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Nov 20, 2022

Just What I Needed - Chapter 21

ao3

The low rumble of the train was almost soothing. After spending a day and a half in and out of fighting sleep, Bell could feel her eyelids growing heavy again. Leaning forward onto her elbows, she allowed her body to sway with the train. She had even gotten used to the feeling of sitting on the cold, stiff bench.

Used to the smell of the overpacked compartment.

Or maybe she had just gone numb.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over her knuckles. Her skin was so dry it threatened to crack at the slightest movement. Wrapped around her fingers were dirty bandages dusted with smoke, dirt, and blood.

A woman sitting across from Bell coughed. She opened her eyes at the sound. She couldn’t distinguish the coughing woman from the others on the bench facing her.

They were now shadows of themselves, blending together as gray figures wrapped in lumps of cloth.

Hours ago, when they boarded the train, there was panic, exciting talking, and bargaining. But after a while, they collectively settled into a resigned silence.

Even their clothing, at first a jumble of muted color palettes and patterns, seemed to have taken on the gray mood.

The women were all aware of what awaited them at their destination.

And that most would never make it out again.

Bell hunched her shoulders and pulled her coat around her, gripping the fabric tightly in her fist. The skin on her knuckles split. Blood ran down the back of her hand. She wiped away it on her dark coat. The red stood out too much in this gray world.

She hissed against the sting and took in a deep breath. At least it no longer hurt to breathe.

The last time she had been able to shower, she noted that the bruises were slowly fading to yellow.

They caught her relatively quickly after she ran from the airport.

She thought they would kill her for her desertion. They had come close enough.

But instead, they brought her back and threw her into a cell. They kept her in near darkness with no visitors except for the occasional anonymous guards. They never said a word to her.

Maybe they were worried that she would tell them why she did what she did. Put ideas into their heads. A special forces operative refused a mission. Like that was an option. Refused to force the ideology on those who didn’t want it.

When they secreted her away in the night, she thought for sure her time had come. But when they loaded her on the train with these other women, she knew her punishment would be far worse. They were going north. They hadn’t killed her because they wanted her to suffer. Keep her half alive in a prison camp with little hope of escape.

Where she could spend her days slowly wasting away, a drawn-out death only fitting for a dissident, she would die there, buried in an unmarked grave, never to be spoken of again.

Would she do it again?

Yes.

The train jerked as they hit a curve. Bell braced a hand against the wall next to her to steady herself. The woman beside her was caught entirely off guard and slammed into her. Bell grunted softly at the sudden impact but managed to grab the woman in time to keep her from falling forward.

Once it seemed that the train was headed along a straight stretch of tracks again, Bell let go.

The woman muttered what sounded like a “thanks.” And they both settled back into their seats as if nothing had happened.

Bell sighed and pulled her coat tighter around herself.

She looked away from the compartment and through the honeycomb fencing separating them from the passageway through the car. She had picked this spot to be able to keep an eye on the guards as they walked through on patrol.

Also, the air was the freshest here.

Coldest too.

Actually, the air was foul no matter where she sat, but at least she could turn her head to the side and not get a noseful of someone’s ripe stink.

However, body odor was the least of their concerns when it was, to her best guess, five to six hours between bathroom breaks.

By counting those and the guard patrol, she at least had a vague idea of the time they had spent on the train. She imagined it was still a few days until the next stop and just under a month until they reached the end of the line.

A woman across from Bell stood up, drawing the eyes of everyone in the car. She placed her hands on the metal luggage shelf above the bench and stretched her back.

The stretch looked good. Some of the other women started to move as well. No one else stood, but a small wave of shoulder rolling and leg flexing made its way through the car.

Suddenly, very briefly, the gray women were in color again.

But Bell stayed in place. A patrol would be coming through soon, and she didn’t want to risk catching the attention of a guard. She quickly rolled her shoulders before settling back into her hunched position—nothing to see here.

“...how long?” The woman next to her rasped.

Bell pretended not to hear her.

“How long until the next stop?” She hissed again.

“How should I know?” Bell hissed back.

Fuck maybe she should have let her fall.

She wasn’t interested in making a new friend on the train and now was not a good time to get caught up in a conversation.

The voice sighed. Bell couldn’t tell if it was exasperation or exhaustion.

Maybe a little of both.

Leaning back against the compartment wall, she stared dead-eyed at the floor.

So far, she had avoided any trouble from the guards. It was already a long trip, longer still, if the guards caught wind of who she was and why she was here. They must not have known. To them, she was just another anonymous woman on her way to work until she died.

As expected, the door between the cars creaked open.

The guard stepped through, brandishing a baton which he dragged along the metal fencing. The rattling sound filled the compartment. Anyone who had been managing sleep would have been jolted awake. The standing woman quickly took her seat.

In the compartment just before hers, she could hear a low murmur building.

The women there were pleading with the guard.

They were desperate. They must still have some fight in them to beg for any small comforts: water, food, bathroom breaks.

But trying to extract any sympathy from these assholes was fruitless.

If they hadn’t been chosen picked for their lack of empathy, the job quickly sucked it out of them.

She noted that this guard, in particular, didn’t just lack empathy. He relished in their misery. With every patrol, his eyes seemed brighter, and there was a developing spring in his step.

As the prisoners faded away, he was coming to life.

Feeding on their pain and hopelessness.

The guard stopped walking. He took a wide stance as he faced that first compartment seeming to listen to their pleas.

The voice of one woman was louder than the rest.

Bell suspected she was standing in front of the fence. She could almost picture her standing there gripping the honeycomb for balance. Delicate fingers curled through the holes, exposed to the passageway.

The guard cocked his head to the side. Pushed his lower lip out—a mask of sympathy.

He nodded as he listened. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbed with the movement of his head.

A nod that seemed to say he understood. That he would try to get her what she needed.

Bell could hear the relief in her voice. The woman was buying it.

Pinching the end of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, the guard took a drag before stubbing it out on the side of the train.

He never stopped looking at the compartment. He must have been holding eye contact with the pleading woman.

Then he did something unexpected.

He grinned.

And the pleading stopped.

Because the grin plastered on his face was cruel and ugly.

And too late, the woman had realized her mistake.

A scream like no other peeled through the car. Sharp. Visceral. It sent a chill up Bell’s spine.

The guard had brought down his baton on the fence.

On the woman’s fingers.

Bell could see them in her mind, broken, swelling. The pain and the shock keeping her from bending them to get them out of the way as the guard swung again.

Deep aching sobs followed by soft, soothing voices. The other women in the compartment must be trying to help her.

The guard glanced at the compartment one last time before chuckling and continuing his patrol.

As he approached, Bell saw a few women around her hide their hands in their coat sleeves. But once his shadow darkened their compartment, everyone stopped moving. Breathing shallowed to minimize the rise and fall of their chests.

Their collective terror seemed to encourage him. The cruel grin on his face widened.

He was a man who likely was not respected when he was out of uniform. Plain-faced, average build, easily lost in a crowd of people.

But when he donned the uniform, he felt like someone.

A part of something.

Justified in his cruel nature.

He tapped his baton against the metal, snickering when some women jumped at the unexpected sound.

“You,” The guard said, pointing to the woman sitting next to Bell.

She did not look up.

Well, that would piss him off.

Bell tensed.

That might motivate him to come into the compartment. He could be so overconfident, spurned on by his treatment of the last woman, that he thinks the women of this car wouldn’t challenge him that they’d allow him to drag the blonde out.

“I’m talking to you,” He growled.

The blonde pressed her hands firmly into the bench. Holding herself steady.

Bravery?

Or terror?

Bell crawled her fingers up the bench and just brushed the back of the woman’s hand with her pinky.

Silently telling her that she was there for her. Not that the blonde would know what that meant.

“Get up.”

The woman did not get up. She briefly touched Bell’s pinky before moving her hand away.

The guard went for his keys.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Bell whispered.

The blonde’s head moved slowly, an almost imperceptible nod.

The keys rattled against the box covering the lock. Then it clicked.

Bell let out a few steady breaths as she watched the guard take a single step into the compartment.

The ear-piercing sound of metal grinding against metal split through the air. It would echo in Bell’s head long after the sound stopped.

The sickening sound of bodies slamming against the walls and floor reverberated through the compartment.

A force threw Bell against the back wall of the compartment. Someone slammed into her.

