“Help me,” Zoya said.
A large man stepped forward with a grimace on his face, but the old woman held up an arm and stopped him. “How can we help you?” she asked. “Have you brought this danger upon us?”
“I’m sorry,” Zoya repeated. “They will kill me if you let them, but they may already have killed some of your own.”
“Get her out of here,” yelled the big man, hefting a rusty pipe.
“Stop it, Leonid,” the old woman said. “It’s too late for that, I think. Again I ask, how can we help you?”
Zoya pointed to one of the tracks. “The tunnels. Can you lead me south across the river?”
A scream came from much closer this time, followed by a shotgun blast. The old woman’s eyes widened and she thumped the big man on his chest with one hand. “You take her, Leonid. You know the ways as well as anyone. Quickly!”
Leonid looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he scowled and waved a hand at Zoya. “This way.” He led her to a rickety set of wooden steps leading down to the tracks on one side of the platform. There were more makeshift shelters here, but no sign of the Meshing beds she had seen in the Kolomenskoe station. Scared, curious faces flashed at her through the dim light as Zoya weaved her way through the Trogs living on the track. Leonid snatched up a lantern before heading into the exit tunnel.
More shouts came from behind, but Zoya couldn’t tell what was happening. She followed Leonid silently for several minutes. It was hard to see clearly in the dark tunnel, but she noticed that Leonid had a thick scar over the place where his slot should be, as if someone had stitched the skin shut. She wondered if his entire group had done the same.
“Do you know the way to The Pyramid?” she asked.
Leonid glanced at her but continued stalking forward into the gloom.
Zoya raised her voice and repeated, “Do you—”
“I heard you,” Leonid said. “Why the devil would you want to go there?”
“Those men and their friends killed my family today. They’re from The Pyramid.”
For the first time the scowl left the man’s face. “So you want them to finish the job.”
“Perhaps,” Zoya said, “but I want to kill as many of them as I can first. If I can come in from an unexpected entrance, I may have a chance to do some damage.”
Leonid shook his shaggy head. “You shouldn’t have brought those men here. Why cause trouble for others? You could have—”
“I didn’t plan any of this. Those men back there were following orders. It’s the person who made them kill my family that matters to me now.”
Leonid halted and held the lantern up to Zoya’s face. “Lucky for me I can’t help you. The tunnels leading under that place collapsed long ago. Maybe there are some sewers there, but I don’t know them. I can take you under the river like you first said, but that’s it.” Without waiting for a response, he trudged off down the tunnel.
Wincing at the ache in her knee, Zoya followed.
Marcus stared with trepidation at the dark entrance the two thugs had entered. Wanting to help Zoya was one thing, but plunging into a dark hole filled with gunshots and screaming was too much to contemplate. He thought of his father and of how exhausted he felt, but then the picture hanging on the wall in Zoya’s apartment filled his mind, the sad little smile on her face, and he peeked tentatively around the edge of the entrance.
Two bodies lay amongst the dead leaves and poplar seeds in the small room. The smaller form was a young woman with dirty blonde hair. Marcus would have thought she was sleeping if not for the way her neck was twisted at an odd angle. The other body was that of a middle-aged man with a long, tangled beard. He had a small hole in the center of his chest from which dark blood seeped and pooled beneath one shoulder. His eyes were open, staring blankly into the dark recesses of the entrance lobby ceiling. It felt strange to be relieved at seeing corpses, but Marcus had been worried he might find Zoya here.
As there appeared to be no immediate danger, Marcus snuck to the descending staircase and saw that it too was empty. The shouting he had heard a few moments before had stopped, and he began to fear he might miss Zoya, assuming she were still alive. He shuffled down the steps as quietly as he could. On the second turn he came upon a man sitting against one wall holding his hands to his face and moaning softly.
As he knelt near the man, Marcus carefully read the translation of what he wanted to say. “Are you all right?” he whispered, worried that the gangsters might hear him.
When the man lowered his hands, Marcus saw that his head was shaven and entirely covered with tattoos. The man’s nose was broken and bleeding heavily.
“You’re not one of them?” the man asked.
Marcus shook his head. “I’m a friend of the young woman. Did you see her?”
The man nodded. “You speak funny. Are you German?”
“German?” Marcus said. “No, I’m from America West.”
“Help me up. Foreigner, eh? On a normal day we’d probably rough you up a bit if you didn’t go away.”
Marcus hooked his arm under the man’s shoulder and heaved him to his feet.
“Took my shotgun,” the man muttered, then pointed toward the nearest turnstile.
Marcus followed the tattooed man through the ticket booths and down the longest escalator he had ever seen to a platform crowded with gaunt, dark-cloaked people holding flickering torches and candles. A frightened mutter rose from the group.
“Igor, you’re alive,” exclaimed the elderly woman who had been trying to calm the crowd. “Someone bring him a rag for his nose, quickly now!”
“I’m okay,” Igor said, “but I’m worried about the guards.” He glanced askance at Marcus, who shook his head. “That’s what I feared. Where did they go?”
The old woman pointed toward one of the tracks. “Leonid took the girl that way. I didn’t want to tell them where they had gone, but they saw the light from his lamp.”
Igor looked at Marcus again. “There you go. I recommend you forget about her and leave this place. If anyone can bring your friend to safety, it’s Leonid. If you follow those men, they’ll likely kill you as well.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Marcus said, nodding, “but it’s too late to start acting sane now. May I please borrow a candle or something?”
Igor shook his head again. “You young people never listen to your elders.”
“Here, young man.” The old woman held out a lit torch and another as a spare. “Don’t leave the main tunnel. That way you can’t get lost. If you hurry you might still see their light.”
Marcus took the torches. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
Another of the dim figures waved him forward and led Marcus to some wooden steps leading down to the track. Marcus looked back at the strange assembly, waved once, and set off at a jog along the cluttered track.
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
7:41 p.m. MSK
The concrete walls of the little cell felt like they were closing in on Tyoma. He paced back and forth, three steps each way, and pressed his hands against each wall to give it a little shove, as if he could prevent them from closing in any farther. When this became boring, he arranged the three stools so that he could slalom through them as he paced, but he discovered that this made him dizzy, so he sat down on one of the stools and stared at the painting of Delchev. If Javier can multitask as well as he says he can, why couldn’t he stay and chat with me?