by B. R. Miller
“Where’s there?” I question.
“Russia.”
Great. Russia. It’s the beginning of winter which means there will probably be snow on the ground. Snow means tracks. Tracks are what we try to avoid. On the flip side, winter means it will be cooler. The strong heat of the desert can get to a person after a while and I think I’ve had just about enough of it.
The plane skids along the tarmac as we land. One by one we all unbuckle and stand up. Once the plane rolls to a stop, we walk to the rear of the plane of wait for the rear door to open up. Skinner stands next to me still waking up.
“Guess where we are?” I say.
“I don’t know nor do I care,” he says through a yawn.
I lean in close to him and whisper, “Russia.”
He shoots me this glare as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m serious!”
“Why are we in Russia?” he asks.
“Because,” Cooly says, over hearing our brief conversation, “Russia is the one place Raves refuse to go.”
Both Skinner and I give Cooly a look that asks the question why.
“Years ago, when the world first found out about the existence of beings from other planets, the Russian government did everything in their power to get ahold of the more advanced technology. The one thing that Goran’s and Rave’s can both agree on is that if Russia got ahold of that technology, the world would be a different place.”
The door slowly opens and we take a few steps ahead. Ice cold air instantly wraps itself around us. I haven’t felt that cold of air since before we left on our travels two years ago. I breathe it in and at first my lungs tense up at the sudden difference in temperature. A few more breaths and I begin to get used to it. The door fully opens and we take our first few steps into the crisp Russian environment. I look around to take in my most recent home. The tarmac sits alone with only a small hanger just to the right. Snow covered trees surround the tiny airport and only one road leads in and out. Just to the left is a gray van running and most likely getting warm.
Skinner, Patty and I stand just outside of the plane while Amille, Fletcher and Cooly run to the van, guns drawn, always ready for a fight. Amille opens the side door to the van and checks the inside. A few moments go by before he pokes his head back out and motions to us that it is all clear. We run to the van as we are extremely under dressed for the weather. My tattered shorts and short sleeve t-shirt barely provide any warmth.
Once arriving at the van, Skinner, Patty and then myself hop in the back through the side door. Cooly gets in behind us and shuts the door. Amille gets in the front passenger seat while Fletcher sits in the drivers seat. Amille pulls out a map and looks it over for a few brief moments then we take off. We drive down a lonely snow covered gravel road for about an hour before turning onto a busier highway. A few more hours go by before Fletcher pulls off the highway and into a small town.
The town is quiet with very few people out. A few shops line the main road and soon we pull in front of one and park the van.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You need the right clothes for the Russian weather,” Amille replies.
Amille and Fletcher get out of the van, leaving their guns behind on their seats.
“What is we run into trouble?” Patty asks.
“They have their side guns,” Cooly says. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Amille and Fletcher go into the store for a few moments then come back out. Fletcher walks up to the side door and opens it. “Alright, you can buy one outfit fit for winter.”
With that, Cooly gets out followed by the rest of us. I am the last one out so I shut the door. I stand their for a brief moment and look around the town. The gentle snow fall makes the small town almost magical. The store fronts are all decorated with winter themes and random snowmen line he sidewalks. Electric torches are ignited on every lamp post and wreaths and garland rest gently on top.
“Tristan,” Skinner yells at me.
I turn to where he is standing and see that he is holding the door to the store open. I walk over and enter the store, Skinner shutting the door behind us. Snow gear of every kind line the shelves and fill the racks. I walk through the store examining every piece and finding my favorites. A pair of jeans catches my eye and I grab my size. I continue walking through the store and notice only one employee working. A young lady with dark auburn hair stands idly behind the counter.
I find a long sleeve shirt, grab my size then head to the dressing room. Once inside, I strip down to just my underwear. Looking in the mirror, I hardly recognize who I am anymore. There, in the reflection, stands a tall, skinny fellow with shaggy hair. I don’t think I’ve ever been this skinny in my entire life. The two can diet is probably to blame for this transformation.
I grab the jeans and pull them on. I let go of them and they instantly fall to the floor. Taking a mental note to grab a couple sizes smaller I pull them off. Then I put on the shirt and I am instantly swimming in it. Have I really lost that much weight? I put my clothes back on then head back out to grab the smaller sizes. Then I head to the counter where the others were patiently waiting.
I place my clothes I want to purchase on the counter and smile at the young lady ringing up our items. She then proceeds to say something in Russian which I fail to understand.
“Oh,” I nervously begin, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Russian.”
“Oh, American,” she says with a cockeyed smile plastered across her face. “What bring you to Russia?”
“Vacation,” Amille quickly inserts handing her the credit card.
“Vacation?” she says in a thick Russian accent. “Why here? This small town offers nothing.”
“Change of scenery, I guess,” I say grabbing my clothes from the counter.
We begin to walk out of the store when I stop, turn around and approach the counter again. “You have a very beautiful country.”
With that, I begin walking out when the young lady says, “Welcome to Russia! And merry Christmas!”
I turn and smile to her right before walking out. Taking a step outside into the winter wonderland, I pause for a moment and think. “What’s the date?” I ask.
