Dark Matter (17 page)

'I'm not a fella, I'm a girl.'

'She's at that awkward age.’  Solomon said smiling.

They talked about the economy, politics, and life in general, Solomon not having much to say, she just agreed with him, realising that the guy just liked company and the sound of his own voice.  They parted ways at Elista, the driver insisting that Natasha keep the cap, as it looked better on her that it ever did on him.

They had to wait over an hour for their next lift.  A couple travelling back home having visited relatives in Volgograd.  The conversation was not so easy this time, the questions came thick and fast,
who are they, where are they from, where are they going, why?
  It took all of Solomon's concentration to maintain a coherent story.  Eventually the questions died down and then came the inevitable monologue as the woman explained who they were, where they had been, where they were going, and a veritable movie of photographs were passed to the back for the expected appreciative comments.

The journey ended at the couple’s home town of Svetlograd, with the couple wishing them a safe trip to Stavropol and Solomon thanking them for their kindness at giving them a lift.  It was time to eat again.  The bar seemed to be the only place to eat that was open.  She pushed hard against the door, holding it open for Natasha to enter, following her close behind.  It was dark inside, their eyes taking time to adjust, leaving them exposed to the glare of the patrons.  This was not the sort of place for a mother and her daughter.  The clientele, if they could be referred to as such, were almost entirely men, working men. 
At least they do food,
Solomon thought, trying to raise her spirits.  They took a booth against the sidewall.  The waitress sidled over, her face, aged well beyond her years, hadn’t seen a smile in months.  They ordered two of the day's specials, which proved to be anything but.  A lukewarm broth with bits of flavourless meat; they both cleaned their bowls mopping it up with a fair amount of the local bread.

Solomon felt a large, cold shadow looming over her.  She looked up and didn't like what she saw.  The man was huge, over six and a half feet tall and built like a construction worker, considerable muscle combined with a vast amount of bulk.  He swayed slightly on his feet, and when he talked, it was with the diction of the poorly educated.  His breath smelt heavily of drink.

'You wanna dance pretty lady?'

'No, no thank you.'

'Arhhh sure you do.'  The man grabbed her hand.  His hand was like a huge vice of flesh and bone.  Solomon didn't like where this was heading.  The man stopped.  Another man stood by his side having tapped him on the shoulder for which he had to reach up. 

'I don't think the lady wants to dance.'  The second man said simply.

The man had turned to stare down at the second man.  He released her hand, the passion suddenly draining out of him. 

'I didn't mean anything by it; all's I wanted was a dance.'  He lurched back to the bar stool where he had been sitting.

'Thank you, thank you so much.'  Solomon gushed to her rescuer.

'You’re entirely welcome.  I'm Sergei'

'I'm Solomon and this is my daughter Natasha.'  Solomon immediately realised her mistake,
we should be using false names
.  However, it was too late now and this gentleman had just saved her from a nasty fate.

'Well it's nice to meet you both.'  He turned back towards his own table but Solomon, forgetting her current circumstance, didn't think a simple thank you was adequate.

'Would you like to join us?'

'Thank you.'

They talked for a while, Sergei providing much of the conversation.  He said he was an architect headed south for a job in Georgia.  Divorced, he didn't get to see enough of his children; he showed her a photo of two young boys playing happily on swings.  Solomon invented a new story, that they were headed to see relatives in Tblisi.  Sergei happily offered them a lift as he said that was where his new job was.  Sergei had quite a good car. 
Architects must be paid well
, she thought, conscious for the first time in her life that people with jobs are paid according to what they do.  Although she had been in the army herself, she had never even thought about her pay, it hadn't made any material difference to what she spent, as her allowance had always been very generous.  Now she was starting to realise how most people live.  Why they strive to get a good education for their children, something else she had never considered.  Solomon, immature in so many ways, was finally starting to grow up.  They were making good time, the roads were quite clear. 

'Look out for a turning on the right coming up.  There is a good short cut, one of the truckers told me about.'

Sure enough, a right turn appeared soon and they left the main road to follow it.  About a mile in, he pulled over to the side, turning off the engine and lights.  He opened his door.

'I won't be long, just a call of nature which won't wait I'm afraid.'

Solomon smiled at this, men and their bladders have a curious relationship.

She didn't worry at first, true he had been a while, but the place was deserted so he should be OK.  Time ticked on, she looked at her watch, he had been ten full minutes at least, and it must have been five minutes before she had looked at her watch. 
Fifteen minutes, I should go look for him, see that he is all right.

She walked around the car trying to see any sign of him. 
Nothing, like he never existed.
  She tried calling out, 'Sergei!  Sergei!'  No answer.

She fell to the ground before she even felt the blow to the back of her head.  On all fours she could barely focus, a hand grabbed at her, pulling her onto her back, she tried to look up but all she could see were shapes of light and dark.  One of the dark shapes was pulling at her clothes; her jeans yanked down to her ankles, blouse ripped open.  She struggled for breath; the shape had its forearm over her throat.  It was inside her now, grunting back and forth, like a rutting animal.  She managed to get the shapes forearm from her throat 'Sergei!' she screamed, hoping he might be in a position to help her.  She was rewarded with a vicious slap across the left side of her face.  The blow was so bad the little vision she had regained returned to its previous blurry state.  Sergei did not come to her aid; the shape finished and got up.  She heard the car door open and then the sound that turned her anger and confusion into blind rage.

'Mummy!'

