[Félix opened his eyes]
The first thing he saw was a bright shape staring directly at his face. It was hard to keep looking at it, it felt like staring at the sun.
His body could not move, a sharp pain persisted in his head, his body gave small spasms as if it had collapsed a short time ago. He could not even move his fingers, it was as if his body did not obey his commands.
His head was resting on something soft, he was on a beach but that was not sand. It was warm and cozy, it made the pain lessen slightly.
— And here we are again, aren't we?
It was Agnis.
She kept Félix's head on her lap. His body was completely wet, as if he had been rescued from the bottom of the sea once again.
— Do you have any idea how lucky you are? I barely had time to pull you.Agnis wrapped her hands around Félix's face.
— A few more seconds and you would have touched the bottom.
The beach looked different, the wind was colder and there were no more birds flying around. Clouds blocked the sunlight, leaving the sand cold. The sea raised aggressive waves against the rocks. The tide touched their feet as if it tried to swallow them.
Félix tried to speak, his mouth opened slightly but his voice did not come out, only some indistinguishable groans.
— Stay calm, don't strain yourself too much.
Her expression was radiant as always, even with the entire beach changing. She looked into the distance and saw storm clouds forming. Lightning struck the water and the rocks in the background.
— Looks like it's going to rain, but that's fine.
Something seemed to flow from Félix's head into Agnis's hands, but he could not smell it to distinguish what it was.
Agnis gently rested his head on the sand and lay down beside him. This time she hugged him, covering as much of his body as she could, passing her legs between Félix's as if trying to cover him.
Her large body served almost like a shield that blocked and warmed his incapacitated body on the sand.
Agnis's hands became visible for a brief moment, and in that short span of time there was blood on her hands. But that blood was not hers, it was Félix's.
— Don't worry, I won't let you get cold.
Outside Félix's mind, his body was being carried by Kobayashi.
Light began to appear on the horizon, the sun was already rising. The fire at the farm had already gone out, and the slaves themselves had to collect the debris of the "revolt".
Their punishment was still being decided, but it was certain they would have to work double to fix all the destruction they caused. Sometimes causing trouble for superiors is worse than committing a crime.
Kobayashi carried Félix's body to the disposal area. The standard procedure was to open a pit in the snow and discard the body. But he did not stop walking when he reached the disposal area.
He followed the path until he entered a forest, walking about 30 minutes away from the farm. He stopped only when he felt the distance between him and the disposal area was sufficient.
Then he dropped Félix in the snow and removed the cloth from his head. As expected, the hole in his head was slowly regenerating, but it would still take time to fully recover. Without a doubt the damage would leave a sequel on his body, after all his body needed energy to heal.
Kobayashi placed an Axionil pill in Félix's mouth and made him swallow it. The next problem would be the pit, the cold could completely freeze the body and kill him.
But something strange was happening to Félix's body.
He was warm… Even though his "death" had happened two hours ago and he was in an infernal cold like this. That was not right, even for someone of his "type".
In a moment of doubt, he opened Félix's right eye to check what was happening to his body. As soon as he opened it he saw the iris in an extremely strong yellow color, almost like an eclipse between the sun and the moon inside his eye.
He stepped back in shock.
— You… are really like me? — He asked himself.
Kobayashi wrapped Félix's body in a fine wool cloth, it was little, but it was what he could carry without drawing attention. Soon after he dug a shallow pit in front of a tree to hide the body.
There was nothing else to do now, everything depended on Félix himself.That was a nightmare, there was always a new problem in that world, it seemed that peace never arrived, even momentarily.
While all this was happening, the girl with magenta eyes headed south of the farm.
She had managed to escape with two other slaves, forming a group of three. They were not soldiers, nor trained fugitives. They were just bodies torn from the middle of that chaos.
The first was a young woman, around twenty three years old. Black hair, skin as pale as the snow on the ground. She wore thin clothes, fabrics that might have been luxurious in another era, but there they were just a slow sentence of hypothermia. Her name was Anastasia Makarova.
The other was a young man of about twenty, also with black hair, a thin face, prominent bones under the skin. He carried the sacks of potatoes instead of the girl. His name was Dmitri Vasilev.
All were Russian. (There is no need to translate what they are saying.)
All were trembling from the cold.
The wind cut like invisible blades, entering through the seams of their clothes, the gaps in their boots, their burning nostrils. They walked as close as possible, almost glued together, trying to steal heat from each other like animals trapped in an imaginary burrow.
Stopping was death, no matter how far their destination was, they could not stop walking. Not in that snow.