Then the lights went out.

Muffled sounds of agony carried to her ears.

A growing heat radiated on her forehead.

Blinking, she saw that the lights were back on.

She could hear the shallow sound of someone’s final breaths somewhere nearby.

Bell grunted. There was something heavy on top of her.

Someone.

She braced her hands below her body to lift herself. One hand against the floor, the other ended up on something soft, which gave a little as she pressed into it. There may have been a little sound like an oof. But she couldn’t be sure.

Don’t think about it.

Her forehead throbbed with dull pain as she stood up.

The heavy thing slid off of her back and fell away, landing somewhere with a muffled thump.

Her arms and her back ached. Carefully rising, she took in her surroundings in a daze.

Bodies.

Fresh drops of red dotted the bodies, staining the clothes and the dead faces as Bell looked down to observe them. She could feel it now, hot blood rolling down her face, dropping off at her jawline and chin. It stuck to her hair, droplets forming like red dew at the end of each strand.

Head wounds always bleed so much.

Bell grabbed the edge of her shirt and began to rip part of the fabric. The motion set her off balance. She backed into the fence with a metallic clatter.

Tearing away a piece of her shirt, she applied pressure to where she thought the wound was, hoping to stop the bleeding. Leaning against the fence, she looked at the scene before her.

A few lone figures lay draped over the benches, but most of them ended up somewhere in the middle of the floor.

In the tangle of limbs and clothing, she could barely make out one person from the next. They had come together as this new thing—this dead lumpy mass.

Dead lumpy mass that broke your fall.

As her eyes focused on the group, her gaze passed over someone still alive. Reaching out to her. Chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

There was nothing she could do for her.

Then slowly, the arm lowered, the eyelids drooped, and the breathing stopped.

The quiet in the compartment filled her ears.

It was consuming after the hours of the rattle of the train.

And it was quickly broken by a soft groan.

One of the bodies began to rise from the pile.

Bell recognized her.

The blonde.

She staggered over to Bell, grabbing her waist to steady herself. Bell wrapped an arm around the woman, holding her at the armpit to keep her still.

“We need to get out,” Bell said, her voice failing her on the last word. Her chapped lips cracked as she spoke. The sides of her mouth stung as tiny cuts appeared on her dry skin.

The blonde nodded but looked back to the other women.

“We can’t-” Bell cleared her throat, “-can’t do anything for them.”

It was harsh, but she wasn’t even sure she could carry herself out. She needed to focus on getting out of this compartment, off the train, and then away to somewhere.

She’d figure it out.

Bell exhaled. Gripping the fence, she turned slowly to look down the passageway. The guard lay dead. Stuck between the door and one of two large metal containers that must have slid down the corridor during the crash. The door to their compartment had been hung to swing outward. But at some point during the crash, it had been forced inwards, creating enough of a gap for part of the guard’s body to wedge itself in the opening.

Bell pushed on the body to get it out of the way. The exertion caused her head to throb again.

And the damn door wouldn’t even budge.

Bell took in a deep breath. She was about to try the door again when the blonde tapped her shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.”

Bell sighed in annoyance. She knew that.

Why was this woman wasting her time like this?

Couldn’t she tell they needed to get out?

Ignoring her irritation, the blonde produced a square of wool and a loop of thinner fabric and began wrapping it around her head. Bell held the material in place over her wound as the blonde worked.

With a glance at the pile of bodies, she realized she did not want to think about where the other woman got the fabric.

The blonde finished wrapping and tied it off in a knot at the back of Bell’s head.

She barely muttered a thanks before saying, “I need your help.”

The other woman staggered over and pushed against the body with her. The metal containers shifted, firmly bracing against the opposite wall.

“Fuck,” Bell exclaimed.

She was sure that surviving guards would be patrolling the cars soon, checking for their fallen comrades, survivors, and any potential escapees.

And if the train still had a working radio, they would be calling for trucks to transport them all to the next station.

The time to leave was now. Especially when they still had the darkness for cover.

Mustering their strength, they pushed again. The metal groaned. It felt like it was starting to give. And then nothing.

“Fuck!” Bell shouted.

Bell slammed her fists on the fencing.

It was almost enough.

The utter exhaustion.

The pain in her body, her head.

What was the fucking point?

If she got out, what would she go back to? She had nothing.

Nothing to look forward to.

Always watching her back. Because eventually they’d hunt her down, and then maybe they’d kill her.

The blonde touched her shoulder again.

“We have to keep trying,” She urged.

Bell nodded. She looked at the door. Looked at the body.

“Pull on the door,” Bell instructed, then she sat on the floor and placed her hands behind her.

The blonde stared at her, confused.

“The door doesn’t-”

“I know. Pull on it anyway.”

The other women clearly didn’t think it would make any difference, but she pulled on the door.

With both feet, Bell kicked the body.

“Pull harder.”

The blonde moved her feet closer to the door and adjusted her hands. She leaned back as she pulled. The metal groaned in protest. Bell kicked again. And again.

And the body moved. And then the containers moved.

And the door snapped back into place.

Bell stood up and pushed on it. It swung out into the passageway.

Both women breathed a sigh of relief.

“The keys,” Bell said, bending over the guard’s body. The keys were still in his hand.

She tossed them to the blonde.

“Let people out as we go. If anyone is alive.”

The blonde looked stunned at the idea, but she nodded.

Bell searched the guard.

He carried a knife, a pistol, and his baton.

Bell pocketed the knife and held on to the pistol. She handed the baton to the blonde.

The compartment ahead of them looked in even worse shape. Blood splatter dotted the walls. Broken bodies everywhere. She couldn’t see any movement inside.

“Stay low. Unlock the door. Give them a chance, at least.”

Though she doubted that any of them were alive.

They moved to the end of the passageway. Bell opened the door between the cars. The air outside was cold, but other than the wind and the occasional creak of metal, it seemed eerily quiet. Surviving guards might still be trying to regroup. Figure out what happened and make a plan. They were moving a bit slower than she had expected. Maybe they hadn’t even radioed for assistance yet.

Bell surveyed the area around them. A soft layer of snow dusted the ground, except for a large section where one of the cars ahead had jumped the tracks and dragged across the dirt.

Small snow flurries fell, attempting to settle in the upturned earth, but the fresh ground was too warm for them to accumulate just yet.

Bell peered through the window of the next car. It was dark inside.

Unable to see anyone, she carefully pushed down on the handle. The door groaned, opening slightly but stopped short. It was stuck. She leaned her body weight against it, and as the door gave way, she could hear fabric skimming the floor on the other side.

As she entered the car, she stepped over a slumped-over body that must have been blocking the door.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to go back? Or leave the train?”

Bell shook her head. They’d certainly run into guards back there. The majority of the survivors would be back there too. Maybe it was just paranoia, but things seemed too coincidental for her. A train crash? That happens.

But in the dead of night?

In the middle of nowhere?

And during a regular guard patrol?

She felt more comfortable staying on the train as much as she could until they could figure out what was happening.

“The guards will be back there. And if we search the train, we might find some supplies.”

Just ahead of them in the car, a light flashed. The two women froze. It took a moment for them to realize that it was just one of the overhead lights. It had become dislodged in the crash and was dangling from the ceiling by its cord.

As it swayed, it flashed on and off as the electrical connection was made and lost.

It wasn’t much, but it lit up the car enough to help them navigate.

Across the center of the passage lay a piece of bent fencing. The bottom half still attached to the cell walls, and the other half bowed across the passageway. Spines of twisted metal stuck out from both ends. A body had been impaled by one of these. A few others lay limp across the honeycomb, weighing it down. Tiny rivers of blood streamed down the car's floor to pool by their feet.

At the opposite end of the car, she could see that the door had been crimped in the crash. It was likely unusable. But the light also illuminated what, from where she stood, looked like a supply cage. It might have something worthwhile inside.

But first, they would have to get around the fencing. They’d have to move under it.

Under the bodies.

“Fuck,” The Blonde breathed.

“Just look straight ahead,” Bell advised as she stepped over the wreckage.

Behind her, she heard a retching sound.

Bell ignored it and pushed forward. She ducked under the fencing, ignoring the occasional droplets that hit the top of her head.

One section of the fence was so low she needed to crawl under it.

Bell cleared it and went to the supply cage.

