Dark Sky Falling

by Richard Ryker

  They were this close to Alyssa, and something as small as a sandwich wrapper could prevent them from saving her. It was a stupid mistake.

  The soldier made a cursory look toward the forest. Something else was said and they climbed back into the transport. Both trucks slowly shifted up to speed and were gone.

  Marcus breathed again.

  “I thought you said no road blocks,” Stormy said.

  Salman shrugged. “My information must be old.”

  “So now what?” Marcus asked. “They’re heading the same direction as us.”

  “There is no other way around.”

  Chapter 39

  Alyssa followed Kamila outside. She hadn’t understood anything Kamila had said to her grandfather—it sounded like she was speaking Chechen. Kamila jumped into one of the jeeps parked in front of the house.

  “Get in,” Kamila said.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “We are leaving.”

  Kamila started the jeep.

  “You said I would see my father if I went along with you. You lied.”

  “Yes, I lied. Everyone lies. Get in.”

  She wasn’t going to let Kamila take her one more place. If they kept moving, Alyssa’s dad would never find them. Maybe that was what Kamila wanted, to keep running away until she ran out of places to hide. Then what would she do with Alyssa?

  “I’m not going with you,” Alyssa said.

  Kamila’s eyes narrowed. When Kamila was like this, about to hurt someone, her eyes changed. Normally, they were light brown. But when Kamila was angry, they had a green hue.

  They were very green now.

  Kamila stepped down from the jeep. She put her hand under Alyssa’s arm. Alyssa pulled back. If she let Kamila win, she might never see her dad again. Kamila reached for her but Alyssa moved further away, toward the barn that stood apart from the house.

  “You won’t get away from me,” Kamila said.

  “Why don’t you just leave?” Alyssa said.

  “You think you can survive here? With all of these men?” She made a motion toward the house where Alyssa’s grandfather and several men had gathered to watch. None of them would understand what Kamila was saying. “You have no idea what they will do with you. The pain they will cause you. And that one...” she nodded at her grandfather. “He doesn’t care about anyone.”

  “Either do you,” Alyssa said. “I used to feel sorry for you—”

  Kamila sprang forward. Alyssa turned, unsure where to run. She had only gotten a few feet when Kamila had her arms wrapped around her.

  Alyssa looked at her grandfather, watching the whole scene unfold without moving, without any sign of emotion. Kamila was right. He really didn’t care.

  Back at the jeep, Alyssa pressed her feet against the door, making it impossible for Kamila to get her in.

  A few of the men began laughing.

  Kamila shouted at them in Russian, or maybe Chechen.

  Alyssa twisted around, her face nuzzled into Kamila’s shoulder. She wasn’t going to let Kamila take her anywhere else. Maybe no one here cared about her, but wherever Kamila was going, it would be further away from Alyssa’s dad. The only way back home was to get as far away from Kamila as possible.

  Alyssa opened her mouth and bit as hard as she could, as if she were sinking her teeth into the world’s hardest jaw breaker. Kamila screamed. Alyssa dropped to the ground, leapt to her feet, and didn’t look back until she was past the barn and into the forest.

  She turned, half hidden behind a tree. When she saw that Kamila hadn’t moved from her spot next to the jeep, Alyssa leaned over and spit the taste of Kamila’s sweat—and blood—out of her mouth. She nearly gagged, forcing herself not to swallow.

  She stood, trying to catch her breath.

  Now Alyssa could see why Kamila hadn’t moved. Alyssa’s grandfather stood with a rifle pointed at Kamila. He was speaking to Kamila. Kamila turned to him, screaming, stomping her feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He pointed to the jeep.

  Once in the jeep, Kamila glanced Alyssa’s direction. Alyssa imagined, if she were close enough, she would see the hatred burning green in her eyes, greener than ever. A tingle of fear crept up her back and over her neck and shoulders.

  Still shouting at her father, Kamila drove back down the dirt road that led to the main highway.

  Kamila was gone, and Alyssa was all alone now, a million miles from home.

  Chapter 40

  Marcus, Stormy, and Salman waited fifteen minutes after the Russians left before getting back on the road. The Lada was a gutless car on any incline, and that alone should keep them far enough behind the Russian soldiers—unless the transports stopped again.

  For the first half an hour no one said anything.

  The highway pressed them through several narrow switchbacks, with little room between pavement and the steep cliffs edging the road. Eventually, the road settled into a small plateau where, every few miles, a small pasture or farmhouse would punctuate the increasingly dense forest. Then, they were climbing again, the Lada’s engine struggling under the steep grade.

  They’d left Salman’s house several hours earlier. Even with the brief stop to fix the flat tire, they had to be getting close to their destination. One or two hours more and, if the aunt was right about Kamila’s intentions, Marcus would be holding Alyssa. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting Kamila’s, and Anna’s, father, but it was a small price for being reunited with Alyssa.

  The thought that they were close to ending the hell of the past several weeks brought a sense of relief to Marcus.

  “Maybe the transports were just passing through,” he said. Neither Stormy nor Salman responded.

