Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  “What happens if we win? Will he honor the terms?”

  Dima shrugs his shoulders. “I hope so.”

  I pull my legs against my body and lean my head against the cold glass, trying to ignore the smell of my vomit and the visions of death. Sergei’s death, my mother’s death, and the pending deaths that will surely come if I fail.

  Chapter 33

  The respite site is a shack just outside of town where the public would never think to look for us. I’ve showered and washed off the vomit, the residue of murder. I wish the stain were as easy to wash out of my mind. My tears mixed with the water in the shower until everything ran cold. The harder I try to justify my actions as a mercy kill, the more I know how deeply wrong it was.

  Lives are not like light switches. Once we turn them off, the light is lost forever. And yet it was nearly as easy as flipping off a switch. The trust in his eyes, the death I brought to his lips, it is all too much.

  I knew him for mere minutes. Why does it hurt so much that he’s gone?

  I begin to tremble again, but I refuse to fall apart. I can’t let his life’s work fall into my father’s hands.

  Maybe focusing on the next task will distract me from the last one.

  This assignment feels like a ball of tangled string. I’m sure it could be unraveled with time and patience. I have neither.

  I have three days to accomplish an impossible feat. The clock is ticking, and I don’t even know where to begin. I pile my wet hair on top of my head and twist it into a knot. I open the bathroom door and force myself to put one foot in front of the other. Weak and exhausted, I’ve run an emotional marathon today, and I wish I could curl into a ball and sleep it all away. But I know that Sergei’s gap-toothed smile and shaky hands will follow me into my dreams.

  Dima sits at a small kitchen table. He has a holographic map in front of him, and I can tell he has been working the entire time the water masked my cries.

  He looks up at me, concern etched into his forehead. He opens his mouth, but I don’t want him to ask if I’m okay.

  I cut him off. “How can I help?”

  He continues to study me.

  I stand next to him, gazing at the map, trying to get my bearings. “Where do we begin?”

  Dimitri’s problem-solving instinct kicks in. “We have nine major rivers. I’m starting with the ones that run past larger cities, The Volga, Irtysh, Ob, and Amul.”

  “What about minor rivers or those past Novaya Russiya’s, borders?”

  “If it’s a minor river, then we’re out of luck. I have to play the odds. If the old government was desperate enough to use weapons on her own citizens, they wouldn’t have hidden them in the middle of nowhere. Moving weapons outside of the country is risky given there’s no guarantee they could easily bring the weapons back in.”

  His logic makes sense. Even so, this task is impossible. There are hundreds of islands along the Volga alone.

  “I started on the west side of the Volga.” Dima indicates the brightly glowing spots marking islands. “You start on the southeast side. Mark every island near a city.”

  I begin searching, starting at Astrakhan. I tap on the little brown globs set against the blue of the river, lighting each island. It’s a blessing to have something to focus on that doesn’t require me to think. My mind goes quiet in the process. I move on next to Volgograd, then on to Saratov before heading to Samara. Tap, light, tap, light. Dima brings over a plate of bread and cheese, but I don’t stop. Hunger would require a connection to my body.

  We work in silence, and I’m grateful he’s not trying to comfort me with trite phrases like “It was a mercy for him to go” or “He’s in a better place.” They might be true. But it is also true that I took a life, and no matter the context I can’t forget that. Tap, light. Tap, light. I push the guilt to a deep corner in my mind.

  Dima stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes. I’m suddenly aware of how heavy my own eyes are. I rub them, intending to keep going.

  “We’re getting sloppy,” Dima says quietly. “Let’s call it a night. We can start up again first thing tomorrow morning.”

  I open my mouth to argue, and he points out two islands I missed.

  “How will we scan all of these islands in seventy-two hours?” I ask him.

  “We won’t. But I’m hoping we’ll come up with some ideas in the morning as we look at the information.” He yawns again. “It’s your family. There’s got to be some connection.” Then he says, “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air before bed. It smells in here.” He stands, stretches, and steps out into the cool night, where bugs swarm the lone light bulb.

