Page 209 of Sexting the Pakhan

Kirill looks like he might vomit.

I look at Lenkov. “You brought me to a school and then to a quarry. Surely you had an ending in mind.”

Lenkov says nothing.

Finally, I look at Stepan.

His face changes. Just a little. Enough.

Before he can answer, Ilya lunges for the fallen gun.

I move at the same time.

He gets his hand around the grip, but I get my shoulder into his chest and drive him backward. He fights hard now, panicked, clawing at my coat, trying to turn the barrel between us. His heel catches loose gravel. Mine does too.

The ledge is behind him.

Ilya’s face is inches from mine, twisted with fear and fury. His hand finds my wound again, and the pain blanks everything for one short second.

In that second, the gun comes up.

Not toward me. Toward the trees.

Toward where Mila ran.

No.

There is no thought after that. Only the simple, brutal decision.

I wrap both arms around him and drive forward.

He understands too late. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens, but whatever he says disappears under the sound of gravel breaking loose beneath us.

For a moment, we hang there at the edge, weight shifting, the world balanced on one bad leg and one final choice.

Then the ground gives way.

29

ZOYA

Mila’s bed is empty.

For a few seconds, I stand in the doorway and stare at the small hollow her body left in the blanket, because my mind refuses to understand what my eyes are seeing. Nadia is still asleep in the other bed, curled on her side with one hand under her cheek, and the room is so quiet that the open window feels louder than a scream.

The window.

It’s pushed up from the bottom, the curtain moving gently in the cold air.

My whole body turns numb.

“Mila?” I say, but it comes out too soft, like my voice already knows she’s not here.

I cross the room too quickly, nearly slipping on the rug, and look under the bed, behind the door, beside the little chest where the girls left their socks and hair clips the night before. There isnothing there except the stupid, ordinary mess of children who were supposed to be safe.

Behind me, Nadia stirs. “Mama?” she mumbles.

“Stay in bed.”