  Fifteen minutes later, the highway leveled again.

  All at once, Salman cursed in Chechen, Marcus in Russian, and Stormy in English.

  They had found the Russians. Spanning the highway was a roadblock manned by two Russian soldiers. A hundred feet beyond the checkpoint, two transports and five or six other military vehicles lined the side of the road.

  “They could be Spetsnaz,” Salman said. “Russian special forces…looking for rebels.”

  “But we should be fine, right?” Stormy said doubtfully. “We aren’t rebels.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “But you aren’t really one of them—”

  “Not yet.”

  “Salman,” Marcus said. “Now isn’t the time.”

  Salman took a deep breath. “I’m not going to start anything.”

  Salman was the key to finding Kamila’s father, and Alyssa. If he caused trouble, the Russians wouldn’t let them pass. Not to mention that Marcus had promised Salman’s father that he’d keep the boy safe.

  Salman slowed the car as they approached the checkpoint.

  They handed their papers to Salman.

  The soldier that approached was tall, with blonde hair just protruding from under his hat. He wasn’t smiling, but he had the face of someone who wasn’t a bad guy. Just doing his job.

  Salman rolled the window down and, without a word, handed over the documents. The Russian stared at the papers for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Not good.

  He took the papers to the second soldier, a shorter, stockier man. There wasn’t a hint of kindness in the second soldier’s face.

  Their chance of getting through the roadblock just went down several percentage points.

  He glanced down at the papers. His eyes rose to meet Salman’s.

  “They suspect something.”

  Marcus remembered the fake document accusation that Jones had made. He had never had the chance to discuss it with Stormy.

  Both soldiers approached the car. The stocky one motioned with his hand. “Get out.”

  As they exited, he stepped back to get a better view of the three of them. “Away from the car.”

  Marcus balanced his feet against the edge of the ditch that
lined the side of the road. The ditch dipped down then rose again where it met a barbed wire fence that held to the road for as far as Marcus could see. Across the highway, another fence continued for about half a mile, then stopped at the entrance to a farm. The farmhouse was set back from the road. Three armored vehicles sat idly along the long driveway up to the house.

  The shorter soldier spoke. “What is your business here?”

  “We are visiting relatives,” Salman replied calmly.

  The short soldier gave a chuckle, but it was clear he wasn’t amused. “I don’t believe you.”

  Marcus noticed the other, taller soldier staring down at a handheld electronic device. The soldier glanced up at Stormy, his eyes widening in a look of sudden recognition. What had got his attention?

  “Our papers are good,” Marcus said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Look!” the blonde soldier said, holding up the device. The short one grabbed it, scrolled down before handing it back to the blonde. He turned his attention to Marcus and Stormy. “You two. You don’t look Chechen.”

  Something on the device had made the soldier suspicious of Marcus and Stormy. Salman, seeming to notice the change, stepped forward.

  “If being Chechen is what gives one the right to be here, then what is your excuse?’ Salman asked.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Chechen moron.”

  The blonde soldier took a step sideways, put the electronic device away and slid his rifle around, directing it at Salman now. If Salman didn’t keep his cool, he was going to get the three of them arrested, or shot. Either way, they wouldn’t get to Alyssa in time, wouldn’t be able to stop Kamila from whatever she was planning on doing with Alyssa.

  The short soldier pulled Salman’s coat open, revealing a bright green soccer jersey with a large white T in the middle and the words Tepek above. “A fan of Chechen soccer eh?” He grinned. “The team that has a bunch of girls like you playing for them?”

  “Unlike the Russians,” Salman replied, “We Chechens can tell the difference between our men and our women.”

  “Salman—” Stormy said.

  The soldier turned his attention to Stormy. “Here’s a pretty girl. The kind that gets on the front page of the news website. Looking for her boyfriend’s daughter.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stormy said.

  “Show them.”

  The tall blonde lowered his gun, pulled out the electronic device. After keying in some commands, he turned it around. Dmitry’s story—and Stormy’s picture—were there on the front page of the Komsomolskaya Pravda website.

  Chapter 41

  Alyssa had finally escaped. But now she was alone, with men Kamila said would do horrible things to her. And not one of them spoke English. How was she going to find her dad? Did he know she was here, with her grandfather? How could he?

  From the edge of the woods, Alyssa watched her grandfather bark orders to the men around him. When they left, he motioned for Alyssa to come back to the house.

  Could she trust him? Kamila had told her not to. But Kamila didn’t trust anyone, and he had stopped Kamila from taking Alyssa. He was her grandfather, if that counted for anything. What other choice did she have, besides to run off into the woods and fend for herself? And as long as she was alone, that made it easier for Kamila to take her again.

  Alyssa reached the front door where her grandfather stood. He didn’t say anything, just stared down at her. He wore a blank expression. Was he going to help her? Or would he yell at her and send her away too?

  One of the men her father had been talking to returned with another soldier. This new man looked different from the others—his skin was smoother and darker. The man and her grandfather exchanged a few words, then the new soldier said in very bad English. “You speak English?”

  “Yes.”

