The Child Thief

12

We followed the prints which led on and on through the trees, avoiding the open spaces. The trail remained within the forest wherever possible, staying where the snow was most shallow, and we were glad not to have to venture out where it would be much deeper. On the open steppe, the snow would be over our boots, maybe higher in the places where the wind had swept it into drifts and whipped the land into a pale desert of dunes and ripples so beautiful and white one could hardly believe this weather could kill a man in just a few moments.

We’d been walking most of the morning and were all tired now, wondering if we were gaining on our quarry. Dimitri was silent, and I knew his mind would be focused on Dariya, so that all other thought would be consumed. I’d hoped we would find her early, while all the tracks were fresh and we were well rested from a good night’s sleep, but the child thief had been more resourceful than I expected and I was worried there was too much distance between us.

The shelter had surprised me. That the child thief had found a good spot for a fire, well hidden, concerned me. Whoever we were following was knowledgeable and able to survive outside in conditions that would close around most people in no time at all. And yet, with all his ability, he had left an easy trail to follow, and that troubled me. Putting myself in the place of the kidnapper, I knew that covering the tracks would be difficult. The only sure way to erase them would be under another snowfall, but even then it would need to be heavy. Under light snow, prints are still distinguishable. It would be possible to create false trails, but that would take time and I guessed the man must have decided to move quickly, keep ahead of us until he found a place to adequately erase the signs he left behind. It made no sense, otherwise. There hadn’t been any attempt to confuse potential pursuers.

We had come a few kilometres from the village, and there were other settlements in the area where we were travelling. North of our position now, the village of Uroz hid in a shallow valley much like our own, but it might as well have not existed at all. For us, there was only the snow and the trees and the wind. Nothing else. Whoever we were following, he had stayed clear of anywhere there might be people. He had skirted around Vyriv, seizing an opportunity, and then continued into the wilderness.

‘We should stop,’ I said.

‘Stop?’ Dimitri was by my side and I sensed his tension increase. He needed an enemy and, although I was helping him, I was the closest he had.

‘Rest for a moment, regain our strength. We’ve been walking all morning.’

‘I’m not tired,’ Viktor said. ‘I can walk further.’

‘Me too,’ Petro agreed as the boys came to join us.

I pulled the scarf away from my mouth and nose, allowing the cold air to bite at my face.

‘We can’t wait. We don’t need to rest,’ Dimitri said. ‘What we need is to find Dariya. How can you even—’

‘Is anybody thirsty?’ I asked. ‘We need to keep fresh.’

Dimitri turned and walked away from me. Just a few steps to show his displeasure.

I looked at Viktor and Petro. ‘Thirsty?’

They shook their heads.

‘All right then. We’ll go on.’ I pulled the scarf back over my face and began moving again. I could feel the cold creeping into my joints. My knees were stiff and there was a faint pain with each step, but my resolve was strong.

I went on ahead, walking alongside the marks in the snow, watching the land in front, squinting into the distance, trying to see any sign of movement in the trees. I knew the kidnapper would be well out of sight, but I watched anyway. Something might have happened to slow him down, and if that were the case, I needed to be vigilant.

Behind me the others followed in single file, keeping the disturbance to a minimum.

I turned when I heard footsteps quicken behind me and I nodded to Petro, who fell in step with me, walking by my side. His back was straight despite his pack and the heavy rifle he carried over his shoulder. As if he were showing me how strong he was.

‘Do you think she’s all right?’ he asked. His voice was muffled behind his scarf and he spoke quietly so Dimitri wouldn’t hear.

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I can’t do anything more than that.’

Petro was quiet for a moment.

‘There’s something on your mind?’ I asked, shifting the weight of my rifle. The strap was catching on the shoulder of my coat, pulling it to one side.

Petro looked at me. ‘Does Dimitri blame me?’

‘Blame you for what?’

‘For what’s happened?’

‘Why should he blame you?’

‘Because I brought Lara home but left Dariya to play.’

‘No one blames you for anything. And I don’t want you to blame yourself. No one is to blame but whoever took her. No one.’

‘And you really believe we’ll find her?’

‘Yes, I really believe that.’

‘And this man. Or whoever it is…’

‘Yes?’