With every step, the world seemed whiter, emptier, more distant from anything that could be called life. The trees had disappeared, only a desert of snow remained. A motionless ocean where the horizon meant nothing.
Their lips were cracked. Hunger made their stomachs ache in slow, almost hypnotic waves. Their eyes burned because of the wind, the light reflected by the snow, and their eyelashes freezing. Thinking became difficult, and making rational decisions was almost impossible.
Their feet would freeze before they reached their destination. Even with thick boots, the sensation was like walking on broken glass submerged in ice.
When hope was beginning to abandon their bodies, they saw something on the horizon.A village.
Small, abandoned, ghostly. It was destroyed, but not completely.Low houses, collapsed roofs, broken windows. No sign of life or movement could be seen in the distance.
It was frightening, but shelter is shelter.
The camp was not a random destination. Someone had planned this. They had mapped routes with stopping points, abandoned structures, places where they could hide from the wind for a few hours.
They knew: no slave would endure twelve hours of continuous walking in that world. No, no human being could.
— There might be blankets there. — Anastasia said.
— Very unlikely. — Dmitri replied, without enthusiasm. — If there were any useful fabric, the farm patrols would have looted everything.
— But still… — She murmured, hugging her own body. — It would be better to rest there.
The girl with magenta eyes walked ahead, leaving footprints too small for that white hell. Her voice came out firm, almost authoritarian:
— We will stay for two hours. At most.
The two looked at her.
— We don't know if the cameras spotted us. If we stay too long, they might send soldiers. Or worse, we might run into a patrol on the way back.
Anastasia opened a crooked smile.
— You say that, but… of all of us, the one who should be the most tired is you.
— Why?
— Well… — She tilted her head, evaluating the girl from head to toe. — You are pretty small.
The magenta cheeks turned red.
— Of course I am small! I am still growing!!
Anastasia looked down at her with a slight air of superiority.
— Sorry. I didn't mean to annoy you. — She touched the girl's shoulders. — But sometimes we need to accept the facts.
— I am fourteen years old, you old witch!!!
Dmitri turned his face away, covering his mouth with his glove to avoid laughing.
— Old witch!? — Anastasia widened her eyes. — I am in the prime of my life!
— Speak lower… — Dmitri murmured, knowing it was useless.
— Damn, I am so screwed… — Anastasia sighed, looking at the horizon. — Seriously, I am being guided by a fourteen year old kid?
— Technically I am a teenager.
— Whatever.
Between provocations, nervous laughs, and the constant awareness that they could die at any moment, they continued toward the abandoned village.
When they arrived, the atmosphere seemed more melancholic, as if they had entered a horror movie. For some people, that would be the perfect example of a liminal space, and a very large one.
Most houses were made of stone or concrete, the few wooden ones had part of their structure collapsed on the ground. Bullet holes and clear signs of confrontation announced a bad omen.
— I don't like this place… — Anastasia moved closer to Dmitri.
— This doesn't seem recent, the wear on the walls is also the effect of time. — Dmitri said, trying to ease everyone's tension.
Soon they spotted an ideal house to rest. Its structure was concrete and seemed very solid, despite all the windows being broken.
Inside, it was as expected, there was nothing interesting and the few objects that existed were all frozen. Nothing luxurious, but it was enough to recover some heat and relieve fatigue.
Unfortunately, there was no way to make fire. They had no sharp metal object, and even if they did, it was unlikely they would know how to make fire with it. There were some papers scattered around, but with everything wet and frozen, fire was impossible.
None of them was a superhuman capable of creating showers of sparks by scraping metal bars, or strong enough to tear gunpowder from a firearm cartridge with their bare hands.
Instead, they piled up in a corner. They used their body heat to thaw some of the potatoes, which worked like a hammer because they were so hard.
— If the soldiers show up we can throw these rocks at them, I bet they will deal good damage. — Anastasia commented, lifting one of the potatoes and testing its weight. — I didn't even know a potato could get this hard.
The silence that followed was suffocating. They were too close to ignore each other, but too distant to know what to say. The sound of their breathing mixed with the wind, creating a strange rhythm.
Anastasia grew restless, thinking of a way to break that silence.
— So… now that we finally stopped. — She stared into the girl's eyes. — You still haven't told us your name.
— Does that matter?
Her expression was disdainful. She kept a handful of potatoes between her legs, waiting for them to thaw.
— Well, what if something happens? Like, I will have to shout "So-and-so, come here!" or "So-and-so, run!". You don't want me calling you Fulaninha out there, right?
— I don't mind.
