After half an hour immersing in the mud, we finally get to the light at the end of the tunnel. My mouth gasps for air, my hands tremble, and my legs feel like giving in. There’s a hatch covering the top of the tunnel, but I take thirty seconds just to push it out of the way. Faint light shines into my eyes. The sun hasn’t come out and grotesque gray clouds patch the sky, but at least the snowing has stopped.

I crouch so Alice can step on my back and climb her way up. After she’s gotten out of the tunnel, I lift my hands and command her to pull me up.

Alice bends down. I grab her wrist, but when I put a bit of force on it, she loses her balance and I pull her into the pit again.

I had shouted at her once for not being able to pull me up. Maybe the fear of being scolded got her pumping, or maybe it’s pride. Whatever it is, she jolts up, gasping as she climbs again. This time, I grab her ankle and pull her back down.

“Stop. Let me,” I say.

My body is falling apart. I hear noises like swarms of bees are buzzing around me. However, I still manage to climb up to the crater, which is only a mere two meters’ cliff.

“Now grab my wrist and watch me do it.” I wait until she’s grabbed me. “One the count of three! One. Two. Three.”

I jerk her from the crater. We fall on the snow, huffing uncontrollably. Maybe it’s because she’s light, but chances are she’s just too weak. Clapping my hands together, I wink at her. “See? Simple. Now go conceal yourself under the ferns over there.”

I place the lid back to where it was, then shove big chunks of snow on it until it covers the tunnel fully. Alice seems to be talking, but I have no mental capability to listen. I convince myself that everything will be fine. Guys inside the Izhevsk fort are resilient warriors. Even if Dzyuba is dead, I believe Smolov will still be able to urge them to fight for at least another month. Smolov can do that. He’s a sound general.

I turn to face the distance ahead. As expected, Dzyuba’s tunnel leads to the pine hill behind the base. What astonished me is the mere distance he’d dug: the tunnel’s exit is on the hill, a fair distance from the watchtowers, and outside of reasonably expected fleeing range for Pavlyuchenko’s scout to frequent. In fact, I can even see a couple of men wearing Pavlyuchenko’s uniform on the hill’s foot, hiding behind the trees and facing the Izhevsk base. Did the Commander plan these months ahead? It’s impossible to have this done in weeks. I wondered why he didn’t flee the place right after he finished digging this tunnel. Couple that up with the fact that the Commander took on patrolling duties himself in the last couple of weeks, it seemed like he was searching for something. Something he couldn’t live without, perhaps?

Whatever. That’s none of my concerns.

The hill is probably a hundred meters tall, and the hatch is only ten meters taller than the ground. Snow builds up to my shin, and the dozens of ferns and the base of the nearly ten-meter-tall pine trees right at the crater make this place unknowingly, or deliberately, a favorable hiding spot. However, although the pine trunks are soaring and grow close to each other, they have few branches of leaves. So we will most likely have to bend to the ground where the ferns are still lying.

“Achoo!” The woman beside me shivers. I can even see the snot running out of her nose as she crawls inside my oversized coat. It’s freezing outside, but I don’t think it’s reached below minus. It’s going to be an immense problem once it snows again.

“Try to bear. We have to keep going. If you don’t move, your body can’t fight the cold.”

As we climb up the hill, I look behind. The base walls aren’t so high that they can cover my view anymore. I can see over the back of the base, both sides of the ground, and the horizon from far away. No more alarm bells screaming overhead. There are no humans hollering, no more gunfire wailing in my ears. From where I am standing, everything is so calm. Almost chilling: gray snow spread all over the ground, while dew clings around the feet of the walls, enveloping the whole scenery with a tedious hue. Just like the abandoned castle of Count Hrapovitskyi.

That doesn’t mean we can lower our guard: Pavlyuchenko’s men usually scout around these areas. I pull her crouching close to the flora so we won’t be so distinguishable from the snow.

The ferns lushly clings onto the foot of the conifer trees, their leafy green branches peek out from the snow. The woman shudders as she touches a fern leaf next to her. “I heard that these are edible. . . But I have never tried them. . .”

“They are, if you cook them. Tastes like sandpaper, but they are.”

“Well, you see, I think I know why Siberians eat them. Ferns played a part in one of their most mysterious rites!”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Nonsense. There aren’t even enough people in Siberia,” I protest. But that doesn’t stop her from keeping on babbling about her little tale.

“You see. . . you see! According to legend, on this holiday the fern. . . which rarely blooms, but reproduces with spores. . . just for a moment a magical flower that burned with a bright scarlet light. . .”

“Shut up. . . You. . . are running out of breath. . .”

“No. . . You are running out of breath! You see. Whoever . . . picked it up would be able to see buried treasures, no matter how deep they were! This lucky person would acquire other magical powers as well, such as the power to become invisible, and being able to escape from any jail with ease. B-but. . . getting hands on the flower was a challenge because of the evil spirits that vigilantly guarded it!”

The need of sleep beckons me. I just want to slump onto the snow and slowly recuperate until the chirpy sound of summer birds wake me up. Or until a brown bear slaps me in the face. I can sleep here . . . yes I can . . . just dig a snow tunnel and stay there for the night . . . I can huddle up next to her so we keep our bodily warmth . . . I need rest, I need so much rest . . .

I have eight hours left.

Right as the thought comes to me, I panic. I turn to Alice and ask, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” She blinks in confusion.

“Run!”

