Vasilisa the Brave - Chapter Six - The Road; a Mistake

The road had been a mistake, but also a lesson.

In her father's tales, he always spoke about moving as a group, being with friends, rivals, old pals, and even some people that he didn't care about until he learned how to respect them.

She found herself in a place with a few apartment buildings, and was powerfully reminded of home. These were older buildings, with peeling siding and water damage along the edge of the roof. The place stank of mildew and cigarette butts, and she couldn't help but imagine that this could be just one block over from the apartment where she'd lived most of her life.

She supposed that, in a way, it kind of was. This was only a twenty minute's drive from Pripyat, wasn't it? Or, no, it was more than that, but this was still close to the city she'd called home.

Shaking her head, Vasilisa kept on the move. She didn't want to be caught out again, and she definitely didn't want to be shot at again. Staying in one place would definitely lead to that kind of trouble.

Moving quick, she hugged the side of the apartment complex, then darted across an open space where a few old cars were rusting away. There were clothes hanging in her path, with perfectly preserved dresses and pants and underthings on them, all looking as if they were fresh out of the wash and still wet.

She didn't know what was up with that, and she decided that not finding out was the smarter choice as she made sure to circle around.

This was another lesson she was starting to take to heart: Strange was bad in this place. Bad and liable to leave her dead.

Silent like a mouse in a pantry, she slipped by and then up a slight rise. From here, she could better see the world ahead. There was a train yard out in the distance, and then past that some sort of large facility. Anything beyond was obscured by distance and the rising landscape.

A road hugged the sides of the trainyard and the facility. She decided against following it. Roads, she knew, were used by people. And people were dangerous.

So she darted towards the trainyard and kept herself low as she moved along its outer wall. Where there were holes in the wall, she made sure to move faster, so as to not be seen by any within. Eventually she came out the other side, far from the main road. Here, there was a much more humble road, then the facility. There were four large buildings, set on each end of it, with the corners opened to allow people in. Grassy spaces were left untouched around the facility.

Something felt wrong about that. So she knelt and watched.

Time was on her side in some things.

The roof, she realized, had movement. A man was picking at his nose, having pulled down the front of his facemask to get at his nostrils. He had a large rifle slung by his hip. Not an old thing like hers, or even the nicer wooden-stocked Kalishnikovs all the soldiers had. This was a sleek thing, plastic and metal. Modern.

More spying revealed a sign placed on the edge of the grass. A wooden piece of plywood, the surface painted white to make the red lettering on it move visible, yet the paint was chipping and the sign was knocked forwards a little.

MINES!

A single word that made a shiver run up her spine. What did they mean by mines? Landmines? Where?

She swallowed. She could so easily imagine herself sneaking across that grass, that well-trimmed grass... oh, another oddity. The grass was trimmed. So far the grass on the roadside was always scraggly and wild, untended and filled with weeds. This space's grass was cut. Not too recently, but someone had scythed through it, preventing it from growing too tall.

Vasilisa decided that the better part of valour was to not sneak into a minefield.

That meant either going down to the road, which she knew was dangerous, or going all the way around.

All the way around seemed wiser now. Keeping low to the ground, she scurried along the side of the road. Now she didn't dare walk on the grassy sidewalk for fear that she'd hear a little click and suddenly be turned into another victim of the Zone.

Or the people in it, she supposed.

Going around might have been wise, but it was not easy. She only crossed the road into a patch of woods when that facility was so far in the distance that she couldn't see it any longer. Then she used it as a guiding star, keeping the few glimpses she had of the facility to her right as she climbed up some steep, rocky hills.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Her legs felt weak within the hour, but she'd discovered a small clearing surrounded on all sides by steep hills. There was a pool of stagnant water in the centre of it, being slowly cooked away by the warm sun when it poked out from between the clouds. She sat on one of the hills and had a meal. She even dared to remove her boots and socks, letting them dry on a warm rock while she stretched her toes.

These boots would be the death of her.

She didn't feel like leaving, but she had no choice. So she packed her things, then took off once more. At the height of one hill, she was able to look over to the facility and noticed that there were nine large pools of what looked like water within. Was it a water treatment plant? Was that the kind of place someone would defend with landmines? It seemed a little excessive to her.

Shaking her head, Vasilisa continued. It didn't take long to reach the banks of a river. A river running very low on water. There were a few bridges across, one looked like a normal bridge, low to the water and made of rusty wrought iron. There was something off about it, however.

She couldn't tell what, even after staring at it for a moment. It wasn't anything obvious, but it still gave her pause.

Instead, she discovered a space where the water was low and several large, flat-topped rocks poked out from the current. There was a bridge across, made of flat planks laid down to make for a safe dry crossing.

A Stalker's work? Maybe that bridge had been a trap of some sort.

She crossed the planks, moving carefully and paying attention as she moved because she could clearly remember the last time she'd crossed a river of any sort.

On the other side was a rising bank above which was the start of a small village. There were a dozen or so homes. Nice ones and not-so-nice ones. A few in a row looked like perfectly nice homes to live in. Two stories, with little garages and sheds and fenced off yards that were left unattended. One of them even had a weather-worn greenhouse, the glass stoned by rain to the point that she could barely make out the plants within.

One home stood out, however, even more than the rest.

It was a small, squashed little building, looking like it should have been in between two others instead of out on its own. It had no yard, but a few little planters under its front windows.

Smoke was coming from the chimney, and there were lights lit within.

Vasilisa made her way a little closer, sneaking around an old tractor across the street, then following along another fence.

"You're quite the quiet one, aren't you, girlie?"

Vasilisa's heart almost escaped her chest at the sound. A voice, an older woman's voice.

She jumped, then fumbled for her rifle only to pause as the voice next spoke. "No need for that, girlie," the woman said.

Vasilisa finally found her, and then was entirely flummoxed at how she'd missed her on her first scan of the area.

There was an old lady sitting on a rocking chair right out in front of the house with the working chimney. She had a blanket on her knees and was moving back and forth calmly while her fingers moved with deft precision, a pair of crochet needles click-clacking like a typewriter.

"Don't make me lose my count now," the woman said. "I'm making a blanket. It gets cold out here, you know?"

"I... suppose," Vasilisa said. She looked around, searching for another trap.

"Don't be that way, girlie," the woman said.

"I'm not a girl," Vasilisa said.

The grandma sniffed. "If you say so," she replied. She stopped her crocheting and looked up, then squinted at Vasilisa. "Well, you're certainly dressed the part of a young man," she admitted.

"How did you know I was a girl?" Vasilisa asked.

"Your voice, of course," the old lady said.

Vasilisa frowned. Something about that was wrong but... but she couldn't quite figure out what.

"Come, come. Sit before me. Let's take in what's left of the day's warmth. The sun will be setting soon, you know? It's bad luck to leave a granny like me without a little company at this kind of hour, and refusing my tea is just plain disrespectful."

***