The light of dawn seeped into the wooden house, which was gray and did not illuminate the mold spots and dust in the corners. Leonid almost counted the time until the sky was enough to tell the way. The bell never rang again, as if it was just an absurd bubble when consciousness was loose, but the cold afterglow with strange rhythm stuck to the nerve endings like a spider web.
After a night of coldness, the wound on the leg became more swollen and painful. Every movement involved the muscles, making a silent protest. He tore off another slightly cleaner lining of the prison uniform and bandaged it again, and the blood stains had darkened. Hunger is like a greedy claw, digging into his stomach. He searched every corner of the wooden house and found nothing except dust and rusty waste. Finally, under the firewood pile next to the stove, half of the dried, black and hard potato was found, which was probably left by the previous user. He scraped off the moldy part of the surface with a knife, cut the rest into thin slices, and swallowed it with difficulty with the little snow left by last night. The rough starch crossed the throat, bringing a faint warmth that was better than nothing.
He must go. This abandoned wooden house is by no means a place to stay for a long time.
Pushing open the squeaky back door, the wind and snow stopped, but the temperature seemed to be lower. The air is bone-chilling, and it seems to contain ice in the lungs. The river shows a lead-gray and stagnant texture in the morning light. The river that has not been frozen flows slowly, and the edge is knotted with white ice. The mountains and forests on the other side are still standing silently, and the dark outline oppresses the vision.
According to the map, he should go downstream along the river. But after the search of the professional pursuers of the team yesterday, he was wary of any path that might reveal his whereabouts. He decided to cross the river first, walk through the mountains and forests on the other side, and then find a chance to turn back to the direction of the river.
The river is not wide, but the depth can't be seen clearly. He found a place where the ice on the shore looked thick and stepped on it with his foot. The ice made a slight "creaking" sound, which was quite strong. He took a deep breath, endured the pain in his legs, tried to lighten his steps, and stepped on the ice quickly and cautiously. A few steps later, an ominous cracking sound suddenly came from underfoot!
"Click!"
The ice cracked at the point of his injured leg, and the cold river water surged up in an instant, soaking his tattered boots. The bone-chiling cold was like countless steel needles piercing into the flesh and bones. He roared and rushed forward, lying on the ice with his whole body, crawling forward with his hands and feet. The sound of cracking chased behind him, and the ice water flooded his calves and knees. The instinct of survival overwhelmed everything. He burst out his last strength, suddenly supported, and rolled onto the solid snow on the other side.
The wet trouser legs and boots quickly froze and were hard on the legs, which was more unbearable than the injury itself. He sat on the snow, panting and gushing white gas. He must make a fire and dry it, otherwise the frostbite and infection will kill him.
He struggled to climb into the edge of the mountains and forests on the other side, found a hollow in the leewd, and collected some relatively dry dead branches and pine needles. She took out the waterproof matchbox given by Anna - it was in the medicine box, and she stuffed it to him. After rowing three times, the pine needle was ignited. Carefully on the thin branch, the flame finally jumped up. Although it was weak, it was the only source of heat at this moment.
He took off his wet boots and trouser legs and baked near the fire. The cold cloth rose with white steam, and the skin came into contact with the warm air, and there was a tingling sensation. After the wound was soaked in ice water, the edge turned white and looked worse. He re-applyed the medicine and bandaged it, and his movements were clumsy and slow because of the cold and pain.
Between the fire, he took out the map and the badge again. The river on the map meanders eastward, through a shadow area marked as "old mining area", and then disappears into the hills further east. The marker "Vasili" is on the edge of the hill, close to an unknown stream. The straight line distance is not far, but in such terrain and physical condition, it is tamount to a craven.
And the outline of the church and the bell is clearer in the gradually lighting morning light of the badge. The dull silver-gray surface seems to absorb light, which looks deep. He rubbed the fine engraving on the back with his fingertips, and he was still at a clue.
The boots and trouser legs were half dry. He put them on again. The wet and cold feeling eased a little, but it was far from comfortable. He put out the fire, carefully buried the traces, and set off again. The snow in the mountains and forests is thicker and difficult to walk, but the trees provide shelter. He tried his best to choose the trails made by animals to avoid the open space.
I spent the whole morning in a silent and arduous trek. At noon, he climbed over a low ridge, and the scene in front of him made him stop.
