Page 29 of Mission Shift

Grabbing her tactical belt from the counter, she double-checked that the Glock was securely holstered. Her combat knife disappeared into one of her pants pockets, and she strapped the belt around her waist with military precision.

“We’ve got to gather up what we can,” she said. “I’ll find something to store water in. You hunt for a pack or bag we can use. We’re leaving the UAZ here.” She leaned over and rolled each pant leg up to her knees. “It’s too easy to spot and too loud. The river is our best bet for now. It’ll help mask our tracks, but it won’t stop them if they’re determined.”

I gave her a quick nod and followed her lead, rolling up my jeans. Next, I tied my boot laces together and hooked them around my neck to free up my hands.

The tension between us was palpable after the intimate connection we’d just shared—but we didn’t have time to hash out our complicated feelings. Not now. Survival came first. Everything else would have to wait. Right now, I trusted Daria’s instincts and was more than happy to follow her orders. She had kept us safe thus far.

I hurried through the house, scanning each room for anything useful. We needed to carry the few provisions we’d found, and with time running out, I wasn’t going to be picky. In the corner of a bedroom closet, I found an old rucksack. It was fraying at the edges but was solid enough. I took it, along with a blanket and a ball of twine I noticed sitting on the top shelf. These could come in handy, especially if we needed to set up some kind of shelter.

In the bathroom, I found a half-empty first aid kit tucked behind some dusty towels. It contained basic supplies—bandages, antiseptic, painkillers. Better than nothing. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Damn. I looked like hell—bruised face, bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them, and a scruffy beard. The cut over my eye probably needed a couple of stitches. But there wasn’t time to dwell on that now. I turned away, yanking down the plastic shower curtain with a sharp tug. It might come in handy—maybe for cover or to keep the ground dry under us when we stopped to rest.

Before moving on from the bathroom, I grabbed a towel and a few odds and ends I spotted in a drawer—small stuff that wouldn’t take up much room in the pack—and tossed them in. Then I slung the pack over my shoulder and headed for the kitchen. The flint and steel we’d used to start the fire earlier still sat near the stove. I stuffed them into my pocket, pausing for a second to glance around the room. Nothing else here, so I moved on.

Daria stood by the counter, holding a couple of plastic jugs. On the table, she’d laid out several MREs along with the other food we’d found.

I opened the front pocket of the rucksack and packed my few belongings—phone, wallet, passport, and the papers I’d left on the table. Then I tucked the Makarov into the back of my waistband, its cool steel pressing against my spine.

“Don’t turn that phone on,” Daria warned. “Not until we’re deep inside Ukrainian territory. Both sides can track even the slightest signal, and they’ll assume we’re enemy combatants.”

I nodded and zipped up the front pocket of the pack. I hadn’t planned on turning it on anytime soon, but her warning hit home. We could afford to take no risks. Still, the thought of contacting Nik lingered at the back of my mind. He had connections in Russia and across the world. He’d know how to get us out of this nightmare. Maybe he could even help Daria find a way out of her situation.

Daria filled one of the jugs with water from the sink. “Get a good drink while you can. It’s going to be a long way before we’re safely across the Ukrainian border.” She handed me a glass. I filled it and drank fast, the cool water soothing my dry throat. She filled a second glass for herself, downed it in a few gulps, and then screwed the lid onto the first jug before filling the next one. She slipped it into the rucksack along with the MREs, oats, jam, honey, and a cooking pot.

“We need to move,” she said, handing me the pack. Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I glimpsed how much responsibility she carried and how much danger we were still in.

I slung the pack over my shoulders and adjusted the straps. It wasn’t heavy, but it would be cumbersome if I needed to react quickly to a threat.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Let’s go,” she replied, flying out the back door while she draped her boots around her neck by the laces.

Soldiers would surely be here soon. Time was against us, and we both knew it.

We jogged down to the riverbank and waded in, knee-deep. Daria moved ahead of me, swift and silent, barely disturbing the terrain—like she’d been doing this her whole life. Maybe she had. I focused on keeping up, the rucksack bouncing uncomfortably on my back with each step.

The river shimmered under the late morning sun, deceptively calm in some places where the current ran slower. I was grateful for the cover it provided us. We splashed through the shallows along the bank, not leaving any footprints in the mud. Staying beneath the overhanging trees would also help keep us hidden from aerial view. We needed every advantage we could get.

At first, the going was manageable. The river meandered gently, flanked by rocky embankments and low brush that offered decent footing. But after a few miles, the terrainchanged. The river narrowed, the current surging faster, white-capped rapids forming in sections. Mossy rocks made the footing treacherous, and I stumbled, slipping on a particularly slick one. I barely managed to catch myself with my hand and avoid falling face-first into the water.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, shaking off the sting of the cold splash.

Daria glanced back, her eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk tugged at her lips. “You’ll be fine,” she said, turning away again. “We’ll cross soon and head southwest. Just keep moving.”

Easy for her to say. The water was unpredictable, rushing around my legs with surprising force. My feet ached, and my legs burned from the constant battle to stay upright on the uneven stones.

After what felt like an eternity, Daria stopped abruptly and pointed to something up ahead. A large tree had fallen, its thick trunk spanning the entire width of the river. It wasn’t much of a bridge, but it was better than attempting to trudge through rapids that could knock us off our feet—or worse.

“Come on, Mr. Boy Scout, let’s get this done. I don’t know about you, but I’m past ready to put my boots on.”

Daria went first, moving onto the fallen tree with an ease that I envied. She crouched slightly, holding her arms out for balance, and stepped lightly along the trunk. Halfway across, she paused, glancing over her shoulder to motion for me to follow.

“No pressure,” I muttered under my breath. I wiped the sweat off my brow with my shirtsleeve, eyeing the tree warily. It was wide enough to walk across, but the surface looked uneven—knots of wood, patches of moss, and wet bark making it far from stable.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the trunk. My feet slipped on the bark, the dampness making every steptreacherous. I bent my knees and focused on keeping my balance, placing one foot carefully in front of the other.

Halfway across, I stumbled. My foot shot out from under me, and my arms flailed. I managed to catch myself before going over, clutching the rough bark with my fingers.

Daria’s sharp gasp cut through the rush of the rapids. “Keep moving!” she barked. “Don’t look down.”

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