It was empty. Bell slammed her fist against the fencing, and it rattled back at her.

“Fuck,” She relayed this to the blonde and turned to help her but stopped when she saw something briefly pass by the window.

“Wait,” Bell hissed.

She quickly threw her coat over the light and broke it. They were shrouded in darkness.

Then she crouched down and waited, knife drawn.

The door at the back of the car opened.

She could just make out the silhouettes of two guards. They beamed flashlights over the compartments.

Bell hoped they would be satisfied by the lack of movement and maybe even deterred by the state of the car and move on.

And it seemed for a moment that they would be.

One of the guards turned around as if to leave.

“Evgeni might be in here,” The other guard said, “We should at least check.”

The first guard groaned and reluctantly turned on his heel.

“It stinks in here.”

“It stinks in all the cars.”

“Disgusting filth.”

“It’s better than what was waiting for them.”

The first one hummed noncommittally.

The door slammed shut behind them. They kept their flashlights aimed at the ground. Bell did her best to blend in with the other bodies, difficult as it was to do when she could barely see her surroundings. The flashlight beamed over where the blonde lay.

Just under the impaled body.

Dead fingertips brushed the top of her hair.

The light hovered there for a moment.

“All this to see if your drinking partner is still alive?”

The flashlight holder swung the beam away, observing the damage to the compartment.

She heard footsteps and then a metallic crunch.

“That’s not going to hold your weight.”

A groan, both from man and metal, as something heavy and organic, hit the ground.

“There, should be fine now.”

“You’re disgusting.”

The flashlight landed again on the broken metal fence. One of the guards was climbing on top of it.

Fuck.

The metal groaned in protest with each step. As he reached the center, just above the blonde, it began to bow. Bell stopped her breath.

But it held his weight, and finally, he hopped off, landing inches from where Bell sat.

“Oh,” The man sighed. His voice was heavy. He beamed his light across the floor, shining it over what must have been the body of his dead friend.

“Oh, Evgeni,” He cried mournfully.

He crouched by the dead man and placed his flashlight on the floor.

“Okay, can we go?” The first guard did not attempt to hide the impatience in his tone.

“Can you have a heart?” The second pleaded with surprising emotion.

So these guys do feel something. Sometimes.

The other guard made an irritated sound and turned his back, sweeping the train car.

Carefully, Bell drew her knife and crept over to the crouching guard. In one movement, she covered his mouth and sunk her knife into the back of the guard’s neck. He dropped quickly. Quicker than her body weakened from her imprisonment, could react.

The sound drew the other guard’s attention, and he swept his flashlight over to her.

But then he groaned.

“Ponomarev fucking idiot, don’t shine that in my face. Let’s get out of here.”

The blonde had crawled to grab the flashlight just in time. She was currently beaming it directly in the other guard’s eyes.

He turned away from the light.

Bell took the flashlight from the blonde. Imitating Ponomarev’s footfalls, she stepped heavily onto the metal fence. She held the flashlight high to make herself seem taller.

Bell hoped the ruse would work. She could be ready to shoot him, but that would run the risk of a dozen more guards hearing the shot and heading straight for them.

When she hopped down, he turned again.

“You are so slow-” He stopped mid-sentence. It was then that he must have realized she was not Ponomarev.

Bell drew her knife, but he knocked it out of her hand. His fist grazed her cheek. The knuckle of his index finger made contact with bone. The blow sent her a step back. He bridged the gap quickly, grabbing her throat. Behind her, she could hear the blonde shuffling around.

The guard had Bell on the ground, both hands around her neck.

“Fucking bitch,” He spat. A rain of spittle hit her face. His breath smelled sour, like days-old beer and coffee.

Bell slammed the flashlight into his skull. His hands loosened. She brought the metal flashlight back down, trying to aim for the same spot on his skull. She heard a sickening crack as she landed on the bone. His hands were off her. The guard doubled over, clutching his head. She greedily took in a breath of air. Then brought the flashlight down on the base of his neck. He landed on the floor.

The blonde appeared beside her and helped her up.

“Are you all right?”

Bell nodded.

Then she searched the guard. She found another set of keys looped around his belt.

“Might be important?”

“Let’s hope.”

She picked up the flashlight again and used the guard’s shirt to wipe the blood and other debris off. With help from the blonde, she pulled his coat off. She was not about to go back for her own.

“Let’s keep heading towards the front.”

They made their way outside. The car just ahead had derailed, but it was upright.

Bell climbed the ladder up to the door and placed her hand on the handle. She hissed and quickly moved her hand away. The handle was hot.

Carefully she leaned over to look through the window.

A swirl of dark smoke moved to reveal a blaze of orange light. Bell could feel the heat radiating from the door.

“Shit.”

The car was on fire.

Likely started with a match or cigarette flying into a pile of rags.

She remembered how she compared the women in her compartment to lumps of cloth and shuddered. The screams of soldiers hit by napalm rang in her head.

Bad way to go.

Bell shook the thought from her head and jumped down.

Peering around the train and seeing no guards, she waved to the blonde.

“Stay low and close to the train. Keep your light off.”

They moved alongside the train. It was snowing heavier now. A light pack of snow dusted the ground and crunched under their feet as they moved.

Bell looked back, peering into the darkness for any sign of someone coming up behind them. She heard nothing and saw nothing.

Perhaps they had only sent one patrol. There may have been more survivors than she had thought, and they would need as many guards as possible to keep the prisoners in check. In that case, it would take a while for them to realize that something may have gone wrong.

Though that seemed like wishful thinking.

And there were still the trucks to worry about. She was not a prisoner they would easily overlook. Eventually, a call would be made, and the right person would know to search for her.

Ahead of them was another car- derailed but tilted at an odd angle. As they approached, Bell realized why it looked so strange. Laying on top of this car was another car. It must have careened into the one in front, the force of it snapping the coupling and flipping one on top of the other.

How they were both still upright, Bell didn’t know.

Soft beams of light illuminated the underside of the top car. Half of the roof of the bottom car had been peeled back like a tin can.

Bell climbed the ladder and tried the door, but it was wedged shut. This window was smaller than the others and equipped with security bars. She peered through it.

Two locked cages lined one side. And in this car, the passageway was wider.

“This could be a supply car. Might even be guns,” Bell breathed.

“Behind us,” The Blonde hissed.

Bell looked back. She heard them before she saw them. They were shouting at each other.

“Get under the train.”

“Under?”

“Now.”

Bell hopped on top of the car. There was a small gap in the roof between the two cars. Wide enough that she might be able to fit through, but one side consisted of jagged metal. She glanced back. She could hear one of the guards hop onto the ladder. He was jiggling the handle.

It wouldn’t give for him either.

Bell flattened herself against the roof of the car. Metal groaned.

All around her, she could hear the guards walking through the snow. They were trying to find a way in.

Carefully she shimmied out of the dead guard’s coat and laid it across the sharp metal. Carefully and as quietly as she could, she slipped through the hole in the roof.

She dropped down to the floor and came face to face with a guard. A metal beam lay across his middle.

Bell looked away from the two halves of the guard and examined the two supply cages.

The crash had severely damaged one, while the other looked relatively intact. However, its contents had been tossed around a bit.

Dry rations.

Her stomach grumbled.

Had it been so long since she last ate that dry rations were starting to look good?

Medical supplies. Alcohol. Tea.

Extra clothes and fucking blankets.

While they had sat back there in filthy clothes, freezing their asses off. Of course.

There was enough that they could make a run for it.

Maybe.

No. They could make it. They could find a town, a barn, somewhere safe.

What about the others?

She picked up a canvas bag and grabbed what made sense to carry.

Throwing it over her shoulder, she went to the second cage. She tried one of the keys she found on the guard’s dead body. The key fit, but the door was so twisted and bent it wouldn’t budge. And she didn’t want to risk making too much noise. She would have to make do without.

Bell sighed.

Who was she kidding?

Even if she escaped and survived. They’d find her and hunt her down.

She thought of the other women. Survive a train crash only to still be sent to the gulag. Bell wondered how many of them actually deserved their sentences.

What kind of crime could they have committed that necessitated destroying someone’s life? Breaking up families. Ripping mothers away from children.

Bell looked at the bag in her hand. Then she grabbed another one.