Below is an abandoned mine pit. It is not a modern large-scale mining area, but more like a long-forgotten, small-scale open-pit mining site. The huge pit, eroded into a jagged mine by years and rain, is like an ugly scar on the ground, exposed with dark red soil and blue-black slag. The bottom of the pit was covered with turbid snow, and several rusted mining trucks with only skeletons fell on the slope, like the skeletons of the dead beasts. On the edge of the pit wall, the ruins of several low stone houses can be faintly seen. The roofs have already collapsed, leaving only the broken walls.
The "old mining area" marked on the map. It was more desolate and dead than he thought.
Crossing the mining area is the shortest path, but it is also extremely dangerous - the field of view is relatively wide, lack of cover, and those ruins may also hide unpredictable dangers. Detour means a longer distance, which consumes his exhausted physical strength.
He hesitated for a moment and decided to venture through quickly. Time is not on his side.
He carefully went down to the edge of the mine pit and walked to the bottom of the pit along a vaguely recognizable path that might have been stepped on by the miner. The slag gravel slid under the feet, making a rattling sound, which was particularly harsh in the absolute silence. The air was filled with a faint old smell mixed with rust and sulfur.
He tried to speed up as much as possible and watched his surroundings vigilantly. The collapsed stone house is like a silent tombstone, and the window of the black hole is like a blind eye, staring at him as an uninvited guest.
Just as he was about to walk to the middle of the mine, a relatively flat slag accumulation field, an extremely slight but never natural weathering voice came from behind a half-collapsed stone house in front of him.
Is it the fine sound of metal friction, and... repressed breathing?
Leonid's hair stood on end, and he froze in place in an instant. His hand had touched the Makarov pistol behind his waist. He slowly squatted down, using a pile of abandoned sleepers as a cover, and his eyes were fixed on the source of the sound.
In the shadow of the stone house, a man slowly moved out.
No, it's two.
The one in front of him was staggering and his steps were floating. He was a man, wearing a bloated and worn-out cotton coat, a dirty earmuff, and a beard on his face. He couldn't really see his age, but his eyes were full of extreme fear and hurry. He covered his abdomen with one hand, and a dark red liquid oozed from between his fingers, dripping into shocking spots on the gray-white snow.
The one in the back followed very steadily, and his pace was so light that it was almost silent. He is a tall man, also wrapped in thick cold clothes, but upright, holding a long strip-shaped thing in his hand, wrapped in rags, but in terms of shape, it looks like a knife, or... an engineering shovel? The man was covered with a thick scarf and only a pair of eyes were exposed.
Those eyes...
Leonid's heart suddenly sank.
It is not the fierceness of the pursuer, nor the concentration of the hunter. It was a kind of... empty but extremely sharp look. Like a frozen lake, it is smooth and cold. It can't reflect any emotions, but it can penetrate all disguises and go straight to the essence. It is somewhat similar to some of the characteristics he saw in Anna's eyes before, but it is completely different. Under Anna's coldness, there is a complex trade-off and a glimmer of humanity, and the eyes in front of her are only pure and purposeful indifference.
"Pilgrimage".
This word exploded in Leonid's mind without warning, with all the coldness and weight given to it by Anna.
The injured man stumbled and ran to the general direction of Leonid's hiding, with a ho-ho and leaking hiss in his throat, as if he wanted to ask for help, and as if he was just struggling desperately. His eyes swept over the pile of sleepers, as if he saw the vague shadow of Leonid. A faint hope burst out of his eyes, but then he was overwhelmed by deeper fear.
The man behind him, the masked "pilgrim", still followed slowly, and kept the distance between them at about ten steps. He didn't immediately pounce on the prey, but more like... driving away? Observe?
The injured man finally couldn't support it. His feet softened and he fell on the slag ground less than five meters away from the pile of sleepers. He struggled to get up, but he just scratched the gravel and snow under his body in vain. More blood gushed out of the abdominal wound, and a small dark red appeared under his body.
The masked man stopped and stood a few steps behind him. He slowly lifted the long object wrapped in rags in his hand, and his movements were so steady that there was no wave.
Leonid clenched the handle of the gun, and his knuckles were white. Help? Or don't save?
The injured man suddenly turned his head and looked at the masked man. His face was distorted with despair and pleading. His lips moved, but he could not utter a complete syllable.
The eyes of the masked man did not change at all. His wrist shook, and the wrapped rag slipped down, revealing a cold and serrated curved blade below - it was indeed a short-handled engineer shovel, but the shovel head was transformed and extremely sharp.
He raised the shovel of the workers.
At this moment, on the other side of the mine, on the slope near the entrance, there was a rough shout with a strong accent:
"Hey! Over there! What are you doing!"
