somehow that it was night again. She felt the light pressure of his hand in hers, but it seemed somehow less warm than it had ever been.
She raised her head to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes dulled from pain.
“Dasha,” he whispered.
“Shh. Don’t speak, Alyosha.”
“You were so still through the day,” he said hoarsely. “I thought you died.” His eyes half closed as though the effort of even these words had exhausted him.
“I hit my head when I fell last night.” She eased closer to him. “You were my hero, my love,” she said tenderly. “You’ve saved me.”
She wasn’t certain whether he heard her. He had gone still once more. She turned to look at where the bayonet hilt protruded from his abdomen. A small amount of blood seeped around it.
“We have to get you back to the lines.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, as though spoken by someone else. She found herself staring at the blood, watching it slowly thread its way around the exposed part of the blade to join the sodden cloth surrounding it. His hand squeezed hers, a gentle pressure, and she blinked, looking away from the wound and back at him.
“I don’t think I should pull it out, Alyosha.” She experienced a growing sense of fear, not knowing how to handle this situation. “I’ll bandage around it.”
She started to get up, and realized she was still holding her pistol. She returned it to her holster with a shaking hand, and then rose, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She grasped the wall for balance, almost falling down, but caught herself just in time.
“Dasha.” His strained voice was barely audible, but she heard his worry for her.
“I’m all right.” She recovered and straightened up, still swaying. “Just shaky.”
She turned and stumbled to the other room where their packs lay. She tore away the blanket hanging over the doorway and staggere
d to their bedroll. She grabbed her pack and the blankets, and managed to turn around, weaving as she tried to keep her movements restrained from her loss of balance.
She settled down beside him again and pulled out a wad of bandages. She tried not to look too much while she worked, aware of the warm wetness on her fingers followed by a strange tingle on her skin, like one left behind by a welcome caress.
“You’ll be all right, Alyosha,” she said aloud, for her benefit as much as his. She pulled the blankets over him, trying not to disturb the handle protruding from his body. “It’s not too bad, I don’t think.” Her shoulders began to shake as tears began to roll down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She wiped at them and tried to think how she could move him.
He was watching her, his eyes barely open, but she saw an expression on his haggard face that recalled their best moments together, when she had shared herself and her secrets with him.
“I have to leave you alone, Alyosha,” she whispered. “I have to get help.” She caressed his face and leaned down to kiss him.
“Dasha,” he whispered.
She sensed his hand trying to move in the dust. She grasped it delicately, entwining her fingers through his. She met his eyes, realized he wanted to say something more. She leaned close to hear.
“Just wanted . . .” His lips parted in a sigh, a lonely sound. “To say goodbye. Love you so much.” His words trailed off.
“No.” She shook her head. “You’ll be all right. I promise. And I’ll be back.” She cradled his head tenderly and kissed him once more, forcing back her tears when she felt how cold his lips were. His hair had seemed to lose its luster, now as ashen as his face had become.
She got unsteadily to her feet. Her gaze fell on the pile of empty clothes across the room with its dark ashes pooling around them. Her brow furrowed for a moment. And then she began scrambling up the slide of concrete, her movements growing easier as she seemed to begin to regain a sense of control over them. At the top, she glanced back to Alyosha. His eyes were closed once more, and he seemed to be sleeping, a peaceful smile on his face.
She looked around, and was startled at what she saw. Even though the moon had barely risen, every detail stood out in the stark, cratered landscape with a clarity she had never experienced before, even in the light.
She began threading her way as quickly as she could through piles of rubble, trying to work her way back to her lines. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest and she felt her tears begin to flow again, unable to hold them back as she thought about Alyosha being alone behind her. A sense of urgency made her abandon caution and she began to move more quickly, no longer concerned in her haste with remaining soundless.
She had gone only a short distance when she saw figures appear ahead, dressed in the nondescript clothing she associated with her side.
“Help me!” she called. She began to stumble toward them. “Please!”
They turned toward her and she stopped, suddenly uncertain. She somehow knew these were different, like the one who had attacked her and Alyosha. She tried to back up, but they had already reached her, their movements too quick and sure in the darkness.
“If you don’t stop shouting,” one of them said softly. “You’ll call down every shooter from both sides on us.” He leaned close, a large man whose blunted features evoked years of bitter hardship. “Remember your discipline, little strelok.”
She tensed as they surrounded her. Their eyes glinted under the moonlight as they appraised her. One of them grinned and poked another in the ribs.
“Looks like Grisha wanted new company.”
That evoked a quiet laugh from the others.
The large man leaned forward again, his lips against her ear as he spoke. “We’re looking for our Grisha. Do you know where we can find him?”
She gave a short shake of her head. “I need help. Alyosha . . .” She glanced back where she had come in desperation.
He motioned to two of the others, and took her arm. “You can come with us for now.”
“No, wait . . .”
But another had taken her other arm. They pressed closer, forcing her away.
