Vasilisa the Brave - Chapter Seven - Confused

She awoke in a village that wasn't the one she'd gone to sleep in.

The sun was high overhead. It was noon, and her lips tasted of tea and sour cake.

Vasilisa groaned and brought an arm around to cover her eyes against the too-bright sun. Where was she? She felt... honestly, she couldn't decide which part of her hurt more. Her insides were cramping up and her skin felt moist with sweat. Her muscles ached, arms and legs, far more so that they had the previous day, even with the unusual amount of exercise she'd run through.

What had happened?

She turned over, then felt her stomach roil in protest, but her father hadn't raised someone who would lose themselves so easily. She swallowed hard, then took a few deep breaths. Her lunch stayed in its place, for now.

Pushing off the ground, Vasilisa raised herself up to a low crouch. The world spun a little on the edges of her vision, but it wasn't so bad, and as soon as she stopped moving things righted themselves. Was this what drunkenness felt like? She wasn't sure.

Her bag was on the ground, upside down and some of her stuff had spilled out. Her gun was there too. She touched her hip. Yes, the handgun was still on her as well. The weight of it felt right.

Vasilisa blinked a few times, then looked around herself. She was in a small village. There was a grocer with smashed-in windows right next to her, and a small road with a long fence running along it to her right. She could see old farm homes sticking out above the fence. Idyllic old homes, the sort that dotted the countryside and made up most of the homes in small villages.

She sniffed, then rubbed her face with the back of her hand. Somehow she'd ended up dumped out on the edge of a narrow road, right next to the grocer's parking lot. There was a rusting wreck of a car nearby and... and blood on her hands.

Vasilisa stared at them. Dark, red stains, dried so much that when she flexed her hands the blood cracked and flaked off of her skin.

Was this hers?

She didn't think so.

Vasilisa checked herself over in a panic, but no. There was blood on her sleeves, and a small few droplets staining her coat, but no wounds. She still felt the ache and the cramps, but no pain like from a cut. Certainly none deep enough for this amount of blood.

"What happened?" she murmured.

The last she could remember was--

Vasilisa doubled over, vomiting onto the ground. She stumbled to the side and bumped into the old car, but that helped her stay standing as she lost whatever she'd eaten. She reached up to move her hair out of her face, but it had been cut short, she remembered now.

The old lady. The nice old lady.

She'd invited Vasilisa into her home. Said that it was safe.

It wasn't. She'd been offered tea and cakes, and then told to start cooking, cleaning.

At first, Vasilisa went with it. She'd done as the lady asked. It was a small favour to pay, and the lady did seem old. Vasilisa had always respected the elderly back home. She had helped some put out their laundry onto the lines, had helped others bring in their groceries, helped them up the main stairs of their apartment complex, had reached for high objects for one short old babuschka with bad knees.

This was no different.

Only it was. One favour turned into another, and the old lady just kept smiling.

Tea, and cakes.

Vasilisa vomited some more.

How... how long had she been in that home? It was more than a day, wasn't it? More than a week... months? No, not so long, could it be?

She removed her hat and touched her hair, tugged a length of it. It was now long enough to cover her ears. She'd had it cut before leaving for the Zone.

Vasilisa had asked to leave. And the old lady had said... no.

She licked her lips. Bitter tea and sour cakes. Blood on her hands.

Vasilisa was breathing hard and tears stung her eyes.

She shook her head. Where was she now? Before, she'd had an idea of where she was, along the eastern edge of the Zone, more or less. Now? The village meant nothing to her. She turned and leaned against the car, letting the sun bake her head and push away the unnatural chill she felt. She still ached. How long had she spent cleaning and gardening and taking care of the old lady's house? It had felt interminable.

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Had she slept at all?

She didn't feel tired now. Exhausted in mind and body, yes, but not tired as if she needed sleep.

Vasilisa let the world spin for a few minutes longer. It felt as though her inner ear was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she was standing still, and when she turned her head one way and the other, it only made her a little dizzy. It was passing, whatever it was.

She blinked, then stumbled forwards and started to grab her things. Her water bottle was empty, and as she ran through her pack, she discovered that a lot of her food was gone. No, not a lot, all of it.

"Shit," she muttered.

Then again, there was a grocery right there.

She packed everything that she did have away, then slung her backpack on. She checked on her gun next. It was fine, but her handgun was missing a single round. She couldn't remember firing it.

She tucked it away anyway, then stumbled to the groceries. She came in through one of the missing widows.

Some of the shelves had been knocked down. All of them were empty. Still, she stumbled around the store, squinting to make out what she could in the bit of light coming in from outside. If it were any later in the day she might not be able to see anything, but as it was...

A can of pineapples, rolled under one of the tipped-over shelves. She got on all fours to grab it. It was scraped on one side, but unopened. She put it in her pack, then found another. Toshanka, a small can that had rolled over under some broken glass.

It wasn't her favourite, but it was edible, and it would keep.

Unfortunately, that's all she found. There were boxes of cereals at the back, but all of them were chewed into by mice, and she didn't dare approach the unlit fridge with the containers of milk that all look bloated.

What she would have to do. Maybe she'd scour the homes?

On the way out, a flash of red caught her attention, and she almost gasped as she discovered an old can of cola. She popped the tab and drank it right there. It was lukewarm, but sweet, and the taste was strong enough to overpower the taste of bile in her mouth, and the tea.

Better. She was feeling better now, actually, the dizziness was almost entirely gone. Still a little tired, but... she had to keep moving.

She checked her surroundings as best she could before jumping out of the store again. She wasn't sure which direction to go in, but she could guess which way was north from the position of the sun. Did the Zone change how that worked? She wasn't sure, but she hoped not.

On reaching the end of that dead-end street, she poked her head around the fence, moving slow so as not to be spotted.

There were more homes around, sheds, and a few gardens. There was a road cutting through the village, two lanes, broken asphalt. And a tank.

She froze up for a moment, but the tank was just sitting there, old and rusty. It even looked like some parts had been ripped off of it and stolen. Her heart stilled, and she took a deep breath. She didn't know where to go, just yet, but maybe that wouldn't be too hard to figure out.

One of the homes was built on a slight rise, and it had a balcony on its second story. She started towards it.

Once she had a better idea of the landscape around here, maybe she'd have a better idea of where to go.

Keeping on the move felt like it was a far better idea than staying still with her fuzzy memories and bloody hands.

She needed water too, to wash up, and... and a bit of time to herself. There was something deeply wrong about the Zone, moreso than any of her father's stories had prepared her for.

She wasn't even sure why she was in here anymore, only that she had to keep moving.

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