The fact that no one is coming to get us to safety is a bad sign.
Theworstsign, actually.
It means they’re so overwhelmed by the exchange of fire that they can’t spare anyone to ensure our safe transport.
“We need to go,” I whisper.
“Yeah, they’re outnumbered.” He stands up with surprising agility even as he groans.
I frown, watching him inhale and exhale sharply.
How did Yulian come to the same conclusion I did?
Pretty sure he’s a half-wit, so how did he make the quick connection…?
“You gonna gawk for long, sunshine? I know I’m a world wonder, but we need to get going.” He grins, pointing north. “Follow me. I know a place.”
“No, we’re going back down to the compound, where our guards are.”
“It’s cute that you assume the assailants haven’t thought of that possibility. Either the men below are neutralized, or the attackers have soldiers on every path leading to the camp to trap us. Don’t know about you, but I’m never getting fucking kidnapped again.”
Again?
Yulian’s already moving—too fast for someone who’s injured, might I add—using the trees as camouflage. His gun out.
I stare in the direction of the gunshots and rub a hand over my face. While I hate to admit it, Yulian’s probably right. If they went through all this hassle to attack us on the mountain while we’re mostly isolated, they probably thought we’d want to go back down and planted traps along the way.
However, following Yulian isn’t really a foolproof plan. Yes, he’s been up these mountains many times during the period we’ve spent here, but what if he’s in on this?
What if Yaroslav, whom I’m already so wary of, decided to either kidnap or kill me to get to my father and asked Yulian to be in on the plan?
But then again, Yulian wouldn’t have taken a bullet for me if that were the case.
Or maybe he did it so I’d trust him?
I groan. Guess I’ll kill him in that event.
But right now, wandering north is my best bet for survival.
I jog behind Yulian while rummaging through my backpack until I find the bandage roll.
As soon as I catch up to him, I wrap it around his middle from behind, and he startles, pointing his gun at me, then lowers it and stops for a second to look at me.
“It’s just a graze, not too bad…” His voice is low, too low, actually, the lowest I’ve ever heard, and it’s full of a sort of…wonder.
“You’re losing a considerable amount of blood. It could be bad. This will at least help stop it until we can disinfect it properly once we’re safe.” I tighten the bandage in a secure knot around the wound on his side, right below his rib cage. I can barely see it through all the blood, so I doubt it’s just a graze—in fact, the wound is deep enough for the bullet to still be in there.
“We need to get going.” He moves as soon as I’m done with the knot, his eyes focused forward.
I step in front of him, my gun pointed ahead. “Tell me which way to go. I’ll cover you.”
He moves right beside me with his own gun, scanning our sides and our backs. “I don’t need you to cover for me.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re injured. You’ve seen me shoot targets. I can protect us.”
“Not sure if you missed the memo, Russian aristocracy, but targets aren’t real people.” He grabs my wrist and swings me around, then points his gun at a tree across from us and shoots.
A thud echoes around us as a body falls from the tree to the ground, a rifle in his hand, a mask covering his face.
