Chapter 2- Volgograd

I wake up in the morning by the dead fire, while the bandits still sleep. I turn, peeking behind for Makar, the boy. He lies beside me, still softly asleep, and I roll over to face him. It's more like a squirm with the binds still tied around my wrists, but I slowly work my way over and stare at him, careful not to wake him yet. He looks, so, peaceful. I believe the two of us can escape from these bandits. Hopefully, we'll be safe with his brother, if he's even alive. I worry that Makar might be putting too much faith in him. He is strong, most of the other slaves seem to have enough trouble caring for themselves. I feel lucky 

 My stomach begins to moan, reminding me I'd been starved since the morning with Dad. I do not let myself dwell on these thoughts long. Makar breaks from his sleep as if he felt my presence, he rubs his eyes, and looks around quickly, "Did you wake me?" he asks. I shake my head in reply, "I was just going to let you sleep." 

"Just felt like something pushed me," He explains. 

“Huh.” 

There's a long silence while he lays on his back, and I catch myself still gazing at him, so, I shift my eyes away for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, seeking to break the silence. 

"Nadya," he begins. I shift my eyes back to him, giving my attention. 

"How is your head?" he asks. He leaves himself open-ended, as though to continue with another more pressing question. I feel the bandage on my head and lightly press the bump until it hurts. It doesn't take much pressure before I wince, "It’s still hurts." 

"I can look at it, if you want?" he offers nicely, and I nod my head, pulling back bandage. He examines me more closely. 

“It looks okay,” he says stroking the hair away from my face and wrapping the bandage, comfortable and snug around my head. I can’t help but smile and he grins back.  

"Do you have anywhere to go? " he asks. 

I shake my head sadly, "No..." I trail off. "Not since I'd been taken." 

"I think that you and I can make it out of here," He says. 

"We just have to be patient, not cause any problems," I advise. I already had these plans of my own, but Makar is right. I have nowhere to go, not since Samara. 

"So, what happened in Samara?" he asks, cautious of possibly upsetting me.  

I flash-back to the city, the closest thing to calling home. Vivid memories of my father and the incident with Dad flood my consciousness. I finally snap out of my day-dream when Makar lightly shakes my arm. "Nadya?" he asks. 

"Dad and I were returning from hunting," I begin. Makar leans in to listen. "The bandits, they were waiting for us inside the shelter when we returned, and he tried shooting..." I trail off, regretting what happens next. 

"I see," says Makar. "I'm sorry about your Dad." 

I nod my head and quickly try to end that conversation. I sit up, pushing my arms away from my chest; as if to stretch, but the ropes around my hands constrict this movement. The cold air blows under my arms, and I shiver, "It's freezing, are you cold?" 

Makar nods his head, "It's just the morning winds” he says. 

The rest of the bandits start quietly talking and shuffling in their sleeping bags and tents. As the sun rises higher, more of them wake to the bitter cold. Makar offers a word of advice, "I'd stay out of the bandits' way in the morning. Just stay here for now." I nod my head in reply. My stomach grumbles once again, loud enough for Makar to hear. 

"I'm so hungry," I complain. "Do we get fed?" 

"Not very often...” he trails off. 

Soon the bandits are all awake, working to take down the camp, and dismantling tents. I look enviously while they boil water, and store provisions. One of the men approaches the slaves, giving water to each of them. It isn't long before they reach Makar and I, handing us a container of water to share. I take a few large gulps and leave the rest for Makar. Before the man walks away, I ask a question, carefully, "Can we have some food?" The bandit turns around and smirks. 

"We don't have any for you," the bandit laughs and continues walking away. I look at Makar disappointed in my efforts. 

"Worth a try.” 

*** 

My head spins, and my stomach grumbles violently. Staggering forward with the migrating group, I slowly fall behind. The bandit tugs the rope around my hands, jolting me forward. My ears start to ring, and I stop for a moment. The bandit inevitably jolts the cord again, and I misplace my footing, falling to the snow. I cannot get up, am I paralyzed? I worry; But the bandit kicks me, bluntly in the ribs, and I yelp. 

"Get up!" he yells. "Get up!" He sends his foot again and again to kick me while I brace for the last two hits. Then he stops and drags me to my feet, but my legs wobble underneath me. I collapse once again and notice Makar watching helplessly from a distance. 

"Please stop. I can't keep going," I plead breathlessly. 

"Vlad!" the bandit calls. The group stops and the bandit leader, Vlad, emerges from the crowd. I recognize him, he's the one who took me from Samara. 

"What's the hold-up?" Vlad asks, angrily. I cower under his judgment, there isn't much I could do to save myself now. I fear this is my final mistake. 

"She won't walk," the bandit complains. "I say we just put this one down. She's caused enough problems." He suddenly pulls a knife and tries to grab me. 