Anastasia opened a crooked smile. — Oh…
— What she means. — Dmitri joined the conversation. — Is that she wants to get to know you better. You kind of saved us.
— I didn't do anything, I just fell on the ground with those sacks of potatoes and you ended up seeing me. — She tilted her head mockingly. — And the witch here was already trying to escape.
Anastasia clenched her teeth. — That's the second time you call me a witch!
The potatoes were thawing quickly, still hard but edible. The taste was not good, of course, it was better to pinch your nose and swallow while chewing as little as possible.
The girl with magenta eyes was the first to take a bite. The expression of disgust on her face was obvious.
— Tastes like ice with piss…
By force, everyone was obliged to eat. If they wanted to reach the camp they would have to endure a few more hours walking, energy was essential at those moments.
— I hope they have hot soup at the camp… — Dmitri commented.
Anastasia was the first to stop eating, she slid her back against the wall right behind the girl. Her golden hair fell over her body like threads of gold.
— Hey, Fulaninha. — She intertwined her fingers in the girl's hair. — How did you end up at the farm?
The girl took a while to answer.
— A group arrived in the city of Norilsk offering resources in exchange for labor. They came with the promise of food and guaranteed housing for anyone who offered their children. — She hesitated. — The way they spoke, it even sounded like a school or an orphanage, I don't know. — Her eyes turned to the ground. — They offered boxes of medicine and supplies if they handed over women, for men it was just supplies.
Her expression seemed unsettled, she did not know whether she should feel anger or sadness.
— My mother had caught a virus that didn't go away for almost a month, my father didn't even let us get close to her. My father just… did what he thought was right, after all he believed I would be safe.
The girl seemed to be hiding something, as if she were trying to soften her story.
Anastasia gave a light tug on her hair. — "Us", do you have siblings?
— Two brothers, one older and one younger.
— What bad luck, you are the middle child.
No one there seemed very surprised by the girl's story. But that was not necessarily their fault, after all the whole world had become less sensitive.
— You could at least tell their names, maybe one day we will meet them.
— Never.
Her answer came immediate and dry.
Another tug on her hair, but now stronger. — Come on! At least tell their surname.
The girl seemed hesitant to answer. Anastasia kept bothering her and pulling her hair like a bratty child.
— Braun… — She finally said.
— Ha! — Anastasia stood up and pointed at the girl. — So your surname is Braun!
The girl looked at the ground with a theatrical smile. — No, I don't have the same surname as my parents or brothers…
Dmitri noticed the situation, stared at Anastasia and signaled her to stop. Embarrassed, she tried to make excuses to disguise her intention, but she was terrible at lying.
— Don't worry, I arrived at the farm recently, nobody did anything to me, and that thing with my parents… — She scratched her head. — That's already in the past… I don't hate them.
The girl and Dmitri stared at Anastasia, as if expecting her to tell her story.
— So that's how it is? — Her cheeks reddened. — Dmitri, why don't you go before me? I can be the last one, it's fine. — She forced a smile.
— You asked first. — The girl said. — So now it's your turn.
Embarrassed, she leaned her back against the wall again, gently grabbed the girl's hair and began:
— My city was attacked during the war. It was lunchtime when a bomb hit our house.
Anastasia lifted her shirt, revealing dozens of small scars on the right side of her body.
— I was the only one who survived, but I don't remember very well what happened after the explosion. Everything was very fast, I passed out and when I woke up I was already inside a military truck, and my torso was completely bandaged. — She crossed her arms and looked toward the back of the house. — I didn't even have a choice, they took me straight to the farm hospital. — She sniffed. — I was seventeen at the time.
The two looked at Dmitri, who was finishing eating the potatoes, or rather, the rocks they dared to call potatoes.
— So it's my turn? — He dropped the potatoes. — My story isn't very interesting. A group was offering work at the farm in exchange for food and housing, so my sister and I went together.
— You have a sister? — Anastasia smiled. — We can talk to the camp people to rescue her in the future.
She kept optimistic, but the expression on the girl's face was not as happy as she would like.
— I had. A sister.
The smile on Anastasia's face disappeared instantly, but Dmitri spoke in such a natural way that it made her question his mental state.
— When we arrived there was no going back, anyone could enter but nobody could leave. — A forced smile was imprinted on his face. — She found that out the worst way possible.
The intention of telling how they entered the farm was to get to know each other better, but the conversation turned the atmosphere heavy. One story was worse than the other, but the worst part was that things like that were becoming common.
The only thing they all shared equally was the thought:
"When did the world become like this?"
But perhaps the more correct question was:
"Was the world always like this?"