Lost To The War

Author's note: This story was inspired by the wonderful @tihomirovanatali_, after coming across her rural maiden photoshoot. She has served as my muse for the past two months as this story slowly got fleshed out. I began writing this in spring after my winter break, and now we're in the thick of summer. I'm sure many more stories will follow this one, but I somehow remain fundamentally incapable of writing stories shorter than ten thousand words (and that's

before

getting to the fun bits). I swear the next one will be shorter (I think).

This is a slow burn, so take your time with getting to know the world and the characters. Also, there's allusions to violence/non-con at the end so steer clear of the epilogue if you're not into that. Apart from that, hope you enjoy the story, and I'll see you in the comments!

***

Janek had lost sight of his pursuers about half an hour ago. Yet he knew, as he zig-zagged his way between the trees, taking care not to brush up against the trunks as he ran past so as not to leave his scent or a rag of his clothing on them, that they were gaining on him. An occasional shouted order or a bark from one of the hounds tracking him punctuated the near-complete silence of the forest he was making his way through. Above him, beyond the tree cover, the sky was still the same shade of inky black that it had been when he had made his escape. But he knew dawn wasn't too far away, and he had to put enough distance between him and his pursuers before the first light broke out over the horizon that they'd lose his trail.

His feet light on the underbrush, he briskly jogged through the forest. His ears were pricked, listening for the sound of running water. He knew there was a stream nearby, he had seen it on the maps. If he reached it and swum across, it would make the tracking hounds lose his scent trail. For the next quarter hour, he headed due east, squinting in the dark at the compass which he held in his hand. Behind him, the sounds of the hunt grew louder. He could tell they knew they were getting closer, too. The snarls of the pursuing canines drifted through the cool air, interspersed with Janek's ragged breathing and the chatter of birds beginning to awaken high above. The sky was a dark lavender now, turning orange towards the horizon. In less than ten minutes it would be light, and then even the stream wouldn't be able to save him. They'd just wait for him to pop into sight and they'd riddle his body with bullet holes.

Janek's heart thudded in his chest as a primal fear overtook him. His hands and feet started to grow cold, and his vision tunnelled until all he could see in front of him was next tree to weave around. Something caught at the leg of his pants, tripping him. He fell heavily against a fallen tree, smashing his compass. Bits of broken glass sliced his palm open. When he tried to get up, a sharp, stabbing pain rocked his ankle. He felt a metallic taste in his mouth. Pushing himself back up with his uninjured hand, he resumed running, but only at half the pace he had before. Less than two minutes later, he heard excited barking and shouting behind him. They had already come across the place where he had fallen. At this rate they would catch up with him before the sun broke through the horizon. He'd die in darkness, like the rest of his comrades had the night before. He suddenly felt an immense weight in his limbs. His body was giving up on him. Darkness fell across his vision. His shoulder slammed into a tree and he stumbled. His legs gave out three steps later and Janek grunted as he fell for the second time, hitting his head hard on the ground.

A tinny silence fell across his world. His eyes were open but he saw nothing. This was it. He was about to die. He only prayed that they would do him the honour of letting him see the sunrise for one last time before putting a bullet in his brain. The sound of blood rushing in his ears grew louder, until...

Janek blinked, bringing his vision back into focus. He saw the thicket of dead leaves and underbrush that he was lying on. He craned his neck and his eyes scanned across a tree trunk, then another, and another, until they stopped, and there were no longer any trees in sight. He had come to the edge of the forest. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked out and saw the ground dip a little. Then he realised that what he had been hearing for the past thirty seconds wasn't the sound of blood in his ears.

Janek rose, aching all over. He only had to take a couple of steps to reach the bank. In front of him, the lavender of the sky was reflected in running water. It wasn't a stream. It was a river. He had found it. He lunged into the current. The water was brisk and he immediately found himself getting dragged downriver. He kicked his shoes off underwater, surrendering them to the depths. The shock of the cold water imbibed his limbs with new energy. Adrenaline surged through his blood stream again as he began swimming over to the other side, in a long, loping diagonal. It took him a minute to reach the other bank, in which time the river had carried him a quarter mile downstream. Janek dragged himself by his arms out of the frigid water. As he lay panting on the muddy bank, he heard a shout from somewhere up river. His eyes followed the source of the noise up the other bank till they fell upon a group of soldiers who had gathered around the spot on the edge of the forest where he had fallen for the second time. Three dogs accompanied them, off leash, sniffing the bank. The men's heads were scanning the opposite bank. Janek knew he had to get out of sight before they spotted him, and the hunt began all over again.

A row of maize protruded from the ground about fifty feet from where he lay. Janek dragged himself up the bank, towards the fence which separated the crop field from the bank. Using what reserve of strength and willpower remained in him, he pulled himself up over the wooden fence, and into the thicket of maize. He couldn't help but feel he had been just in time. But he also knew he had to keep moving. It wouldn't take the soldiers long to cross the river and begin a grid search of the fields, looking for him. Surrounded by stalks of maize on all sides, he tried standing up. His ankle roared in pain and he grimaced, tears forming around the corners of his eyes. His hand dripped blood from the cuts. Janek bunched his handkerchief into a wad in his palm, hoping to stem the bleeding. Dragging his bad foot, he set off into the field. The sun had broken through the horizon, and the skies were turning lighter. Janek saw a hill in the distance, estimating it was due south-east. If he got to the top, he'd have a clear sightline of the surrounding country. He'd then be able to find tracks, roads. And if made it to the roads, he'd be able to hitch a ride to the border. He set off towards the hill.

