Still fighting off the dog with one arm, the NKVD man dropped the gun and reached into his coat. The soldier grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling the animal backward even as he lunged and lurched in the man’s grasp. “Off, Duck! Down! Down!”
Freed now, the NKVD man drew an ammo clip from his pocket, picked up the gun, and ejected the empty clip.
Karen saw a spade hanging from the soldier’s belt loop. As he struggled with the dog, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed the military shovel—just like the one she’d used to dig potatoes and just as sharp.
The NKVD man slammed the new clip into the gun and pulled back the bolt, chambering a round. Before he could raise the gun, Karen hammered the shovel into the back of his skull. Blood splattered, and the NKVD man pitched forward into the snow. He twitched, so Karen speared him with the point of the shovel.
The dog stopped struggling. The soldier stepped back, horrified. Karen reached for the NKVD man’s gun. She held the gun out to the soldier, but she was shaking, almost uncontrollably, and she couldn’t hold it steady. “Don’t… don’t let that dog come anywhere near me,” she warned.
The soldier raised his hands. “Stay, Duck,” he said. But there was no need for the command. The wolf dog, so vicious mere seconds ago, now sat on his haunches, looking up at Karen, licking his bloody lips. The death of the NKVD man had made him perfectly calm.
Karen noticed red out of the corner of her eye. The NKVD man’s blood was spreading through the snow. She glanced down at his body; she couldn’t help it. What she saw made her vomit. Then she passed out.
Karen woke to the pleasant smell of burning wood and the crackling of a fire. The soldier crouched beside a small blaze, coaxing it with kindling. Karen was relieved to see that he’d placed a latticework of evergreen boughs over the fire to hide the smoke. She also noticed that the soldier had the NKVD man’s gun within arm’s reach on the ground. The soldier wasn’t looking at her, but his big wolf dog was. He lay beside the fire, resting his chin on his paw, seemingly relaxed. But his brown eyes never left her face.
Karen looked at the gun and then at the soldier. The first thing she noticed was that he didn’t look starved. He couldn’t have come from Leningrad, then.
She refocused on the soldier’s face. The beginnings of an unkempt blond beard had begun to grow over his pale cheeks, but the nearly invisible whiskers couldn’t hide his sharp, angular, almost patrician nose and jawline. His hair had begun to grow out from what was not long ago a crew cut, now sticking up at odd angles. It all made the soldier look like a boy with a drawn-on play beard, which he was, really. He couldn’t have been much older than Bobby. His uniform was filthy. He probably hadn’t washed in days. Well, neither had Karen. She could hardly fault him for that. Especially considering that she had dried, caked blood on her hands and vomit on her coat.
Karen sat up but froze when the big dog growled, alerting the soldier.
The soldier stopped feeding the fire and grabbed the NKVD man’s pistol beside him. He pointed it at Karen, warily. “Who are you?” he asked.
Karen eyed the gun and considered her response. She had no way of knowing where this soldier came from or what his mission was. With no safe response, she decided it was better to continue the lie that had served her so far. “My name is Inna. I’m from Leningrad.”
The boy soldier eyed her, then pointed his chin to the left. “And who was he?”
Karen followed his gesture to a pile of snow. Obviously the soldier had tried to dig a grave and failed. Not even the military shovel could cut through the frozen ground. So he’d contented himself with burying the body in snow instead. Karen wondered how long she’d been passed out. “I don’t know his name. He was with the NKVD.”
The boy soldier turned ashen. “You killed an NKVD man?”
“He would have shot you.”
“I’m a soldier.”
“So? If I hadn’t grabbed him, you would be dead. He had good aim.”
The soldier stared at Karen a moment, still aiming the gun steady. He conceded her point. “Yes. He shot at me. But why?”
“Because he didn’t want you to see.”
“See what?”
“See him kill me.”
The soldier looked skeptical. “You are an enemy of the state. Why would he be ashamed to kill an enemy of the state?”
“Because I’m not an enemy of the state.”
The soldier didn’t move, but Karen could see his eyes glitter with understanding. He wasn’t stupid. But would that make convincing him not to shoot her easier or harder?
“Then why else would he want you dead? You must be a subversive.”
Karen sighed. She took a chance and dropped her carefully affected accent. “I’m not a subversive. I’m not even Russian. I’m American.”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “American? How did you learn Russian?”
“I’ve lived in Leningrad for a year and a half.”
“Your accent is nearly flawless.”
“My father says it is because I am a musician. I have a good ear.”
“Your father is in Leningrad, too?”
“My father is dead.”
“Because he was a spy?”
“Of course not.”
“An American spy.”
“Why would we spy? We’re on the same side now.”
“I am simply trying to figure out why the NKVD wants you dead,” the soldier said.
“Not the NKVD. Just that man. He hated me.”
“Why did he hate you?”
“Because he thought I murdered his son.”
The soldier paused in thought. “Did you?”
“Look at me. I haven’t eaten in days. Could I murder someone?”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “You murdered an armed NKVD man.”
“Only with the help of your dog.”
“Soldiers kill. I’ve seen killers. I know what they look like. And I’m looking at one right now.”
Karen peered across the fire at the soldier. “I didn’t kill that man’s son.”
“Then who did?”
“The Germans.” Karen told the story of the First Potato Army, and this time she told it in full. She felt ashamed. “I shouldn’t have abandoned them. I should have fought for them.”
The soldier shook his head. “Then you would be dead, too.”
Karen nodded. It was the truth. But it didn’t help to assuage her guilt. So what that she had survived? Was that so important? Death was everywhere.
The soldier reached into the fire, pulled out a slice of newly defrosted bread, and threw it to Karen.
Karen grabbed it, passed it back and forth between her hands to let it cool, then neatly broke it in half. She stuffed one part in her coat pocket and the other in her mouth.
“I thought you haven’t eaten in days?”
“I haven’t.”
“Then why don’t you eat the whole slice?”
“Because then there will be no food for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow we will be safe. Tomorrow we will be in Leningrad.”
Karen laughed. “Leningrad isn’t safe.”
“But it hasn’t been conquered…”
Karen felt her face tighten up, deadly serious. “Leningrad is a death trap. There is no more dangerous place in the world.”
“I think I just came from somewhere more dangerous.”
“I doubt that.”
“What do you know? An American.”
“I know that if you go to Leningrad, they will eat your dog.”