Free Siberius by Kenneth Cran Page B

shouldn’t have brought you here.”
    Nick’s whole face tightened up. “Should I leave?” he said. It was a hollow gesture. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night outside.
    “ That’s not practical now, is it?”
    “ Well, you don’t want me around,” said Nick.
    “ It’s not that,” Talia said. She stood up and started pacing. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. Your very presence might already have jeopardized my-” she stopped, searched for the word, then settled for “research.”
    Nick watched as she broke off into a conversation with herself in Russian. Did he fall asleep here, in this bed, in this cabin, with this disturbed woman? And what of her husband? Judging from the antler hats and furry robes, he reckoned he must be a piece of work too.
    Talia slumped back into a chair, breathless. Pressing her hands against her flushed cheeks, she looked over and saw the apprehensive look on Nick’s face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not a crazy person.” It felt like a hollow statement.
    “ Sure you are,” Nick said forcing a smile.
    “ What do we do now?” said Talia.
    “ Well, I feel safe with you,” he said. “I mean, if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t have saved me from the wreck.” He spoke in half-truths, knowing that she could be harboring plans to turn him over to the Red Army.
    Somehow, though, he didn’t think she’d do that. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but his instincts had proven right before. He wanted to trust them again. “My guess is that you feel pretty awkward right now. You just brought a strange man into your home. Can’t say I’d have done the same thing, although I’m not a woman who-” He stopped himself, but she jerked her head at the trailing end of his words.
    “What?” she said. “You think I’m a recluse? Some sort of wild woman of the taiga?” Her accent grew thicker as her words grew stronger. She stood up and paced the cabin again, ranting on in Russian. Nick scooted to the other side of the bed, increasing his distance from her.
    At last, she slopped back into the chair again, winded from the tirade. “You’re not dangerous,” she said in a vulnerable voice. “Are you?”
    Nick shook his head and said, “Lady, I’m the least of your worries,” then added as an afterthought: “Whatever they are.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    11
    Bundled up under a blanket in the truck cab, Corovich tried to sleep. He stirred in search of a comfortable position, then found one against the frosty driver’s side window. The shocking cold on his cheek woke him, and bleary eyed, he stretched and yawned and tightened the blanket up over his neck. Sucking slivers of pickled beef from his teeth, he reached for a flask amid empty MRE tins, unscrewed the cap and took a long, satisfying drink. Wiping his mouth, he glanced outside. Through the windshield, fir trees swayed in the wind and he felt fortunate to have fallen from the plane. If he hadn’t been injured, he might be out there right now with the others, slogging through the snow in a search for God knows what.
    Earlier, Vukarin had awakened him with the news that Colonel Barkov had promoted him to corporal and that he wanted him to lead the search to the north. Though he was thrilled, Corovich had little time to celebrate. After two hours of rest, Barkov ordered the convoy south, leaving the new corporal one of the trucks and four men. Much to their delight, Corovich’s first command decision was to drive instead of hike back to the plane wreck. Corovich felt power making the decisions, and when he found a path through the trees wide enough for the big 6x6, he also felt vindication. It had taken half an hour to get back to the wrecked plane, but that time had allowed the men to sleep a little more.
    They had easily found the second set of tracks again, for the snow had stopped falling hours before. But Corovich’s