North of Donetsk—about the same time
By now, Tolevi was so bashed and bruised that he didn’t feel any pain at all as he slammed into the butcher.
“I’m here to rescue you, asshole. God,” he said over and over as they rolled on the floor, punching and kicking.
A good three-quarters of the blows by each man missed, but that still meant plenty of punishment for both. They finally fell apart, exhausted. Tolevi jumped to his feet; the butcher slid away, then spun around, revealing a handgun.
“Listen, you idiot,” said Tolevi. “I’m here to get you out. I’m taking you to the West.”
“I’m not going west,” snapped the butcher. “Put your hands up and shut your mouth.”
Chelsea jumped as the door slammed behind her.
Be calm for the kids.
The building was a small shed, barely large enough for a tractor; it was completely empty, save for some empty seed bags on the floor. There were two windows, both partially boarded, one on the left and one at the back.
The children ran to the back window.
“No, no, get away from it,” she said, going over to them. “Get back!”
Both boys pointed outside. There was another child outside.
“Is he all right?” she asked the children inside with her. But they didn’t understand. She waved her arms at the child outside, trying to get him to duck; he just stared at her, dumbfounded by everything that was happening.
I have to tell the others where I am, she realized. She reached for her radio, then realized that the earbuds weren’t there. She’d lost the headset back near the van somewhere; without it, the radio was useless.
Break the window and escape.
It was very narrow, too narrow even for her.
The smaller of the two kids might make it, though, if she broke the glass.
She put her elbow next to the bottom of the pane and smacked it through. The glass was surprisingly thick and stubborn—it took three blows before she broke it.
Hands up, Tolevi moved reluctantly to the door.
“If we go out there now, we’ll get caught in the cross fire,” he told the butcher. “And we don’t want that, right?”
“Open the door and let’s go.”
Chelsea boosted the first boy up. He wiggled into the space, pushing himself back and forth, but he was just too big, and the window was too small. They finally gave up; he slid to the ground.
“We need your friend to go get Peter,” she told him. “Just the controls, I mean, I dropped it. Can you tell him?”
The boy gestured apologetically with his hands. He had no clue what she was saying. She tried miming it out, but that was useless as well.
Translation app, she thought.
Great idea if she had one.
“Video game,” she tried. “Control.”
The boy hesitated a moment. “Videohra?”
Close enough, she decided. “Controls.” She gestured with her hands. “Back there.”
The boy went to the window and said something to the kid outside. He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, far too soon to have gotten the controller.
But he passed something inside.
A cell phone.
This is no good to me, Chelsea thought.
Call Smart Metal. Have them get a translator.
She started to dial. How long would it take them?
Borya can speak Ukrainian. And she’s a kid; I can give her the phone and have them talk to her.
Chelsea hit the Kill button, then punched the country code for the U.S., hoping she remembered Borya’s cell number correctly.