HUNGER OF THE WICKED

Siberian Oblast Kemerovo, March 28, 2011 An icy wind from the east whistled between the trees of the Kuznetsk Alatau, still loaded with snow. It was rushing among the fir trees, powdered snow on their branches whirling in small anarchic eddies that disappeared after a few meters. In the twilight, this harmonious ballet lined the darkness with a whitish veil and spooky reflections. It disturbed a lynx who, on the lookout on a rock, was trying to locate potential prey. The animal decided to change its position and jumped loosely from its observation post to sink further into the forest. Suddenly, it stopped, ears strained, lips pulled up. An enticing odour came to tickle its nostrils: dried meat. The problem was that this was mixing with the scent of a human. The lynx crouched close to the ground and waited, its silvery coat marrying the pallor of the snow. Darya Kolevski was moving at a good pace, head down, facing the elements. Dressed for the occasion, with warm gloves and a hat, the girl ate while walking, to regain strength. She had been dragging herself through the mountains for three days now, a heavy backpack on her shoulders. She began to tire and looked forward to joining her cosy little home as quickly as possible. Like clockwork, she put one foot in front of the other, her big walking boots tamping the white carpet as she progressed. She knew this journey by heart; she had already practiced it a hundred times. She had learned to memorize the safest paths; those which avoided crossing frozen rivers or approaching too near to the dizzying chasms. There was just the cold, common in this area, and the wild animals, often hidden in the best-protected areas. Nevertheless, caution was always in order, and Darya never allowed the security of habit to leave her: she remained on guard at all times. Very soon, she spotted the lynx. Without sudden movements, she changed direction to circumvent it in a wide arc and abandoned the rest of her meat ration. The lynx didn’t move an inch until she moved away enough, and then devoured the offering with an appetite. Half an hour later, Darya arrived within sight of the Tom, the river that ran through the Oblast. At the edge of the forest, she knelt in the snow, pulled out her night-vision binoculars from her military jacket, and scrutinized the surroundings with care. The pines abandoned the land in favour of an open area, about fifty yards wide, covered with a thick carpet of daisies. Their long, narrow leaves of a deep green pierced the thin layer of powder, bringing a pleasant touch of colour to this immaculate cloak. The location was ideal for spotting. Nevertheless, if Darya could observe easily, the opposite was also true. As a precaution, she carried out two rigorous sweeps: no one in sight. Reassured, she resumed her journey and began the descent towards the river’s edge. The difference in elevation was not significant, and she managed without difficulty. The Tom was frozen a good part of the year—from the end of October to mid-May—allowing her to cross it, avoiding the bridges and their undesirable police checks. But tonight an unexpected problem arose: she didn’t like the appearance of the ice. With great care, the girl ventured to the edge; her tread as light as possible. On the first attempt, she heard an ominous cracking. She backed away grumbling. This year, the weather wasn’t in her favour. This was the main unpredictable part of her work, so she had to deal with it as best she could, even if she had to prematurely shorten a season of hard work. Under these conditions, it would be useless to look for a safer place to cross, it would be the same everywhere; but especially since, with her very tight schedule, she couldn’t afford the delay. With the assurance of those familiar with this kind of obstacle, Darya put her bag at the river’s edge, pulled out a rope, and tied it to the top strap. Then she advanced on the ice, by unrolling the rope the weight of the bag alone didn’t cause any difficulties. She was able to pull it behind her, taking care to avoid jerks. With her eyes on the ground, she watched the ice; the thickness increasing as she approached the middle of the river. She was able to accelerate her pace until she saw the other side. There, the conditions were worse: the water had thawed several meters wide from the far bank. Darya uttered a curse and pulled out her binoculars again. Without great hope, she scanned the bank to the right and left: the situation seemed the same. Caution—and schedule—required her to keep up her pace. When she felt the ice c***k under her feet, she gently pulled back her bag, lifted it over her head, and threw it forward with all her might. It landed safely on dry land but the thin film on which she found herself gave way under the pressure. The girl found herself submerged to the waist. Seized by the cold, she hastened forward by raising her knees to avoid tripping. She hoisted herself onto the bank, freezing, before getting rid of as much water as possible. Nevertheless, her wet clothes were not likely to dry, and she quickly recovered her bag to continue on her way. She had only a short distance to cover. Darya climbed the rising terrain and caught up with a winding, uneven road which she followed to the south. As soon as it penetrated the interior, the forest engulfed the asphalt in a compact mantle of trees that projected their tops high in the night sky. The visibility was all the more reduced, but the girl knew the way. She travelled the four kilometres which separated her from the city at the same pace, and soon the first buildings appeared amid the pines. Then, suddenly, the forest spread over a vast expanse, and the ill-kept houses of the Zelenogorskiy suburbs appeared, lit up dramatically by the scattered street lamps. Darya ventured into this town of five thousand souls, without paying any attention to the dirty, dilapidated shops or the dingy buildings which many of the owners were trying to save despite the disastrous economic situation. She silently entered a dark, inhospitable warehouse. The broken windows and the total lack of heating made it as cold as the outside. She had to bite her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering. In the darkness, she finally saw the light of a brazier. But Darya had been doing this job long enough to remain suspicious, whatever the circumstances. She took off her gloves, drew her Tokarev, and progressed on the balls of her feet. Then two voices reached her ears. A bad