The shape had hold of her daughter, pulling her from the back of Sergei’s car.  Solomon scrambled towards her handbag, hand delving inside, searching for the cold smooth article she had purchased the previous day.  She lunged at the shape, slashed at his protruding organ with the open cutthroat razor.  He screamed in pain, his groin on fire.  He turned on her, blood spraying as it moved.  He raised his right leg, the large boot aimed straight at her head.  Solomon's training finally arrived.  She dropped the razor, and grabbed the boot with both hands turning it through one hundred and eighty degrees, the shape span round and crashed to the floor.  Solomon crawled on top of him, clasping her left hand over his mouth as she drew the recovered razor across his throat.  He gargled for a minute then fell silent.

Solomon lay there, letting her pulse slow and her eyesight recover.  Now she could think again, could see.  Sergei looked up at her, his eyes cold to the world.  Solomon took a while to process it all.  She took out his wallet.  Sergei wasn't even his name; he was a travelling salesman, not an architect. 
No doubt, the children in the photo aren't even his
, she thought bitterly. 
The bastard, the utter bastard, he had planned this all along
.

She stood up, slightly uneasy on her feet.  Then she thought about how close he had come to hurting her little girl.  She kicked the body at her feet, then again, and again, and then she let loose, kicking the body of Sergei until her leg ached.  She stopped, panting hard.  Suddenly aware that her daughter was witnessing this, had witnesses it all. 

Solomon grabbed her daughter and held her close whispering to her that everything was going to be OK.

As the minutes ticked by she started to worry. 
We’re both standing here at the side of the road with a dead body.  We need to get out of her, fast.
  She covered the body with branches and bits of a bush, unless anyone was looking for it, they would not see it from the road.  They got into the car, Natasha in the front passenger seat now.  Solomon looked frantically for the key. 
The fucking key must be in his pocket!

The key located and the body re-covered they were finally on their way.  Unsure as to where the lane actually went, she opted to turn round and take the slower, but sure route to the border.

11:13   01 November  [08:13  01 November GMT]

Upper Lars Checkpoint, Caucasus Mountains, Russia-Georgia Border.

There was something happening on the Russian side of the border.  Solomon was eight cars back from the front and could see some smoke rising.  The majority of the border guards had surrounded the smoking vehicle and as she came closer, she could see that the vehicle was riddled with bullet holes.  The single Russian border guard not looking at the burnt out vehicle was just waving the cars through, one at a time.  Solomon gently held her breath as she was waved through.  The Georgian side was a different story.  The cars were being split into four rows and a border guard was dedicated to each row.  As they drew closer Solomon could make out that they were holding clipboards, what was on them she couldn't tell.  Then the guard in the next lane turned his back on her, so she could see the front of the clipboard.  Even at this distance, she recognised their photos.  He had the leaflet, the one from the bus station. 
The one where I am wanted for murder.
  That thought brought a wry smile. 
Well I can't protest that I'm not a murderer any more
.

She pulled the car forward as another car was waved through after its inspection.  One car was left between her and freedom.  She considered waiting until the car in front moved and then going for it.  The thought of the smouldering car with the bullet holes dispensed with that idea. 
There is nothing else for it, I will have to bluff it, and if that fails then we make a run for it.

The car in front moved off.  Solomon drew up alongside the Georgian border guard.  He lent down to her window.  She wound it down.

'Please switch off your engine miss.'

'Of course officer.' 
So much for making a run for it.

He looked at the two occupants then at his clipboard.

'Any contraband?'

'No, of course not.'

'Have you seen these two people?’  He asked, showing her the picture of herself and Natasha on his clipboard.

'No.  I haven't.'  Solomon said nervously, her heart in her mouth, palms sweating, pulse racing.

'No,' the Georgian border guard said, 'neither have I.’ He smiled at Solomon, and then whispered, 'Good luck.'  He stood up, waved her through, and thought to himself,
Don't see why I should help the Russians.  Let them clear up their own mess. 
He felt he had struck a small blow for Georgia.

13:48   01 November  [10:48  01 November GMT]

Tbilisi, Georgia.

The drive from the border to Tbilisi had been spectacularly uneventful, much to Solomon's relief.  They parked in the central old part of Tbilisi, outside a small store.  Again the need for food was uppermost in both their minds and they were not disappointed with what the city had to offer.  Solomon ordered a coffee for herself and an orange juice for Natasha after they had finished eating.  As she sat there sipping the dark, rich liquid, savouring the aroma she started to unwind just a little.  The close call at the train station, the incident in the bar, the rape and her having to kill “Sergei” to protect her daughter followed by the encounter with the border guard.  These events had all taken their toll upon her.  The border guard still puzzled her.  She was in no doubt that he had recognised them both, and yet instead of detaining and arresting them he had wished them good luck and waved them through.  She looked across at her daughter, drinking her orange juice through a straw and playing with Sheepy. 

She had always loved her, but she had never felt very maternal.  That had all changed now; now her daughter had no nanny, no housekeeper, no home even.  But in exchange the fates had conspired to give her a real mother, one who provided both physical and emotional care.  She had in turn discovered the truth of motherhood, and the great rewards that it provides.  She could no longer be fearful.  Now it was all about survival.  Survival and escape to England.  But first they had to make it to Switzerland, to where it was “both safe and familiar” to be able to receive the “gift”.  She still had no idea what this meant, nor what the gift could be.  She just had faith in her mother, as Natasha did in her.

The bill paid, they made their way back to where they had parked the car.  As they came around the side of a church they could see a crowd, but no car.  Instead of walking down the street she lead Natasha across the road.  Able to get a better look she could see that the crowd were jostling around the car, and that inside of the crowd was a ring of police.  Solomon kept walking, leading Natasha away from the area, away from imminent danger.