We spend the night sleeping on the couches, and after using the restrooms, we come back and sit on them again. My stomach starts growling, I didn’t have dinner, and now it’s another day. By the time I wake up, it’s already 9 a.m. I slept surprisingly well, even in a situation like this. Mom and Aunt were quite impressed by this particular skill of mine; they only managed to get a few hours of restless sleep.
I get up from the couch, my base aching with every movement from all the sitting and getting up. I walk toward the small kitchen area and search for something to eat. I find a fewboxes of cookies. Carrying them with me, I return to the couch and hand one box each to Mom and Aunt.
I sit down again, swallowing a whimper of pain, and open my own box. I barely manage to eat two cookies when the sound of hurried footsteps rushes from above. All three of us look at one another, silently exchanging the same thought: something is wrong.
I close the box, my appetite vanishing instantly. Moments later, the sound of gunfire erupts from the entry gate of the basement.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I jump to my feet, grabbing the gun Marco gave me from the table along with the magazines. I shove the magazines into the lower pocket of my clothes and rush Mom and Aunt toward the room they hid in twenty-five years ago.
I just wish history repeats itself, and that we all survive.
“Turn off the lights,” Mom whispers once we’re hidden behind the old furniture.
I switch off the lights and take my position directly in front of the door. I remove the safety and load the gun.
Today, I’m going to kill.
No matter how many nightmares I’ll have to live with later. Because not killing means getting killed, and becoming the reason for my mother’s and aunt’s deaths. And that would inevitably lead to my father’s and uncle’s deaths too. I know for certain those men wouldn’t be able to live without their wives.
What aboutmyman? Will he be able to live?
Of course he will. He is Matleon.The death of his wife wouldn’t be enough to kill him.
Footsteps echo outside. Then the door flies open, along with the others. I fire instantly, aiming straight for the man’s head. He drops before he even understands what hit him.
Holding my breath, I take another shot immediately, hitting the next man and sending him crashing to the floor.
More men pour in. I shoot two more, but they keep coming, too many, moving in a force. Within seconds, the room is crowded with them.
Shit.
One of them switches on the light, blinding me. He raises his gun and aims directly at me. Two more men follow, guns trained on my chest.
I lower mine.
“This bitch killed our men,” one of them says in Russian.
A man approaches cautiously, snatches the gun from my hand, and grabs my arm roughly. I don’t resist. I know protesting right now is useless. There are too many of them.
Mom and Aunt Savi rush out of their hiding place.
“Leave my daughter,” Mom sobs.
The men laugh. They grab them too.
We’re dragged out of the basement, and the sight that greets me makes my head spin. Blood is everywhere. Bodies lie scattered across the floor. My blood freezes in my veins.
Everyone here is dead.
Does that mean Papa… Uncle… Kaz?
And Matleon?
My legs nearly give out, but the men keep dragging me forward through the carnage. My thoughts spiral uncontrollably.
Matleon is dead.
