“They’d never talk.”
“I’m not going to bet my life on it.”
Jet pushed against the heavy wooden barn door with her shoulder, but barely budged it. Yulia added her muscle to the effort, and between the two of them they were able to shift it to the side. Jet flicked on her penlight and did a slow sweep of the interior. Yulia’s nose wrinkled at the stale odor of rot. “I hate that smell. I grew up on a farm. Lots of bad memories.”
Jet’s beam hovered over a shape in the far corner and she stepped further into the barn. She moved toward it while Yulia waited by the door. After a few moments, Jet called out to her. “Let’s see if this thing runs.”
Jet was standing beside an ancient tractor, easily twice her age, the body as much rust as metal and the huge knobby tires worn almost flat from years of hard use. Yulia took several reluctant steps in and switched on her light. “That? Are you kidding?”
“Right now anything that can get us over these fields faster than our feet is worth considering. The roads aren’t safe. They’ll probably shut them down by dawn if they haven’t already. Barring our finding a pair of dirt bikes, this is our best option.” Jet beckoned her over. “Can you come here and hold the light while I prime the injectors? Looks like a diesel to me.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference.”
Yulia did as asked, though, and a few minutes later the tractor clattered to life, its throaty exhaust a percussive boom in the barn. Jet confirmed that the fuel tank was full, pulled Yulia up onto the bench seat, and wrestled the gear shift until the heavy vehicle lumbered forward.
Jet steered the tractor outside and checked the time. “We’ve got about an hour, maybe a little more. The road runs east to west. We want to go south. If I’m right, it’s…that way,” she said, pointing toward a section of the field.
“You really think we can make it on this?”
Jet shook her head. “No. But if we can cover a few kilometers by the time every road around here is crawling with police and military, I’ll consider it a win.”
The tractor rumbled over the dirt clods and pushed deliberately forward, never going much over twenty kilometers per hour even on the smooth sections of tall grass between the planted fields. The first rose streaks of dawn were lighting the eastern sky when they arrived at an impassible barrier – a stretch of brown water moving lazily south.
Jet killed the engine and they dismounted. They made their way down the bank to where three old wooden boats were pulled onto the slope, and Yulia helped Jet push the sturdiest-looking into the current. They were halfway across, Jet pulling on the oars, when a faint howl drifted from over the crest of the far grassy bank.
Jet pulled harder, rowing with all her might, and when the bow scraped against the riverbed, stood and jumped clear of the water. Yulia duplicated the maneuver, and they scrambled up the riparian incline.
“You heard that, right?” Jet whispered, gazing across the field.
“Yes. Sounded like a train.”
“You know this area. Do they have tracks that feed into your country?”
Yulia closed her eyes as if consulting a mental map. When she opened them, they were unblinking and lucid. “Yes. Much of our commerce arrives from Russia via train.”
“Then come on. It hasn’t passed yet. We may be able to get aboard.”
Jet took off at a hard run, and Yulia did her best to keep up. They skimmed through the tall grass with renewed vitality, the only sound a moderate wind blowing undulating waves across the plain. They were nearing the tracks when Yulia stumbled and cried out. Jet stopped and looked back at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I twisted my ankle.” Yulia struggled to her feet, her face contorted with pain and anger.
Jet moved to Yulia and slid her arm beneath the Ukrainian woman’s, supporting her weight. “Think you’ll be able to muster a final burst if we have to pour it on to make the ride?” Jet asked.
“I’ll cut my own leg off with that pocketknife if I have to.”
They hobbled the remaining distance as a long freight train snaked into view. Jet crouched low as the cars roared past, Yulia beside her, and counted what appeared to be at least a hundred freight containers down the line. She leaned into Yulia and yelled over the hammering of the steel wheels on the track. “Looks like we should be able to get onto one of the last cars. It’s not moving very fast. You up for this?”
Yulia nodded. “Try stopping me.” A thought occurred to her. “What if it’s not going to the border?”
Jet glanced at the time. “Only one way to know for sure. Any idea what the next town south of Kursk is?”