— You must collect the body. When you get it, put yourself underneath it. Make sure no part of you is exposed. If even one hook gets into you, you could be dragged along.
— Leo, I understand.
Raisa kissed him. She was shaking.
She squeezed through the gap between the planks. Her feet were dangling above the tracks. She let go of the plank and fell, disappearing from view. Leo grabbed the first body and lowered it through the gap, squeezing it through. The body dropped onto the tracks, out of sight.
Raisa had landed awkwardly, bruising her side and tumbling. Disorientated, dazed, she lay still for a moment. Too long, she was wasting time. Leo’s carriage was already far away. She could see the body which Leo had thrown down and began to crawl towards it, in the same direction as the train. She glanced behind her. There were only three carriages until the end of the train. But she couldn’t see any hooks. Perhaps Leo had been wrong. There were now only two carriages left. Raisa still hadn’t reached the body. She stumbled. There was now only one carriage separating her from the end of the train. With only metres before the final carriage passed over her, she saw the hooks — hundreds of them, all attached to fine wires, at different heights. They covered the entire width of the carriage, impossible to avoid.
Raisa got up, crawling again, as fast as she could, reaching the body. It was laying face down, head nearest her. She didn’t have time to turn it around so she turned herself around, lifting up the body and crawling under this man, positioning her head under his head. Face to face with her attacker, staring into his dead eyes, she made herself as small as possible.
Suddenly the dead body was wrenched off her. She saw wires all around her, like fishing lines, each one barbed with many jagged hooks. The body lifted up, as though alive, a puppet, tangled up, no longer even touching the tracks. Raisa remained flat on the tracks, perfectly still. She could see the stars above her. Slowly she stood up. No hook had caught her. She watched the train move away. She’d done it. But there was no sign of Leo.
As he was larger than Raisa, Leo had figured that he needed the bigger of the two dead men, he’d need more body mass to protect him from the hooks. However, this dead man was so large he didn’t fit through the gap in the planks. They’d stripped him in an effort to reduce his width but he was too broad. There was no way to get him through the hole. By this point Raisa had been on the tracks for several minutes.
Desperate, Leo lowered his head though the gap. He could see a body caught at the end of the train. Was it Raisa or the dead man? It was impossible to tell from this distance. He had to hope it was the dead man. Adjusting his plan, he supposed that if he positioned himself correctly he could escape underneath this tangled body. That body would have caught all the hooks in that section. He’d be free to pass underneath it. He said goodbye to the other prisoners, thanked them, and dropped onto the tracks.
Rolling close to the enormous steel wheels, he pulled himself away, facing the end of the train. The body in the wire was rapidly approaching, tangled up on the left-hand side. He positioned himself accordingly. He could do nothing but wait, making himself as small and as flat as possible. The end of the train was nearly over him. He lifted his head up off the ground just long enough to see that it wasn’t Raisa. She’d survived. He had to do the same. He lay down flat and closed his eyes.
The dead body brushed over him.
Then, pain — a single stray hook caught his left arm. He opened his eyes. The hook had cut through his shirt, into his flesh. With only a fraction of a second before the wire went taut, pulling him along, he grabbed hold of the hook and tugged it out, taking a clump of skin and flesh with it. He clutched his arm: feeling dizzy as blood seeped from the wound. Staggering up, he saw Raisa hurrying towards him. Ignoring the pain, he put his arms around her.
They were free.
Moscow
Same Day
Vasili wasn’t well. He’d done something he’d never done before — he’d taken time off work. Not only was such behaviour potentially dangerous, it was out of character. He’d rather be ill at work than ill at home. He’d managed to rig his accommodation arrangements so that he was, for the most part, able to live alone. He was married, of course; it was unthinkable that a man could remain single. It was his social duty to have children. And he’d followed the rules accordingly, marrying a woman with no opinions, or at least none that she expressed, a woman who’d dutifully given birth to two children — the minimum acceptable if no questions were to be asked. She and the children lived in a family apartment on the outskirts of the city while he occupied an inner-city work address. He’d arranged this ostensibly so that he could have his pick of mistresses. In fact, he partook in extra-marital affairs only very occasionally.
After Leo’s exile to the Urals, Vasili had petitioned to move into Leo and Raisa’s apartment; apartment 124. He’d got his wish. The first few days had been enjoyable. He’d ordered his wife to go to the spetztorgi, the restricted shops, to buy fine food and drink. He’d held a work party in his new apartment, no wives allowed, where his new deputies drank and ate and congratulated him on his success. Some of the men who’d served under Leo now reported to him. Yet despite all these ironies and the delicious reversal of fortune he hadn’t enjoyed the party. He felt empty. He no longer had anyone to hate. He no longer had anyone to scheme against. He was no longer irritated by Leo’s promotion or efficiency or popularity. There were other men who he competed with but the feeling wasn’t the same.
Vasili got out of bed and decided he’d drink himself better. He poured a large measure of vodka and stared at the glass, swishing the liquid from side to side, unable to raise it to his lips. The smell made him feel sick. He put the glass down. Leo was dead. Soon he would receive official notification that the two prisoners had not arrived at their destination. They’d died en route as so many did, after getting into a fight over shoes or clothes or food or whatever. It was the final defeat of a man who’d humiliated him. Leo’s very existence had been a kind of perpetual punishment for Vasili. So, then, why did he miss him?
There was a knock. He’d expected the MGB to send round men to authenticate his illness. He walked to the door, opening it, seeing two young officers standing before him.
— Sir, two prisoners have escaped.
He could feel the dull ache inside him vanishing as he said the name:
— Leo?
The officers nodded. Vasili was feeling better already.
Two Hundred Kilometres South-East of Moscow
Same Day
Half running, half walking, constantly looking behind them — their speed depended on whether fear or exhaustion had the upper hand. The weather was in their favour: weak sunshine and thin cloud, not too hot, at least compared to the inside of that carriage. Leo and Raisa knew from the position of the sun that it was late afternoon but had no way of knowing the exact time. Leo couldn’t remember where or how his watch had been lost or if it had been taken. He estimated they had at the most a four-hour head start on their guards. A rough calculation put their speed at eight kilometres an hour whilst the train had been moving not much more than an average of sixteen, putting a distance of some eighty or so kilometres between them. That was a best-case scenario. It was possible the guards might have been alerted to the escape much sooner.