Page 82 of Vitaly

Somehow, I find sleep. Then more of it, drifting in and out while secured to the metal chair. Somehow, even with the stench, my stomach pangs with hunger.

How long have I been here?

When will they give up on their money?

I fall asleep again and don’t wake up until gunshots snap my head upright, giving me more energy than it feels I’ve had in days. Has it been days?

Papa?

I jerk against the rope and breathe heavily while listening to footsteps running this way. When the door slides open, my father appears, and I let out a boyish cry I don’t even care to be ashamed of.

A gunshot sounds behind him as he steps into the room, pulling out his knife and immediately going for the ropes.

“I’m sorry,” is all I say while he cuts me free. Tears slide down my face, and my chest shakes with relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“We don’t have time for that now,” he says, looking me in the eyes. “We have thirty seconds before their backup arrives.”

Roman steps into the cell, his eyes wide as he hisses. “Where’s Gavriil?”

My eyes instinctually move to the head on the ground, and when Roman sees, an avalanche of guilt topples over me, but my father pulls me from it and drags me from the cell while leaving Roman standing there, struck by the sight of his little brother. Part of him.

My father pulls me down the hall, and for a few moments, I’m numb to it, blindly trusting him.

But then I remember Alik.

I whip my head around, searching for the rescue team, but all I see is Roman’s back visible in my cell.

“Alik!” I say, pulling hard to stop my father’s powerful steps.

He looks at me with authority that answers any questions I might’ve had. “We don’t have time.”

I look forward to where my father tries to pull me as gunshots sound. It’s the exit. They must’ve killed the guards there, and the backup he’s talking about must be coming from behind.

There aren't enough men to kill all of the Armenians.

There aren’t enough to get all of us out.

“Let’s go!” my father yells, yanking me forward. I can hear shuffling behind us. They’re coming. I wonder if Roman plansto let them kill him. They’ve probably already killed my other friends. Probably already killed Alik.

But what if they didn’t?

What if he’s alive?

If I walk out of this building, he’ll never stand a chance.

I walk faster so my father will loosen his hold, and as soon as he does, I whip around and sprint for the cell I heard Alik’s screams.

“Vitaly!” my father yells, chasing after me, his gun drawn. I make it to Alik’s cell and slip inside as the Armenians appear and my father slips into my old cell with Roman, his gun firing.

I slam the cell shut and rush to Alik. If he’s alive, I wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but I don’t even check for a pulse. There’s a band strapped around his head and a contraption holding his eye open while his other is closed. I don’t look long at the opened eye, but they’ve done something to it.

I pull off the contraption and undo the rope tying his wrists while bullets whiz from both directions outside. Once Alik is free, I slap him across the face, and when he still doesn’t wake up, I press my fingers to his pulse, holding my breath.

It’s there. It’s light, but it’s there.

Letting out a shaky breath, I pull his dead weight up and lift him over my shoulders, my face twisted as I strain.

The gunfire outside has stopped, and the door to the cell opens by itself, but it isn’t my father who appears. It’s Roman.

---