When she finished packing the second bag, she went to the door. A crate and a long piece of metal were blocking it. She cleared it and listened before carefully opening the door. The guards surrounding the car must have given up and moved on.

Maybe there was another supply car on the train with guns.

Ducking under the train, she found the blonde, who crawled out and looked at her expectantly.

She tossed her the bag with supplies in it.

“You should go,” Bell urged her.

“Why wouldn’t you come with me?”

Bell looked to the back of the train.

“I-”

“You can’t save them.”

“But maybe I can give them a fighting chance.”

“How?”

“Kill some guards. Let them out. Maybe some can make it. Better than waiting here, don’t you think?”

She shouldered her bag and turned toward the back of the train.

“Oh, is that all?” The blonde said as she followed her.

Bell decided against arguing with her. The other woman knew this was a suicide mission.

Why fight when she could use the help?

When they reached the back end of the train, they could see a collection of guards milling about. There weren’t many of them left. But still too many for them to take on.

They were shouting at each other, deciding what to do next. Several were sweeping the area, likely checking for escapees.

Ducking under the train, they watched their patrol for several minutes.

“No prisoners outside,” Bell observed, keeping her voice low, “Must be in one of the cars.”

“We’re going to try to fight all those guards?” The blonde whispered.

Bell shook her head. There was no way.

“Prisoners first, then.”

They’d have to search the remaining cars.

But they couldn’t just go opening doors. It was more likely that all the cars back here were occupied by guards. Bell climbed up the ladder of the first car and looked through the window. She tapped the window with her knife and leaned back on the ladder. Her breath fogged up the tarnished surface of the train, and she shifted her feet on the cold rungs of the ladder as she waited.

She adjusted her grip on her knife. Despite the cold, her palm felt sweaty, and if she had to wait any longer, she was sure the knife would slip from her hand.

And then the door creaked as it opened inward. The warm steam of someone’s breath puffed out from the open door and into the night.

She stabbed just below it.

The body crumpled forward, and she caught it under the armpit, but its weight pulled her down. Her hand, still holding on to the ladder, begin to slip.

The steaming blood from his neck wound dripped down her shoulder, soaking her wool coat.

The guards were standing close enough. She was sure they would hear the sound of the body falling.

It was a risk she couldn’t take. She attempted to step down a rung on the ladder. And for a moment, she thought it would work out. But the body began to slide off of her shoulder.

He was going to fall. Her arms ached.

Bell adjusted her hand to gain a tighter grip on him but only managed to grab the fabric of his coat. He was slipping, and there was nothing she could do.

A pair of hands shot up, supporting the guard’s shoulders. With the blonde’s help, she was able to step down the ladder and set the body quietly on the ground.

She climbed the ladder again. The door had shut but not fully latched. Carefully pushed it open, pistol at the ready this time.

She crept into the train car.

Everyone inside was dead.

Someone had begun to pile up bodies. Checking for survivors, probably.

There was nothing useful inside the car. Bell exhaled in frustration and headed back the way she came.

She went through the door and hopped down, reuniting with the blonde outside.

They moved to the next car. Unguarded and empty.

Fuck.

They couldn’t check every car like this. It took too much time.

And as they moved, they could hear the guards’ chatter.

The engine radio had been destroyed in the crash. That was no surprise. But they had managed to reach a nearby base using the caboose radio.

Trucks were on their way.

They had no way of knowing how long until they were here.

It all seemed so pointless.

She was exhausted and injured. The smart thing to do would be to go and figure out the rest later.

But she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

She looked at the blonde.

“I don’t know how much time we’ll have. We can’t keep searching like this-” She was about to tell her to go when there was a commotion from the direction of the guards.

They had found the bodies.

But there was something else. Someone had checked the engine. The crash was deliberate. They would need to fan out and search, try to find the saboteur.

“Shit.”

“I wish I had a cigarette right about now,” The blonde joked, “Think we can still run?”

Bell shook her head.

“Not together.”

“Damn.”

They wouldn’t be able to save the other women. Not with the guards actively searching. It had all been a waste of time.

Bell sighed heavily.

“I said I’d get you out, right? I’ll create a distraction. Then you can run.”

“Distraction? With what?”

Bell opened her bag. She had stuffed it full of bottles of alcohol, rags, and matches.

“It’s the best I can do.”

“They’re going to catch you. Why would you do this? You don’t even know me.”

Bell ignored her, closed up her bag, and shouldered it.

“We don’t have time, so you better get moving.”

They separated, and Bell hurried towards the armory car.

She could try the cage again. She wasn’t expecting to find anything substantial there, but maybe something better than a pistol.

Stopping between two cars, she peered around them at the group of guards. If she weren’t so exhausted, she might have been able to hit a couple of them from here. But now she wasn’t so sure. It didn’t matter. If they didn’t get her, the trucks would. This was only supposed to distract them anyway.

Crouching in the snow, she removed a few bottles and stuffed them with cloth from the med kit. She lit one on fire and threw it as hard as she could. She watched it arc and land just short of the guards.

Some shouting. Then a few separated from the group. Moving towards her.

Quickly she lit another bottle and threw it. She broke out into a run, so she didn’t see the bottle land but heard the screams.

Someone fired shots in her direction. They were behind her now. They must have crossed between the cars and followed her tracks in the snow.

Bell ducked just beside a rail wheel and waited. She could just make out the figures in the dim lighting. She lit the cloth and tossed the bottle.

More screams.

Bell ducked her head under the train. All of the guards seemed to be heading in her direction.

A shot whizzed past her. Someone must have spotted her. She ran.

She hoped the blonde had taken the opportunity to run. That she had gotten away.

At least she had given her a fighting chance.

She reached the armory car. Her lungs felt raw from breathing in the cold air. She staggered and nearly slipped in the snow.

Kneeling in the snow, she propped her bag next to her and dug through it. She lined the remaining bottles in the snow, uncapped them, and stuffed the cloth in them.

For a moment, she stared at them.

Her last stand.

She looked over her shoulder between the cars. The guards were closing in.

At least she wouldn’t have to throw the bottles very far this time.

Bell blinked several times to help herself to focus, then she picked up a bottle and lit it.

She aimed and threw. A moment later, she found herself lying in the snow—searing pain in her arm.

And then it came back to her—the sound of a gunshot. Someone had seen the fire and shot at her. Bell dragged herself back behind the cover of the train and examined her wound. The bullet had only grazed her.

Lucky.

And it hit after she had thrown the bottle.

That was almost too much luck.

She looked to the rest in their neat little row, sitting just in the line of fire, just out of reach.

Her last stand hadn’t amounted to much.

Leaning against the armory car, she closed her eyes and listened.

The soft crunching of snow under boots.

The muffled orders.

They would surround her soon.

Opening her eyes, she looked into the blank nowhere ahead.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

A cold breeze blew through her, and it was then that she remembered she had left her coat on top of the armory car.

Her breathing was heavy. Puffs of steam floated in the air in front of her.

Snowflakes drifted down from the black sky. Some caught on her eyelashes.

Lived twelve more years only to die in the snow anyway.

An ear-splitting sound rocked the train. Bell ducked as shattered glass shards flew into the air like projectiles. She could hear several pained shouts all around her.

The car just next to her, the windows had finally blown out from the fire.

Vaguely Bell could hear the chaos around her as the confused guards tried to understand what had just happened.

They hadn’t been aware of the fire. So they didn’t quite understand where the glass had come from.

Before they could piece it together, something else happened.

Bell listened.

Soft thuds.

Grunting.

Shots fired.

But not at her.

Women’s voices.

No. Not a chance.

She leaned to look around the armory car.

It was the surviving prisoners. They were putting up a fight. From what she could tell, they had grabbed whatever they could find for weapons. They had used her distraction to their advantage.

The tired gray women had come to life for one last fight.

That fucking idiot must have let them out. She should have run.

Bell watched them. Watched women go down. Take soldiers down.

There weren’t enough of them. They didn’t have the training.

But they were still fucking fighting.

And she had almost given up.

Bell looked around, and there were the bottles still in their neat little line. She dove for them.

She rescued the matches from the snow and looked for a good spot to throw them.

Finding one, she moved to light the cloth when she heard something above her.

Something large jumped off the train car and into the air above her. Dark wings billowing in the wind.

It hit her square in the chest, knocking her to the ground.

The bottle in her hand broke. The scent of alcohol briefly wafted in the air.

