Page 20 of Savage Truce

Russian shouts fill the air, and when I glance over my shoulder and see a man aim a weapon at me, I let out a shriek and push myself to run faster.

“Oh God,” I cry, fear flooding my chest and making hard tremors shudder through me.

Another gunshot cracks through the air, and a couple of seconds later a bullet slams into the back of my calf. I tumble forward, plowing into the dry grass, pain ripping through my skin and muscle.

“Ahhh!” As I sit up and grab hold of my leg, a sob building in the back of my throat, I see two men running toward me. Their firearms are trained on me, and they’re shouting Russian commands I don’t understand.

“English!” I begin to gasp the word over and over as they grab me by the arms and haul me to my feet. “I’m English.”

They continue to bark Russian words at me as I’m dragged to the front yard where mother, the other guests, and some of the guards are being forced to get into the back of a truck.

Where the others help each other to climb up, they ignore me. I grab hold of the metal edge, but when I’m unable to pull myself into the cargo hold, the two men quickly grow impatient with me and begin shouting again.

My leg is on fire, and I grit my teeth as I use all my strength to climb into the box.

Unable to stand up, I scoot across the floor, my eyes wide as I glance from Ms. Fedorova and the others to the soldiers.

Ms. Fedorova screams something at them, but the soldiers laugh, and while one sneers a reply at her, he slams the doors shut, and we’re plunged into darkness.

Everyone talks all at once, and not being able to understand, I cry, “What’s happening?”

Once again, I’m ignored, and when the truck begins to move, my body is jostled, making the pain in my calf increase. I clamp my hand over the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding.

While everyone else loses their minds, I sit with my head lowered, the realization that my crappy life just took a turn for the worse shuddering through me.

One by one they fall quiet, only sniffles and heavy breathing filling the air. Minutes pass before I try again and ask, “What is happening?”

“They say my father has been overthrown and there’s a new pakhan.” Ms. Fedorova’s tone is void of the usual hatred and filled with ungodly terror.

Oh no!

When the truck shakes, I bite my bottom lip to keep from making a sound as it sends a fresh wave of pain through my leg.

A new pakhan taking over can only mean one thing. Yegor Fedorov’s family, men, and associates will all be rounded up to be killed.

I’m as good as dead.

CHAPTER 6

Anastasia

After the truck comes to a shuddering stop, I hear car doors slamming shut and many voices.

There’s loud banging on the metal doors before they’re opened, and a moment later a bright light shines in my eyes.

A man shouts something, and when the others begin to climb out and bump into me in the process, I grit my teeth. I struggle to the edge and brace for a lot of pain before jumping to the ground. Unable to land on both my feet, I crumble to the rough concrete floor.

We seem to be at some kind of factory, and as the enemy’s soldiers begin to herd Ms. Fedorova and the others into the building, I suffer through the pain to climb to my feet and limp after them.

Being wounded makes me fear that they’re going to kill me first.

Orders keep being shouted in Russian, and I only manage to pick up a word here and there. It’s not enough to understand what’s being said, so I just follow the others’ lead.

When everyone stops and huddles together, I limp to the back of the group, hoping to hide behind them.

A man begins asking each captive a question.

Knowing I have to stop the bleeding, I untie the apron and sit down on the ground so I can wrap the fabric around my calf. Clenching my jaw, I tie the strings as tight as possible, but the pain intensifies so much that a whimper escapes from me.