‘See something you like?’ Sasha joked and Ioane flushed a darker red and hurriedly lunged for a towel, turning off the shower and rushing to the drying racks where his clothes were sitting in a tidy pile.
‘Was it something I said?’ Sasha called over, smirking. Ioane dried himself with stiff efficiency, not once looking his way. It was surprising he was in any way shy about his nudity. Military training usually beat that out of you in a matter of days. But maybe things had changed since Sasha did his training, he had no idea and didn’t particularly care. He liked what he was seeing, a whole lot, and turned to face the wall before Ioane could see how hard he’d gotten. It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid if a simple shower peek was getting him bothered.
He washed quickly, making sure the sweat and dirt of the day were gone before he turned the taps off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it tight around his hips and watching Ioane hurriedly pull a shirt over his head.
Sasha hadn’t noticed in the steam of the showers, but with Ioane turned away from him while he pushed his arms into his thermal sleeves he could see Ioane’s skin was littered with fine white lines and scattered through those were longer, darker lines. From some form of knife, Sasha recognised. He’d seen enough knife wounds to know what they looked like and it wouldn’t have caught his attention had there not been such a plethora.
Ioane pulled his shirt down and tucked it into his cams, shoved his feet into his boots and turned to sit down on the wooden bench against the wall to do up the laces and buckles. Sasha frowned down at him and tried to think of something to say but he didn’t think his questions would be welcome and he was trying to build a relationship not break one.
‘So … Ioane. It’s an interesting name.’ Not at all what he wanted to ask, but he had to start somewhere to get anywhere.
Ioane seemed to ignore him, stomping his feet a few times to check his boots were on tight enough to stay on if he needed them to, but loose enough to lounge around the tower. They all did it, either keeping the laces loose or not tying them at all. He went to leave but then hesitated, glancing over at Sasha, somewhere at his chest, cheeks still dusted red.
‘It’s Samoan,’ he grumbled, cheeks flaming. He turned away and scurried up the stairs.
Sasha stood there, staring at the empty stairwell and trying to force his brain to work. His legs caught on first, carrying him downstairs to his room and dry clothes. He pulled on some cams and a skivvy and some dry socks, the whole time trying to force his brain to function. It was difficult, all he seemed able to remember was slender planes of wet, naked skin.
‘Samoa … is an island,’ he muttered. ‘Ioane the islander …’ There was no way. He shook himself out of his near stupor and headed for the stairs. He’d promised to help Matti with dinner and instead he’d gotten distracted by a naked Asian-Samoan.
How was that even a thing?
Ioane had curled up in his corner of the couch again. Anna was in his lap and he was once against scowling at the book he couldn’t read. Enzo was at the table watching Matti stir the large pot but making no move to help, stealing glances at their new recruit whenever he thought no one was looking.
‘Need a hand?’ Sasha offered.
‘No, just relax. I got this. You guys can do the dishes.’
Sasha shrugged, not caring either way and went to sit on one of the empty couches, watching Ioane and trying to figure out what he thought he was doing. The line between his brows was cute, and he was concentrating so hard Sasha wasn’t even sure he knew anyone else was in the room.
There were all kinds of language books across the Barricade. People came from so many countries and the Barricade itself ran through several different language speaking areas. In their tower alone there were books in English, Russian, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Finnish, Swedish and Polish. Every tower had a different mix, depending on who had lived there, what languages were spoken in the surrounding towns and who had visited.
‘You know, we do have books in English,’ Sasha pointed out, wondering how the man could have missed them. There were more books in English than any other language, since everyone on the Barricade had to speak it. It was the only way to ensure everyone could speak the same language. They’d started off with trying to enforce Russian, but English had already been the global language and most people had already known it to some degree.
Most men on the Barricade preferred to have a book in English that they could share with others and discuss than a book only they could read and covet. There was a whole shelf in English, right there on the wall.
‘I know,’ Ioane looked up from his book and stared at him, looking as if he didn’t understand the observation.