Wasting no time, I climb up the hillside. I grab on the dried trunks and use them as leverage; after a few seconds, I’m only a few dozen footsteps away from the crater. When I turn back, I see her crawling on all four, one hand holding her coat from while the other dragging on the ground like an earthworm. She’s about to yell at me, but I put my index finger in front of my lips to signal her to silence.

As she finally catches up, she chokes in a breathy voice, “Why . . . were you running?”

“You know we are wanted, right?”

“W-well . . . I do not know the exact details . . .”

“I’ll be honest with you. We only have eight hours until they find out about you missing. We have to be in top form.” If Petrov decided to report me as soon as we left, we won’t even have that much time.

“I cannot. . . move any faster than this.” She continues crawling like an injured animal.

“C’mon! You can rest once we get to the other side of the hill.”

Do I need to push her that hard? I don’t even have enough strength myself to piggyback her. Why force it on her? The reason they sent me here was probably because they didn’t have any capable personnel within this area. It’s hard finding elites in Central Russia. Even after eight hours and they want to search for me, they will take a considerable amount of time to maneuvre.

In the end, I decide that even if I’m out of time, excessive physical consumption right now is suicidal. I reach a gigantic tree near the top of the hill and sit down to wait for her. I splash snow on my body until it looks like a blanket. Its pale color helps blend me in with my surrounding. I may look ridiculous, sure, but we all know which kind of people look the most ridiculous.

Corpses.

And we’re looking at one right now.

“Alexei . . .” Alice whispers, her lips trembling.

I only realize once I’ve sat down that a Tatarstan infantry sprawling in front of us; a bullet to the chest, another to his forehead, and a missing ear. Judging from the rather lively color of his skin and the fact that he hasn’t been buried under a ton of snow, I guess he was killed just recently. He died to a Moskvich, that’s for sure. Most Republic soldiers cut off the ear of their adversaries so they can rack up their kill count and advance through the military ranks. The remaining soldiers also cut off the ears, but simply for fun. I’ve seen a couple of guys sporting a belt of ears around their hips as if they’re accessories.

“Don’t look at it. If you don’t, it doesn’t exist.”

“W-will we die here?”

“Don’t think about it, okay? I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Her climbing speed matches the speed of a tortoise, and that’s awful news. If that Tatarstan soldier is any warning, then Pavlyuchenko’s scouts frequent on this side of the hill.

My worries become truth. I see a shadow lurking between the big trunks, a few yards behind Alice. He looks distracted; maybe he’s patrolling as a routine.

Right as she raises her head to look at me, I open my mouth to signal to her verbally.

“ENEMY! HIDE IN THE FERNS!”

I pray that Alice understands me. Miraculously, she does. Alice scrambles to blend herself under the greeneries. I forgot to tell her to cover herself in the jacket, but she does it anyway. Smart woman.

Maybe I’m the dumb one here. I should’ve never left her to climb alone.

I find a hiding spot for myself, one where we can still observe each other. The woman stays absolutely silent, only her pair of eyes are visible to me. From this distance, they look frantic.

The Pavlyuchenko’s scout fleet past her hiding place, only inches apart from her. His movement is steady and unassuming. Good, good, nobody’s there, carry on with your day, you shithead.

He stops. Right next to the woman. I can see the horror in her eyes as her irises widen by the seconds. He turns to the side cautiously, as if trying to identify if anybody is around. “Aleksandr!” He yells, “Aleksandr!” He’s calling for backup.

That can’t be possible. Did he find out? I can’t shoot him, because that’s idiotic. A gunshot will surely attract attention.

I put my hand on my pistol holster.

I need to worry about her safety first. Sure, if I kill him, we’ll become wanted people. If it comes to that, will I be willing to take on an army?

My heart pounds like a drum. No, shooting is suicidal. I’m in no condition to take on a platoon, let alone an army. I can’t save her if they find out.

Leave her. Run for your life. You shall be a free man.

I blink several times to pull myself out of that thought. Did I seriously just think that?

There’s no answer from ‘Aleksandr’. The scout reaches for his pocket, most probably a weapon. He’s taking her on himself.

Her eyes shoot at me, like ones of a bear cub looking at its parent. She’s pleading. What do I do?

Save her. Save yourself. Save her. Save yourself.

The scout ransacks his pocket. He’s taking his time; his hand fumbles, as though he has yet to find what he needs. The face he’s making turns from irritation, frustration, to relief. He’s found her! Make a choice! Make a damn choice, Alexei Vronsky!

Fuck it! Even if firing at him is going to kill me, I can’t sit back and do nothing!

Just as I’m about to rush out, the scout pulls out a flat oblate aluminum flask. He takes it to his mouth, tilts his neck up and appears to chuck the whole thing down his throat. Then, he lets out a pleasurable ‘ah’ and mumbles, “Damn well, that asshole Aleksandr isn’t here. Imagine having to share my hard-earned Samogon with him!” He grins to himself, puts the flask back inside his pocket, and swiftly leaves.

I heave a sigh of relief. Was I worried about her? Yes, absolutely. But having her safe and sound also meant that I didn’t have to deal with the inner dilemma anymore.

When the scout finally out of sight, I crawl out of the ferns and signal for her to do the same. Her whole body shakes, I don’t know if she’s freezing, frightened, or both. After a few minutes, she finally reaches the top of the hill. When she raises her face to look at me, her eyes widen in astonishment.

“You kept your cool well, I almost had to draw my gun! Oi? What are you looking at?” I raise an eyebrow when I realize she’s staring.

“Alexei.” She leans closer to me and runs her hand through my hair. “What is happening?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your hair had turned grey.”