  I follow him out. “Close the door, so the mosquitos don’t get in,” he says, and I slide the door shut and step close to him.

  “Do you have any ideas?” I ask softly.

  He nods. “There are seven bombs and seven families. So much of Sergei’s clues were nonsense, but what if the Red Mountain is code for Krasnaya Polyana? The phrase literally means ‘red mountain.’ It’s outside Sochi, which is the location of Andrei Stepanovich’s operation. Why else would you want to target Sochi? There are cities with much larger populations. If I’m right that Sergei hid the bombs close to each family, then we’re looking for a base location that happens to be a riverside city.”

  I nod. “So if we know the families’ locations and can figure out the nonsensical words, we can find them all,” I say, trying to process. “It makes sense, but if the weapons were in place, why didn’t they strike a long time ago?”

  “The war happened so fast. Every member of the last government fled or was executed. They would have needed to coordinate all the strikes at once. Sergei couldn’t have done it on his own and probably didn’t have the help.”

  “Why didn’t he join the Myatezhniki? They could have executed the plan.”

  “I truly wish I knew.” Dimitri sighs.

  We’re both quiet. I dissect the new information, pulling apart each bit and seeing if it fits together the way he’s suggesting.

  I replay Sergei’s list in my head. The island by the city. The Red Mountain. Easter water. Something about red versus white and blood. The forest. Two green domes. The square. The one we love to hate. That’s more than seven. And what’s worse, they’re all meaningless phrases. Yana said he was waiting to tell my mother. Those phrases must mean something to her.

  Dimitri breaks through my speculation. “There are maybe three or four targets located near rivers. I’ll give you a sign so you know where to focus. I think we have a shot.” His voice is low but not a whisper. I imagine it will pick up on the Peredacha, but not enough to distinguish any words. It’s the perfect way to have a conversation without raising suspicion. No one would suspect us of planning something so traitorous in plain sight.

  “Then why did we waste so much time?” My brain and body are tired, my soul is weary, and I don’t have the mental stamina to waste time.

  “Because we have to make it look like we’re making a wild stab at this, or your father will suspect we kept information from him. Don’t mention the families. Look near Omsk, Novosibirsk, Samara, and Khabrovsk. Search every single island around the cities. I’m praying your mother left you with some clues.” He stretches out his back.

  “How will you make contact with the Myatezhniki?” I pull the necklace from below my shirt and show him the emerald green locket. “This is all they gave me.”

  Dima laughs. “That’s from Meer Fkoosna. Don’t you remember? They had a giant Fabergé egg in the case near the bakery. You asked your mother to buy it for you.”

  “Is this their sign?” I ask.

  “They wouldn’t dare use a sign repeatedly. It’s a sign for you to reach them. When we know where we’re going, we’ll make sure you get photographed wearing the locket.” He looks relieved.

  “Don’t give up,” he says. “He hasn’t beaten you yet. And in a few days, you’ll be where you belong.” He places a hand on my shoulder, and I lean my head against it, n
eeding so much more from him.

  I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to hold in the ache. I’ll never see Dima again. I have committed crimes I can’t absolve myself of. And I’m stepping into a life that is a complete unknown. My chin quivers, and I take a deep breath.

  “Will you ever forgive me?” I exhale slowly.

  “I already did. Probably too quickly.” He smiles sadly. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re on different paths. Yours will lead you away very soon, but it’s the right one.”

  He steps back just as I’m about to step closer and walks into the house.

  I look up at the sky, wishing my mother could write a message in the stars to guide me. I cling to Dima’s plan. As unlikely as it seems, at least it gives me a small measure of hope.

  When I open the door, Dima’s chest is bare, and he has already changed into his sweatpants. He spreads a thin blanket onto the lonely, threadbare couch. I climb into the miserable bed, still not ready to face my feelings. I fear they’ll drown me if I open that door tonight.