“We’ll help your Alyosha,” the big man soothed. “They’ll bring him with us.”
She looked helplessly back as she was led away, seeing two of them turn to follow the path she had taken here.
They wove their way through the destruction, staying within the broken landscape between the lines. The four accompanying her spoke among themselves in low whispers, using crude slang she associated with those who had spent time in prison camps. She kept glancing behind as they hurried her along, until they stopped soon at a demolished building that seemed only a pile of rubble. Two of them heaved at a large slab of concrete, exposing an entrance to another cellar.
They motioned her inside, crowding behind her until she entered. The interior was dimly lit by flickering candles. One of the others reached up for the concrete slab, but the large man interrupted him.
“Don’t close it up yet. They’ll be here soon.” He made a gesture to Darya. “Make yourself comfortable while we wait.”
She huddled against the wall. Her gaze strayed to a dark shape in the corner, which began to move as the others approached it. She realized it was a young soldier from her own side, tied up and gagged.
“Too many mouths to feed already,” one of the others said, glancing at Darya. “If Grisha is going to make another instead of bringing one in, he can’t keep her for himself.”
“We’ll talk about that when he gets here,” the large man replied. “We’ll be moving soon from here anyway.”
He turned and lifted the bound soldier from the ground, who tried vainly to struggle as his head was pushed to the side. The large man closed his mouth around his neck, and the soldier relaxed with an unexpected suddenness. His face went slack, his eyelids drawing down like shutters.
Darya’s eyes widened as she saw two of the others each grab a wrist, their mouths open wide to expose distended fangs, before clamping down.
“Upiri,” Darya whispered in horror. She began backing along the wall, unable to look away. “Upiri.”
The remaining one’s eyes narrowed as he noticed her movement. “Where are you going?” He reached for her arm.
That was all it took. She slammed her hand into him, intending to shove him away from her, but the blow sent him flying across the room into the others. They landed together in a tangled pile and she scrambled away for the entrance. She burst out into the night again as muffled shouts erupted below.
She vaulted over a high wall in her path and struck the ground hard on the other side, rolling until she came to a stop in a depression beside a collapsed building. The remains of twisted metal reinforcement bars seemed to close around her like a spider’s legs. She started to get up, but heard a faint noise carried just beneath the wind, a sound of deliberate movement. She waited, listening, and realized it was coming toward the hidden cellar, rather than away from it.
She eased up to peer out, but could see nothing past the wall she had leaped over in her escape. She could hear voices now, coming from both the cellar and the two others who had left to find Alyosha. She got up, hesitating, unsure whether to go back where she had come, or be certain they hadn’t brought Alyosha with them, as they had the other soldier.
She smelled a sudden sharp scent of blood that sent her heart pounding, and realized it was coming from her own hand where it had been cut by the debris when she had fallen. She stared down at the gaping wound, unable to look away. She slowly brought her hand up, her nostrils flaring as they drew on the intoxicating sensation as though to drink it in. She looked sharply back in the direction of the cellar as the voices faded, having gone inside.
She slipped through the tangled metal and made her way forward, her limbs remembering the stealth they had long practiced, but now with newly acquired skill. She crept forward, until she lay close to the entrance of the cellar. They hadn’t drawn the slab back after the
m, and she was near enough to hear what was being said inside.
“—found Grisha’s ashes. She or the other one killed him.”
“What happened there?” said a voice she recognized as the large man.
“I don’t know.” A pause. “I don’t think she knows what she is. She didn’t try to give the other one blood.”
“What about this other one? You didn’t bring him?”
“There was no need. We brought this instead.”
Darya held her breath and slid her face close to the entrance to peer inside. She could see little of the room, but she saw the two who had left and had now returned. One of them was holding a pendant in his hand. The copper filigree of the cross shone in the way Alyosha’s hair had always done in the candlelight.
Something cold formed deep inside her. Without thought, she began to move, her hand unholstering the gun at her side.
“If you see her again, kill her,” the large man was saying. “We don't need . . .” He looked up.
Darya fired a single shot into his forehead. She swung the gun to each of the next four men in turn, shooting each one methodically in the head before they could even react to her presence. Her pistol centered on the last one, who stood frozen now, the pendant swaying between his fingers, its light reflecting and fading with the pendulum of its movement. The gun clicked. She ejected the magazine and brought up a fresh one.
“Please.” He held out the pendant, his hand shaking. He tried to smile, his lips twisting into a crooked semblance of something forgotten. “You’re one of us now.”
She dropped the slide and fired twice into his forehead.
She stared at the pile of ashes and clothes, and then knelt down, brushing her fingers across the beaded chain. She lifted it carefully, closing her hand around it. She glanced across the room where the soldier lay, still bound. He seemed to be sleeping. His chest rose and fell with long breaths. She walked over to him and took out her bayonet, and cut loose the ropes that bound him.
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