There was a way out, and it looked like Vasily, of all people, had been the one to find that way out. But Vasily would not have been working alone. Someone was helping that stupid boy. It simply had to be. But who could it be?
As the prisoners were escorted into the facility, the wide double doors swung outward into the courtyard, casting a shadow on the open snow, like two giant jaws opening to devour a prey. The prisoners stepped shamefacedly into the same corridor that they had emerged from only days before in cocky self-assurance. Mikail, Vladimir, and Sergei walked into the darkened corridor and focused their eyes to the compact blackness. They were led down the maze of hallways toward the pod of cells that would be their new home, the locks tumbling and the pins clicking with each successive door they stepped through, until they were pushed into their chamber. The thick prison doors swung open and closed with the expected thuds and clanks. All of these familiar sounds served to focus Mikail’s attention on the problem at hand.
He was thinking through the situation more linearly now, and walking into the prison had a way of clearing his mind. Thoughts he should have had, and memories forgotten in the clash and fog of war, were now occurring to him in crystalline clarity. As they were left alone in their prison cell, he turned to regard his larger comrades and noticed for the first time that his friends were white with agitation.
“Vladimir Nikitich, did you check through the family ties as you searched the village?” Mikail asked his aide, as the three shuffled into the corners of the cell.
“Vasily had no family, Mikail Mikailivitch.”
The young men stood in the dark of the cell. It was the same cell that had once housed the stranger named Clay, and old Lev Volkhov. The surroundings and the ghosts of the place caused Mikail’s mind to clarify even further. As the lock snapped on a door down the hall, he turned to Sergei and smiled, and then turned to Vladimir again with the smile still spread out on his face. “Not Vasily. Remember, there were two men housed in this cell. Vasily left here with two things, one from each of his cellmates.”
Mikail moved very close to Vladimir, so he could see the large man’s reaction, and as he spoke again he moved even closer. The cell was in almost complete darkness, and only a faint light came in through the glass window, criss-crossed with chicken wire. His voice was very low, and it was tinged with a certainty that it had not had for a few days. “Our little friend had a backpack that he received from the traveler named Clay.”
“This we know, Mikail,” Vladimir answered, “but we were unable to find Vasily or the backpack.” There was a slight tremor of fear in Vladimir’s voice as he said this, and that almost indiscernible hitch spoke loudly and clearly to Mikail. Mikail knew that it was his proximity, and his certainty, that was frightening his friend, a man who previously had shown no fear at all. He paused, to let that fear take its full effect.
“The other thing he had, comrade Vladimir Nikitich,” Mikail said, as he slid another half step toward Vladimir, “the other thing he carried with him when he left this very cell, was a plan. You see, old man Volkhov had a nephew. I’d not thought of it until just now, and perhaps it is too late, but I think that it is not. Volkhov’s nephew lives in a very peculiar house, in a very peculiar spot in the town.”
“How is that, Mikail?” Again, the tremor in the voice. Vladimir shuffled his foot on the floor, as if looking for someplace to go, but there was nowhere else to go.
“His nephew is Pyotr Bolkonsky,” Mikail said softly, “and Pyotr Bolkonsky lives on the very edge of town. In fact, his house is probably closer to the perimeter fence than just about any other house in Warwick.”
“I know that house, Mikail. It is the one with all of the raised gardens and strange landscaping. But we searched it and found nothing.”
Mikail’s right fist caught Vladimir in an uppercut to the solar plexus that doubled the larger man over just as Mikail’s knee came up and hit Vladimir directly in the face, breaking his nose. Vladimir fell to the ground and Mikail stomped him brutally until he was unconscious and bleeding.
The violence happened so fast, and was so unexpected, that Sergei shrunk silently into the darkness until his back hit the far wall of the cell. He saw only shadows, and heard only the grunts that came from Vladimir until he saw that the bigger man was out cold on the ground. Even after what he had seen in the last few days, Sergei was shocked at the brutality of the beating.
When it was over, Mikail stood over Vladimir like a bulldog over a bone and spoke to the unconscious man in flat, low tones. “You are correct, Vladimir. You found nothing. And no one. I had not wondered, until just now, where all the dirt came for those peculiar gardens and all of that strange landscaping. But now I have wondered, and I think I might know how our comrades, Vasily and Pyotr Bolkonsky, have escaped Warwick.”
“I left my glasses in the tunnel,” Cole told Peter privately. “I don’t know how I did it, but I did. I took them off before we left, perhaps when I was using the privy. I didn’t even think about them with all the excitement of leaving the tunnel. It was dark. I couldn’t see anyway. What can I say, Peter? I’m sorry.”
“Well, you cannot go back for them, Cole.”
“I must. I’m not heading out into this broken world as a blind man.”
“Are we to risk everyone’s lives, even your own sister’s life, because you forgot your glasses? Don’t be a fool!”
“Well, I feel somewhat like Gloucester without them.” He looked at Peter, to see if the older man understood his reference. Sometimes a man makes references to prove to others how clever he is, and other times he makes them because they give his life meaning. For Cole, it was almost always the latter. Before he could decide whether Peter’s frown indicated understanding or not, he continued, as a way of explaining. “I’ll be helpless without them, and every one of you will be at risk if I cannot see, so don’t sit there like a king, leering at me.” Nothing. Maybe a half-smile. “I have to go back. And besides, we need to know what’s going on back there, anyway,” Cole said.
Peter shook his head. “It’s too big of a risk. I can’t let you go.”
“Listen, Peter, if Lang had not come back through town in his heroic attempt to save people, I wouldn’t be here anyway. And you wouldn’t be worrying about me, would you? I’m not going back into town, friend. I’m just going to the tunnel. I can be back in a few hours’ time.”
Peter wanted to argue with him, but the older man knew that Cole had made up his mind. He tried to recruit Natasha and Lang to help him dissuade Cole from the trip back to the tunnel, but they’d both, surprisingly, been on the younger man’s side.
“He’ll need his vision if he’s going to survive long out there, Peter,” Natasha said. “Who knows when, or if, such glasses will ever be available again in our lifetimes? We will need every tool we can muster if we’re to make it to safety.”
Cole looked at Peter and saw the seriousness in his face. “Please, Peter.”
Peter sighed in resignation. “Ok,” he said. “But if one person is going back, then we all go back.”
Cole protested. “No. I’ll go alone. It is my responsibility and I will manage it.” He was respectful, but he persisted. “I can see fine during the bright daylight, and it would be silly and foolish for all of us to put our lives in danger just because I was stupid enough to forget my glasses. It was my mistake, and I need to fix it.”
“But if we all go, Cole, then we can protect each other and cover for one another if something happens.”