Page 30 of Mission Shift

I gritted my teeth, stood up, and pressed on, step by step, until finally, I jumped down, hitting solid ground on the other side.

Daria stood waiting nearby, arms crossed. “See? You had nothing to worry about,” she said, already turning to lead the way again.

I huffed a breath and shook my head. “Yeah, yeah.”

We moved a few yards away from the river and found a small clearing in which to rest. The sun beat down mercilessly, but at least it was drying our clothes and feet. I dropped the pack and stretched my legs out. As soon as I sat still, a dull ache settled into my muscles from the hours of wading and balancing on uneven rocks.

Daria handed me a jug of water from the pack. I took a few big gulps, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat, and handed it back. After she’d taken a large drink, she pulled out two MREs and tossed one my way. The packaging was stamped with Russian Cyrillic. I raised an eyebrow, holding it up like I was inspecting hazardous material.

“You trust these?” I asked, tearing it open cautiously.

“About as much as I trust the people who made them,” she said dryly, opening hers without hesitation.

I snorted and shook my head, glancing down at the mysterious contents. We ate in silence for a while, each bite confirming a universal truth—MREs were god-awful. Whatever mine was supposed to be—some kind of stew, I was guessing—it hada mushy, unidentifiable texture, and I struggled to swallow it down.

“I think this might actually kill us,” I muttered with a grimace, choking down another bite.

Daria chuckled softly, her lips quirking into a rare smile. “Death by rations. A fitting end.”

I frowned and dug around in the package. “At least this one has a chocolate bar and a package of dried fruit.”

“There are some water-purifying tablets and mints too. Those will come in handy over the next couple of days.”

“So how far do we need to walk before we hit the border or get to wherever it is you’re planning for us to go?” I asked. “I have no idea where we are.”

Daria tilted her head, thinking. “It was about one hundred sixty kilometers from the abandoned house in Chernihiv to the prison, heading east-northeast along unmarked backroads. But of course, it wasn’t a direct route like the one we’re taking. We’re going directly south to an area of the border where the terrain and another river make passage and monitoring difficult. About seventy-five kilometers from the prison.”

I whistled. “Then we have to go west. Who knows how far we’ll have to go before reaching an actual safe area once on the other side?”

“Yes, and there aren’t any roads along our route that I can remember seeing on the map I studied before we left. We’ve got a lot of terrain to cover too. That’s going to be pretty tough, but it’s doable. I’ve used this crossing once before but haven’t done it approaching from this direction. So I can’t give you exact figures or anything. I will tell you this though: at the border there are some trenches dug just across the river, but I don’t think they’re used by troops, because the water table is high in the area, and they probably flood every time it rains. They’re more of adeterrent for vehicles than anything else. They will be great for us to hide in overnight,” she said.

Mulling it over and doing some mental math, I figured it would take us the rest of today and all of tomorrow just to make it to the border. “Hmm, so even walking at a good pace, the best we can do is reach that area tomorrow night, right?” I asked.

She nodded. “If we’re lucky. We have to keep a close eye on possible Russian sleeper agents and special forces working clandestinely, because they know this is an easier area to breach in small groups. And of course, there may be the random booby trap or wild animal that we run into.”

“Yeah, it’d be a lot better if I wasn’t already dog-tired. Nothing a good dose of running for your life doesn’t cure.” I grunted, dreading the thought of what lay ahead, then wolfed down the chocolate bar and stuffed the bag of dried fruit in my pocket.

Daria finished her meal quickly, brushing the crumbs off her pants before crouching to pull on her socks. I did the same, rolling down my pant legs and sliding my feet into my dry, blessedly clean socks. After walking barefoot through the river for so long, having a solid pair of boots on my feet was a welcome relief. Daria laced hers up and rotated her ankles, releasing a sigh of satisfaction.

“These feel like heaven,” I muttered, tugging my laces tight.

She smirked, standing and giving her boots a firm stomp to settle them.

While Daria scanned the area one last time, I stood and threw the pack on, adjusting it on my shoulders and making sure the straps were snug. After a short while, she seemed satisfied and nodded toward the fields ahead of us. “Time to move.”

“Right behind you,” I replied, ready for the long trek ahead.

She ratcheted up our pace to a full-blown run, and we moved together in silence, pushing through the fields. Wheat and corn stretched endlessly ahead of us, the tall stalks swaying gently inthe breeze, brushing and thrashing against our legs. The fields looked a little off—disheveled in some places, with sections where plants grew thick and tall only to thin out abruptly. It wasn’t exactly the neat, straight rows I’d always pictured when thinking of farmland.

I frowned, dodging a patch of tall grass in my path. “So, what’s up with these fields? Are farmers able to work this close to the border?” I asked, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Daria glanced over her shoulder, her breath steady despite the grueling pace. “The farmers are still working these fields, just not like before the war,” she explained. “Some crops were left to fend for themselves early on, when the fighting moved closer. Many farmers had to scale back or leave. But they’ve come back as much as they can. The crops keep growing, even if the fields aren’t tended.”

I nodded. Even here, where there were no battles raging, life had been disrupted. Farmers were pushing through, planting, harvesting, surviving. It wasn’t exactly business as usual, but they were holding on. Everything here seemed caught in the same limbo—forced to keep moving forward but off-kilter from the chaos.

“Gives us good cover,” I said, eyeing the tall stalks that surrounded us.

“Exactly. Better than open ground,” she agreed.

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