“It is best to keep it on. The foot hasn’t swollen and the circulation appears good. Plus, putting the shoe back on before traveling would be torturous.”
“Do you think you broke something?” Christine asked.
“The bones above the ankle are intact. I’m not sure about the foot, but the lack of swelling indicates nothing is broken. However, I cannot travel without significant assistance. I’ll remain here while you obtain a cell phone. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Christine replied. “I’ll put my expert tree-climbing ability to good use and find a nearby town.”
Kalinin gave her a curious look. “I did not mean to insult your tree-climbing ability last night. I did not realize it was a valued skill in America.”
Christine did her best to ignore him.
He opened the backpack and retrieved a package of dry rations and a bottle of water. “You should eat,” he said.
“I can’t,” Christine replied. “I can’t eat when I’m nervous.”
“Drink, then.” He pulled another water bottle from the backpack and handed it to her.
Christine quenched her thirst, then returned the bottle.
“I better get going.” She eyed her torn, soiled blouse and bloodstained hands. “This is going to be a problem.” Even if she found a stream to clean her hands in, there was no way she’d blend in without a change of clothes. Barring a dress in the right size hanging from a clothesline conveniently in her path, like in a Hollywood movie, she’d have to stay out of sight while she stole a cell phone. She grabbed her pistol, then headed out.
“Wish me luck,” she said over her shoulder.
Christine followed the slope up the hillside, eventually reaching the crest. It was difficult to assess which tree was tallest, as the tops disappeared in the forest canopy. But after convincing herself she’d found the biggest tree, she hid her pistol under a nearby bush, hiked up her skirt, then began the climb. It felt good to be climbing trees again, and her mind wandered as she pulled herself up through the branches.
Her thoughts drifted to her childhood, remembering fondly the times the two Russian moms got together while Christine played with Jake Harrison and his two older brothers. She couldn’t help but smile as she recalled how the older boys always saddled Jake with the girl, whether they were playing board games or running around outside. However, she’d made them regret their choice on many occasions; she was quite fast and remarkably strong for a girl, and no one climbed a tree quicker. Anytime the older boys started chasing her with mischief in mind — handfuls of cow dung they planned to rub into her hair, for example — she’d head for the nearest tree, then taunt them from its highest branches.
In the heat of the moment, she didn’t always think things through. Escaping to a treetop was a good example. The two boys would look up at her smugly; she’d have to climb down at some point. She’d eventually signal to Jake and he’d be obliged to take on his two brothers, keeping them occupied while she slipped down from the tree and sprinted away.
The two older boys took pleasure in ridiculing her. She remembered the many times they’d be playing a board game in the living room while their moms drank tea, and one of the boys would say something disparaging about her. Jake would come to her defense, which usually involved a fist to his brother’s chest. The game would degenerate into the three boys rolling on the floor punching one another. Jake’s mom would look over and yell at them in Russian, the same phrase each time, then return to her tea as the boys kept fighting. Although Jake and his brothers spoke Russian, it took a while for Christine to decipher what their mom said each time, eventually translating it into — don’t hurt the girl.
The girl approached the treetop, breaking through the forest canopy. Christine climbed a few more branches, gaining a clear view of the countryside. A road cut through the forest until it intersected a clearing from which light smoke rose. She surveyed the curving landscape, forming a mental picture to help keep her headed in the right direction once she descended.
Before beginning the descent, she took one last look around. The sun had cleared the horizon and was climbing into a clear blue sky. But a brisk wind carrying the scent of rain whipped through the treetops. In the distance, a dark bank of clouds was rolling in from the Black Sea. She figured she had a couple of hours before the rain hit.
Climbing down was always tougher than going up for some reason, but Christine eventually dropped onto the forest floor. Upon retrieving her pistol, she headed toward the clearing. She came across a stream, where she rinsed the blood from her hands and cleaned her face. Still, she figured she had rolled around in the barn with Jake for several hours when they were in high school and emerged more presentable than she was now.
After an hour-long journey, the trees thinned and a clearing appeared. Within it was a village, about a dozen buildings, with several homes alongside the road in both directions. The forest had been cleared some time ago and scattered trees had sprouted up, offering cover as Christine approached. One building was noticeably larger than the rest, with smoke rising from a large chimney, accompanied by the smell of pastries. She figured it was the local pub, which should offer an opportunity to steal a cell phone at some point during the day.
Christine reached the back wall and approached a window, then looked inside. The pub was empty. She checked her watch. It was 9 a.m., a bit late for the morning crowd in this neck of the woods and too early for lunch. She moved along the building perimeter, checking another window, spotting a cook in the kitchen, busy preparing food. No cell phone in sight.
As she approached the end of the building, she heard a man talking. She peered around the corner, spotting two men: one carrying supplies from a van into the pub, while the other talked on a cell phone, occasionally giving directions to the first man. She pulled back, deciding what to do next.
She preferred to steal the phone and slip away unnoticed rather than steal one at gunpoint, so she let things play out. The van door eventually slammed shut and the engine started, then faded into the distance. She looked around the corner again and the van and both men were gone. Waiting might have been a bad idea.
Moving back to the window, she spotted the man with the cell phone again. He was working behind the bar, putting supplies away, with his cell phone on the counter. Christine waited patiently and was eventually rewarded. The man went into the kitchen, leaving his phone on the bar.
Christine moved quickly to the front door, slipping her pistol inside the waistband of her skirt, snug in the small of her back. She walked into the pub like she owned the place, heading directly to the bar. As she grabbed the phone, however, the man returned.
When he spotted his phone in her hand, an angry expression flashed across his face. He said something in Russian and moved toward her. Christine retrieved her pistol and pointed it at him. The man stopped and raised his hands, palms out. He spoke again, this time in a conciliatory tone.
Christine retreated, keeping her pistol leveled at him. She had almost reached the pub entrance when it suddenly dawned on her — she didn’t know the phone passcode. She moved forward and placed the phone on a table between them, then stepped back.
“Passcode,” she said.
The man shrugged his shoulders, making a questioning gesture with his hands.
“Passcode,” Christine repeated, tapping the air with her finger several times, then pointed to the phone.
This time, the man moved slowly toward his phone, his eyes on the pistol in Christine’s hand. He energized the phone and tapped in the passcode, which Christine memorized. She waved the pistol at him and he stepped back. After retrieving the phone, she backed away.