Page 135 of The Harbinger

Chapter 31

Mia

I’dtornthroughthetangled thicket, the jagged branches tearing at my flesh, shredding my pants, and staining my shirt with blood. The howling, yelping mutts were far behind me now, their cacophony nothing but a distant memory.

My lungs burned, and a sharp twinge in my side threatened to double me over until the roar of running water cut through my heaving breaths. It echoed through the forest like high winds rocking the canopies, drawing me closer to its banks.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dense forest floor. I had a few hours before the darkness descended, a few precious moments to catch my breath and build a shelter.

But the memories flooded back, raw and unfiltered, fogging my mind. Memories of my father, of that woman’s lifeless face, and of the deadly consequences that awaited me if Sacha caught up with me.

His wrath gave me pause a few times in my desperate escape. Could I go back? Could I make him understand?

No. He wasn’t a man to forgive and forget.

But he had promised to protect me, hadn’t he?The question twisted my gut like a knife. Would that protection extend to Ivan’s deceit and the web of lies he’d spun around me?

Sacha would believe Ivan, a man who’d worked for him longer than he’d known me. It took a certain amount of trust to work as one’s bodyguard. And their trust in one another would override anything that came from me—a girl who’d disobeyed his every command from the beginning.

My disagreeable argument with myself had me moving into the light, which showed through a sparse clearing near the water’s edge. I paused beside the raging river I’d pictured and stared down at the babbling creek, maybe thirty feet wide and two or three feet deep.

It was clear enough to see the brown speckled fish, about six inches long, swimming against the current along the banks. I could make a spear and have dinner.

I shuffled to the side, carefully avoiding the slippery edge, when my heart bolted in my chest.

Across the creek, through the brushes and reeds, were buildings reminiscent of the apartment complex Jenny and I had walked past every day. Had I made my way through the forest already? It wasn’t as big as the drive to his home portrayed?

I’m free?

Bending over, I picked up a thick branch and plunged into the water, my excitement spurring me on.

The ice bit my flesh, and I cried out, its bite soaking my jeans around my ankles and filling my shoes. But I moved on, the water growing deeper until it reached my crotch, then my hips, its powerful force pushing me down the bank until I exited a few feet away from where I’d set my sights.

I brushed aside the willows lining the creek bed, the water sloshing along the ground, creating slick mud as it poured down my jeans and squelched out of my shoes. A breeze kicked up and sent razor blade strokes across my skin when I brushed through the willows and stepped out on the carved-away bank.

If I could get inside somewhere and hide out, Ivan and Sacha wouldn’t find me, and certainly not his father. Because if there was anything Sacha had driven further into my mind, it was that Ruslan could easily do as he pleased.

In front of me was an open rectangular metal trash can, its contents nearly spilling over the top with black and clear trash bags. Beside it was a white box van with a red muffler, and next to that, an orange and yellow one with a window in the back, like a do-it-yourself recreational vehicle. Its tires were flat, and the stench of leaking oil stung my nostrils.

I tossed my stick and moved further into the little village, its roads a pitted tar and dirt mess as though Moscow forgot this place existed when fixing the streets. Overgrown grass folded over at the tops from the weight of the stalk. On the other side of the street, a rotting wood fence no higher than my hip contained a jungle of weeds, some slipping through the slats.

My shoes squelched the remaining water, leaving wet shoe prints along the dusty road. If it weren’t for the old nineteen-nineties white four-door car and a newer one beside it parked in front of a dilapidated two-story apartment complex, I would have thought it was abandoned like Chernobyl.

An elderly woman at the end of the building sat hunched over her garden, her floral shirt and gloves blending in with the greenery around her. My heart leaped in my chest, my stomach swirling with nerves and jubilation.

“Hello…privet.”I waved as the woman stood up and squinted at my sopping complexion.

Deep wrinkles formed along her forehead, and her cheekbones crawled with small red veins that bled into her bulbous nose. She’d covered half her hair with a white scarf decorated with red tulips and yellow flowers.

“Privet,”I said again.

“Eh.” She bent over and pulled a carrot stalk with a high-pitched grunt until it gave way, the orange root long and fat swinging from her hands.

“I need help, please.” I searched my mind for the words I’d studied in the dictionary but drew a blank except for one word. “Pomoshch.” Help.There was a great possibility I’d pronounced it wrong, but I’d repeated it again, gaining her attention.“Pozhaluysta.” Please.

Shivers rushed down my legs in a visible tremor, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, forgoing the need to hang onto my drying wound.

The elderly lady waddled from her upturned dirt and looked me up and down, then toward the forest from which I came, my wet footprints leaving a trail along the crumbled asphalt. She gestured for me to follow her. A few paces down the road, she paused and then climbed the two steps, holding onto the railing as she went, her carrot dangling in her other hand when she opened the door.

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