‘What will you do?’

‘What would you do?’

‘I don’t know.’

Petro and I were alike in many ways – many more than I understood – but this was something that made us very different. Petro didn’t know what he would do. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I would do. I would take whatever weapon was to hand, whether it was my rifle or my fingers, and I would take the man’s life from him. I would punish him for what he had done to the two children I buried yesterday. I would punish him for taking Dariya. And I would punish him for turning the people of Vyriv into frightened animals.

Petro lowered his head to watch his feet. ‘I hope she’s all right, Papa.’

I shifted my rifle again and stared ahead.

When we came to the edge of the trees and emerged onto the open steppe, the first thing I noticed was the red stain on the ground. It lay there like an insult. A single splash, no bigger than a man’s fist, surrounded by spots that had sunk just below the surface of the disturbed snow. It was striking, the bright red against the bright white. Like the bold red of the communist flag flapping against a white winter sky.

From this spot, the land sloped up for a short distance, coming to a ridge, concealing the rest of the steppe beyond. There were tracks moving up the ridge, but there was also a mess of tracks running off to the right, along the line of the trees.

I held up a hand to stop the others from coming closer, waving them to one side, showing them not to disturb the tracks.

‘Is that blood?’ Dimitri asked, stepping forward.

‘Stay back.’

‘Is it blood?’ he asked again.

‘Yes, but it’s not much.’ I moved closer for a better look. The ground was a mess here, much like it was back at the shelter.

‘Is it Dariya’s?’ Dimitri said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You think she tried to get away again?’ Viktor asked.

‘Maybe.’ I studied the area. ‘But if she did, that’s good. It means she’s still strong.’ I looked up at Dimitri. ‘She’s a strong girl. The more I see, the more I know she’ll be fine. I think—’

‘You’re enjoying yourself.’

‘What? Not this again, Dimitri.’

‘I can see it in your eyes,’ he said. ‘This is thrilling for you. That could be my daughter’s blood and it’s exciting you. If you could see yourself…’

‘I’m just trying to find Dariya.’

‘But it makes you feel alive, doesn’t it? Being a farmer could never be enough for you. For God’s sake, how many times did you change sides in the war? Imperial, revolutionary, anarchist. You were looking for excitement.’

I wasn’t sure what to say. There was truth in his accusation. There were times when being a farmer wasn’t enough for me. It was a very different life from the one I’d had before coming to Vyriv, and, as much as I hated to acknowledge it, I sometimes craved the exhilaration of adrenalin, the closeness to danger and the camaraderie that had carried me through the worst of times. There was no bond like the one between men who had fought together; no other experience could sharpen and focus you the way combat did. But it was more like a drug than anything else. My rational mind wanted to distance itself from those things, to think only of family and duty, but a part of me needed that stimulation.

‘You’re wrong,’ I said. ‘I joined the revolution because I believed in it, but when I saw what they did to their own soldiers, I couldn’t be a part of it.’

‘Don’t expect me to feel sympathy for you…’

‘I don’t.’

‘…or to respect you…’

‘I don’t care what you think.’

‘…and don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this. Hunting. The excitement. You’re enjoying it. I can see it in your eyes; hear it in your voice.’

‘Then make the most of it,’ I said, remaining calm. ‘Take advantage of what I know and what I can do. Stop moaning and let me find your daughter. Or do you think you could do it alone?’

Dimitri stared.

‘Now, instead of wasting time with this, have a look that way.’ I pointed north along the line of the trees. ‘See if you can find anything else. Viktor, you go with him.’

‘And me?’ Petro asked.

‘You stay with me.’

Dimitri stayed where he was. ‘This isn’t a game.’

‘Do you want to find Dariya or not?’ I asked him.

‘Of course.’

‘Then go that way and look for her.’

Dimitri hesitated, shook his head once, and turned away. I watched him and Viktor move off before I went back to looking at the marks in the snow.

‘What the hell’s wrong with him?’ I said.

‘Maybe he feels inadequate,’ Petro suggested.

‘Inadequate?’ I crouched, took off a glove and felt the tracks, put my finger on the place where the boot sole was damaged, as if I were making a connection with the man who wore it.