  Chapter 34

  Light streams in through the windows, birds chirp outside, and I bury my face into the pillow, not ready to face the day after all of my nightmares. But this pillow is solid, warm, and breathing deeply. Dima’s arms lie heavily across me. I don’t remember him coming into my bed. I pull back to look at him and he rubs his eyes, looking at me in confusion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stay. You were crying for me last night in your sleep,” he whispers. “I came over to try to wake you, and you wrapped your arms around me. I wasn’t strong enough to pull away.”

  I try to read his face for signs that he wants to be here in my arms. I rather expect he doesn’t. But I’m also too spent to care. The morning light didn’t save me from the nightmares. Dima did. I lean my head against his chest and wrap my arms tightly around him. He’s stiff for a moment, and then he sighs as though he’s fought as hard as he could and now gives up. He rubs his cheek against my hair and prickles me with his morning whiskers.

  Our bond feels factual, like a law written by an ancient scientist. Dimitri must love Yulia. Yulia must love Dimitri in equal measure. There is no other way the world makes sense otherwise.

  We cling together, stealing a moment of connection and comfort before we face the battles again.

  “I will love you forever,” I tell him.

  “And my heart will always be yours.” He wraps me more tightly in his arms.

  Somewhere in Moscow, this conversation will be viewed as two lovers making up after a fight—instead of two hearts preparing for surgical separation.

  I want to write this moment on the pages of my heart and publish it for eternity.

  I trace his muscles with my fingertip. “Then it’s settled.”

  “And now, my love, you have your certainty.” Bitterness seeps into his sacred words. Yes, we have certainty. We’ll love alone. When I cry for him at night, I’ll wake up to an empty room.

  I bury my face into his neck and try to breathe in a lifetime of love in a single moment. It will never be enough. “We have to get to work,” he tells me, and I nod in agreement. But neither of us moves. I know work can’t wait, but I also know that when we get out of this bed we begin the process of saying goodbye.

  We sit again in front of the holographic map, my head leaning against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around my waist. It was our unspoken compromise to hold on as long as we can.

  I start on the Amur River, tapping the hologram every time I see an island. But after each island, I look back to Khabarovsk, trying to find anything that catches my attention. Sometimes I’ll see a name jump off the map only to realize it’s because I know somewhere else with that name. I don’t have any recollection of or connection to Khabarovsk. I want to jump ahead to another city. But I have to pace myself, taking my time. I let an hour go by. And then I start to feel panicky. I have today and tomorrow to recover this bomb. I’ll need time on the ground as well.

  I stretch my back then stand behind Dima, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. I spend fifteen minutes looking at every possibility around Omsk. Nothing stands out.

  I find myself trying to make up connections to any of these places. What if our theories are wrong? What if my mother didn’t leave me any clues, or what if the bombs are not strategically placed?

  “Don’t do it,” Dima says.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Don’t get discouraged.” He continues to tap on the hologram.

  “How did you know what I was thinking?” I ask him.

  “Because you’re sighing in my ear.” He laughs. “Go back to the Volga. It’s mostly done. Just look for anything that stands out. Maybe there’s a family connection or a place your mother mentioned from her childhood? Sergei was your great uncle. People always choose familiar places.”

  “Normal mothers tell their daughters about their lives. Mine hid everything.” I sigh then kiss him on the cheek, in awe of how perfectly he maneuvers right in front of the cameras.

  I stand in front of the Volga, staring at the islands surrounding Samara. I close my eyes to picture my mother and catch a remnant of a long-forgotten conversation.

  “All the other girls are going to Europe this summer, and we never go anywhere,” I complain to my mother.

  “Well, all the other girls don’t have a father who leads the entire country,” she tells me patiently.

  “A lot of good that does me. I want to see the world.”

  She smiles patiently at me.