“December 23rd,” Cooly says opening the van door.
I let out a smile and walk to the van. Christmas, my favorite time of year.
~*~
The hum of the helicopter drowned out all other noise. I sat there, looking out the window, not wanting to make eye contact with my new partner. I knew what CO was trying to do; replace David. Nothing and no one could ever replace David. This new guy, Skinner they call him, supposedly just lost his partner as well. I’m sure he would not want a replacement either.
“One minute to the LZ!” the pilot chattered over the headsets.
I check everything over to make sure that I’m ready to go. Then I sit there, not caring if Skinner is ready.
“You’re still wearing your headset,” Skinner said.
I snapped around and look at him as if he was threatening me. Noticing that what he just said was true, I quickly take off my headset and set it on the floor. Then I snapped back around and return to my gaze out the window. I slowly turned my head back around to see Skinner checking over his gear thoroughly. “Thanks,” I mutter.
Skinner turned and looked at me with a smile across his face then returned to checking over his gear. I opened the cabin door and instantly rain flew in, making for an almost no visibility. Skinner came up behind me and took a knee, looking out the door. He turned and smiled at me and I couldn’t help but smile back. The go light turned green and I prepared myself to jump down into the unknown. I couldn’t see the ground. For all I knew we were jumping onto razor blades. Skinner jumped past me and out the door, disappearing into the blackness.
“Crazy,” I mutter to myself before following Skinner.
I land with a hard thud on the ground and instantly I know I landed in bushes. Pulling twig
s and dead leaves out of my pockets, I stand up and look around for Skinner. He’s nowhere to be found. Apparently, the safe house we were supposed to infiltrate was just a few hundred feet ahead so I begin to make my way in that direction. The intense wind wrapped itself around me so I stumbled over rocks and bushes until I saw a light just ahead. I crept closer until I could tell that it was coming from a window in a building: the safe house.
I draw my gun in front of me and approach cautiously until I’m right under the window. Voices are shouting and because of the wind, I’m unable to tell what exactly they’re saying. All we were told is that a highly wanted man was in that house and it was our job to take him out.
Wind rattled the door to my right as I approached it warily. Where was Skinner? I’m not supposed to go in without him but he was nowhere to be found. Did he injure himself when he jumped? Whatever the case was, this may be our only chance to take this guy out so I was going to take it.
I kicked down the door and stormed in. Instantly, three guys stood up who were seated around an old wooden table, guns drawn. For a moment, all there was, was shouting; them yelling at me to get out or they’ll kill me and me yelling at them to lay down their guns. Then it happened. The far wall behind the three guys burst in and Skinner emerges through the rubble. He had his hands poised in front of him as if he was pushing someone. This drew the gaze of the three men and I through my gun down and stretched my hand towards the closest two. They began to rise off the ground, their feet kicking in the air madly. Their guns dropped to the ground as I threw each of them against a wall, knocking them unconscious. Then there was just him.
Hein.
He stood there with his hands in the air and his legs trembling. I slowly took a step towards him and looked him dead in the eye.
“I knew you’d come for me,” he said with regaining his composure and letting out a half ass smile.
“You killed my partner.”
“And by the looks of it, they replaced him,” Hein said taunting me.
I look at Skinner who slowly lowered his hands and hung his head.
“No one will ever replace him!” I yell at Hein. “But they did a pretty good job at finding me a new partner in crime.”
I then punched him square in the face with all my built up rage and anger I had towards him. Hein falls to the ground unconscious. Skinner walked over looked at the unconscious body.
“So,” Skinner began, “that’s him?”
I nod holding back tears.
“What are you going to do with him?”
I take one long hard look at Hein and say, “Death would be the easy way out. He’s going to have to learn to live with what he’s done.”
~*~
Snow begins to fall as we drive through the Russian country side passing evergreens and various shrubberies that have gone dormant for winter. Cooly bought a car charger for his iPod back at the store and plugs it in. At least we’ll have tunes to listen to for a while when we get to wherever we’re going.
We turn off of the main street and begin driving down a lonely gravel road. I can’t help but think about Ruan. This battle that has to take place, do I die? Will killing him really end the war and mean we can go home? I hope so. For the first time in weeks I think about my family. Do they miss me? Do they even know I’m gone? He must be doing a good job or we would have heard about it.
A few hours go by and we do not see another living soul. Evergreens like look just like the last one surround us on both sides. Nothing. Not a deer or rabbit or squirrel. We must be pretty remote by now which is what our goal is I guess.
“Alright,” Amille says, breaking the deafening silence, “we are almost there. There’s some things you should know about this new place. It’s been sitting empty for many years and while there is electricity, I doubt it will be on. So until we get it up and running, we’re going to need to build a fire in the fireplace and all sleep in the same room.”
His slight Hungarian accent always gets me.
“How do you know so much about this place?” Patty asks.
Amille takes a moment before answering and then says, “This is where I spent my summers in my childhood.”
We turn a corner and drive down a long unplowed lane. Then, as if blending in with the snow, a single story white house with black shutters appears, dormant, lifeless. The van slowly comes to a stop right by the front door and Fletcher turns off the vehicle. We sit there in silence for a few moments just taking it all in. The wrap around front porch became home to two wooden chairs. An old red Radio Flyer that’s seen better days called the landing after the steps home. This place felt like a home.