‘He doesn’t want to rely on you. He wants to be able to do this himself.’

‘He’s a farmer.’ I stood and shifted my rifle and pack. ‘He grows potatoes.’

‘He’s a proud man. And he’s Dariya’s father. He wants to be able to do what you can do, but he hates you, and that makes him angry.’

I looked at Petro, not sure if I understood what he was saying. ‘I’m doing everything I can to find Dariya. It should be enough for him.’

‘He’s always treated you with disrespect and now he needs you. I think he’s ashamed he had to ask for your help.’

‘He has a lot of things to be ashamed of, but that isn’t one of them.’

‘Maybe you’re too hard on him, Papa.’

For a moment I thought how grown-up my son sounded. Almost like Natalia, trying to understand why people did the things they did. ‘I’m not hard on him. Not hard enough.’

‘You—’

‘He killed a man,’ I said. ‘He and the others, they hanged a man right in the middle of our village, and that’s why he’s angry – because this is his fault. While he was murdering the wrong man, the real killer stole his daughter. That’s why he’s ashamed.’

‘I suppose they were afraid.’

‘That’s what your mother said, but she knew it wasn’t an excuse – just like you know.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Men like Dimitri are cowards. They stir people’s thoughts, swell their anger, and when the mob does something wrong, they distance themselves from it and say it wasn’t their fault.’

‘He wasn’t alone.’

‘No, but he whipped those people into a frenzy. What happened was his fault, and that man they hanged deserved better.’ I stared at the blood in the snow. ‘You know, I once saw a mob of revolutionaries turn on their officer in Galicia, and it wasn’t much different from what they did to that stranger.’

‘What happened?’

I thought about telling my son what I’d seen. My own unit was refusing to march because the committee hadn’t yet made a decision, so our officer had climbed up on an ammunition box and tried to reason with us. When that didn’t work he tried threatening us. I could see what was happening – the men beginning to taunt the officer, throw pieces of bread at him, insult him, spit at him – and I told him to go while he still could. The officer refused, so I dragged him down from the box and told him to run, but the men misread my actions and they cheered as the officer stumbled. They moved closer, jeering, pushing him to the ground. I tried to stop them, just as I’d tried to stop Dimitri, but when the first man put his bayonet in him, the others followed, and I could only stand by and watch, as helpless as I had been in Vyriv two days ago.

‘It’s not important,’ I said to Petro. ‘It doesn’t matter any more. We have other things to worry about now. These are their tracks.’ I indicated the disturbance in the snow. ‘But it’s hard to tell what happened here.’

Petro watched me, perhaps wondering what it was that gave me such a pained expression. ‘Maybe he’s tried to confuse us. Leave a trail in each direction so we don’t know which way he went.’

‘Mm. Maybe. But I don’t know.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s as if he wants us to follow him.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just a feeling.’

‘But you still think Dariya’s all right?’

‘She’s a fighter,’ I said. ‘Who would think an eight-year-old girl would have such fight in her? Look at all this mess. I think she tried to run from him, push him away maybe, run out into the snow. She went that way.’ I pointed at the tracks that led away in the direction Viktor and Dimitri had gone. ‘That’s why it’s so messy – they were both running. But he caught her and brought her back to this spot before heading across the steppe.’

‘If that’s what you think, then why send Viktor over there? Why don’t we just go on ahead?’

‘Because I need to be sure there’s nothing that way,’ I said. ‘And because there’s blood. I’m afraid of what we might find over this ridge, and I don’t think Dimitri should be here.’

‘Maybe this isn’t her blood; maybe it’s his blood. She might have hurt him.’

‘Let’s see if we can find out,’ I said as we began following the tracks, cresting the ridge that led out onto the open steppe. ‘These marks were made by people moving quickly. See how the snow is dragged and pushed rather than pressed underfoot?’

Petro followed, both of us walking twenty metres or so out onto the steppe where the land swept away on all sides, open and clear. Here, out in the open, we came to another area where the snow was disturbed.

And here there was more blood.

Like before, it was concentrated mainly in one place, but there were also spots of it splattered around the surface of the snow.