"No!" I scream fearfully, and quickly attempt to crawl away. He yanks the lead, pulling on my bound arms, and catches me.  

"That made you squirm!" he harasses and laughs. 

Vlad suddenly hits the man in the back of his head, "Stop toying with her!" he booms. I squirm away slightly and watch from a distance. "We need as many slaves as we can gather. We will stop for now. We've been traveling all day." The bandit stands back up, angered by Vlad's decisions. 

"We haven't traveled far enough! We're still barely outside Samara, and I wanna go home!" He retorts, very loud, and causes a scene at the back of the party. 

Vlad puts a hand on his shoulder, quickly calming the irritated man. I notice him swiftly draw a pistol and press it on his head. He instantly fires without regret or hesitation, and the man collapses. The crowd turns to the scene. Some of the other bandits and slaves see this act, but by the time the rest could turn around, the snow already was soaked in blood. 

"Does anybody else want to go home!" he shouts to the crowd. The bandits are silent; They do not dare speak for fear of death. And the humble slaves watch from a distance, tied to their masters 

 Vlad holsters his pistol, "Everybody set-up camp, now!" he orders. 

Vlad looks at me, uneasily, with a smirk on his face, sending a shiver down my spine. Makar and I have to find a way to escape these men. Vlad is not like the rest of these bandits; He has other goals in mind. I notice Vlad swing his arm around Makar's shoulder, he throws him toward me, "Take care of your girlfriend," he mocks. Makar hurriedly squats beside me to help. 

"Let me get you up," he says, reaching his hands out, gently embracing me, and helping me up. My legs tremble, but I force myself to push, leaning on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me, supporting my sluggish steps. 

"Are you hurt?" he asks, noticing my arm covering the side of my chest. 

"I wasn't ready, and he kicked my ribs pretty well," I say. 

We continue with the group, not much farther, before Vlad finds suitable shelter for us. The bandits set up camp early for the day.  

Makar sits with me in the corner of the house, and opens the canteen, partially filled with the water that we’d been saving since this morning. He hit the container on the ground, the chunks of ice shake apart, and he sips a small bit from the limited supply.  

“Here,” he shares it with me, and I sip the very last of the water, struggling to get every last bit, and slurping the end of the cap with my tongue, but it's not satisfying. 

He inches himself against me, and I zone in and out of daydream and slumber delusions. Clumsily I whirl my head around landing on his shoulder, before finally giving in. Makar leans his head against the wall behind us, “How’re you feeling now?” he asks, referring to the impacts in my ribs.  

“Better Makar, thank you.” 

Vlad enters the abandoned building, he carries a small plate of food, approaching me. I gaze, enviously, upon the food. I see a slab of warm red meat, with saucy brown beans. He hands me the platter, and I take it cynically. He smiles wretchedly once again, glaring into my eyes, "I was hoping the both of you would share this," he says. 

"Thank you!" Makar says, in a grateful tone. Vlad nods, grunting, but not wavering his eyes from me. He steps away and returns to his tent. 

"He isn't like the rest of them," Makar whispers. "Just stay away from him." I nod my head, in understanding. Vlad is dangerous and profoundly unsettles me, but I push these thoughts from my mind; we have to focus on our escape. I set out the plate for us, and Makar picks pieces of meat off the plate. 

"What do you mean, Vlad, Isn't like the rest of them?" I ask, taking a piece of meat and chewing it. 

"All the bandits fear him; All the slaves hate him," Makar admits. “You’d think it’d be the other way around.” 

"I wonder why?" I ask, pondering. 

Makar shrugs his shoulders and continues eating. I try to split the food, but Makar graciously leaves more for me. We sit by the fire until night sets again, and before long, Makar dozes off beside me. I lie awake, staring into the embers of the fire. I can't fall asleep, thoughts of all kinds engulf my mind, but the one that lies lingering in my conscious, about Vlad. Yes, Makar is right, he isn't like the rest of the bandits, but there's something else. The way he looks at me; protects me; and smiles at me. Why is Vlad so interested in me? I try to stop thinking about it and, I face Makar while he begins to sleep, peacefully. 

I feel lucky to have met Makar. I just hope that he and I can finally escape somewhere safe. As I start to doze off, I feel someone grab my shoulder. I turn around startled and bump into Makar, he almost wakes up. I notice Vlad standing behind me, "Hush girl! Come with me," he commands. I swallow hard and obey his order. I stand up, and he grips the ropes on my hands, pushing me forward. We walk away from the camp, but not too far. I start to get colder as we walk farther out into the night. He suddenly stops and fiddles with the ropes on my hands. My heart races; is he going to kill me?  