Cooly opened the side and one by one we climbed out into the cold artic environment. I took my first step outside and inhaled a deep breath of relief. For once we are at a place that I could see myself at for a while. This place had good memories. Hopefully many more will come to pass.
“Alright,” Amille says, “go inside. Make yourselves at home.”
I walk around the van and take the first few strides up the stairs, placing a hand on the rail. Its weathered texture brings a smile to my face for some reason. Skinner opens the front door and walks in. Patty follows and I bring up the rear. The inside was what I expected. Old, wooden floors are found throughout and antique white curtains drape over the windows. White sheets swathe over furniture scattered throughout and a fireplace lays empty in the middle of the room. Pictures of children playing in the woods adorn the walls and a large portrait of a family with smiles stretched across their faces resides peacefully above the fireplace. I stand there and take it all in. The smell, the feel of the place relaxes me. You can tell that there was a lot of love in this place.
“Welcome home,” Amille says staring at the portrait hanging above the fireplace.
I smile at him then walk over to a couch covered in a white sheet sitting in front of the fireplace. Pulling off the sheet, a red davenport reveals itself, still in its glory. I sit drop the sheet then sit down on the couch.
“Were going to need wood for the fire,” Fletcher says. “I’ll go grab some.”
“I’ll go with,” Patty adds.
“There should be a hatchet in the shed out back,” Amille suggests.
Fletcher and Patty leave the room and return to the cold environment. Amille walks over to a wall with pictures on it and stares intently at one of them.
“Is that you?” I ask.
Amille nods. “Yes, many years ago.”
“Is that your sister?”
Amille stays quiet for a moment then nods.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I inquire.
“Twenty one years ago.”
“Did something happen to her?”
“She was killed,” Amille begins. “She was walking home from school when a group of men lured her into an alley. They raped and slit her throat, then shoved her body into a dumpster.” Amille stops and stares at me. I notice for the first time since I’ve known him, tears welling up in his eyes. “She was eleven.”
“I’m so sorry, Amille,” I say trying to comfort him.
“It’s why I do what I do. If I can make this world a better place somehow, I will. It’s what she would have wanted.”
“What was her name?” I ask.
“Agi. Her name means good.”
I smile at Amille who returns a similar fake expression. Skinner comes around the corner carrying two glass jars full of some sort of vegetable.
“Guess what I found?” Skinner begins. “Tomatoes! The kitchen is full of canned fruits and vegetables!”
“My mother used to can. It’s probably still good,” Amille says.
Skinner breaks the seal on one of the jars and holds it up to his nose. He lets out a pleasant sigh and sticks his fingers in. Pulling out half of a tomato, he shoves it into his mouth, juices running down his cheek. Skinner rolls his eyes in satisfaction.
“And there’s pots and pans, too,” Skinner remarks with a mouth full o
f tomato. “We can make stew!”
I get excited at the thought of having a meal not out of a can. A pot of hot, steaming stew will be great on a cold, winter night. Might even remind me of home.
By the time Fletcher and Patty return with the firewood, I had uncovered all the furniture in the house. Everything is dated but still has class. A small stack of firewood is built next to the fireplace and I can see Fletcher building another pile out on the porch, away from the snow.
“How much wood did you guys get?” I ask intriguingly.
“Two trees,” Patty replies, stacking the last of the wood that’s inside. “Should be enough to last us through the night.”
I grab a few small logs and form a TP in the center of the fireplace.
“I need kindling wood,” I say as if to myself.
“Here.” I look to my right and there is Amille handing me a book. “Tear out its pages. That will start any fire.”
I grab the book cautiously because the thought of burning a book just doesn’t sit well with me. But then I read the title, Mein Kampf. A slight chuckle escapes me as I begin tearing pages out of the beginning, forming a bundle under the logs. I turn around to ask for matches but I find that Amille has already set a book of them on the couch behind me.
I flick my wrist. Light a match. Flick my wrist again, match goes out. Small embers slowly begin to spread so I lean forward and gently blow on it. Reds and oranges begin spreading like wildfire and soon the logs catch. It’s only a matter of time before we have a decent sized fire going that will keep us warm. I notice an iron hook hanging just above the logs. Probably meant to hold a pot.
Scratching sounds come from behind me so I turn around and witness Amille turning on an old record player. He picks up a vinyl as if it was his precious child and gently blows the dust off of it. Gently setting it down on the turn table, he moves the needle just so. Big band brass begins echoing throughout the old wooden house.
“My mother had a passion for American music of the thirties and fourties,” Amille says, focused on the rhythmic sound. “I can still see my mother and father dancing by candle light to this song.”
I let out a smile and listen intently. The man sang of love and all its glory. Love. That was something that we saw everyday here on the run. Love for ourselves, so that we were always prepared and ready for battle. Love for nature and our abilities without we would have been dead years ago. And love for each other. Against everyone’s wishes, no matter how hard we tried, we loved each other. A brotherly bond had formed. One that would define me for the rest of my life.