I could sense Petro waiting for an answer.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ I told him. ‘There’s no way of knowing whose this is. No way. But it looks like someone had a fight. Like a bloodied nose or… I don’t know… like someone’s been spitting blood.’

‘Maybe he hit her.’

I shook my head and turned to look at the place we’d just come from; survey the line of trees behind us. ‘It looks wrong.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not right. As if someone intended to make this mess here. Back there, that looks to be where something happened, but here?’ I searched for an answer. ‘This here looks de liberate.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m not sure I do either, but whatever happened here, they went that way.’ I stared out at the land ahead. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Doesn’t he get tired?’ Petro asked.

‘Are you tired?’

‘A little.’

‘Then he will be too. Don’t worry; we’ll catch him.’ I took my binoculars and scanned the clear expanse of white, broken only by a single line of tracks. To the left and right, the country looked almost identical. In the distance, perhaps four hundred metres away, there was a low hedge, almost buried on this leeward side. The snow had drifted against it, piled thick and heavy, and I could just about make out the place where the tracks led to it. Beyond that another stretch of open steppe before more trees.

And as I watched, something caught my eye. A movement. Not much, but enough to make me look again. A slight disturbance in the natural order.

‘You see something?’ Petro asked.

I focused on the spot, inspecting every inch of the land, then began to sweep the binoculars from side to side, looking for anything that broke the clean lines of the snow. A bird in flight low over the steppe, or on the ground searching for food. A rabbit, a wolf, anything. Perhaps a man leading a child.

I watched, expecting more movement but seeing nothing.

‘Is there something there?’ Petro strained to see into the distance. ‘You see something?’

I took the lenses away from my eyes and stared out at the steppe hoping to sense movement again. ‘I don’t know. I thought I saw something. Maybe a bird.’ I continued to watch a while longer. ‘Must be all this snow playing tricks on my eyes.’ But I was sure there had been something.

If it had been a man leading a child, perhaps I’d had a glimpse of their movement as they entered the treeline in the distance, beyond the hedge. At this distance, with the snow as it was, maybe that’s what I had seen. Not something close to the hedge, but something further away. That would explain why I couldn’t see it now.

Petro looked up at the sky, turning, seeing the grey clouds moving in from the west. ‘I think it might snow,’ he said.

‘You’re right; we need to go,’ I agreed, telling Petro to move forward with me, away from the blood, before I called to the others to join us.

‘Dimitri doesn’t need to see more blood,’ I told my son. ‘Keep this to yourself for now.’

Viktor and Dimitri arced in from where they had been searching.

‘Anything?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ Viktor said.

Dimitri shook his head. ‘No sign.’

‘Looks like they went this way, then. He’ll be headed for those trees, trying to keep out of the open.’

‘We’re wasting time,’ Dimitri said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘And he’s still not trying to cover his tracks,’ Viktor said.

‘No way of doing it,’ I told him, and I wondered if the man knew we were following him; wondered why he wouldn’t try to hide himself. ‘It looks like it might snow again. Maybe he’s hoping it’ll cover his tracks. In the forest that would take longer, but out here his prints will be gone in minutes.’

‘Then we have to move faster,’ Dimitri said. ‘We haven’t time to stand around.’

‘Or maybe…’ And then I understood why the child thief hadn’t tried to cover his tracks. I understood why the disturbance in the snow had been staged here, on this side of the ridge.

The child thief had expected someone to follow him. This was his game. We were following him just as the man who had come to the village yesterday had been following him. But we hadn’t just been following, we had been led. Whoever had taken Dariya had brought us to this place: left a clear trail and enticed us out into the open to stand on a ridge, four dark figures against a perfect white background.

And as the realisation struck, so Dimitri jerked beside me. A sudden movement and he fell to his knees, a plume of blood puffing out behind him. He tottered for a second, his head turning to look up at me, his eyes wide in wonder, his mouth open as if he were about to speak, but all that emerged was a rush of breath. And then the sound of a crack reached us, carried by the wind, and Dimitri fell forward onto his face.

‘What the hell—’ Petro started to say, but I stepped over Dimitri, grabbed Petro’s shoulder and shoved him to the ground, shouting at Viktor to get down.

