Dan Smith - The Child Thief

We were on a straight stretch of the road now, the forest closing in on either side as if it intended to swallow us. The trees reaching out in places, stretching across the track like the dark fingers of forest spirits. There had been a fresh fall during the night, and the snow had piled in ridges along each branch. The sky was clear, brightening, with a tinge of orange just above the trees, only a few wisps of cloud. Yakov had halted his horse at the roadside so he could watch us shamble past, the animal stamping its hooves, moving from side to side. Its eyes rolled white and pale air blew from its flared nostrils.

And then a shout went up at the front of the line. Immediately we stopped, some of the prisoners bumping into those in front, their bodies closing together so there was almost no space between them. There was a moment of stillness before people began to move, leaning out to each side to see why we had come to a stop. Others leaned further to see past those in front, then Evgeni took a step to one side, a cue for others to do the same until everybody was shuffling out of line.

‘Get back!’ Yakov shouted, pulling his horse around and moving up the length of the column. ‘Get back in line!’ He slipped his foot from the stirrup and kicked one man in the shoulder, pushing him into his partner, the two of them stumbling but managing to stay on their feet.

‘What’s going on?’ Yakov said, nudging the horse into a trot, moving to the front of the column.

When he was past, I glanced back at the two guards behind, seeing they had stepped wide on either side, moving off the road and looking in the direction Yakov had ridden. They shared a glance, not noticing me watching them, then went back to looking along the broken line of zeks , moving wider still, taking a few steps forward to better see what was happening.

Keeping my hand clasped around Dariya’s small fingers, I began to edge out from the line. The perimeter of the forest was close. The trees were just a few metres from where I was standing. I scanned the dark sentinels, looking for a dense patch, searching for an escape route, trying to identify a place where the horses would find it hard to penetrate. But the trees were spaced too evenly, and I wouldn’t be able to outrun the mounted soldiers. Not with Dariya. Not without a weapon.

Behind me both soldiers still had their rifles over their shoulders. They had made no attempt to make their weapons ready; they saw no threat from whatever had stopped the column of prisoners. I took another step out from the line, moving back just a touch, thinking I would overpower the one closest to me. If I could get to him before he could react, there was a chance I’d be able to take his weapon from him. In the forest, armed, the three remaining soldiers would be no threat to me. Horses or not.

I moved out further until I could see the two mounted soldiers at the head of the line. They were inching forward, the flanks of their horses almost touching, their bodies alert, leaning forward in the saddle. Yakov had kept his rifle over his shoulder, but he had drawn and cocked his revolver.

A few metres in front of the column a muddled shape lay in the centre of the road. From where I was standing, I was sure the shape was a body. Dark and out of place, a light dusting of snow across it as if it had been there for some time.

Yakov spoke to Andrei. There was a pause and then Andrei nodded and dismounted. He took the rifle from his shoulder, but there was inexperience in the way he held it, muzzle to the ground, as he approached the body. The line of prisoners was silent. Watching. Even from the back, I could hear the squeak of the soldier’s boots in the snow.

When he was close to the shape, Andrei stopped. ‘Who is it?’ he asked. His voice was alien in this place. Muffled, as if the land wanted to quieten it, smother it. As if this place of calm and peace was not meant for humans.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, but still there was no reply. No movement.

I felt a surge of concern for Andrei but I knew this was my chance. There might not be another opportunity to escape. And yet I was transfixed by what was happening. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as Andrei stepped closer and put out his foot, touching the toe of his boot to the bundle and nudging it. I couldn’t help but watch as I saw a slight resistance in the shape, as if it were not completely frozen.

I saw Andrei turn to Yakov, lifting his arms in question, in anticipation of his next order, but as he did, the shape moved. Like a forest wraith, rising from a pile of clothes, materialising and making itself whole, the shape shifted and grew. It moved with speed, the dusting of snow showering and falling from it as it stood tall and wrapped itself around the young soldier.

But this was no wraith, this dark shape that now rose from the road. This was a man, wrapped well against the cold. He wore a full coat and a fur hat, his face covered with scarves that were bound tight. Only his hands were not gloved. He rose up and grabbed the soldier, pinning his rifle arm to his side as he embraced him from behind, making the cumbersome weapon useless and using Andrei’s body as a shield. The attacker’s other hand rose up to point at Yakov, still astride his horse, and extending from that fist I could see the slim barrel of a pistol.

But it was Yakov who discharged his weapon first. Whether he did so because he was inexperienced and taken by surprise, or whether his actions were calculated, I don’t know, but Yakov’s revolver kicked hard in his hand, the first shot hitting the human shield. Before he could thumb back the hammer to fire again, his horse reared, lifting its front hooves from the ground, twisting to the left. Yakov pulled tight on the reins, but he was forced to lean hard to counter the movement of his ride. His aim was disturbed and his second shot went wide, thumping into the trees beyond. The man who had materialised from the dark shape on the road released his grip on Andrei and, as the body collapsed at his feet, he took aim and fired three quick shots, knocking Yakov from his horse.

And then the attacker was moving. Hurrying through the snow, the hem of his coat thumping against his boots, until he was standing over Yakov, his pistol pointing down at him. He fired again.

The attack had come with such speed and ferocity that I barely had time to react, and I suspected the same was true of the two guards behind me. When I turned to look at them, neither had even had time to unsling his rifle. Both soldiers were standing with their hands out in front of them, each with a gun barrel to his back. And behind them were tracks on either side of the road where two more men had come from the forest. But when they gripped their scarves and pulled them down to reveal their faces, I could see they weren’t two men at all. One of them was my son Petro, and the other was Aleksandra, the girl from Uroz.

I didn’t go to my sons straight away. Instead, I went to Andrei, the soldier who had waited for me to take the old man’s coat. When I’d looked at him earlier, I had seen something of my own sons in him. He was young like them, inexperienced like them. Out of his depth like them. And now he was lying in the snow, shot by his own comrade.

He was still alive, but the life was leaving him quickly, spilling inside him somewhere; there was little sign of it in the snow. His chest barely moved, nothing more than a slight rise and fall. Erratic and laboured. His eyes were glazed and unseeing. His mouth open, his lips dry, his tongue just visible.

I pulled my hand from Dariya’s and crouched beside him, putting it to his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told him.

A blink was the only acknowledgement he could make. His chest continued to hitch with each failing breath.