sign. She consulted her watch: thirty minutes early. She approached as close as possible to understand the conversation, to know who was with her contact. In the light of the flames, she saw Yuri, the man she came to see, accompanied by another, unknown to her, but who acted like a timid employee. They were arguing. “You do what I tell you!” thundered Yuri. “You’re crazy! The risk is too great!” “We’re going to make a lot of money! By cutting it, we can get double!” “Yeah, and afterward Droski will shoot us!” “Of course not, he won’t know... trust me, I know how to organize it!” Kolevski heard enough. She came out into the light, weapon in sight. The conversation stopped and the face of her contact betrayed his surprise. The other was largely unaffected, and she made a sign with her weapon. “Go away!” The man gauged the situation at a glance. The Tokarev—a large calibre weapon—imposed restraint. He ran off with surprising speed. Darya dropped her bag on the ground and pushed it to Yuri. “Take the merchandise, you fool, and give me my money.” “Listen, honey, I...” “Shut up!” she spat out. “I’m tired and soaked, so hurry up!” The dealer looked thoughtfully at her for a moment. Rather large, square shoulders, the girl had a severe face with short black curly hair, enhanced by intense green eyes. But the most disturbing thing about her was that deep, blistered scar, which ran from her right temple to the edge of her eye. The colour of her iris, in reaction to the eye’s trauma, had changed over three distinct areas, which gave it the appearance of a kaleidoscope. Yuri hated this girl. On the other hand, Droski, his supplier, adored her and had entrusted her with every transport from Priiskovy. Without her, no more merchandise. Deciding to temper his anger, he smiled, pointing to her wet and dirt-stained jeans. “Come on, come warm up here. We can talk.” Yuri’s tone was seductive and he could be classified as handsome. A nice appearance, muscular and dark. Yet, on the sole basis of his attraction, he hadn’t the slightest chance of achieving his ends: because Darya didn’t see him that way. She had a look of disgust. “Do what I say,” she hissed. Faced with her murderous expression, the dealer preferred to obey. He took out the ten kilos of cocaine from her bag, carefully packed in two packages, and replaced them with a large envelope of banknotes, which he had to show before closing it. He stood up and carried the drugs to a small table for examination. “You’re wrong, you know. You should take advantage of every opportunity,” he opened the packages without worrying about the mule collecting her bag while watching him. Her perception wasn’t that of ordinary people. Why? She didn’t know. Since her accident, eight years before, she saw death everywhere. He, that silly son of a b***h, had a gaping hole, certainly caused by a large calibre bullet, at the level of his chest. Blood splattered a good part of his face and his clothes; the pallor of his limbs made her nauseous and a permanent grimace distorted his features. It would be like this, at the time of his death, even if she didn’t know when it would occur. If anything, am I the one who’s going to kill him? This thought brought a grin of pleasure to her lips. Knowing the brutal nature of his departure was a satisfaction that slightly offset the fact of always perceiving him in this way. For a long time, overwhelmed by this strange phenomenon, Darya tried to reason positively so as not to go insane. She lived a solitary life, with a minimum of human contact. She remembered with too much suffering the first few months of her ordeal, surrounded by corpses that lived alongside her without knowing the terrible torments they were making her undergo. No man, no woman, could conceal their fatal destiny from her gaze, without her being able to understand the reason for it. Even the victims of illness appeared dead to her, their eyes faded. A curse? Witchcraft? She was convinced the answer to this question would remain in the shadows until her death. Yuri turned, and she smiled as she noticed that the wall was visible through his bullet hole. He misinterpreted this, for he approached, his eyes seductive. She decided to put an end to their meeting. “To point out something obvious, nobody double-crosses Droski,” she said simply. “Eh, my little adorable mule, don’t tell me you never...” She lowered her gun and shot at his knee. Yuri howled with pain and dropped to the floor, both hands closed on the gaping wound that spat his blood on the warehouse’s dirty concrete floor. “No. Never.” Darya retrieved her bag and left the premises at a run. She re-joined the deserted main street and took advantage of each street lamp and stayed in the shadows. In a few minutes, she reached the baths, an unassuming building, but repainted as new. She climbed the steps two at a time, opened the double doors, and stopped in the hall with a sigh of bliss. Finally, warmth! The white tiled floor, the blue earthenware tile patterns on the walls and columns of the large entrance, the precious wooden furniture, all made you want to linger. When Pi, a mountain of muscles with a carnivorous smile and a skull shining like a billiard ball, materialized before her. The girl tried to ignore his pallid complexion and the enormous contusion that disfigured half of his massive face. “I need to see the boss, is he here?” she asked without preamble. Pi—he was nicknamed this because he gave himself the challenge of learning by heart the number of the same name—watched her for a moment with big eyes. The girl was dripping, shivering, and not in a good mood. He, therefore, abandoned the bad joke that had first come to his mind. “Not yet. Strip yourself down quickly, you’ll catch your death!” Darya didn’t try to protest. She needed to warm up. She entrusted her bag to the giant, knowing he would immediately put the contents in the safe, and rushed to the locker room. There, she undressed in record time—her clothes ending up carelessly thrown to the floor—tied a towel around her waist and passed into the adjacent room. A moan of satisfaction escaped her lips as soon as the ambient temperature revived her flesh. It had to reach 35°C and steam escaped from the stones which were arranged on a pedestal in the centre of the room. Large wooden benches surrounded it. The floor, walls, and ceiling were carefully panelled. Exhausted, she settled comfortably on her stomach and finally took the time to breathe. Even before she became aware of her fatigue, she was asleep.