‘Lie flat.’ I dropped onto my stomach, pressing low. I felt the air over my head change in a way that was impossible to understand and I heard the zip of something moving through it at speed. Somewhere behind us a bullet smacked into the field and, once more, a sharp crack cut into the late morning.

‘What’s going on?’ Viktor asked. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘He’s shooting at us,’ I said. ‘He’s shooting at us.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Drew us out into the open. That’s why he didn’t cover his tracks. That’s what I saw. He was waiting for us to come out into the open.’

I looked at Dimitri, whose face was turned towards me, his mouth biting at the snow as he tried to draw breath. I could hear the wheezing gasp of a chest wound, the gurgle of blood in his throat as my brother-in-law gagged and grasped at his own soul. His face carried a confused expression. Even in his last moments of life he wouldn’t understand what had happened. One moment he’d been standing, and the next he was on his face, drowning in his own blood, unable to keep the air in his body. I held his eyes for a moment, seeing the fear that consumed him. Blood had begun to leak out of him, pooling around his chest, melting into the snow.

When I looked away from his eyes, glancing across his body, I saw the place where the bullet had exited his back. A hole in the fabric of his coat, the tattered strands of fabric torn outwards, tipped with flecks of blood and tissue from the body it had sought to protect from the cold weather. I stared at the hole and thought about the way he had fallen without a sound. It had been a good shot, probably at the limit of the accuracy of the rifle that had fired it. No. Not a good shot. It had been a perfect shot. I was sure the bullet had struck Dimitri exactly where the shooter had wanted.

It was not a shot intended to kill immediately. I’d seen men shot this way before. I remembered that the first German sharpshooters we had encountered – armed with magnifying scopes and silent tactics – had used a similar technique. They used camouflage and patience, steel masks and a well placed bullet to wound men with the intention of drawing out further targets. They enticed us out to try to save our comrades, and I was sure that’s what this man was doing now.

‘Stay as low as you can’ I said. And as I spoke, something hit the ground beside me, pummelling into the snow, kicking it up in a small plume.

‘He’s fixed on us.’ I looked across at my sons. ‘We have to move away.’

Petro was breathing hard. He was looking to me for answers, perhaps an easy way out of this.

‘Stay calm,’ I told him, but I knew it was almost impossible.

‘What about Dimitri?’ Petro asked.

‘There’s nothing we can do for him.’ I looked at Dimitri again, his pale face, his mouth still moving. ‘If we try, we’ll be shot too.’

Dimitri’s pupils were wide, the sucking sounds now coming less regularly. He moaned a low and lamenting sound – a sorrow for his inability to save his daughter, for his guilt at having murdered an innocent man and for his fear of death and whatever might lie beyond it. Dimitri’s life was escaping into the cold air, and he knew it. It was leaking out of him as an icicle melts away when the season changes. Fragment by fragment. Drop by drop. And soon it would be gone.

‘Nothing we can do?’ Petro asked, but he didn’t look at me. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Dimitri. ‘You mean he’s going to—’

‘Yes. Even if we could get to him, there’s nothing we could do. We have to move. Now.’

I was certain the marksman knew where we were. He had watched us from his spot, waited for us to line up just below the crest of the rise, and he’d taken his first shot. Why he had chosen Dimitri, I didn’t know, but he had seen the rest of us drop into the deep snow and would have a rough idea of where we were. He was continuing to shoot, perhaps thinking he might catch another of us. Pierce the deep snow and hit whatever lay behind it.

I turned my focus to my sons, remembering what Natalia had said: that the boys would be safe with me.

‘Stay low,’ I told them, keeping my voice measured. ‘And stay calm. That’s very important, do you understand?’

Another shot hit the ground in front, and all three of us flinched.

‘Take off your packs, keep your rifles, and roll, crawl, whichever is easiest. He can’t see us – he’s guessing where we are – but we have to move away from here.’

Lying as we were, in our elevated position, we were deep enough in the snow to be out of the marksman’s line of sight, and I knew that if we moved away and back, he would have no way of knowing where we were.

‘Go now,’ I said as a fourth shot hit the ground to Dimitri’s right, smashing into his hand this time. It was a probing shot, but it had found a target. A spray of blood fanned across the snow, whipped across Petro’s face. Dimitri managed only a moan, all feeling faded, but Petro pulled back with a sudden movement.

