Dan Smith - Red Winter

Close to me, the bodies of three men lay sprawled on the floor, but beyond them, by the door, I saw only Ryzhkov standing with Tanya’s pistol at his side, his face glistening with sweat and dotted with flecks of blood. His shoulders were hunched the way Tuzik’s hunched when he was issuing a warning or about to attack. His head was dropped so that his chin was almost touching his chest and he was staring at me.

Ryzhkov did not have the gaunt and bony figure of Koschei the Deathless. He did not have the long beard or the sword at his side, but he did have the crazed and savage look in his eyes.

When he raised the pistol and shook his head, I lifted one arm in a useless but natural gesture.

‘Please,’ I tried to say.

And he hesitated.

His eyes shifted to focus on something behind me just as a shot cracked, dull and flat and undramatic to my damaged ears. Ryzhkov flinched, but the bullet missed by a hand’s width, burying itself in the wall beside the front door.

A shadow of surprise and confusion crossed his face, and he twitched again as another shot followed immediately after the first, this one striking the wall on the other side of him. Then he scowled and started to adjust the aim of the pistol away from me, to point at whoever had demanded his attention, but his movement was never finished.

Third and fourth shots came in quick succession, one of them finding its mark, and Ryzhkov lurched when the bullet struck him. He bent at the waist as if punched and took a step back to steady himself. His arms dropped as if suddenly heavy and Tanya’s weapon slipped from his fingers.

I saw my chance for life. Whoever had fired those shots had given me precious seconds. I pushed harder with my shaking arms, summoning what little strength I had left to turn onto my front so I could struggle to my feet, and in that movement, I caught a glimpse of what was behind me.

Everything had happened so quickly that no one had moved much. The few seconds it had taken for the violence to play out were barely enough for them to do much more than watch in horror. Oksana was still beside the pich , her children still out of sight, but the old woman was closer, as if she had tried to come across the room. What she thought she might achieve, I couldn’t tell, but Sergei had both hands on her, gripping her upper arms as he held her back. There was no need for that now, though, because they were all motionless and silent.

The old woman was staring at her son, horrified, but both Sergei and Oksana were looking at the far end of the room.

Anna was sitting with her back to the wall, arms outstretched. Her small hands still clutching my revolver. Her fingers still working the trigger, firing on empty cylinders.

Koschei was not dead.

He was in pain. He was losing his lifeblood onto the floor of his own home, but he was not dead.

‘Where is my wife?’ I mumbled as I struggled to my feet, fighting the dizziness. I felt drunk, as if I had lost control of my muscles. Nothing worked the way it should. ‘Where are my sons?’

He ignored me, head down, searching around him for a weapon. He turned on the spot, looking for the pistol he had dropped.

A part of me wanted to go to Anna. I wanted to comfort her and make her feel secure. I wanted to hold her and thank her for my life, but I knew that the only way for her to be safe was to eliminate the threat to her. I had to reach Ryzhkov before he could arm himself again. He had information I needed. I had to make him tell me.

‘Where are they?’ I took a stumbling step toward him, putting my hands out, reaching for anything to hold on to. ‘Where did you take them?’

I was slow, but some of my strength was coming back. My neck was throbbing and my face aching. Pain fired up my back, exploding from the base of my spine with every step, but I had something to drive me on, something to numb the pain for me.

I had Koschei. Right in front of me.

As I took another step, he looked up at me and stared. His face was white, the spots of Tanya’s blood standing out against his skin. He was hunched, both hands crossed over his stomach, but there was nothing he could do to stop his slow death. Anna’s bullet had cut into him just above the belt, and while his blood emptied from him, so his ruptured insides were poisoning him. His life was ebbing away.

‘It’s over now,’ I said. ‘Just tell me where they are.’

‘No,’ he managed. ‘It’s not over yet.’ He looked down at the knife in my hand, then scanned the floor one last time before raising his eyes to meet mine. He knew I was recovering now, regaining my strength, but there was a defiance in him, a refusal to accept his situation. He was Koschei. The Deathless One. He could not be killed.

But nor could he kill. Without a weapon he was defenceless against me and there were few options left for him. He could try to arm himself before I managed to cross the room and get round the table. He could wait for me to come to him, to force the information I needed from him. Or he could run. The bullet had weakened him, but he was a strong man. If he could make it to the darkness of the field or forest, he might have a chance.

And that is what he did.

He turned and fled.

He was faster than I had expected, quick on his feet for a man who had been shot, and by the time I had taken another faltering step, he was out of the door.

‘No.’ I felt my desperation grow now. ‘No.’ I was determined that he shouldn’t escape. He knew where my sons were. He knew what had happened to Marianna. I needed to know. I couldn’t let him get away.

No sooner than I had taken another step, I heard a terrible screeching, like something from a child’s nightmare. I half turned, cringing, to see that the old woman had broken from her husband’s grip and was coming at me, wailing like a demon, arms outstretched, gnarled fingers hooked into claws. She let out a terrible shrieking that made me want to reel in horror, and I had a flash of the image that I’d conjured in the forest – of the rusalka coming at me, hungry for vengeance.

I put out my hand, bracing myself to meet her.

She hit me as hard as she could, her chest colliding with my outstretched hand, striking me with more strength than I had anticipated. Weak as I was, she pushed me back against the table, which squealed as it scraped across the floor.

Then she was raking and clawing and screaming, her rotten nails scratching my cheeks, ripping into my skin, trying to find my eyes as she wailed like a vengeful nightmare.

Leaning back, supported by the table, I raised my arms to protect myself and lifted one leg, planting my foot against her pelvis and shoving. I didn’t have much strength in me, but she was light and I kicked her away hard enough to knock her off her feet, not stopping to see what happened to her. I had controlled her and that was enough. I was single-minded now.

Koschei was escaping.

Bent at the waist and leaving a trail of red spots in the snow, Ryzhkov had reached the barn and had lifted the latch. The door was now swinging open. He had seen the horses when he came up from the nearby farm, and that was what he wanted. That was how he intended to escape.

‘Where are they?’ I shouted, but the words were muffled, as if my mouth were stuffed with cotton.

Ryzhkov didn’t stop. He didn’t even register that he had heard me.

‘ Where are they? ’

As I blundered into the yard, Ryzhkov pulled the barn door wide and began to make his way inside, but already the horses were agitated by the commotion inside the izba . Now they smelled the blood and death on Ryzhkov and it sent them into turmoil, desperate to escape.

Tanya’s horse came out first, brushing past him as it trotted into the yard, snorting and swishing its tail. Its ears were back flat and it tossed its head as it searched for safety.