Traffyck (50 page)

“I am descended from a Marxist-Leninist Russian family,” said Pyotr.

“I suppose you learned discipline from your family,” said Vakhabov.

“Yes, I have succeeded in convincing young people to lend a hand caring for the Chernobyl refugees who suffered most. Orphanages gave them up to my care some years ago.”

Vakhabov scowled. “It is a cover for your trafficking operation! How many stay, and how many go, Pyotr Alexeyevich? How many have gone with you to your bed?”

Pyotr stood, but Vakhabov retrieved his rifle before Pyotr could take a step.

In the total darkness behind her cottage, Sofya Adamivna Kulinich took Lazlo by the hand across a rutted field and into a thick birch forest. During their trek, he thought he heard the buzzing of motors to the east and some shouts, but now it was quiet except for their feet dragging in weeds and underbrush.

She stopped and whispered directly up into his ear. “Careful. It is an electrified fence. Do you hear the buzz in the distance?”

“I heard motors and shouting,” whispered Lazlo.

“I did not because of hearing loss.”

Now Lazlo did hear a soft buzzing. “How do I get through the fence?”

She let go of his hand. “Use your flashlight. But be careful not to aim it up.”

Lazlo turned on the flashlight and saw matted-down weeds and a wire fence consisting of several rows of intertwined wire reaching from the ground to at least a meter above his head.

Sofya pointed north. “This way, before you get to the peninsula’s north shoreline on the Pripyat River outlet, you will see a very old and large tree stump. Do not trip over it. Several meters beyond the stump, the path along the fence goes out around an area of young birch trees. Stay in the dense forest of young trees. You will have to squeeze through them. Do not go beyond the forest of young birches, or you will be at the shoreline where there is sometimes a guard. Hidden near the ground in the birches will be a hole in the fence one can crawl through.”

“Who made the hole?” whispered Lazlo. “Why is it there?”

“Before his death, Tatiana’s husband, Anatoly Nikolaevych, made the hole with insulated tools to allow rabbits through. He was a hunter and had seen dead ones who had tried to crawl through narrow spaces.”

Lazlo reached for her hand, drew comfort from its warmth and rugged softness. “Thank you, Sofya Adamivna Kulinich. I hope I will be able to visit after my mission.”

“You must,” she said, squeezing his hand and reaching up to kiss his cheek. “I know you will do good. But you must be careful.” She let go of his hand and crossed herself. “Go with God … and return with God, because sometimes I am frightened he has abandoned us.”

Vasily carried Lyudmilla fireman style with her face near his ear so blood would not go to her head. Because of her frailty, she was not a burden but rather like a scarf. His AK-47 hanging on its strap from the same shoulder where her head lay was almost as heavy. Although she did not speak, she responded.

“Did you have enough water at my cabin?”

He felt her nod.

“Do not worry. I know a way out.”

Another nod.

Vasily had reaffirmed his decision to take Lyudmilla with him when he heard boats and shouting at the beach. Ivan, although still collaborating with Pyotr, was insane; Pyotr had failed in his attempts to make good out of evil; and, finally, Vasily had seen Father Vladimir Ivanovich Rogoza arrive on one of the left-bank SBU boats in a state of panic. Therefore, he and Lyudmilla would escape west, toward Chernobyl. Or at least he would put her somewhere on the far side of the fence where no one could get to her. After this, he was not sure. Perhaps if he returned…

A shadow came upon him suddenly, rising from the ground near the fence. Vasily dropped to his knees, lowered Lyudmilla to the ground, and shouldered his AK-47. “Do not move!” he whispered harshly toward the shadow. “I have a rifle pointed at you.”

The shadow steadied—not an animal. A man’s voice responded, calm and quiet. “I have a flashlight. I will point it at myself so you will see I am harmless.”

“Do it now!” ordered Vasily, still whispering.

The man was at least sixty, with gray hair sticking out beneath a colorful knitted cap. He tried to smile and shrugged his shoulders. He looked non-threatening. “My car broke down. I took a private Chernobyl tour today … No, yesterday already. I became lost and drove in circles. I apologize if I trespass. Cell phone is useless, and besides that, I am thirsty.”

“You are lying,” said Vasily. “Why would you crawl through a hole in a fence when no building is visible? Why didn’t you knock on a door in Opachychi?”

“I see you carry someone,” said the man. “Can I do anything? You are not a guard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We both know to keep our voices quiet. You have not shouted or ordered me to go with you.”

“I could still do this.”