‘Stay low!’ I said. ‘Ignore it. Be strong.’ I looked right at Petro, trying to reassure him. ‘It’s going to be fine. We’ll be fine.’

Petro stared, spots of Dimitri’s blood glistening on his scarf and hat, flecks of it on his eyelids.

‘Tell me you’re all right,’ I said.

‘I’m all right.’ Petro nodded.

‘Then start moving back. Away from here. But stay low.’

I shuffled back and to the side, moving away from Dimitri, following Viktor and Petro away from the spot where my brother-in-law was dying.

Another shot, this time closer to Petro, making him cry out in surprise and fear. The shooter was trying his luck, placing shots to either side.

‘He’s going to shoot us,’ Petro said. ‘He’s going to kill us all. We have to hurry, we have to run.’

‘No,’ I told him. ‘Stay low. Don’t try to look. Don’t run. If you run, he’ll kill you.’

I continued to move sideways, keeping my head low, my face to the ground, and when I was a good ten metres or so from Dimitri’s body, I stopped.

Two more shots hit the earth between me and Dimitri, confirming that the shooter couldn’t see us., If he could, the way he shot, he would have killed all four of us by now.

Viktor and Petro stopped moving when they saw me halt, and they looked to me for instruction.

To my left, Dimitri was lying in a wide stain of dark blood. He was looking at us, his eyes still alive, his mouth still moving, but he would die soon. I didn’t think about my sister-in-law Svetlana, waiting for her husband to come home. I didn’t think about Dariya, taken from her parents, terrified, hoping for her father to come to her rescue. I thought about how I was going to get my sons out of this situation alive. I needed to get them back into the line of trees and find some protection.

‘Where is he?’ Viktor asked. ‘You see him?’

‘Quiet. We don’t want anything to give away our position.’ I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about what I’d seen just before the first shot. That movement at the line of the hedge. I’d thought it could have been a bird, some kind of wild animal, but I didn’t think so any more. It had been our assassin, settling for his shot.

In my mind I saw the lie of the land, imagined the spot where the man had been. I considered looking, taking a shot, but I knew it would be a mistake. The shooter had a good idea of where we were, and he would be watching. There was a chance he had moved to another position. He had continued to fire probing shots at us, but he had also forced us to keep our heads low as he perhaps found a new place to conceal himself.

If I were the one pointing a rifle at this place, it’s what I would have done, and now I would be waiting. If I had a partner, he would be scanning the distance with his glasses, or if I were alone, I’d be watching the area, keeping the stock close to my face, my eye close to the sight. I would be looking for any movement. Movement is the key. Movement is visible.

‘What do we do?’ Viktor asked, trying to conceal his fear.

‘Nothing. Do nothing. Stay low, that’s all.’

I put my head in my arms and thought about what I was going to do. The man who I believed to be the child thief had every advantage except one. Just a couple of metres behind us there was a shallow dip in the land, providing a natural shield of frozen dirt beneath the snow. If we could get to it, we would have some protection from his bullets.

Dimitri called to me with a weak voice. He spoke through his own exhaustion, his chest wheezing, the blood frothing at his mouth as he tried to form the words. I watched him struggle, his mouth biting at the deep red snow.

‘Why is he making that noise?’ Petro said. ‘Why is he—’

‘He’s trying to talk,’ I said.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘I don’t know,’ I looked away from him. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

And then Dimitri began to moan, as if he had managed to draw some of that escaped life back into his body. Louder than before. Gurgling and moaning. He even mustered the strength to move his arm, his broken hand fractured and useless at the end of it. ‘Please,’ he groaned. ‘Please.’

‘Make him stop,’ Petro said. ‘Make him stop.’

Dimitri’s voice grew louder and I half expected another shot to come, but none did. The child thief would be waiting.

‘Make him stop.’

‘Shut up,’ Viktor told his brother.

Dimitri called again. ‘Please.’ The last strength of his voice calling through the blood and into the snow. ‘Please.’

I didn’t know what he was pleading for. Forgiveness? Life? Or perhaps he was asking us to find his daughter and keep her safe.

