Dan Smith - The Child Thief

‘I thought that was it.’ Viktor said with a smile on his face, riding with the movement of the animal. ‘I thought we were gone for sure,’ He was swaying from side to side, letting the horse take its time to break through the ice.

‘So did I,’ I called out. ‘I thought I was going to have to come in to get you. I didn’t even know we were on water.’ There was a kind of euphoria in the release of my tension. I could feel it in my throat, and I couldn’t help smiling as the horse approached the bank, wading out of the shallow lake, rising up so the water only just covered its hooves.

‘How did we not notice?’

‘Too much snow,’ I said. ‘You really scared me there.’

‘ You were scared?’ Petro laughed. ‘I think I might have soiled my trousers.’

And then two things happened in quick succession. The horse Viktor and Petro were riding stiffened and stumbled to one side. And a fraction of a second later, a rifle shot split the air.

‘Into the trees,’ I shouted at Aleksandra. ‘Fast. Leave the horse.’ I struggled with the rifle sling, caught in the folds of my coat, pulling at it, dragging it over my head. ‘Run.’

In the water the other horse’s right hind leg buckled and the animal’s rear dropped back into the water as if its hoof had slipped on the lake bed, but when it tried to regain its footing, it was clear it had been shot. The leg refused to obey and I saw the panic in the horse’s face. Its head reared back and up, its mouth open, its eyes wide and rolling in fear. Viktor clung to the reins, trying to control the animal, Petro hugging him tight, gripping hard with his thighs to remain in the saddle.

‘They came after us,’ I shouted as a second shot hit the horse’s rear. I heard the lead smacking into its solid flesh.

This time the horse’s legs were taken from beneath it, and it sat back into the lake. The sudden jolt loosened Petro’s grip on his brother and he slipped backwards, tipping into the water among the pieces of broken ice. Viktor managed to stay on, but the horse could barely contain its own weight, so he swung his leg over and slipped from the saddle, landing in shallow water that failed to cover the top of his boots.

Behind, I heard Aleksandra and Dariya moving up the gentle slope towards the trees, crunching the snow. Beside me the metallic clinking of my horse’s bridle, the confused tempo of its breathing.

‘Get out of the water,’ I said, turning to take hold of my horse’s reins. I moved behind the animal and raised the child thief’s rifle. I rested the barrel across the saddle, keeping hidden behind the animal as I scoped the far shore, looking for the place from where the shot had been fired.

Viktor’s first instinct was not to come ashore; instead he turned back and reached into the water, dragging his brother to his feet. Petro’s coat and clothes were heavy with water and he was coughing the lake from his lungs.

‘Get behind your horse,’ I shouted at them. ‘Use it for cover.’

Viktor pulled at his brother’s coat, dragging him in the direction of the shore, releasing him only when he was sure Petro had regained his bearings. Viktor waved his arms at me. ‘Get into the trees. They’re coming.’

The horse they had been riding was now sitting back in the water, the use of both rear legs gone. Its body was almost upright as if it were sitting on the bed of the lake, its front legs beating the water into a froth before it, and its head moving wildly from side to side. The noises that came from its contorted mouth were like nothing I had ever heard before. The sound of bestial pain and panic and fear.

Viktor and Petro came through the water, giving the beating hooves a wide berth, ensuring their horse was between them and the far bank, giving at least a little protection.

And then a third shot struck the horse’s head, putting an end to its agonised cries. It was as if the animal had simply been turned off. One moment it was shaking its head, its wet mane flicking water into the air, its front legs thrashing, and then its cranium erupted in a spray of blood and bone and it fell to one side, weighing on the pieces of broken ice and sinking just below the surface of the water.

‘Get out,’ I called. ‘Get out.’ I looked through the scope once again, thinking I could see a vague plume of smoke or breath from behind one of the trees on the other side of the lake. I fired the child thief’s rifle for the first time, seeing the bark of the tree erupt, but there was no other movement. I could see no one in the forest beyond, and something unpleasant settled in the base of my spine. A dark and ugly thought.

If Lermentov had sent his soldiers after us, they wouldn’t have remained so well hidden. A rabble of young soldiers without experience, they would be hurrying across the open ground, rifles firing, gunsmoke washing the air. It would have surprised me if they were even capable of careful and well-placed shots like the ones that had just been fired.

The thought gripped me like a cold fist. I had seen shooting like this before.

‘Get out,’ I shouted again, feeling the panic rising. ‘Get out, get out, get out.’ I glanced away from the scope to see Viktor coming out of the water.

‘Get behind the horse,’ I said as Viktor turned to encourage his brother.

Both of them were weighed down by the water in their clothes and they stumbled onto the shore, Viktor falling to his knees before pushing himself up again, Petro helping to pull him up. Together, they struggled towards me.

‘Faster,’ I shouted, putting an eye back to the scope. ‘Faster.’

I scanned the place where I thought I’d seen the breath, but there was nothing. I listened to my sons coming closer as I swept the scope across the trees. There.

Something.

Movement.

I brought the scope back and saw the shape. Half the profile of a man, barely visible, as if he were part of the forest. He had settled himself behind a thick tree with low boughs where a number of limbs came out almost at right angles from the trunk. They cut his profile, disguised how he looked, and the branches provided the perfect spot to rest his rifle barrel.

I stopped. Settled my own rifle, moved the cross hairs of the scope over the silhouette and held my breath. All these things occupied just a fraction of a second, but they felt as if they took so much longer. As if each action took minutes. But I had to get it right.

When the figure fired, I saw the smoke and flash from his rifle. I heard the impact of the shot and I heard the crack of the powder. Then I returned fire, and I saw the dark shape wrench back, drop and disappear from sight.

In front of me the horse jerked, disturbed by the rifle shot, but I paid it no mind.

‘Got him,’ I said, taking my eye from the scope to draw the bolt. I pulled it back with practised ease and speed. I heard Viktor shouting, but I had slipped into doing what I knew how to do best now. I had found my target and nothing was going to stop me. The brass ejected to my right, flicking out and tumbling as it flipped past my shoulder. I returned the bolt, watching the fresh brass slipping into place, and I let the horse move away as I pulled the rifle to my shoulder, going to one knee to better steady my aim. If I saw any more movement I would fire on it.

I found the spot where the figure had been, my head filled with the sound of my own blood, my own breathing, and I searched for any more sign, but now Viktor’s shouts began to break into my concentration and I wondered why my son wasn’t further away. He and Petro should have reached the trees by now.

I took my eye from the scope without lowering the rifle and saw Viktor on his knees.

He was looking in my direction, his face contorted with anguish and pain.