Without thinking, Bell buried the broken bottle in its chest.

It crumpled over on top of her pinning her down. She lay there in a daze. And then suddenly, the weight was off of her.

The blonde was rolling the thing away. When Bell glanced at it, she realized it was only a guard. In her daze she had mistaken his coat for wings. As if he were some giant mythological beast. And not a person. But he had only been a person. And now he was dead.

The blonde offered her hand, which Bell took.

“You should have run,” Bell said.

The blonde chuckled.

How?” Bell asked.

“You know, they say Soviet Women are the toughest women.”

Bell chuckled breathlessly.

And for a second, she believed it.

But when she looked to the fray again, it seemed that there were just as many dead women as guards.

Guns and training made up for numbers.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” The blonde asked.

Bell nodded as if agreeing but then said, “Haven’t yet.”

She made a move towards the bottles.

The sound of approaching vehicles made her pause.

Then the wreck was flooded with light.

Large spotlights swept through the area.

The fighting came to a standstill. Everything had just frozen under the lights.

The first gunshot ripped through the air. Followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground with a thud. Another. And another.

Bell winced with every sound. She turned around, her tired eyes surveying what she could see between the train cars.

Another body fell. This one rolled under the train.

The glassy eyes of a guard stared back at her. A small trickle of blood rolled down his forehead.

They were shooting the guards?

A figure blocked the light nearest to Bell.

Someone stepped between the trains and walked towards her. His long green coat caught the wind.

Even in the bright light, she could see streaks of gray hair forming by his temples. Those weren’t there before. He had grown a mustache.

How many years had it been since she last saw him?

What did he want?

“You’re alive. I’m glad.”

Bell stared at him. She did not reply. She felt her body swaying where she stood. She just wanted sleep or death. At this point it didn’t matter.

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to be in the freezing cold without a coat as snow seeped through her boots. She just wanted to be done.

“Are you ready to join me now?” He asked. He seemed so sure of himself. So sure she would give him the answer he wanted.

“Join you?”

Was he saying-

“Did you? All this-” She trailed off. He couldn’t have possibly orchestrated this whole train wreck for her.

“Call it repaying your loyalty.”

Loyalty?

She had run from him. Abandoned him and his cause. She had wanted to do things the right way. And then she abandoned that as well.

She had been anything but loyal.

Bell looked to the surviving fighters. They were the reason she was still here.

Loyalty.

“What about them?” She asked, nodding to the women. Her voice felt raw.

He hesitated.

“Виктория-”

“You crashed a fucking train for me,” Bell narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn’t interested in hearing how he wanted to spin the story. Whatever it was would be bullshit. Pretty words.

“You want me to believe you’re just going to leave me here?” She continued.

He said nothing.

She nodded to the women again.

“Save them, and I’ll go with you. I won’t run again.”

____________________________________________________

Later, Bell found herself in the back of one of his trucks. The blonde settled in next to her, still carrying the bag of supplies with her.

The other women, what was left of them, were in a second truck.

A third truck stayed behind to take care of the train. The blaze lit up the night sky. If she watched it long enough, she could almost imagine feeling the heat coming off it. Just about everything would burn. And anything that didn’t, they would cover it up.

It was just a bad train wreck.

Tragic.

But these women were criminals anyway, so it was not a big loss.

Bell wasn’t buying that they only sabotaged this train for her. There must have been something more on it. But what she couldn’t imagine. What could possibly be that important on a train headed for the gulag?

“Victoria? That’s your name?” The blonde asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Bell nodded.

“Fitting.”

She paused as if she was waiting for Bell to ask her name.

When Bell didn’t, she offered it, “Ivanova. Kira Ivanova.”

Then she began digging through her bag and produced a bottle.

“I think this calls for a drink.”

Bell laughed and took the bottle.

____________________________________________________

Woods closed the folder and looked at Mason.

He had that damn look on his face that Woods knew all too well.

Fuck.

“I need a beer.”

tagging: @sogdads @scumbagg @shieldsbucky @quizzyisdone @stupid-stinky

#call of duty #cod black ops cold war #bocw #cod bell #frank woods #alex mason #cod perseus #russell adler #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #just what i needed #jwin #and with that we've passed the 100K mark #wow this was long too #got it in just under the wire #phew #thanks to everyone for reading #happy one year JWIN #efing fanfics #efingfanfics

efingart

Nov 20, 2022

Just What I Needed - Chapter 21

ao3

Used to the smell of the overpacked compartment.

Or maybe she had just gone numb.

A woman sitting across from Bell coughed. She opened her eyes at the sound. She couldn’t distinguish the coughing woman from the others on the bench facing her.

They were now shadows of themselves, blending together as gray figures wrapped in lumps of cloth.

Hours ago, when they boarded the train, there was panic, exciting talking, and bargaining. But after a while, they collectively settled into a resigned silence.

Even their clothing, at first a jumble of muted color palettes and patterns, seemed to have taken on the gray mood.

The women were all aware of what awaited them at their destination.

And that most would never make it out again.

She hissed against the sting and took in a deep breath. At least it no longer hurt to breathe.

The last time she had been able to shower, she noted that the bruises were slowly fading to yellow.

They caught her relatively quickly after she ran from the airport.

She thought they would kill her for her desertion. They had come close enough.

But instead, they brought her back and threw her into a cell. They kept her in near darkness with no visitors except for the occasional anonymous guards. They never said a word to her.

Where she could spend her days slowly wasting away, a drawn-out death only fitting for a dissident, she would die there, buried in an unmarked grave, never to be spoken of again.

Would she do it again?

Yes.

Once it seemed that the train was headed along a straight stretch of tracks again, Bell let go.

The woman muttered what sounded like a “thanks.” And they both settled back into their seats as if nothing had happened.

Bell sighed and pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Also, the air was the freshest here.

Coldest too.

Actually, the air was foul no matter where she sat, but at least she could turn her head to the side and not get a noseful of someone’s ripe stink.

However, body odor was the least of their concerns when it was, to her best guess, five to six hours between bathroom breaks.

A woman across from Bell stood up, drawing the eyes of everyone in the car. She placed her hands on the metal luggage shelf above the bench and stretched her back.

The stretch looked good. Some of the other women started to move as well. No one else stood, but a small wave of shoulder rolling and leg flexing made its way through the car.

Suddenly, very briefly, the gray women were in color again.

“...how long?” The woman next to her rasped.

Bell pretended not to hear her.

“How long until the next stop?” She hissed again.

“How should I know?” Bell hissed back.

Fuck maybe she should have let her fall.

She wasn’t interested in making a new friend on the train and now was not a good time to get caught up in a conversation.

The voice sighed. Bell couldn’t tell if it was exasperation or exhaustion.

Maybe a little of both.

Leaning back against the compartment wall, she stared dead-eyed at the floor.

As expected, the door between the cars creaked open.

In the compartment just before hers, she could hear a low murmur building.

The women there were pleading with the guard.

They were desperate. They must still have some fight in them to beg for any small comforts: water, food, bathroom breaks.

But trying to extract any sympathy from these assholes was fruitless.

If they hadn’t been chosen picked for their lack of empathy, the job quickly sucked it out of them.

She noted that this guard, in particular, didn’t just lack empathy. He relished in their misery. With every patrol, his eyes seemed brighter, and there was a developing spring in his step.

As the prisoners faded away, he was coming to life.

Feeding on their pain and hopelessness.

The guard stopped walking. He took a wide stance as he faced that first compartment seeming to listen to their pleas.

The voice of one woman was louder than the rest.

The guard cocked his head to the side. Pushed his lower lip out—a mask of sympathy.

He nodded as he listened. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbed with the movement of his head.

A nod that seemed to say he understood. That he would try to get her what she needed.

Bell could hear the relief in her voice. The woman was buying it.

Pinching the end of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, the guard took a drag before stubbing it out on the side of the train.

He never stopped looking at the compartment. He must have been holding eye contact with the pleading woman.

Then he did something unexpected.

He grinned.

And the pleading stopped.

Because the grin plastered on his face was cruel and ugly.

And too late, the woman had realized her mistake.

A scream like no other peeled through the car. Sharp. Visceral. It sent a chill up Bell’s spine.

The guard had brought down his baton on the fence.

On the woman’s fingers.