‘You’re reading a book in Russian, but you don’t speak Russian,’ Sasha clarified. ‘And there’s a whole shelf of books in English, which you do speak, right there.’ He pointed to the shelf.
‘I know, but I speak English. I want to learn Russian.’
They were all staring at him now, but he seemed oblivious to the scrutiny. Sasha felt heat burn in his belly, wondering why their new recruit felt the sudden desire to learn Russian when the only other person in the tower who spoke it was Sasha.
‘You know, Sasha speaks Russian,’ Enzo pointed out. ‘Because … he’s Russian.’
‘I know,’ Ioane agreed, the frown line appearing again as he looked at Enzo, confused. ‘But I don’t.’
‘Yeah, but he could teach you, if you really want to learn,’ Enzo tried to clarify, sounding increasingly incredulous. Sasha liked that idea far more than was appropriate. Sitting alone together, leaning close while he helped teach Ioane his language. There were a lot of things he thought he could teach the other man, none of which were appropriate.
‘Or I could figure it out and not waste the boss’s time.’ Ioane glanced quickly at Sasha and then looked back down at his book, his face once again infused with that faint tinge of pink embarrassment. Sasha’s cock was hard in his pants.
‘You do know we all live on the Barricade, right? And all we pretty much have is time?’ Matti was grinning and stirring the pot in lazy circles with one hand and pushing his glasses up his nose.
‘Is there a reason I can’t read this?’ Ioane demanded, scowling at them each in turn.
‘You mean, besides the fact it’s in Russian and you don’t speak Russian?’ Enzo was laughing outright now.
‘You know what I meant!’ Ioane snapped, shoving Anna off his lap and charging for the stairs.
‘Oh, come on Pavlova, we’re just kidding!’ Matti called after him but Ioane didn’t stop, disappearing downstairs, leaving them in silence until they were all howling.
‘Pavlova?’ Enzo arched a curious brow.
‘Coz he’s little, and moves like he’s dancing. And he seems to think hard work pays all dividends.’
‘Like the ballerina?’ Sasha clarified, to be certain that was indeed what Matti was referencing.
‘Yeah.’
They were in hysterics again and Sasha almost felt sorry for the new recruit because that was one of the worst nicknames he’d ever heard and as a result it was going to stick.
‘Do you think he can actually learn it just from reading it?’ Enzo stared at the empty stairs as if Ioane might suddenly reappear.
‘Who knows? You learnt Spanish really fast,’ Matti observed.
‘Yeah but I was young, and I had Ines to talk to and Spanish and Italian are from the same language family,’ Enzo reasoned. ‘Half the words were almost the same. Russian is bonkers, no offence.’
‘None taken.’ Sasha chuckled when Anna came up and put her head in his lap, whining softly. He obediently scratched her behind the ears and under her chin and she howled her pleasure at him.
‘Hey, have you guys heard some whack story about an Islander psycho going on a murder rampage looking for his wife along the Barricade?’
‘Sure,’ Enzo agreed at the same time Matti shook his head.
‘Seriously?’ Matti looke
d between them and then took the pot off the stove and put some pasta on to boil.
‘Yeah, sure, it’s supposed to be a few decades ago or something. This huge Islander guy, like … I don’t know, say Tongan, turns up and starts demanding someone hand his wife over. Goes all along the wall and when people really start turning him away he loses it and goes on this rampage. Kills a few soldiers, breaks a door or three. Totally made up.’
‘How do you know?’ Matti asked.
‘An Islander. On the Barricade. Looking for his wife?’ Enzo snorted. ‘When was the last time you saw a woman? Or an Islander in Russia? It was definitely made up by some hard up bored weirdos who wished they could take a beach vacation and it’s been passed along ever since.’
‘Probably,’ Matti agreed but Sasha didn’t miss that he glanced his way before stirring the pasta, clearly curious as to why Sasha had asked about it.
Sasha got up and moved to the bookcase, rummaging through the lower shelf where less popular books were kept. He found two books in split language, with English on one side of the page and Russian on the other. If Ioane was serious about learning, which he seemed to be, then those would speed up the process.