‘Make him stop.’ Petro put his hands to his ears.

I looked across at Dimitri, our eyes meeting for the last time. ‘I’ll find her,’ I said. ‘And I’ll kill this man.’

Dimitri nodded, the tiniest movement of his head. He allowed his mouth to relax, the words to die, and he continued his laboured breathing. No more calling now, no more pleading, just the rasping and the wheezing. As if he were breathing water into his lungs, sucking it down and exhaling it.

‘He’ll die soon,’ I said to Petro. ‘Then he’ll be quiet.’

I began to shuffle back, aware that to get to the dip I would have to move higher, into shallower snow, and there was a chance I would be exposed. The only alternative was to wait for the sky to darken, but there were still a few hours until that would happen, and if we stayed still for that long, we might freeze to death. During the war men had succumbed to the cold that way. Strong soldiers, made weak. Sometimes we’d find them when the watch changed, frozen in position at their posts.

I inched backwards, pushing with my hands, sliding my body through the snow, making sure I scraped the dirt beneath the snow as I moved.

‘What are you doing?’ Petro asked.

‘Quiet.’

I continued back until I felt my boots come to the ridge and hang in the air, not touching the ground. I turned sideways on to the dip, then took a deep breath and rolled quickly to the side, dropping down. Another shot thumped into the ridge, in the place I’d been only a second ago.

Out of sight, I scrambled along the depression so I was in line with the place where my sons were hiding.

I spoke quietly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Right behind you. Are you both all right?’

‘Yes. I think so.’ It was Viktor who spoke.

‘Is he still there?’ asked Petro.

‘Don’t be afraid. I know what you’re feeling, but you need to stay calm. If we stay calm we’ll be fine. We’ll find a way to get out of this. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Petro said.

‘You need to get back here,’ I said. ‘But we’ve got to draw his attention away from you. He’ll be watching for any movement. Any movement at all.’ And I remembered how many times I had waited like the child thief was waiting now. How many times I had remained motionless, my cheek pressed to the stock of my rifle, the smell of its oil and its powder in my nostrils, my eye focused on the iron sight. Waiting for the sun to arc behind me; waiting for the slightest movement in the distance.

In Galicia there were times when we’d lived like rats in flooded holes in the ground, the enemy not more than a few yards across the wasteland that lay between us. As a sharpshooter, I had shot soldiers who made the mistake of lifting their heads above the parapet of their trench on the other side of that corpse-strewn landscape. I wondered if the child thief had been in similar places, learned his patience and skill in similar circumstances. If that were so, then I would know how to confuse him; how to draw his attention and force him to expose his position.

I stayed flat and took the rifle from my shoulder. Keeping low, I moved it in front of me and pulled back the bolt, bringing a cartridge into the chamber. I looked at the brass casing lying in the open port, then pushed the bolt forward.

‘Viktor,’ I said. ‘Take off your hat.’

‘What?’

‘Take off your hat. I want you to be ready to hold it up. Put it on the end of your rifle and hold it away from you. You too, Petro.’

I thought about what the shooter would be expecting to see. The child thief knew there were three of us, perhaps only two if he’d hit his mark with one of the probing shots.

‘When I call, I want you to lift your hat, Viktor. Just enough to make a movement.’ It was a weak trick, but it was one that had worked for me before and was all we had to draw the man’s fire. If my sons had been more skilled, I might have offered myself as a target, but if something happened to me, they would be left alone with the child thief. I had to try this first.

‘And you Petro, I want you to count to six and do the same thing. Remember to hold it out and away from you, though. He will shoot.’

‘What about you?’

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Viktor asked.

‘I’m going to see where he is. And then I’m going to shoot him. Be ready to move, though. When I say so, I want you to get back here as quickly as you can. Bring only your rifles.’

‘What about Dimitri?’

‘Leave him,’ I said. ‘He was dead the moment the bullet hit him. If we try to help him, we’ll die too.’

‘Can we do something to make him stop that noise?’

‘We can’t do anything that will give away our position – not until we want to give it away. Don’t worry about Dimitri,’ I said. ‘He will die soon, and then he won’t make any more noise.’