Bell could see them in her mind, broken, swelling. The pain and the shock keeping her from bending them to get them out of the way as the guard swung again.

Deep aching sobs followed by soft, soothing voices. The other women in the compartment must be trying to help her.

The guard glanced at the compartment one last time before chuckling and continuing his patrol.

Their collective terror seemed to encourage him. The cruel grin on his face widened.

He was a man who likely was not respected when he was out of uniform. Plain-faced, average build, easily lost in a crowd of people.

But when he donned the uniform, he felt like someone.

A part of something.

Justified in his cruel nature.

He tapped his baton against the metal, snickering when some women jumped at the unexpected sound.

“You,” The guard said, pointing to the woman sitting next to Bell.

She did not look up.

Well, that would piss him off.

Bell tensed.

“I’m talking to you,” He growled.

The blonde pressed her hands firmly into the bench. Holding herself steady.

Bravery?

Or terror?

Bell crawled her fingers up the bench and just brushed the back of the woman’s hand with her pinky.

Silently telling her that she was there for her. Not that the blonde would know what that meant.

“Get up.”

The woman did not get up. She briefly touched Bell’s pinky before moving her hand away.

The guard went for his keys.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Bell whispered.

The blonde’s head moved slowly, an almost imperceptible nod.

The keys rattled against the box covering the lock. Then it clicked.

Bell let out a few steady breaths as she watched the guard take a single step into the compartment.

The ear-piercing sound of metal grinding against metal split through the air. It would echo in Bell’s head long after the sound stopped.

The sickening sound of bodies slamming against the walls and floor reverberated through the compartment.

A force threw Bell against the back wall of the compartment. Someone slammed into her.

Then the lights went out.

Muffled sounds of agony carried to her ears.

A growing heat radiated on her forehead.

Blinking, she saw that the lights were back on.

She could hear the shallow sound of someone’s final breaths somewhere nearby.

Bell grunted. There was something heavy on top of her.

Someone.

Don’t think about it.

Her forehead throbbed with dull pain as she stood up.

The heavy thing slid off of her back and fell away, landing somewhere with a muffled thump.

Her arms and her back ached. Carefully rising, she took in her surroundings in a daze.

Bodies.

Head wounds always bleed so much.

Bell grabbed the edge of her shirt and began to rip part of the fabric. The motion set her off balance. She backed into the fence with a metallic clatter.

Tearing away a piece of her shirt, she applied pressure to where she thought the wound was, hoping to stop the bleeding. Leaning against the fence, she looked at the scene before her.

A few lone figures lay draped over the benches, but most of them ended up somewhere in the middle of the floor.

In the tangle of limbs and clothing, she could barely make out one person from the next. They had come together as this new thing—this dead lumpy mass.

Dead lumpy mass that broke your fall.

As her eyes focused on the group, her gaze passed over someone still alive. Reaching out to her. Chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

There was nothing she could do for her.

Then slowly, the arm lowered, the eyelids drooped, and the breathing stopped.

The quiet in the compartment filled her ears.

It was consuming after the hours of the rattle of the train.

And it was quickly broken by a soft groan.

One of the bodies began to rise from the pile.

Bell recognized her.

The blonde.

She staggered over to Bell, grabbing her waist to steady herself. Bell wrapped an arm around the woman, holding her at the armpit to keep her still.

“We need to get out,” Bell said, her voice failing her on the last word. Her chapped lips cracked as she spoke. The sides of her mouth stung as tiny cuts appeared on her dry skin.

The blonde nodded but looked back to the other women.

“We can’t-” Bell cleared her throat, “-can’t do anything for them.”

It was harsh, but she wasn’t even sure she could carry herself out. She needed to focus on getting out of this compartment, off the train, and then away to somewhere.

She’d figure it out.

Bell pushed on the body to get it out of the way. The exertion caused her head to throb again.

And the damn door wouldn’t even budge.

Bell took in a deep breath. She was about to try the door again when the blonde tapped her shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.”

Bell sighed in annoyance. She knew that.

Why was this woman wasting her time like this?

Couldn’t she tell they needed to get out?

Ignoring her irritation, the blonde produced a square of wool and a loop of thinner fabric and began wrapping it around her head. Bell held the material in place over her wound as the blonde worked.

With a glance at the pile of bodies, she realized she did not want to think about where the other woman got the fabric.

The blonde finished wrapping and tied it off in a knot at the back of Bell’s head.

She barely muttered a thanks before saying, “I need your help.”

The other woman staggered over and pushed against the body with her. The metal containers shifted, firmly bracing against the opposite wall.

“Fuck,” Bell exclaimed.

She was sure that surviving guards would be patrolling the cars soon, checking for their fallen comrades, survivors, and any potential escapees.

And if the train still had a working radio, they would be calling for trucks to transport them all to the next station.

The time to leave was now. Especially when they still had the darkness for cover.

Mustering their strength, they pushed again. The metal groaned. It felt like it was starting to give. And then nothing.

“Fuck!” Bell shouted.

Bell slammed her fists on the fencing.

It was almost enough.

The utter exhaustion.

The pain in her body, her head.

What was the fucking point?

If she got out, what would she go back to? She had nothing.

Nothing to look forward to.

Always watching her back. Because eventually they’d hunt her down, and then maybe they’d kill her.

The blonde touched her shoulder again.

“We have to keep trying,” She urged.

Bell nodded. She looked at the door. Looked at the body.

“Pull on the door,” Bell instructed, then she sat on the floor and placed her hands behind her.

The blonde stared at her, confused.

“The door doesn’t-”

“I know. Pull on it anyway.”

The other women clearly didn’t think it would make any difference, but she pulled on the door.

With both feet, Bell kicked the body.

“Pull harder.”

The blonde moved her feet closer to the door and adjusted her hands. She leaned back as she pulled. The metal groaned in protest. Bell kicked again. And again.

And the body moved. And then the containers moved.

And the door snapped back into place.

Bell stood up and pushed on it. It swung out into the passageway.

Both women breathed a sigh of relief.

“The keys,” Bell said, bending over the guard’s body. The keys were still in his hand.

She tossed them to the blonde.

“Let people out as we go. If anyone is alive.”

The blonde looked stunned at the idea, but she nodded.

Bell searched the guard.

He carried a knife, a pistol, and his baton.

Bell pocketed the knife and held on to the pistol. She handed the baton to the blonde.

The compartment ahead of them looked in even worse shape. Blood splatter dotted the walls. Broken bodies everywhere. She couldn’t see any movement inside.

“Stay low. Unlock the door. Give them a chance, at least.”

Though she doubted that any of them were alive.

Bell surveyed the area around them. A soft layer of snow dusted the ground, except for a large section where one of the cars ahead had jumped the tracks and dragged across the dirt.

Small snow flurries fell, attempting to settle in the upturned earth, but the fresh ground was too warm for them to accumulate just yet.

Bell peered through the window of the next car. It was dark inside.

As she entered the car, she stepped over a slumped-over body that must have been blocking the door.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to go back? Or leave the train?”

But in the dead of night?

In the middle of nowhere?

And during a regular guard patrol?

She felt more comfortable staying on the train as much as she could until they could figure out what was happening.

“The guards will be back there. And if we search the train, we might find some supplies.”

As it swayed, it flashed on and off as the electrical connection was made and lost.

It wasn’t much, but it lit up the car enough to help them navigate.

But first, they would have to get around the fencing. They’d have to move under it.

Under the bodies.

“Fuck,” The Blonde breathed.

“Just look straight ahead,” Bell advised as she stepped over the wreckage.

Behind her, she heard a retching sound.

Bell ignored it and pushed forward. She ducked under the fencing, ignoring the occasional droplets that hit the top of her head.

One section of the fence was so low she needed to crawl under it.

Bell cleared it and went to the supply cage.

It was empty. Bell slammed her fist against the fencing, and it rattled back at her.

“Fuck,” She relayed this to the blonde and turned to help her but stopped when she saw something briefly pass by the window.

“Wait,” Bell hissed.

She quickly threw her coat over the light and broke it. They were shrouded in darkness.

Then she crouched down and waited, knife drawn.

The door at the back of the car opened.

She could just make out the silhouettes of two guards. They beamed flashlights over the compartments.

Bell hoped they would be satisfied by the lack of movement and maybe even deterred by the state of the car and move on.