‘I’ll go fetch … Pavlova …’ He couldn’t keep from snickering as he wandered down the stairs. Trust Matti to think of the worst nickname possible.
Ioane’s door was shut, so Sasha knocked and waited for a response, not surprised when none was forthcoming.
‘It’s Sasha. I’m coming in.’ He was, after all, the boss. He pushed the door open and blinked at the spartan room. It was as if Ioane had brought nothing with him. While none of them arrived with much there were always a handful of things people managed to pack from home. Sasha had a photo of his training group on the wall, Matti had a reindeer pelt rug and Enzo had a blanket his grandmother had hand knitted or something.
Ioane had nothing at all that hadn’t been there when he arrived, by all appearances.
‘Hey.’ Sasha stood awkwardly in the doorway while Ioane studied him from where he was curled up in the corner of his bed, back to the wall, legs pulled up with the book resting on them. It was harder than it should have been not to go over and take the book from his hands, push him down into the bed and taste him. Much harder.
‘You can come in,’ Ioane said so quietly Sasha almost missed it. He closed the door and strode to the chair, shifting it closer to the bed and sitting down, forcing himself to maintain suitable distance.
‘I thought you might appreciate these.’ He put the bilingual books on the bed, near Ioane’s thigh, startled when Ioane shifted to reach for them. Sasha’s hand grazed along the length of Ioane’s thigh and his fingers felt strange as he pulled his hand back. Ioane snatched up the books, staring at the covers for a moment and then flipping through a few pages. His face gradually relaxed and then his lips turned upward, shy in delight.
‘This is perfect,’ he acknowledged in a breathy whisper.
Startled by his reaction, fingers still tingling strangely, Sasha stood abruptly and had to steady the chair when he nearly sent it flying.
‘I … good,’ he gestured at the books, horrified to find himself tongue tied. ‘You … help, should … happy to.’
Fuck! Shaking his head, aware of Ioane watching him while he had a small meltdown, Sasha fled the room, running downstairs instead of up. He bolted into his room and slammed the door shut, falling back against the hard, familiar slab of wood and heaving deep breaths. He stared at his shaking hands and tried to focus but all he could see was Ioane’s small smile.
‘Fuck you Stalin, why him?’ He was besotted with the new guy. That was just great.
Сверхсекретный
Report: 21741178925-NRE-UD-Barrikada
Asset: APC-ESSI-21740021
Assessor: Barrikada-UD666
Diagnosis: Asset received, biological signature confirmed. Slow deterioration confirmed. Maximum effectivity estimated at 300 days. Asset suitable for projected use only.
Action: Not required
CONFIRMED
5
C-SGTM-NREBUD670-21450043
The showers were on, the steam building thick and heavy in the closed room. Water flooded the floors, the drains backed up from the dirt and blood that matted and caked in clumps. Sasha had his hands braced against the wall, still fully clothed, letting the water crash over him, head hanging low. Sergei fetched a chair and sat by the door, standing watch.
‘Does it get easier?’
‘No.’ No point lying to the kid.
The moon was bright enough that the reflection off the snow drifts lit the world, a subtle silver brightness that glittered against an otherwise dark, opaque backdrop. Sergei lifted the binoculars and restrained a grimace at the ache in his elbow. His old bones creaked and aged muscles protested the cold permeating the Barricade as winter snuck in. He felt a strange sort of remorse for the way he’d treated his old Sergeant; the incessant teasing when he sat a little closer to the fire, or retreated to his room to curl up under the extra blankets they scrounged from the other districts. The ones closer to the town.
Nothing changed. He was the Sergeant, had been for decades, but he’d grown old just like the man before him. Like the man who followed would, the years turning slowly, indifferent to the soldiers watching the empty world beyond. Each year fewer souls gathered in the towns to wait out the winter. Less vagabonds scoured the Barricade for a way north. A sign of the wasteland left by time.
‘You’re getting old.’
