Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Now, I don’t know why she goes by a male name or why she went through all the trouble to join the military, but I do know it’s important enough that she sacrificed her gender identity for it.
Or maybe she wants to be a he, which does make sense, considering how much she loathes being weak.
At any rate, she’s more comfortable being addressed as a he, but she really needs to be a she right now. The only way these villagers will help is if we approach them as ordinary people.
I remove the bandages, stopping when her breasts bounce free. They’re neither big nor small. They’re just the right size to grab onto while—
Focus.
I put the dress on her, then make a hole where her wound is and soak it with blood. After I’m satisfied with the way it looks, I remove her pants, cover her with the coat, and slip the boots on her feet. They’re a size too big, but they’ll do. Mine will stay since they fit the clothes I got for me.
Once I’m finished, I pause, staring at her. It’s weird that a mere change of clothes can make such a difference in the way she looks.
After I bury our belongings, including her rifle, in the snow, I carry her bridal style and start toward the village.
She’s light, barely noticeable in my arms. Her head leans against my chest and she has a limp, bloodied arm around my neck.
“Lipovsky,” I call in an attempt to keep her conscious.
“Aleksandra…” she whispers, her voice low and brittle.
So that’s her real name.
Aleksandra.
I’ve got to say, I’m disappointed in the lack of effort in picking a male name.
A man who’s pushing a carriage full of vegetables stops upon seeing me, his old face creasing in surprise.
“What is this…what is going on?” He speaks in a very regional dialect that I barely understand.
“My wife…” I soften my voice and inject it with sorrow, acting the part to perfection. “She was shot by a soldier. Please help us.”
10
SASHA
Blood drips all around me.
In the silence, the sound heightens to a terrifying crescendo.
Darkness expands for as far as my vision can see. Fog condenses and floats in a seamless motion, mixing with the blood and flowing beneath and above me.
A droplet of hot liquid falls on my cheek, then another follows, and another…
I cautiously lift my head, despite the claustrophobic sensation expanding in my chest.
There’s something wrong with this situation, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to gauge what’s going on.
Sure enough, in the midst of the smoky darkness, bodies hang from the sky, their eyes bulging, tongues grotesquely hanging out of their mouths, and their clothes soaked with blood.
I’d recognize each and every one of their faces, even if I were old and gray and on my deathbed.
My family.
Tears fill my eyes, and I jump up, desperately trying to reach out and free their corpses, but a strong gust of wind interrupts me.
“You’re a failure, Aleksandra!” The booming voice comes from overhead as if they’re all speaking at the same time.
“A failure.”
“Nothing but trouble.”
“You shouldn’t have been spared.”
“Why do you get to live and we don’t?”
They mix, mash, and turn into a puddle of terrifying shrieks. Their blood soaks my shirt and clings to my skin, my eyelids, and my mouth. Everywhere.
I swallow the metallic taste, nearly drowning in all the blood and yelling.
I put my hands to my ears and scream.
My eyes snap open and clash with an old ceiling. No bodies hang from there, and no blood soaks me.
My concentration is groggy, and my head pulses with pain, but I focus on my surroundings. I’m on a bed in a small room. An old fireplace stocked with wood gives the place a vintage, cozy vibe.
What am I doing here…?
I rack my brain for the last thing I did, but I still can’t put my finger on it.
We were on a mission and—
Damn. The mission!
I lunge forward and pain explodes through my upper shoulder. Holy shit.
Just when I think I’ll die from the sizzling burn, the door opens. I back up against the headboard, my senses on high alert, and reach for my calf knife. Only, I’m not wearing a boot, and…did my breasts just bounce with my movement?
I look down and…what the…? I’m dressed in a cotton nightgown with spaghetti straps and a deep V-neck that reveals half of my breasts. There’s no sign of my chest bandage.
Please tell me this is a continuation of my nightmare.
“You’re finally awake.”
I startle at the welcoming female sound and lift the blanket to cover myself. An old woman with a kind face and white hair gathered in a bun approaches me.
She’s holding a tray with thin, wrinkly hands on which some blue veins peek through.
My eyes track her every movement while simultaneously searching my surroundings for a weapon I can use to escape.