He unties the binds on my wrists. Is he letting me go? There is a short pause, I don't dare ask him what he's doing. Suddenly he throws me to the ground, grabbing my hair, and smothering my face in the snow. I squirm, kick, and fight to get away. 

“Stop it! Hold Still!” he shouts, bitterly. 

He rolls me on my back and attempts tearing off my pants. I fight harder, wildly kicking his head. He yells frustratingly and lunges at me. I wail and plead, but he clasps his hand over my squealing mouth, and sits above me, pinning me down. I keep stirring and turning, hoping I can squirm myself out. He draws his pistol and holds it to my neck. My eyes widen in terror, fixed on the gun, and gasping through my dry nose. I look into the dark sky, and my chest tightens. I start to give up, gazing at the stars one last time for comfort. 

"I told you not to f****n' move!" he threatens, pushing the barrel deeper into my neck. 

My right leg is free, and I wind it up for a risky move. I send my knee up into Vlad's groin, he shouts in pain, fumbling with the pistol. We struggle with the gun, and he tries to shoot me. I grip the handle and jab the barrel into his gut, quickly finding the trigger and firing. The gun flails in my hand, firing three times into his stomach. My ears ring deafeningly, and Vlad tries to shout for help but instantly bleeds out onto my clothes, saturating my hands, and the snow beneath me. I push his body away and shove the bloody pistol in my coat. I pause in confusion, trying to catch my breath. My hands tremble out of fear, but the bandits stir at the camp, alerted to the gunshot. I sprint away, anywhere, in a random direction. I have no sense of destination, only that I have to get away before I'm found again. 

I rapidly grow exhausted and have to stop, taking a minute to catch my breath, and curl up to fight the wind; it is getting much colder now. I won’t last long outside at night and begin to examine my surroundings, searching for shelter through darkness. The bandits are searching with their lanterns, investigating nearby. They're looking for Vlad, and still, haven't found his body. It happened so fast it amazes me, almost unnatural. Makes me sick to my stomach, the blood on my hands is a constant reminder. I start to stand, hearing a "click" behind me; somebody cocked their rifle. I stop dead still and feel for the pistol in my pocket. I'd rather die than go to Volgograd with those bandits. I motion to whip out my gun, but the man behind me calls out, almost pleading, "No! Please don't!" I make my choice, kneeling down in the snow, and tossing the gun. I sight, almost disappointed by my actions, and the man squats beside me. I watch him as he picks up the pistol and notices the blood on the weapon. I peek to the side, looking at the strange man. He doesn't look like a bandit, carrying a one-shot rifle. 

"I didn't wanna have to shoot a girl," he expresses, observing my bloodied hands and face, “Are you bleeding?" 

I shake my head subtly, still wary of the strange man, “The blood’s not mine.” 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says. “I can help you find shelter, somewhere safe, but we have to go now.” 

“Alright,” I agree, nodding. The man helps me up, seeing more blood stained on my clothes. I shiver from the cold and wrap my jacket closer, but the wind passes right through me. 

“We'll find shelter soon, I know you're cold,” he says sympathetically. 

He leads me not too far away, to an old, broken-down house. The ceiling is caved in from the top, but the rest of the house is practically intact. Inside he points to a corner of the house. A small smothered fire sits in the corner by a rolled-up sleeping bag, and a backpack. 

“I'm already set up here; hopefully, they won't track us back,” the man explains. 

I sit down in the corner by the embers, which used to be a fire. "I'll relight it," he says, quickly tossing sticks and pieces of wood into the pit. The fuel ignites from the ash, relighting the campfire. I warm up beside the flame and unwrap my headscarf. The man sits beside me, taking off his head-gear. He hands me a small, damp towel. I hold out my hands, still trembling, and bloody. I the blood from my hands and face, but its already soaked into my coat considerably. 

He stands his rifle in the corner and unrolls the sleeping bag; large enough to fit two people. I peek over at the man's face, now that it's not wrapped and padded. The man is oddly familiar. Kind, blue eyes, like Makar's, a scraggly beard, and lightly browned hair. However, he's much taller and older. 

“Who are you?” I ask, curiously. He turns his head and faces me. 

“I'm Artyom,” he says. “Are you injured?” 

“No. I’m not,” I shake my head in response, “I’m Nadya. I got caught up with those bandits for a few days...” I trail off. 

“I've been following those bandits a while; I'm looking for my brother. I was worried when I heard the gunshots,” he says. 

 I am surprised by this coincidence, Makar was right. His brother really is alive looking for him. 

“I’ve seen your brother, Makar,” I inform. 

“Really! How is he? Is he alright? Where are they taking him?” asks Artyom, eager for more information. He hands me a bottle of water, and I take it. 

“He’s okay,” I reply. “Makar tells me they’re going to Volgograd.” I drink slowly from the bottle, careful to keep some for Artyom as well. He scratches his head, and pulls out his map, tracing over the paper with his finger. I look at the map, confused, “What is it?” 