‘Look who’s talking.’ Sergei put the binoculars down and glared at his old friend. Anatoly Nikotaev didn’t look old; still a mammoth of a man capable of pulling anyone out of a hard situation, but looks were deceiving. They’d arrived not long apart and never left. He wasn’t sure what that said about either of them. Were they loyal or stupid? Probably both. And both were old.
‘What did you find?’
‘There’s been a lot of activity south of the town. Too much. A lot of movement coming from the west.’
‘With winter coming that’s not completely absurd. The mountains are snowed in already, they’d be moving off the plains before the winds set in.’ Sergei stared south, as if he could see the people in ragged caravans coming down off the western plains, through the mountain passes and into the valleys of southern Ukraine. He couldn’t. He could barely see the twinkling of the river to the south through the ice haze being whipped up by the wind, dusting the knolls.
‘I haven’t seen this many people moving in for a winter in a decade,’ Anatoly admitted.
And that was different. They’d been there almost half a century and subtle changes usually meant trouble.
‘I got orders from Moscow telling us to reduce southern scouting.’
‘That’s not unusual, this time of year.’ But something about it still felt suspicious.
They sent reports weekly but heard back maybe three times a year, if that. Other districts heard back a few extra times, usually when they had high traffic, but the past decade or so the people hadn’t come. Stepanova had scared them off, for good it had seemed. There had been nothing in their reports and no need for Moscow to respond. But they still told them to reduce southern scouting in winter, mostly to preserve their own gear and lessen the need for supplies. Each year their supplies dwindled with the population.
This had felt different though. Sergei had mentioned suspicious behaviour and that he thought there might be something going on, suggesting they would scout to the south west. He’d been unusually specific about the direction and his intentions. Moscow should have been encouraging them to investigate, just in case. Or not bothered to respond at all.
‘Did you see Blanter when you were out?’
‘Yeah. He’s seen a lot of the same. More movement than usual, and a lot more evidence of activity in the warehouses closer to the town. He’s practically camping out there trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on.’
It was dangerous, but not surpri
sing. From the moment Iosef Blanter had been stationed at Six-Six-Nine, Sergei had been amused. The man seemed incapable of sitting still. But it worked well for everyone; he was happy to scout and he was damned good at it.
‘How many do you think?’
‘Hundreds. They’re following the river, best we can tell.’
‘Makes sense, you need water to survive. It’s fresh from the mountains so less likely to be contaminated than stagnant sources.’ But he didn’t need to tell Anatoly that. They had the same set of survival skills, the same training and almost the same experience.
‘You think we should warn Stepanova?’
‘Kid doesn’t need our help. He’s good.’ Reminded Sergei of himself, back in the day. Only less tied to Russia, especially since Ines. Stepanova walked a good walk, talked a good talk, and was the poster boy the regime always looked for, but he wasn’t stupid. He listened to the old men and made smarter decisions. It was what had kept his team alive for so long. Ines wasn’t Sasha’s fault. Ines had been cocky and stupid, and it got him killed.
‘He’s got enough to worry about with a new recruit and Angelo in the same fucking tower together. Leave him be for now. If he needs something he’ll come ask for it.’ Sergei trusted Stepanova to take care of things in the town.
‘You want to go check out what’s going on?’
‘I think I’m tired of checking things out. Besides, Moscow told us to quit scouting.’
‘True.’ But Anatoly smirked when Sergei handed over the binoculars and pointed to a copse of trees north of the river, obscured by the rise and fall of the grassy knolls.
‘I think it’s time we set some traps.’
‘Is that … ?’
‘Could be. Won’t know unless we go check it out.’
‘No one’s tried to get over the wall here in at least twenty years.’ But Anatoly was zooming in, getting a better look at the things Sergei had been staring at for hours. In the day, the wind was too strong, tossing white tufts and drifts through the tree line until it was a white fog, impossible to observe. But the night settled the winds to a lazy breeze and things were becoming visible that he suspected were supposed to stay hidden.
Barricade Page 7
