Closing my eyes to the sting of the smoke, I tried to breathe through my shirt. Coughing took over my voice. But I hurried toward his door, clear of flames.
“Alexsei!” His door was open, as it always was, but no reply came.
He wasn’t there.
No matter how many times I called out for him, he didn’t respond—because he wasn’t there.
Worried that something could’ve happened to him, I frantically groped all over the bed. Relying on my sense of touch as the smoke stung my eyes, I rushed to find him.
His body wasn’t there. Nothing but the rumpled bedspread was there for me to feel.
Between coughs, I kept calling out for him, frantic that he had been hurt with this smoke rushing in and for this need to know he was near to protect and support me.
He can’t be hurt.
He can’t be dead.
The fear of losing him was so acute that I nearly dropped to my knees. The possibility of this gentle giant being harmed sickened me and increased my panic.
In this rush to find him, I ignored the confusion that blared in my mind. I had no clue where the smoke was coming from, but through the haze of terror, I was aware that a fire was near.
Certain Alexsei wasn’t here, I scrambled out of his room next to mine and ducked as low as I could. Crossing the cabin, I called out as strongly as I could once more.
“Misha!”
I yelled as loud as I could, desperate to find the child and make sure he was safe.
My hunt for the boy was short-lived. He was already rushing toward me, screaming my name. The roar of flames hurt my ears, but between his calls for his father and for me, I could guide myself in the direction toward him.
Right when his voice sounded clearer in response to my telling him that I was coming for him, gunfire erupted outside.
“Misha! Come here, quick!” I reached my arm out, aiming to find him in this oppressive cloud of smoky darkness surrounding us both.
My fingers brushed against his hair. Then in the next reach, I grasped the sleeve of his shirt.
“Here. Here.” I hauled him to me, clutching him close. Both of his strong little arms wrapped around my waist as he sobbed. Then coughed. We were both a wreck of trying to breathe, but I blocked him from where it sounded like the gunfire had come from.
“We need to get to—” His words were cut off by more gunfire. “We need to get to the room.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Grounding myself with the need to protect him, I tried to squint and understand which way to go.
“Where—” I coughed, struggling to breathe through the fit of hacking up a lung.
Without speaking, he stayed low with me and moved toward the back of the cabin.
It was chaos. Too dark. Too hard to breathe. Impossible to think.
Fear-laced urgency robbed me of stopping to rationalize what to do and how we could know Alexsei was safe. All I knew for a fact was that Misha was alive, that I was alive, and we were fighting to reach the panic room to be safe.
Before we could reach it, someone ran up to us.
I wanted to believe it was Alexsei, at last finding us and ready to help me protect his son.
But it wasn’t him. He was too thick, too short. With a mask hiding his face, he rushed up and blocked our path to the safe room.
No!
Flames had spread into the lounge, lending enough light for me to make out the reflection on metal. Metal of a gun. In his hand.
