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But Volchok doesn’t move toward the window as I do. He stays where he is, his gnarled hand wrapping around a lever.
“It is up to you now. Climb out the window. Run to the trees. Run as fast as possible. I will hold them off for a minute. Two at most. Then we will all burn. And you will be free again.”
“You don’t have to blow up anything—and who’s in this building—”
“Only soldiers are here overnight. They will all burn too. Get away now.”
“We can both make it!”
“Make him suffer,moy syn. Do as I never did for myself andSolnishko. Do what I could not and save yourSolnishko. You are the only one who can defeat him.”
I step away from the window as feet pound outside in the hall. My heartbeat roars in my ears, hammering just as hard inside my chest. “You can’t be my… he’s not really my… why didn’t Stefania ever—”
“GO! GET OUT!” he yells as the soldiers make it to the boiler room door.
Without another second to spare, I shove down the rest of my protests and hoist myself up onto the large steel cylinder under the window. It’s hot to the touch, burning the palms of my hands, though it’s not enough to slow me down.
The window’s a tight squeeze. The dimensions weren’t made to accommodate anyone bigger than someone runt-sized, let alone an adult male. The hardest part is fitting my shoulders past the narrow opening, twisting and angling ’til I’m able to force myself through. Once my torso passes through, it becomes about using my arms and hands to prep myself for the fall on the other side.
The door finally busts open and Volchok’s confrontation with the soldiers begins with him making it clear they’re to stay where they are if they don’t wish to blow up, cranking the lever that fills the room with more gas than necessary.
Which in turn makes the furnace shake.
It works. They pause, but I don’t.
I grip the wall on the outside of the building, wrench my lower half through, and drop to the ground with the intention of my legs and feet touching first.
It’s only a few feet down.
My legs buckle anyway, my balance lost. I hit the ground only to force myself back up a split second later.
There’s no time to fuck up, to spend on falls and potential injuries. Volchok said I’ve got a minute to get the hell out of the area before the explosion.
I take off for the tree line some twenty feet away. A barbed wire fence cuts off the compound with the trees surrounding the area. Serrated pieces of wire aren’t enough to stop me after everything I’ve been through.
I sprint to the far corner where typically there’s less sharp wires, climb up the fencing, and do my best leaping over. Some of the wire slices into my flesh and cuts me up. All that matters is I make it. I land with another thud just as Volchok can’t hold them off any longer.
Heat simmers in the winter air and changes the atmosphere.
It’s a tangible feeling in the second leading up to the massive blast. The explosion is deafening and the flames are immediate. I take cover in the woodland, gritting my teeth against the threats from my body telling me I can’t make it any farther.
Volchok’s words serve as my motivation. This is my shot. My only chance at freedom. My last chance at revenge.
It’s all on me.
Make him suffer, moy syn. Do it as I never did for myself andSolnishko. Do what I could not and save yourSolnishko. You are the only one who can defeat him.
I won’t try.
I will.
delphine
Ihaven’t hada moment’s rest since the bloodbath at the Mill. Call it the post-traumatic stress disorder from what I’ve experienced, the soul-stirring level of grief I’m racked by, or the pure hatred and murderous thirst for revenge I’m motivated by every moment I’m breathing—the result is essentially the same.
I cannot—and will not—rest until my world is restored.
Or I make those who made it impossible, suffer to the fullest extent humanly possible.
