I wasn’t stupid; the place would be guarded, and they—armed. I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere near a door, but I could get to the roof. They had security cameras, but there wouldn’t be time for them to be useful. I needed a minute, maybe two.
I didn’t think I was followed, but worked quickly anyway, because I had somewhere to be later and I wanted to change clothes for the flight. I would need to grab some of Kotik’s things since she was already at the airport, and all of that was across town.
The two large, plastickvassbottles I pulled from the school bag sloshed as I emptied them into the rooftop water tank, careful not to splash any on my arms. A shame I had to pour the kvass out at the apartment—I liked kvass.
The other, much smaller glass bottle remained in my bag. Despite the label, it didn’t contain Pepsi.
I slid back down the ladder and snuck down the wall, ducking under the windows, just in case.One. Two. Three. Four.The kitchen would be on the eastern-most side, away from the main doors. No bars at the top of the windows for better ventilation.
I took a moment to stand and appreciate what I was about to do. Sergei would have pissed himself if he were alive to see it. Misha will piss himself, but he’ll be impressed. My farewell gift to him, because he has to work here when I leave.
I pulled out a cigarette, because apparently I had a death wish sparking something so close to my face, and lit it. Had to get itgoing well before getting the Pepsi bottle out.
I held it to the makeshift fuse until it ignited, and threw the Molotov cocktail, shattering the window glass.
Then, ran.
Here is the funny thing about Molotovs—they’ll burn, but they’re not the end of the world. Hard to put out, not impossible. But I didn’t need it to burn, just burn long enough to set off the fire sprinklers running from the roof.
And here is the funny part about napalm—it’s not hard to put out—it’simpossible. It sticks to every surface and doesn’t dilute in water because of its chemical structure. All it needs is a spark, and it spreads. That’s why its use is restricted by Protocol III of the UN Convention.
I waited long enough to hear the fire alarms, and then there was no reason to wait.
I’d need to pack Kotik that dress from our first date. Call me sentimental.
And that’s what I thought about while I waited for the number two bus, because it ran early enough that I could catch it at the beginning of its route.
The thick column of black smoke still rose above the city when I got in the taxi two hours later and headed to the airport.
* * *
About Russia:
kvass– a traditional fermented drink
44
Not Without You
Mama didn’t ask why I was bawling in the car; it wasn’t a mystery to anyone.
Maxim fell asleep slumped against me in the back seat, cried out, while I leaned my forehead against the glass. Lights flashed across us to the sounds of passing cars, and darkened completely when we entered the highway leading to the airport. The shrubbery was thick here, and no one bothered with streetlamps. I had only gone that way when picking someone up, and even then I took a taxi.
Misha’s cigarette smoke mixed with that of old upholstery and stale sweat, only broken by frosty air when we parked.
It was spring, but the cold stung like mid-winter. Nothing feels like the middle of the night at the airport; there is a certain weariness to it that can’t be explained unless you’re hauling suitcases out of the trunk. I had no suitcase and would have to make do until we got to Moscow. There would be a twelve-hour layover according to Misha, and I could buy some clothes… and perhaps a toothbrush.
I didn’t take my gloves off yet, wanting the ring to remaina secret a while longer. My precious tether to the man I left behind with a stash of household cleaners, wires, and a camcorder he was already prying open for the battery by the time we left.
Misha took Mama’s things, and the three of them walked far ahead of me as I slowed at the edge of the parking lot. I imagined Vitali, alone. Always alone. Showing up in a taxi and getting on that plane, not knowing if he would find anyone there when he landed. Maybe he wouldn’t make it to the airport at all…
I stared at that neon sign‘Kurov-Sibirsky Airport’like a moth entranced by its red light for what could have been hours. Long enough for Misha to return swearing under his breath.
“So are you heading out or what?” he asked, tapping a new cigarette pack. “Or are you going to do something stupid?”
“Something stupid, I think,” I said. “Do you know when he’s meant to fly out?”
He scratched his head through the thick beanie. “Your flight is in four hours. Another should be six hours later if the fucking airlines get their shit figured out. That’s the one I’d take if I were waiting for you to get out safe and had a hard-on for blowing shit up.”