And it seemed for a moment that they would be.

One of the guards turned around as if to leave.

“Evgeni might be in here,” The other guard said, “We should at least check.”

The first guard groaned and reluctantly turned on his heel.

“It stinks in here.”

“It stinks in all the cars.”

“Disgusting filth.”

“It’s better than what was waiting for them.”

The first one hummed noncommittally.

Just under the impaled body.

Dead fingertips brushed the top of her hair.

The light hovered there for a moment.

“All this to see if your drinking partner is still alive?”

The flashlight holder swung the beam away, observing the damage to the compartment.

She heard footsteps and then a metallic crunch.

“That’s not going to hold your weight.”

A groan, both from man and metal, as something heavy and organic, hit the ground.

“There, should be fine now.”

“You’re disgusting.”

The flashlight landed again on the broken metal fence. One of the guards was climbing on top of it.

Fuck.

The metal groaned in protest with each step. As he reached the center, just above the blonde, it began to bow. Bell stopped her breath.

But it held his weight, and finally, he hopped off, landing inches from where Bell sat.

“Oh,” The man sighed. His voice was heavy. He beamed his light across the floor, shining it over what must have been the body of his dead friend.

“Oh, Evgeni,” He cried mournfully.

He crouched by the dead man and placed his flashlight on the floor.

“Okay, can we go?” The first guard did not attempt to hide the impatience in his tone.

“Can you have a heart?” The second pleaded with surprising emotion.

So these guys do feel something. Sometimes.

The other guard made an irritated sound and turned his back, sweeping the train car.

The sound drew the other guard’s attention, and he swept his flashlight over to her.

But then he groaned.

“Ponomarev fucking idiot, don’t shine that in my face. Let’s get out of here.”

The blonde had crawled to grab the flashlight just in time. She was currently beaming it directly in the other guard’s eyes.

He turned away from the light.

Bell took the flashlight from the blonde. Imitating Ponomarev’s footfalls, she stepped heavily onto the metal fence. She held the flashlight high to make herself seem taller.

Bell hoped the ruse would work. She could be ready to shoot him, but that would run the risk of a dozen more guards hearing the shot and heading straight for them.

When she hopped down, he turned again.

“You are so slow-” He stopped mid-sentence. It was then that he must have realized she was not Ponomarev.

The guard had Bell on the ground, both hands around her neck.

“Fucking bitch,” He spat. A rain of spittle hit her face. His breath smelled sour, like days-old beer and coffee.

The blonde appeared beside her and helped her up.

“Are you all right?”

Bell nodded.

Then she searched the guard. She found another set of keys looped around his belt.

“Might be important?”

“Let’s hope.”

She picked up the flashlight again and used the guard’s shirt to wipe the blood and other debris off. With help from the blonde, she pulled his coat off. She was not about to go back for her own.

“Let’s keep heading towards the front.”

They made their way outside. The car just ahead had derailed, but it was upright.

Bell climbed the ladder up to the door and placed her hand on the handle. She hissed and quickly moved her hand away. The handle was hot.

Carefully she leaned over to look through the window.

A swirl of dark smoke moved to reveal a blaze of orange light. Bell could feel the heat radiating from the door.

“Shit.”

The car was on fire.

Likely started with a match or cigarette flying into a pile of rags.

She remembered how she compared the women in her compartment to lumps of cloth and shuddered. The screams of soldiers hit by napalm rang in her head.

Bad way to go.

Bell shook the thought from her head and jumped down.

Peering around the train and seeing no guards, she waved to the blonde.

“Stay low and close to the train. Keep your light off.”

They moved alongside the train. It was snowing heavier now. A light pack of snow dusted the ground and crunched under their feet as they moved.

Bell looked back, peering into the darkness for any sign of someone coming up behind them. She heard nothing and saw nothing.

Though that seemed like wishful thinking.

And there were still the trucks to worry about. She was not a prisoner they would easily overlook. Eventually, a call would be made, and the right person would know to search for her.

How they were both still upright, Bell didn’t know.

Soft beams of light illuminated the underside of the top car. Half of the roof of the bottom car had been peeled back like a tin can.

Bell climbed the ladder and tried the door, but it was wedged shut. This window was smaller than the others and equipped with security bars. She peered through it.

Two locked cages lined one side. And in this car, the passageway was wider.

“This could be a supply car. Might even be guns,” Bell breathed.

“Behind us,” The Blonde hissed.

Bell looked back. She heard them before she saw them. They were shouting at each other.

“Get under the train.”

“Under?”

“Now.”

It wouldn’t give for him either.

Bell flattened herself against the roof of the car. Metal groaned.

All around her, she could hear the guards walking through the snow. They were trying to find a way in.

Carefully she shimmied out of the dead guard’s coat and laid it across the sharp metal. Carefully and as quietly as she could, she slipped through the hole in the roof.

She dropped down to the floor and came face to face with a guard. A metal beam lay across his middle.

Bell looked away from the two halves of the guard and examined the two supply cages.

The crash had severely damaged one, while the other looked relatively intact. However, its contents had been tossed around a bit.

Dry rations.

Her stomach grumbled.

Had it been so long since she last ate that dry rations were starting to look good?

Medical supplies. Alcohol. Tea.

Extra clothes and fucking blankets.

While they had sat back there in filthy clothes, freezing their asses off. Of course.

There was enough that they could make a run for it.

Maybe.

No. They could make it. They could find a town, a barn, somewhere safe.

What about the others?

She picked up a canvas bag and grabbed what made sense to carry.

Bell sighed.

Who was she kidding?

Even if she escaped and survived. They’d find her and hunt her down.

She thought of the other women. Survive a train crash only to still be sent to the gulag. Bell wondered how many of them actually deserved their sentences.

What kind of crime could they have committed that necessitated destroying someone’s life? Breaking up families. Ripping mothers away from children.

Bell looked at the bag in her hand. Then she grabbed another one.

Maybe there was another supply car on the train with guns.

Ducking under the train, she found the blonde, who crawled out and looked at her expectantly.

She tossed her the bag with supplies in it.

“You should go,” Bell urged her.

“Why wouldn’t you come with me?”

Bell looked to the back of the train.

“I-”

“You can’t save them.”

“But maybe I can give them a fighting chance.”

“How?”

“Kill some guards. Let them out. Maybe some can make it. Better than waiting here, don’t you think?”

She shouldered her bag and turned toward the back of the train.

“Oh, is that all?” The blonde said as she followed her.

Bell decided against arguing with her. The other woman knew this was a suicide mission.

Why fight when she could use the help?

When they reached the back end of the train, they could see a collection of guards milling about. There weren’t many of them left. But still too many for them to take on.

They were shouting at each other, deciding what to do next. Several were sweeping the area, likely checking for escapees.

Ducking under the train, they watched their patrol for several minutes.

“No prisoners outside,” Bell observed, keeping her voice low, “Must be in one of the cars.”

“We’re going to try to fight all those guards?” The blonde whispered.

Bell shook her head. There was no way.

“Prisoners first, then.”

They’d have to search the remaining cars.

She adjusted her grip on her knife. Despite the cold, her palm felt sweaty, and if she had to wait any longer, she was sure the knife would slip from her hand.

And then the door creaked as it opened inward. The warm steam of someone’s breath puffed out from the open door and into the night.

She stabbed just below it.

The body crumpled forward, and she caught it under the armpit, but its weight pulled her down. Her hand, still holding on to the ladder, begin to slip.

The steaming blood from his neck wound dripped down her shoulder, soaking her wool coat.

The guards were standing close enough. She was sure they would hear the sound of the body falling.

It was a risk she couldn’t take. She attempted to step down a rung on the ladder. And for a moment, she thought it would work out. But the body began to slide off of her shoulder.

He was going to fall. Her arms ached.

Bell adjusted her hand to gain a tighter grip on him but only managed to grab the fabric of his coat. He was slipping, and there was nothing she could do.

A pair of hands shot up, supporting the guard’s shoulders. With the blonde’s help, she was able to step down the ladder and set the body quietly on the ground.

She climbed the ladder again. The door had shut but not fully latched. Carefully pushed it open, pistol at the ready this time.

She crept into the train car.

Everyone inside was dead.

Someone had begun to pile up bodies. Checking for survivors, probably.

There was nothing useful inside the car. Bell exhaled in frustration and headed back the way she came.