  I can see the look on her face so clearly it makes me ache for her.

  “You’re so quick to see the world, but you haven’t even seen your own country.”

  Her ghostly form pulls up a map, just like this one, and sits next to my pouty eleven-year-old self.

  “One day, when you’re older, we’ll take a cruise up the Volga. We’ll eat all of the delicious food as we take in the beautiful cities. And when we get to Samara, I’ll show you where I used to live and the little island where my family would take picnics in the summer.”

  She points to a little island. I am too busy rolling my eyes to fully catch the name.

  “Dima, I remember something,” I say frantically, searching near Samara. “Mama told me once about a cruise on the Volga and a little island where she picnicked with her family near Samara. But I don’t remember the name. It has to be there.”

  My subconscious burns on the verge of recollection.

  Dima zooms in on the area of Samara, and we look at each of the brightly colored dots. Samara is a peninsula between the Volga and Samara rivers. And there are dozens of islands. I look at each one, willing a name to jump out at me. I close my eyes again and try to remember that map.

  Pasnakomte? Poddravlyaye? “I think it started with a P,” I say.

  “Give me a list of islands within 200 km of Samara that start with the letter p,” Dima commands, and the Peredacha gives us a short list.

  I see it, and I scream, “That’s it.” I hug him. “Podzhavnyy Ostrov. That’s the one!”

  “Pack your things, I’ll charter us a plane.” He kisses me. “I told you, you could do this.”

  Chapter 35

  “You called the press?” Dima asks as our car nears the little airport.

  “Every stop we make matters to the people.” I follow his pretense. We need the necklace photographed and the pictures distributed. “I told them we snuck away for a romantic getaway. Every outlet in Kazan will be here hoping to boost tourism. So make sure you’re thoroughly enamored with me.” I try to sound lighthearted, but my joke only increases the ache in my heart. I both want and don’t want to finish this mission. As soon as we succeed, we’ll be ripped apart.

  “Easiest assignment I’ve had all day,” he says quietly and squeezes my hand a little tighter.

  The car stops. I slide the emerald egg from under my shirt and make sure it is visible. Dimitri opens the door and waves to the small crowd before offering me his hand. I
step out of the car, and he wraps me in his arms.

  There’s a moment before our lips meet where I see my desperation mirrored in his eyes. His lips seek mine, and I’m lost in him. Nothing is enough. His taste, his touch all leave me needing more. That old, familiar sensation of souls wrapped together leaves me wondering how we’ll survive without each other.

  We’re brief in our comments before getting onto the plane, and neither of us hides our love. I speak to the beautiful area and romantic scenery. Dima mentions our next stop in Samara. And then we board.

  I tuck the egg back in place and pray that the Myatezhniki notice, because I have no other way to contact them. I settle into my seat and snuggle next to Dima, hungry for every moment with him I can get.

  He kisses me as the engines roar to life. Under the roar of machinery, he whispers, “They’ll be close. Make sure the necklace makes an appearance when we land. I plan to take you to the recovery site, but no one can know you’re there. If all goes well, you’ll go with them. Follow my lead.”

  The rushing sound of the plane quiets to a regular whir. I kiss him one more time, both longing to leave and dying to stay.

  Chapter 36: Samara, Новая Россия

  Our hotel room is set up as a communication base for the mission. Dima is video conferencing with a team of six soldiers and two specialists on explosive devices and detonation.

  They plan to leave at midnight, meet at a dock, and take a boat to recover the weapon. The explosives specialists are excited to uncover what they hope will be a technological breakthrough that will make Novaya Russiya, the most powerful nation in the world. I pray they never get their hands on this weapon.

  I uncovered the information and location. This is my mission. And yet they sit here making decisions without even acknowledging me or my accomplishments. For the first time, I’m grateful rather than frustrated that my sex keeps me on the sidelines. Tonight, all eyes will be on Dimitri. Hopefully, no one will notice me.