“My name is Lazlo Horvath. I have come to the Zone to help someone, as you are obviously helping someone. We are brothers in the night. If you wish to shoot me, shoot me. But I am now going to point my flashlight at the person you have put on the ground.”

When the man pointed the flashlight at Lyudmilla, a woman shrieked from the other side of the fence. “She is hurt! Bring her to me! I will take her to my cottage.”

When the man with the flashlight pointed in the direction of the voice, Vasily saw one of the old women of Opachychi standing on a tree stump with her hands to her face—one of the women he had often spied through binoculars while scouting the peninsula.

“Not so loud,” whispered Vasily. “The SBU guards will hear you.”

“There is only one tonight,” said the old woman.

“How do you know?” asked the man with the flashlight.

“I went to the guardhouse after I left you. He is watching a movie with the sound turned up. The truck is gone, which means others have gone to Ivankiv for all-night drinking.” She turned to Vasily. “Point your gun somewhere else, whoever you are. And give the poor child to me. You will help this man named Lazlo Horvath because I know him to be virtuous.”

Dawn was near. Nadia could see it in the softening of stars. She preferred dawn because at dusk, in the mountains, the insides of the filmmakers had been exploded by Ivan and the others during their attack, some of the insides spattering her costume. Although it had been better living here with Lena, she wished she were back on the streets of Kiev. Perhaps insane men had destroyed everything, even Kiev. Was it war? Had ethnic and religious zealots gone completely mad? Not long before, insane men had come ashore; the peninsula’s young men, who once terrified her, now lay on the beach, themselves terrified, their guns cast aside.

Nadia and Lena had run to one of their hiding places within the bushes near the bunkhouses. Nadia wondered where they would hide when daylight came. Then, suddenly, a scream from their own bunkhouse chirped like a bird through its log walls. Both Nadia and Lena heard it, as they had heard the grunting and the running feet of men with heavy boots.

“Stay here, and don’t move,” said Lena, running toward the bunkhouse in the dark.

Nadia watched Lena hide herself at the corner of the bunkhouse near the open door. When two men wearing belts of gear and rifles slung from their shoulders came out, they carried one of the girls behind the bunkhouse. Nadia could not tell which girl it was, but she saw her wriggling sleepily. And she also saw that the men had tied a white cloth around her mouth.

Nadia wanted to run to Lena. But Lena told her to stay. They would escape together. But if Lena tried to do something…

The two men hurried away from the bunkhouse, throwing the girl to the ground in a grove of small trees. They leaned their rifles against trees, unbuckled their equipment belts, lowered their trousers, lifted the girl’s nightdress and…

As if in flight, Lena ran from behind the bunkhouse, a shadow in her dark jeans and sweatshirt. She took both rifles from where they leaned, and backed away, shouldering one, and aiming the other. One man was already atop the girl, the other at her face, when Lena shouted, “Get off, or I’ll kill you!”

The men grunted. The man at the girl’s face stood, while the other stayed where he was. The man who had stood pulled up his trousers and ran toward Lena. To Nadia, the explosions from the rifle were beautiful. The birches popped with light as Lena fired again and again. When the other man leapt up and went at Lena, another display of explosions lit up the birches.

Nadia waited. Lena would run back to their hiding place. But suddenly men erupted from the other bunkhouses, and there were many shots fired, the dust on the ground around Lena exploding into the air making Lena disappear! Nadia was about to run to Lena when she saw the sign. Lena had dropped both rifles to the ground, raised her hands into the air, and flapped her hands like small wings. To violent men, Lena’s hands flapping in the air meant surrender. But to Nadia, it was a sign for her to stay where she was. Nadia watched helplessly as Lena and the girl in the nightdress were taken away, while another of the men kicked at the two men Lena had shot, took their rifles, and ran with his fellows.

Lena!
But it would be no use calling to Lena. Nadia would become Lena and, if possible, do what Lena had done to men so they could look down at themselves in wonder as their insides became rivers and their hands became leaking dams.

Sofya Adamivna Kulinich was surprised at her own strength. Despite her age, she had been able to support the forsaken girl named Lyudmilla while they made their way slowly to her cottage. During the walk across the field, with Lyudmilla’s arm around her neck, Sofya felt the coolness of dawn and saw the beginning of light in the sky.

The girl was so skinny that it was hard to tell her age. In the light of her cottage, Lyudmilla saw blood stains on the girl’s jeans and took them off, cursing the men of the world. Although she did not mean to, she cursed all men—the ones who abused children, and the ones who created the Chernobyl disaster with their pride and avarice—and asked God’s forgiveness when she finally had the girl dressed in a nightgown that looked like a sheet draped across a skeleton.