“Are you crying, Mama?” Nikolai asked, his little hand coming up to my cheek.
I hastily wiped at my tears. “I’m okay, baby. We need to climb higher. Do you want to show me how high you can climb?”
My son perked up at the challenge.
The two of us slowly climbed higher. Nikolai went first, with my hand hovering behind him and helping him pull himself up. Maybe another little boy wouldn’t be able to do this, but my son had been climbing before he could walk–this was an easy task for my wild boy.
When we reached one of the thicker branches, we made ourselves comfortable. I secured Niko to the branch using my jumper.
“Where’s Baba?”
“I don’t know, baby. I’m sure she’s okay.” I scanned the forest floor but couldn’t make out the cat. She would be fine; Babushka could take care of herself.
I had to take care of Niko.
I knew what I needed to do but there was also the issue of what I wanted to do…
For over three years, I’d wanted to go home, wanted to return to the man I loved. Sometimes I even got so far as packing a bag and grabbing my keys, whereas other times I only carried the thought with me quietly. In my more vulnerable hours, I created fictional universes where one day there would be a knock on the door and Konstantin would be standing there, mad at first but safe and welcoming.
Once I had almost returned…once I had been so close.
A few weeks after Nikolai’s birth, I had been struggling. Alone and unsure, trapped with a newborn and on the run from Tatiana’s men. We had been holed up in a motel, where the heater didn’t work and cockroaches used the bathroom as their own personal breeding ground. Nikolai had been fussy all day, leaving me exhausted and frustrated.
Then there had been a knock at the door.
My entire world had paused. Was he standing outside that door? Had he come to take me home? Was Tatiana dead and my family now safe?
But it hadn’t been Konstantin standing in the hallway…it had been Artyom.
Before either of us said anything, he had gathered me up in his arms, a shocking display of affection from a man who rarely showed it. I squeezed him back until my arms ached.
From there somehow nothing and everything changed. I was glad it was Artyom who’d found me. If it had been Roman or Dmitri, I would’ve been dragged back home. But Artyom wouldn’t let his emotions cloud his desire to keep his family safe.
He had left me with a phone and phone number. For emergencies, he had said when he handed them over. He hadn’t said when it’s safe or when you want. For emergencies.
The wording stuck with me now.
Nikolai didn’t object as I fished the phone out. He was swinging his legs and peering up at the leaves. From the brightening of his expression, some bird or squirrel had captured his interest.
This time Artyom answered on the first ring.
“Elena, do not move,” he commanded. “We’re coming to get you.”
“A tracking chip.” It was obvious but saying it out loud made it feel more substantial. “Are you the only one who can access it?”
Artyom paused. He wouldn’t lie to me to make me feel better. “In theory.”
I looked at my son, taking in his chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wasn’t even three yet–how could he defend himself?
“In theory isn’t good enough.”
“Elena–”
I pulled the phone from my ear and with a burst of strength, I threw it into the underbrush. It disappeared instantly.
Niko peered down. “Mama!”
“It’s okay, baby.” I smoothed down his hair. Dirt was smudged in the blond strands. “Everything’s going to be okay. Mama will handle it.”
Not a moment later, the flora beneath us shuddered. The man reappeared, slower and more precise in his movements. He knew he had lost us, knew the trail had gone cold.
But that wasn’t good enough.
The man had seen us. There was no doubt in my mind he would return to his master and ask for reinforcements. Escaping one man had been hard enough–there was no way we could manage to stay safe from dozens of hunters. They would come with guns and dogs, and they would not leave until they had what Titus wanted.
Me.
The man continued to circle around our tree.
I leaned into Niko’s ear, murmuring, “Don’t make a sound.”
His eyes widened.
With ease, I got onto all fours and slowly made my way across the branch. When I could, I lowered myself down the tree. I felt almost like a monkey, making a home out of the tops of branches and using leaves to hide myself.
But no monkey would do what I was about to do.
When I got close enough, I paused. I stayed in a crouched position, watching and waiting.
The man continued his search, even going so far as to look inside of trees and behind logs.
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Thump, thump, thump.
In the distance, a coyote howled. The wind rustled the leaves. The birds chirped from their nests. Twigs crunched beneath his footfalls.
A little closer now, I beckoned.
The man walked beneath the branch I was stationed on, and I pounced.
Afterward I would note how easy and familiar it had been to kill this man. How the second my fingers dug into his eyeballs; my entire body had known what to do. Or how the feeling of my fingers in his sensitive flesh wasn’t as disgusting as the first time.
I braced myself on his shoulders, gripping him with godlike strength.
He yelled beneath my attack, his arms instantly coming to try and yank me off. But I had the element of surprise, mixed with maternal instincts and the ravenous hunger to survive.
When blood began to spill over my hands, I loosened my grip.
The man threw me off him, sending me sprawling into the ground. But it didn’t matter. He kneeled over, hands to bloody eyes. His screams echoed throughout the forest, interrupting the howls and wind and birds.
I watched him die. It took a few moments, but I observed like a patron to a show. Still and calm, and almost entertained.
When he stopped breathing, I broke branches off bushes and covered him. Soon his body was hidden, just another part of the forest. Animals would find him and finish him off, and then bacteria would slowly decompose him. Soon, it would be like he had never even been here, the only ones remembering him would be the plants who used his leftovers as fuel for their roots.
“You shouldn’t have tried to hurt me,” I said. “You shouldn’t have tried to hurt my son.”
He did not reply. How could he? I’d killed him.
There was a rustle behind me, but I didn’t turn around. Moments later, Babushka rubbed herself against my ankles, purring deeply. She turned her nose up at the hidden body.
When I returned to the treetops, Nikolai had a strange look on his face. I’d washed my hands in a nearby puddle, but the smell of blood and death still lurked.
“Get some sleep, my wild boy,” I said.
Babushka had followed me up and the two curled up together for warmth.
Even when night fell and darkness blanketed us, I didn’t sleep. I watched our surroundings, eyes slowly growing sharper in the lack of light.
Some part of me was fighting for sanity, for my humanity. But a more primal part of me was refusing to let go. Instead, the more time I spent survivng like an animal, the more I could feel myself thinking like one. Becoming like one.