“That would make sense,” he says. “There's an unfrozen river there, in Volgograd.” I shake my head in disbelief, and I notice the river once again, “That must be The Volga River,” I say, uncertainly. I have so many questions, “An unfrozen river? How do you know this?” I ask, saving the rest of my questions for later. 

"I don't,” he admits, "But there seems no other reason they'd be taking slaves to Volgograd...” he pauses, “You can stay with me if you want. Or, do you have somewhere to go?” 

I shake my head in response. “No, I don't...” I trail off. “Not anymore.” I sadly look down at my feet. 

“What happened?” he asks, finally. I lift my head back up to his eyes. 

“They took me from Samara, like your brother,” I explain. Artyom nods, somberly, and sighs, “When I arrived back home, in Tolyatti, he was gone; along with almost everything inside.” 

“Tomorrow, I'll be moving on. You may come with,” he offers, generously. I smile at his offer, nodding my head. Although, I am unsure of the journey ahead. I have nowhere else to go, and that's the brutal fact. 

“I don't have anywhere else to go. You rescued me, I suppose I can help rescue your brother,” I say. Artyom smiles, obviously pleased to have some company during his long trip to Volgograd. 

“Well, we'd best get some rest,” Artyom says, knocking off his boots. 

He zips open the sleeping bag, sitting inside while I look over, intrigued about how I’ll sleep as well. He scoots himself over, making extra space and patting it up, like a bubble, with his arm, “There should be enough room,” he says, stretching the limits of the fabric and padded cloth. I take off my boots and rub my feet blistered feet, only now do I realize how sore they are from the forced marching; even just a few days. I set my socks near the fire to dry and slip inside the bag beside him. My hair is still in a braid. I finally untie it, take the bandage off my head, and run my fingers through the rough, tangled hair. Artyom notices the bloodied bandage I removed, taking an interest in the revealed gash on the side of my head. The sleeping bag is far more comfortable than huddling beside Makar and the fire, I do miss him. Doesn’t feel right leaving without him, but I know I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t just go  

Artyom and I will keep warm. I'm ready for sleep, but something is missing. My stomach moans and I stutter to ask one final question, “Do you... have anything to eat?” 

Artyom begins searching through his bag, pulling out a large can of beans, and a metal pot. 

“Can we split it?” he asks. 

"Of course," I say. Artyom takes a knife from his bag, beginning to pry open the can and pour the beans into the hot pot. 

“What happened to your head?” he asks, peering over at the gash in my head. 

“I was knocked unconscious when I was taken.” 

“Can I look at it?” he asks.  

I spread the hair so he can see it, “Your brother said it looked okay.” He examines the gash and gently prods it with his finger. I wince back in pain, “akkh!” I groan. 

“Sorry!” he apologizes. “It's not very deep. Looks like my brother was right.” Artyom hands me a smaller, fresh bandage from his bag. It has some sort of adhesive strip, and I examine it curiously. 

“Thank you,” I say. Artyom helps me with the bandage, closing the wound on my head. 

“The tape will help keep it closed until it's healed, just don't play with it,” he explains. I nod my head, not fully understanding much of what he said, but he must be right. I lean back, slowly relaxing my muscles inside the warm sleeping bag. My eyes flutter, and I almost fall asleep when Artyom hands me a scrap bowl with some warm beans. “Thanks,” I say, slipping my palm under the bowl to hold it. I tip the bowl and slurp the beans. My throat warms, sending a pleasant shiver down my back. 

“How is it? Is that enough?” asks Artyom. 

I nod in reply, chewing another mouthful of beans, “Yes it's fine. Thank you,” I say. Artyom smiles, taking his final gulp of the canned beans. He rolls over on his side, facing away. He folds his coat, like a pillow, and lays his head down. 

“Sleep well, wake me up if you need me,” he says. I finish my bowl of beans and take off my coat, exposing the blanket underlayer, and fold my jacket comfortably for a pillow, like Artyom’s. Surveying the sky, I lay down, and let my eyes settle to nod off. 

Reviews

[Rana]

Two suggestions!
1. Adding a one line recap in the description for readers that may be coming back to the book after some time. For instance- "Nadya gets pushed in with a lot of human captives by the bandits that kill her father and meets Makar".

2. Removing these lines:
"Hopefully, we'll be safe with his brother, if he's even alive. I worry that Makar might be putting too much faith in him." (it seems too early for Nadya to be making this judgement, these lines may not be needed here, she only just met him)
"He leaves himself open-ended, as though to continue with another more pressing question." (read the part without this line and it connects better)

Also,
Good descriptive and expressive sentence:
"I look enviously while they boil water, and store provisions."

Keep writing!