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The shooter knows exactly why there’s silence. He raises himself, exposing his full body over his car as he lifts his gun at me with a confident stance that he has his shot.
I knew there was a high risk of me never leaving Russia, but I accept the reason for my death: to save my brother.
I tense my body and glare at the shooter in defiance, ready for what comes next.
A single shot fires, and the forehead of the attacker blows apart in a bloody explosion. The rest of his body lurches forward and collapses over the hood of his car before sliding to the ground.
I look for the source of the shot and see Adrik rushing to the other side of the shooter’s car, his gun still trained and ready to fire. When he’s convinced the sniper is dead, Adrik holsters his gun, nods his head to me, and heads back to the car lot where Vadim is struggling to pull himself up. His entire sleeve is drenched with blood and he looks pale. I rush over, helping Adrik carry him to our car.
We pile inside, Adrik takes the wheel and I stay in the back with Vadim. The car whips out of the parking lot, struggles to gain traction on the icy road, but eventually grabs on as we speed away from the scene of our failed assassination.
Chapter5
TATYANA
Most of the hill I’m ascending is frozen solid, but typical of my luck my foot lands on a random soft spot of mud that hasn’t frozen over. It swallows the heel of my boot and I lose balance, swinging my arms wildly to regain my footing. The only thing that keeps me from falling is how much of my boot has sunken into the ground, which helps stabilize me. I press down on the ball to first raise my heel out of the mud, then the rest of my foot. I now have one boot that’s caked in freezing-temperature mud.
Great.
I huff out my frustration and continue my climb to the top of a hill where Viktor and I have spent many of our days as kids together. At the point where the climb becomes steeper, a red metal banister appears and I hook my hand on the edge, using the extra support to pull myself forward.
This hill was much easier to climb when I was a child.
The top of the hill comes to view as the ground levels off. I lean against the banister, catching my breath. Much of the red paint that was bright and new when I was a child has faded and chipped away over the years. I suppose time has a way of wearing anything down.
I turn to a thick rectangle of cement on top of the hill. A boulder resting on the far edge bears an inscription of what I think is the single redeeming quality of the village where Viktor and I lived as children. It’s a memorial for the birthplace of Isaac Asimov.
I wasn’t familiar with Isaac Asimov’s work until my first semester of college in Chicago. I just remember neighbors bragging about him being from this area. Viktor and I didn’t even live in Petrovichi. We lived in a smaller village nearby.
My parents would bring me here and do what many people did when they visited: leave gifts. Candles, fruit, and other small trinkets are sometimes left behind as an homage to the one person our area is known for.
There’s nothing sitting on top of the memorial today.
Viktor had no friends because everyone was terrified of his father. I had no friends in the village because I was the youngest and smallest of the kids. They were cruel, bullying me because it was easy to intimidate a little girl. The simple act of going outside to play became a matter of survival for me as the older kids in the neighborhood would chase me down the moment they saw me. The times they caught me, they dealt a vicious beating, one no child should have to endure. But we grew up in brutal conditions and some kids learn to do brutal things at young ages.
One day I was crouched behind an empty barn, hiding from a crowd of kids in the neighborhood as they creeped their way through a wheat field looking for me. That day, the kids seemed to be in a crueler mood than usual. There was a greater number on the hunt this time, aiming to beat me up the moment they found me.
I thought I’d outrun them, but the second I let my guard down, one of the older boys spotted me and the chase resumed.
I ran harder than I’d ever run before, tearing across a deserted field, feeling dead stalks of vegetation whip against my legs as I saw more kids join the boy who found me. When they were closing in on my lead, I turned at the first building I cleared and crashed directly into Viktor Mikhailov. He was sitting alone, reading a book as he usually was.
Just as now, Viktor was much larger than me. I ricocheted from his body and tumbled to the ground. When I saw what I’d just done, I immediately thought of my parent’s warnings to steer clear of Viktor Mikhailov. I heeded my parents’ warnings because even then, Viktor looked scary.
I pushed myself to my feet just as the neighborhood kids caught up. They stopped at a hard line once they saw Viktor, one falling backwards from how hard he slammed his body to a halt.
At that moment neither of my choices felt good. I could either run back towards the kids who were sure to deal me a vicious beating, or I could take my chances and stay by Viktor. I ran behind Viktor’s legs, and to my shock he let me stay there.
“Why are you disturbing me?” Viktor growled at the kids.
The boy leading the chase piped up, “we were lookin-”
“Get out of here or your friends will need to carry you home,” Viktor roared.
The kids paused and decided it was best to obey. They turned and walked back towards the field they’d chased me through.
That was the first time Viktor saved me from danger.
From then on, I was at his side. At first Viktor protested, telling me I should go home, but I knew if I was alone, I was vulnerable to another attack. I stayed glued to him day after day until he gave up on trying to scare me away.