Then came the "click" sound of pulling the bolt of the gun.
Two men dressed in bloated fur and carrying shotguns, like local hunters or poachers, appeared on the slope and were looking at this side suspiciously. They were obviously attracted by the blood and the movement here.
The masked man stopped moving. He tilted his head slightly, glanced at the two hunters who suddenly appeared with those cold eyes, and then looked at the dying man on the ground. Finally, his eyes seemed to glance at the pile of sleepers hidden by Leonid.
There is no hesitation. With a flip of his wrist, the sharp blade of the engineering shovel drew a cold arc in the air. Instead of slashing at the injured on the ground, it was suddenly inserted into the pile of slag next to it, leaving only the handle outside. Then, he turned around, his steps were still light and fast, but he no longer concealed his speed. Several ups and downs disappeared in the shadow of another stone house ruins deep in the mine, as fast as a melting ink mark.
The two hunters came over carefully with guns. They first looked at the direction in which the masked man disappeared, and then looked at the seriously injured man on the ground.
"My God... What's going on?" A hunter squatted down to check, probed the injured man's carotid artery with his finger, and shook his head, "I'm out of breath. Just died."
Another hunter noticed the engineering shovel stuck in the pile of slag, and the blood dripping on the ground extending towards the masked man's disappearance. Damn, this place is evil. Go quickly, don't get into trouble!" There was obvious fear in his tone, as if he had an instinctive taboo on this abandoned mining area.
The two cursed in a low voice and did not dare to stay longer. Without even searching carefully around, they hurriedly withdrew from the mine along the original road and soon disappeared behind the slope.
The silence in the mine was restored. Only the sound of the wind brushed the sobs of the slag pile and the rapidly cooling corpse on the ground.
Leonid was still frozen behind the pile of sleepers, and the cold sweat soaked the inner layer of clothes, close to the skin, cold. The scene just now happened so fast and strangely. The masked man did not hesitate to abandon his weapons and evacuate decisively. Did he kill the injured man? It seems that he didn't do it directly, but the man was seriously injured and dying. Is it a coincidence that the two hunters appeared? Or...
He slowly moved out from behind the bunker and looked around vigilantly, confirming that there was no one else except the corpse on the ground. He walked to the corpse. The man is in his forties, with an ordinary face. At this moment, he is frozen in fear and pain. The wound in the abdomen is very deep, like being stabbed by a sharp instrument. In addition, there are no other obvious scars or marks on the body.
Leonid's eyes fell on the engineering shovel stuck in the pile of slag. He walked over and pulled it out. The shovel head is sharp, and there is still a little dark red mark on the sawtooth, but it is not fresh blood. The part wrapped in the rag is soaked with old stains. This is a tool, a carefully modified killing tool.
He hesitated for a moment, wrapped the engineering shovel again with rags and held it in his hand. This may be a clue or a disaster. But he needs anything to help him understand the fog in front of him.
Then, he squatted down and quickly searched the clothes of the deceased. The pocket is empty, and there is nothing to prove the identity. But in the inner pocket of the man's close-to-body shirt, he touched a hard object.
When you take it out, it is a small, flat metal tag, slightly larger than the badge given by Anna, and the material is ordinary, like some kind of cheap alloy. The sign is smooth on one side, and a few lines of vague small words are engraved on the other side, which seems to be a number, two abbreviations, and a string of dates. The handwriting is seriously worn and difficult to identify the whole picture, but the format... is a bit like some old-fashioned internal identity card, or locker key plate?
Date... Leonid narrowed his eyes and identified it carefully. It seems to be... [October XX, 1994]? The specific date is partly blurred.
In 1994. Twenty years ago.
It's this time again. Anna mentioned that "pilgrims" began to appear 20 years ago.
He put away the metal card with the engineering shovel. The heart beats heavily in the chest. Who is this dead man? Why was it chased and killed by the "pilgrim"? What does the metal plate on his body mean?
Leonid didn't dare to stay long. He finally glanced at the face of the deceased, gently stroked his eyes that could not be closed, then turned around and accelerated his pace towards the exit on the east side of the mine. The Engineer Shovel In His Hand Was Heavy, As If Carrying The Lingering Cold Breath Left By The Masked Man, And The Dead Soul That Was Frozen At Some Point Twenty Years Ago.
He must be faster. We must find "Vasily". The secret buried under the snowfield is following his footsteps, and a trace of ferocious outline emerges. And he, Leonid Ivanov, seems to be walking on a road paved by blood and dead souls to the core of the truth, and there is no turning back.