She went through the door and hopped down, reuniting with the blonde outside.

They moved to the next car. Unguarded and empty.

Fuck.

They couldn’t check every car like this. It took too much time.

And as they moved, they could hear the guards’ chatter.

The engine radio had been destroyed in the crash. That was no surprise. But they had managed to reach a nearby base using the caboose radio.

Trucks were on their way.

They had no way of knowing how long until they were here.

It all seemed so pointless.

She was exhausted and injured. The smart thing to do would be to go and figure out the rest later.

But she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

She looked at the blonde.

“I don’t know how much time we’ll have. We can’t keep searching like this-” She was about to tell her to go when there was a commotion from the direction of the guards.

They had found the bodies.

But there was something else. Someone had checked the engine. The crash was deliberate. They would need to fan out and search, try to find the saboteur.

“Shit.”

“I wish I had a cigarette right about now,” The blonde joked, “Think we can still run?”

Bell shook her head.

“Not together.”

“Damn.”

They wouldn’t be able to save the other women. Not with the guards actively searching. It had all been a waste of time.

Bell sighed heavily.

“I said I’d get you out, right? I’ll create a distraction. Then you can run.”

“Distraction? With what?”

Bell opened her bag. She had stuffed it full of bottles of alcohol, rags, and matches.

“It’s the best I can do.”

“They’re going to catch you. Why would you do this? You don’t even know me.”

Bell ignored her, closed up her bag, and shouldered it.

“We don’t have time, so you better get moving.”

They separated, and Bell hurried towards the armory car.

She could try the cage again. She wasn’t expecting to find anything substantial there, but maybe something better than a pistol.

Some shouting. Then a few separated from the group. Moving towards her.

Quickly she lit another bottle and threw it. She broke out into a run, so she didn’t see the bottle land but heard the screams.

Someone fired shots in her direction. They were behind her now. They must have crossed between the cars and followed her tracks in the snow.

Bell ducked just beside a rail wheel and waited. She could just make out the figures in the dim lighting. She lit the cloth and tossed the bottle.

More screams.

Bell ducked her head under the train. All of the guards seemed to be heading in her direction.

A shot whizzed past her. Someone must have spotted her. She ran.

She hoped the blonde had taken the opportunity to run. That she had gotten away.

At least she had given her a fighting chance.

She reached the armory car. Her lungs felt raw from breathing in the cold air. She staggered and nearly slipped in the snow.

Kneeling in the snow, she propped her bag next to her and dug through it. She lined the remaining bottles in the snow, uncapped them, and stuffed the cloth in them.

For a moment, she stared at them.

Her last stand.

She looked over her shoulder between the cars. The guards were closing in.

At least she wouldn’t have to throw the bottles very far this time.

Bell blinked several times to help herself to focus, then she picked up a bottle and lit it.

She aimed and threw. A moment later, she found herself lying in the snow—searing pain in her arm.

Lucky.

And it hit after she had thrown the bottle.

That was almost too much luck.

She looked to the rest in their neat little row, sitting just in the line of fire, just out of reach.

Her last stand hadn’t amounted to much.

Leaning against the armory car, she closed her eyes and listened.

The soft crunching of snow under boots.

The muffled orders.

They would surround her soon.

Opening her eyes, she looked into the blank nowhere ahead.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

A cold breeze blew through her, and it was then that she remembered she had left her coat on top of the armory car.

Her breathing was heavy. Puffs of steam floated in the air in front of her.

Snowflakes drifted down from the black sky. Some caught on her eyelashes.

Lived twelve more years only to die in the snow anyway.

An ear-splitting sound rocked the train. Bell ducked as shattered glass shards flew into the air like projectiles. She could hear several pained shouts all around her.

The car just next to her, the windows had finally blown out from the fire.

Vaguely Bell could hear the chaos around her as the confused guards tried to understand what had just happened.

They hadn’t been aware of the fire. So they didn’t quite understand where the glass had come from.

Before they could piece it together, something else happened.

Bell listened.

Soft thuds.

Grunting.

Shots fired.

But not at her.

Women’s voices.

No. Not a chance.

She leaned to look around the armory car.

It was the surviving prisoners. They were putting up a fight. From what she could tell, they had grabbed whatever they could find for weapons. They had used her distraction to their advantage.

The tired gray women had come to life for one last fight.

That fucking idiot must have let them out. She should have run.

Bell watched them. Watched women go down. Take soldiers down.

There weren’t enough of them. They didn’t have the training.

But they were still fucking fighting.

And she had almost given up.

Bell looked around, and there were the bottles still in their neat little line. She dove for them.

She rescued the matches from the snow and looked for a good spot to throw them.

Finding one, she moved to light the cloth when she heard something above her.

Something large jumped off the train car and into the air above her. Dark wings billowing in the wind.

It hit her square in the chest, knocking her to the ground.

The bottle in her hand broke. The scent of alcohol briefly wafted in the air.

Without thinking, Bell buried the broken bottle in its chest.

It crumpled over on top of her pinning her down. She lay there in a daze. And then suddenly, the weight was off of her.

The blonde offered her hand, which Bell took.

“You should have run,” Bell said.

The blonde chuckled.

How?” Bell asked.

“You know, they say Soviet Women are the toughest women.”

Bell chuckled breathlessly.

And for a second, she believed it.

But when she looked to the fray again, it seemed that there were just as many dead women as guards.

Guns and training made up for numbers.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” The blonde asked.

Bell nodded as if agreeing but then said, “Haven’t yet.”

She made a move towards the bottles.

The sound of approaching vehicles made her pause.

Then the wreck was flooded with light.

Large spotlights swept through the area.

The fighting came to a standstill. Everything had just frozen under the lights.

The first gunshot ripped through the air. Followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground with a thud. Another. And another.

Bell winced with every sound. She turned around, her tired eyes surveying what she could see between the train cars.

Another body fell. This one rolled under the train.

The glassy eyes of a guard stared back at her. A small trickle of blood rolled down his forehead.

They were shooting the guards?

A figure blocked the light nearest to Bell.

Someone stepped between the trains and walked towards her. His long green coat caught the wind.

Even in the bright light, she could see streaks of gray hair forming by his temples. Those weren’t there before. He had grown a mustache.

How many years had it been since she last saw him?

What did he want?

“You’re alive. I’m glad.”

Bell stared at him. She did not reply. She felt her body swaying where she stood. She just wanted sleep or death. At this point it didn’t matter.

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to be in the freezing cold without a coat as snow seeped through her boots. She just wanted to be done.

“Are you ready to join me now?” He asked. He seemed so sure of himself. So sure she would give him the answer he wanted.

“Join you?”

Was he saying-

“Did you? All this-” She trailed off. He couldn’t have possibly orchestrated this whole train wreck for her.

“Call it repaying your loyalty.”

Loyalty?

She had run from him. Abandoned him and his cause. She had wanted to do things the right way. And then she abandoned that as well.

She had been anything but loyal.

Bell looked to the surviving fighters. They were the reason she was still here.

Loyalty.

“What about them?” She asked, nodding to the women. Her voice felt raw.

He hesitated.

“Виктория-”

“You crashed a fucking train for me,” Bell narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn’t interested in hearing how he wanted to spin the story. Whatever it was would be bullshit. Pretty words.

“You want me to believe you’re just going to leave me here?” She continued.

He said nothing.

She nodded to the women again.

“Save them, and I’ll go with you. I won’t run again.”

____________________________________________________

Later, Bell found herself in the back of one of his trucks. The blonde settled in next to her, still carrying the bag of supplies with her.

The other women, what was left of them, were in a second truck.

It was just a bad train wreck.

Tragic.

But these women were criminals anyway, so it was not a big loss.

“Victoria? That’s your name?” The blonde asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Bell nodded.

“Fitting.”

She paused as if she was waiting for Bell to ask her name.

When Bell didn’t, she offered it, “Ivanova. Kira Ivanova.”

Then she began digging through her bag and produced a bottle.

“I think this calls for a drink.”

Bell laughed and took the bottle.

____________________________________________________

Woods closed the folder and looked at Mason.

He had that damn look on his face that Woods knew all too well.

Fuck.

“I need a beer.”

tagging: @sogdads @scumbagg @shieldsbucky @quizzyisdone @stupid-stinky

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