BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

When he looked around, he saw that he was on Leninskiy Prospekt. To his left it led back toward the Kremlin, and to his right it went south toward the ring road. He got up, and turned away from the street in time for two police cars to speed by, sirens blazing.

He waited for them to round a corner then looked up and down the street cautiously. He crossed toward an apartment building on the other side and passed a bank and a drug store. There was construction site and he climbed over the fence into it.

The construction site was dark and he waited a few minutes to get his bearings and an idea of where the police were congregating. His leg was so badly hurt he was scared to even look at it. He knew he was losing too much blood. But he had no choice but to keep going. He crossed the construction site and climbed the fence on the far side, passed the Metromarket Mall on Shabolovska Street, and got onto a street car heading north.

The street car was brightly lit and his face and hands were covered in blood and soot. Every person on board stared at him, including the driver.

“Drive,” Lance said, without bothering to draw his gun.

The driver obeyed and Lance let him go as far as the Lenin Monument before telling him to stop. There was at least some semblance of crowd by the monument that he thought he might be able to get lost in.

He got off the car and did his best to walk normally, careful not to go too fast, hiding his limp as much as possible.

He walked away from the monument, passed the Aeroflot building, and continued along a side street, looking back over his shoulder constantly. He was losing so much blood that it was leaving a trail on the sidewalk. It wasn’t easy to see in the darkness but he wondered how long before the police brought out hounds.

He turned south at the end of the block and crossed a parking lot.

The sound of the sirens was distant now and he could barely make them out. He sat down on a park bench under a tree. The park was poorly lit and he didn’t think anyone could see him.

Only then did he rip open his pants and examine the bloody wound that stretched across his left thigh.

The sight of it confirmed his worst fears. The gash cut from knee to hip, and was so deep it tore through muscle almost to the bone. He’d lost so much blood he was beginning to feel faint and had to do something fast or he’d lose consciousness.