It was their first taste of violent death. They were too young to remember the losses of the civil war with any clarity, even though it had touched their lives, and Vyriv had been spared much of the violence and suffering. They had never been this close to the horror, and although both understood my intent, they were shocked by my coldness.

‘You know what you’re doing?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘Good, then there’s no need to be afraid. We’ll get out of this.’ But I couldn’t be sure we wouldn’t all die here on the steppe with snow in our mouths and holes in our hearts.

I took a deep breath and moved beyond the place where my sons were pinned down. I wanted to move further south, follow the curve of the ridge so I was at a better angle and in a place where I wouldn’t be expected. My enemy had positioned himself well, but the sky was darkening now, a thick blanket of grey cloud blocking the sun, and I was thankful for that. The child thief had no advantage of light.

When I was far enough away from my sons, I stopped and opened my satchel. I took out one of the bundles Natalia had wrapped for us and opened it out in front of me. I put the bread and the sausage back into the satchel and, using my teeth, made a rip in the white cloth, tearing it lengthways into two pieces. The first piece I wrapped over my rifle scope, turning it from black to white. Then I took off my hat and tied the second piece around the top of my head. When I rested the rifle on the ridge and aimed down the sight, these were the two things that would be most visible. The telescopic sight provided magnification, but it also meant I had to raise my head a little higher to take a shot. The cloth was by no means perfect camouflage, but it would help reduce the impact of my movement on the stark white horizon the child thief would be watching.

With that done, I turned so I was face on to the ridge, and shuffled closer to the edge, pushing the rifle in front of me, keeping it sideways on so all I had to do was swivel it out, raise my head and put my eye to the scope.

I carefully parted the snow directly in front of me so the ground was clear for the weapon. I took a long breath, closed my eyes and said a short prayer. Then I spoke quietly but clearly.

‘Ready.’

For a moment I heard nothing, then a crack. A familiar sound that split the air at almost the same time as Viktor swore, and I turned my rifle to point down the steppe, resting it on the ridge. From my slightly elevated position, I could see Viktor and Petro lying several metres to my left.

I estimated where I thought the shot had come from, somewhere in the line of the hedge, and I imagined the shooter lying prone, working the bolt of his rifle, preparing for his next shot. I hoped his attention had been so focused on Viktor that he hadn’t noticed me add my profile to the land.

And then Petro raised his hat. The shooter would think he had hit his mark, that we were panicking, moving erratically, looking to help our comrade. He would see the second movement as a mistake upon which he could capitalise, and he fired again.

This time I saw him.

I saw the muzzle flash from the rifle, and I put my eye to the scope, magnifying the spot where the child thief had chosen to wait for us. But I had been wrong. The shooter wasn’t by the line of hedge that marked the end of this field. He was much further away, hidden in the treeline beyond. A small pile of dead wood, a fallen tree trunk with protruding branches. And behind it, the outline of a man either dressed entirely in white or half-buried beneath the snow.

I eased the rifle back so the snow on either side of it would hide the muzzle flash as much as possible, then I took another deep breath, let the air escape slowly as I steadied the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

The German rifle kicked against my shoulder and in my scope I saw the snow rise in a fountain beside the prone man, many metres away. Without taking my eye from the scope, I chambered another round while calculating the adjustment I’d need to make to hit my target. But already the figure was moving, the snow breaking, the dark shape rolling away from the spot where my bullet had hit the ground. This was not to be a shooting competition; we were not going to trade shots. Escape was the child thief’s intention now.

‘Get up,’ I shouted as I prepared for a second shot. ‘Quickly. Over here. Now.’ I had to keep shooting, keep the man suppressed while I brought my sons to safety.

‘Now!’

I heard Viktor and Petro’s movements in the snow, heard their heavy breathing as they dropped into the trough beside me, but I ignored them, concentrating on the figure down there in the trees.

Hitting a target at this range was difficult enough, but now he was moving, it was an impossibility. I fired again anyway, seeing the snow erupt close to the rolling figure, then the child thief took his chance. He knew I would be working the bolt, ejecting the spent cartridge, pushing a new one into the chamber, so he rose to his feet, rushing back into the trees.

I fired once more at the escaping figure, seeing a plume of snow and bark tearing away from one of the trees, and then he was gone.