Page 10 of One of Them

“And then?”

The answer was the same as it had been from the start, but he needed to hear it again. “Then we reach the coast and go home.”

“What’s home for you?” the youngster asked. His eyes searched my face, waiting for a reaction.

During the endless hours we shared, I never once spoke about the civilian world.

Home was family, but family was also the organization we belonged to. Yet here I was, in the middle of nowhere, punishing myself.

To enhance the weapon, you have to calibrate it. That’s what the Bratva did with me. They shipped me off, hoping for a long-term return on their investment.

You can’t teach an old mutt new tricks, but you can convince it to keep learning.

Well, they didn’t have to convince me twice. I jumped at the opportunity, eager to let the thoughts and impulses roam free.

I could be their monster. Here or there, it didn’t matter.

There was no end, only more tasks. No escaping the brotherhood. No escaping the war. No escaping anything.

I ground my teeth, answering Orest’s question. “It’s the same.”

The slam of the door behind me echoed through the camp. That night, I stayed inside, bracing myself for the last day.

A wave of resistance traveled through my body when the dry desert air dampened. Seagulls circled above, navigating the orange hue from the smoke rising in the sky.

The coastline wasn’t welcoming. The sea was rough, beating against the rocks.

I sat down in full gear, closing my eyes for a moment. My fingers trailed through the sand, grabbing a handful of grains and crushing them with all the strength I had. The deep cuts from constant reloading burned as the particles entered them. I squeezed even harder until my fingers met my palm, and the sand slipped through, returning to its original form.

A chuckle escaped my mouth. Before I knew it, I was rolling on the beach, each laugh growing more manic.

I strived to be uncrushable, like the sand, but the last stretch proved me so fucking wrong.

Each muscle ached. Each move hurt. But it was the never-ending burn at the back of my neck that seared, not just from the pain but from the actions that led to it.

I resisted touching the spot, wary of infections. I’d give that fucker a month or two to heal before visiting a friend in Jersey. About time I added to the collection of art.

“This is it.” Orest joined the shitshow, interrupting my thoughts.

I nodded, focusing on the seagulls above.

We sat on the beach for a good while, comfortable in shared silence as we did on any other night, until the rotor blades interrupted the moment.

“I fear worse things await me there,” Orest whispered, his head turning toward the helicopter heading our way.

I slowly stood, pressing my shoe into the sand to bury the blood I left behind.

“Stop fearing, and they won’t,” I shared my wisdom, patting his back as we walked toward the group.

I didn’t fear danger. Danger and I had an understanding. I became it before I let others take it.

Responsibility awaited me at home instead. My older brother had called with the news long ago. Father retired to Russia. It was our turn.

I was allowed this one time. A rare chance to escape life as I knew it. But it was ending.

For sixteen months, I’d exchanged one hell for another.

But the true hell of my mind? I’d never escape.

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