  The grandfather said something to the man. “She has left you here,” the man said. It wasn’t clear if it was a question or not. Alyssa looked at her grandfather and said, “I want to go home.”

  The grandfather began speaking through his interpreter.

  “You don’t have a home anymore,” the grandfather said. “You have no mother and your father has probably given up by now, or is dead, so you have no father either.”

  She felt her face grow hot, and she decided she didn’t care who these people were or how many guns they had. “That is a lie!” she shouted. “I do have a father and he is looking for me right now.”

  Her grandfather raised his eyebrows then said something to the man who did not interpret it. Then he said, “How do you know your father still looks for you?”

  “Because he loves me.”

  Her grandfather was silent for a long time. “Is it this easy to steal a child from America?” He scratched his beard. “Even if your father is alive, he would never make it here. The roads are filled with Russians who would kill him first.”

  “We made it here.”

  “Kamila is different. She gets her way. Most of the time.”

  “My father will come get me. Let me call him and tell him where I am,” she pleaded.

  “Stupid little girl. That would lead the Russians right to my door.”

  Her fear of the old man faded. She was tired of Kamila and her father and all of these people ignoring her and acting as though she were some package to be taken from one place to another and left behind whenever they felt like it. “You only care about yourself, not anyone else. Not even your own family. You didn’t even try to send letters to my mom...”

  The interpreter hesitated, looking doubtfully at Alyssa. The man translated, her grandfather’s face reddening with each word. He took a step toward her, raising his hand. Alyssa wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. So she did the only thing she could think of—she charged her grandfather and pushed him as hard as she could. He stumbled back from the unexpected blow.

  Her grandfather stared dumbfounded, hand at his side now. The soldier stood stiffly next to her, unsure what to do. Her grandfather’s scowl loosened and his eyes opened up wide and his mouth curved into a wide smile. He began laughing and it went on and on until he was holding on to his belly. He reached out for Alyssa and she flinched, but then he only patted her lightly on the head. The soldier grinned at her. “He says he has no doubt you are his granddaughter—you have the fight of a Chechen in you.”

  The grandfather said something to the soldier and then looked down at Alyssa and shook his head, still smiling. She watched him wipe a tear from his cheek as he walked back into the house.

  Once inside, the soldier said, “I am to give you food. Come into the kitchen.”

  The soldier fed Alyssa something that had the texture of oatmeal but had even less flavor. But she hadn’t eaten since the day before so she was grateful for any food. Sometimes it seemed as though Kamila didn’t need food at all. Alyssa finished the soupy mixture then waited but no one returned. She looked around and noticed that there were piles of dirty bowls and glasses. She found a small cup of what looked like some sort of soap and a rag. She washed the dishes and set them on the counter neatly to dry. There wasn’t a dishtowel. When she was done she smiled, proud of her work. It was the first time she had felt useful in a long time. She remembered her great aunt in Grozny and wondered what she was doing at that moment, and if she was worrying about Alyssa.

  She turned back toward the table and was startled to see her grandfather watching her from the doorway. He motioned for her to follow him upstairs. The translator was waiting for them.

  “I am sure my men would like having a girl around to do their cleaning. But it is not safe. You cannot stay here. I cannot send you back to America either.”

  Was he just going to send her back down the road to fend for herself? She regretted hitting him. Was he still mad, despite his sudden change?

  “I am sending you to a place where there are more of your kind. They will find a way for yo
u to get home.”

  “Why can’t you just send me home? Or help me find my dad.” She would feel a lot safer if her grandfather was the one to escort her to safety. She imagined that Kamila was out there, somewhere, waiting to get Alyssa back. And what about her dad? He wouldn’t know that Alyssa was safe, that she’d been sent back home.

  “This isn’t Russia…or America...or any free country. I cannot just take you to the airport and send you home. They would blow us up from a mile away and your father would never find you again. You cannot understand,” he said, running the back of his fingers along his bearded cheek.

  “Tomorrow one of my men will take you across the border, over the mountains. There are some villages where we know infidels—Americans—to be.”

  “But my father—”

  He put a hand up, said something to the interpreter, and left.

  Alyssa slept alone, locked in a room with a cot and two blankets, one for a pillow. A few weeks earlier, she would have been frightened sleeping in such a place. But compared to where she had been with Kamila, and the things she had seen Kamila do, her grandfather’s home seemed safe.

  In the morning her grandfather made her eggs and some sort of meat for breakfast. He sat across the table and watched her eat. When she was done, he called the interpreter. “Come upstairs,” he said.

  Once upstairs her grandfather sat in his chair and motioned for her to come closer.

  She walked up to him and he looked at Alyssa closely, then reached out and moved the hair from her face. “You are Anna’s daughter. Strong and smart.” He looked away for a moment. “I have something for you.” He reached down and pulled out a plain golden wooden box from under his chair. It was polished and smooth and the grain of the wood was dark. He opened it. “These are your mother’s letters to me. I admit I am a stubborn man…but just because I did not say so does not mean I did not love her. Take them. Many of them are about you.”