Page 72 of Ascendent

He fell sideways, lying on the cold ground as he dropped the blade, as he tried to catch his breath. Grisha, his friend. Grisha, his attacker. Grisha, a man he’d thought he’d known. A man he’d killed. All the different faces a man could wear danced before his eyes.

Never again.

He’d kept his promise to himself.

He’d kept his word.

Now to keep his word to Sergey. He had to go home.

He rose, pocketing the blade and trying to rub off as much of Grisha’s blood as he could. His hands were stained, his face streaked with blood. Blood soaked his clothes.

Sasha rolled Grisha’s body into the darkness of the hangar. A long, sticky smear of blood lead right to Grisha. He had to get out of there, now. But there was no way he could fly like this. He’d have to make his way home on the ground.

Six hours later, he clambered onto the freight car of a train heading west. He slipped into the cargo compartment and made his way into the darkness, squeezing between crates and shrink-wrapped pallets until he found a place to sit.

He powered on his cell phone. The screen glowed in the darkness, an almost painful stab into his eyeballs. It took a moment to boot up. The battery read just under fifty percent. No signal.

The rock of the train, the clatter of the wheels on the rails, the hum of the engine, pulled on him. He rested his cell on his chest and leaned back, letting sleep wash over him.

* * *

Vibrations woke him,a buzz against his neck.

He grabbed his phone. At last, he had bars.

Text messages were coming in, five from Sergey. One from a number he didn’t know.

Sasha, I hope you have a safe trip. Travel well. See you soon.

How are you doing?

Sasha… I love you. Just know that. No matter what happens, what you decide. If you don’t come home. Please, don’t ever doubt that I love you, and I always will.

The tone changed abruptly.

Where are you? Please, reply to this one message. If you don’t want to come home, or you’re avoiding talking to me, that’s fine. Just tell me you’re all right. Tell me you’re alive. Please!

Sasha!

The unknown number said simplyPlease inform us you’re alive. The president is very worried. – Yuri

Yuri. Sergey’s bodyguard? How had he gotten his number?

Sasha pushed that aside. He texted Sergey.[ Sergey, I’m alive. I’m on my way home. I haven’t had signal since I left Moscow. But I’m all right, and I’m on my way back home. ]

He waited.

His phone rang eleven seconds later.

“Sasha!” Sergey almost shouted. A long string of curses followed, diatribes against Russian cell towers, the shit telecom industry, the left-behind satellite phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m on a train heading west. I don’t know where exactly.”

“A train? Why the fuck are you on a train?”

He hesitated.

“Sasha…”