“We’ll have no more cowards,” Zefirov says, rising to his feet. “We’ll have a real tsar, with the courage to take us into war.”
War? When did war come into this? I thought I was starting to understand this dimension, but I’m not at home, I’m dangerously ignorant of what’s going on, and there’s no way for me to fully comprehend the trap that’s just been sprung.
“You’re Peter’s guard. You’re our friend,” Katya protests.
Zefirov laughs as he rises to his feet. His hand goes to the pistol at his belt.
My God. The realization sweeps through me, freezing me in place. They’re going to shoot us all, then do something to the train that makes it look like there was an accident. Then Sergei is rightful heir to the throne. He wins it all as soon as we’re dead.
Screams and shouts echo from the rest of the train along with gunfire. I would run with Katya were there anywhere to run. As it is, I can only stare in horror as Zefirov levels his pistol.
Two shots ring in the train car, so loud my eardrums sting. Katya shrieks. But it’s Zefirov who falls.
I whirl around to see Paul standing there, his own weapon outstretched.
As I stand there in shock, my ears ringing, Paul steps forward. “You are unharmed, my lady?”
“We—we’re fine. What’s happening?”
“Not every soldier on this train is a traitor.” Paul looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him; he just killed a man without hesitation, and he can’t even be bothered to glance at the bloody corpse on the floor. “They may have rigged the train with explosives. You must run for the forest.”
The forest is a few hundred yards away. Snow has begun to fall, thick and soft, but I think I can get through it. We might be shot—but if we stay here, we’ll surely die.
“Go,” Paul says, and he takes my hand, squeezing it to shake me from my shock. “Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back. I will find you, my lady. I swear it.”
Katya wrestles free from me and grabs her coat; her survival instinct must be stronger than mine. Right behind her, I go for the door, but then I glance back. “Paul, be careful.”
“Go!” he shouts as he runs back toward my father’s car.
I dash from the train into the snow. It’s even higher than I thought—nearly to my knees. Running through it is work, but I do my best.
Wet snow sticks to my coat, my hair, and my eyelashes. Everything is heavy and white, thicker than fog. I can hear gunfire, but less frequent now, and more distant. The fighting is hand-to-hand, loyalist against traitor, and in places the snow is stained red.
“Marguerite!” Peter’s high voice carries over the din. I look toward the sound to see him in Dad’s arms; Dad is running for the woods as hard and as fast as he can, though he looks back for me, his expression desperate. I change the angle of my escape in an attempt to follow them.
I try to run faster, but only trip myself up. As I stagger, a hand catches me at the elbow; the cruelty of his grip tells me this is an enemy. I yank my arm away, but he has a knife and he’s right on me—
“Get off my sister!” Katya literally jumps on the man’s back, pounding at him with both fists. It’s as stupid and reckless as anything I could imagine, and yet I’d do the same for Josie.
“Katya, no!” I try to pull her from him, to swing her free so she might escape even if I don’t. But another loyalist soldier catches up to us. His knife finds the traitor’s gut, and the loyalist grabs Katya in his arms as the dead man falls. He begins running with her back toward the train.
She’s safe—as safe as any of us can be right now. Time to run.
I continue in the direction my father ran. At least, I try. The snowfall is thickening moment by moment, obscuring my vision and the tracks of footprints. I’m no longer certain of the right way to go, but I continue on, knowing that even a moment’s hesitation might kill me. Every second, I imagine a bullet finding my head, blossoming red within my skull as I fall.
Distant gunfire pops behind me as I finally stagger into the forest. But the tree branches only block a little of the thick snowfall, and I see no one else—not my dad, not Peter, not any member of my family. And no soldiers at all. I am alone.
What do I do? Nothing in my experience, in any dimension, can guide me here. If I call for help, the wrong person may hear me. If I stay put, the soldiers loyal to Sergei might get to me. But if I run, I might get so lost that I can’t be found by anyone, not even Paul.
Finally I decide to believe that I’ve gone in the right direction. Dad and Peter are surely somewhere close by. If they went deeper into the woods, then that’s what I should do too.