Progress was slow. He had to push his way through the dense crop cover. Within minutes, the pain in his ankle grew unbearable. He opened his palm and saw that the cloth kerchief had been entirely stained scarlet. Janek closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and swallowed hard.

Have to reach the hill

When he tried to walk his feet felt like lead weights. The adrenaline had been purged from his system, leaving only numbness. His vison had begun to tunnel again. His throat felt dry. His wet clothes clung to his skin and he began to shiver.

Have to reach the hill

He thought of his comrades, culled like sick cattle during the night. He thought of his commanding officer, who had led them through enemy lines for six days and six nights. They had completed their mission on the fourth night. They just had another fifty miles to go to the border, where they were scheduled to be picked up. Images of the lifeless bodies of his team flashed across his mind, their eyes glassy, their bodies torn apart with lead. Janek had only managed to avoid the enemy ambush because he had gone into the bushes to do his business. When the bullets started flying, he had curled up on the ground, his pants still around his ankles. He waited until the enemy squad had done taking the camp apart, looking for survivors. When their voices had died down, he had snuck into the camp for the one thing that his team had been sent into enemy territory for, the vital piece of intelligence that they so desperately needed. No sooner than he had laid his hands upon it that a snarl arose from the surrounding forest, followed by ferocious barking. The hounds were onto him. He had run into the trees, and hadn't stopped running until his first fall.

Have to reach

He was now bent over, putting his body weight into the maize stalks to pry them apart. The hill seemed so far away, but he dared not stop.

Have to

The maize suddenly gave away and Janek stumbled headfirst into a clearing. Too late, he saw a harvester advancing towards him, mere feet away. He held his hand up in a vain attempt to save himself. The giant machine stopped inches away from his nose. Someone got out of the cab and jumped onto the ground. But before they could approach Janek, his legs gave way and his whole world went black.

***

When Janek woke up he found himself covered under a sheet of canvas. Underneath his head lay not a pillow, but a folded blanket. He realised very quickly that he was naked under the covers. When he brought his right hand up to rub his eyes he found it bandaged - a bit more crudely than field medics would. His ankle felt dreadfully sore but it wasn't wrapped. Whoever had brought him here hadn't thought of, or known to, splint it.

He sat up gingerly and looked around. He was clearly in a barn. Bales of hay lay stacked up on the far corner, and straw covered the floor. Rolls of wire fencing, paint buckets, coils of rope and a ladder took up the corner closest to him. The far wall was covered in a pegboard from which an assortment of tools and handheld machinery. On the other side, open enclosures lined the wall. They would have held horses, but it was clear from the state of disrepair that no horse had stayed in them for a long time. A loft with a step ladder leading up to it hung over the barn's entrance. An amber bulb hung from the ceiling, switched off. Dusk light peered from between the wooden rafters.

With sudden horror, Janek realised that he had lost the thing he had been carrying. He spotted his clothes lying in a pile near one of the enclosures. He prayed it was still in his pocket. He put his feet down on the ground and tested his weight on them. His ankle was swollen, and would barely move. Steeling himself, Janek got up off the cot. It took him three tries, and he had to push himself off the cot with his uninjured hand. The canvas slid off his body and crumpled on the floor. He immediately stumbled. His legs were still weak. He hobbled over to the pile of clothes, bent down and dug through them. It wasn't there. He went back to his cot, checking under the blanket on which his head had rested. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he limped over to the table under the pegboard, hoping that whoever had found him had left it on there. Still nothing.

Maybe they hadn't found it. Janek had no recollection of it being in his possession when had climbed out of the river. Had he lost it in the water? He began shivering again. The air in the barn had suddenly grown chilly. Without it, Janek's whole mission, the sacrifice of his team, would have all been for nothing. He mindlessly rummaged through the table's drawers, hoping to manifest it into reality somehow. His face was flushed and the back of his eyes burned.

Please please please please

"Looking for this?"

Janek whipped around at the voice. A man stood at the entrance to the barn, holding out a thin metallic cylinder. Unmindful of his nudity, Janek limped over as fast as his legs would carry him, almost snatching the cylinder from the man's hands. He unscrewed one end and looked inside. What he saw made a sigh of relief escape his body. He screwed the cap back on and clutched the cylinder to his chest.

"It obviously means a lot to you."

Janek looked up at the man. He looked about sixty years old, and had a weather-beaten face. Veins, creases and splotches of crimson mottled his skin. His hands were callused, his digits thick and his palms wide. This was someone who had lived a life of hard manual labour. He was dressed in a grey shirt and faded denims, whose cuffs were streaked with dried mud. His boots were sturdy, although Janek could see that they had been stitched along the line of the sole many times.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Janek's rumbling stomach answered for him. The old man smiled.

"Come on, my daughter's prepared dinner," he beckoned. "You can bring that with you if you want." He pointed at the metal cylinder which Janek was gripping. Janek gulped and nodded. Only then did he become keenly conscious of his nudity. He glanced at his pile of clothes.

"They're too far gone, son." The old man gently said. He handed Janek a towel.

"I've kept a bucket of water and a sponge next to the outhouse. Go get yourself cleaned up, I'll bring you a fresh change of clothes."

Janek took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. The old man turned and walked out of the barn, disappearing around the corner of the doorway. Janek made to follow him, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, heavy, cold fingers gripped his heart.

What if they're out there, waiting?

Janek bent over and scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for gunfire to erupt from the shadows and rip his chest apart.

"You alright?" he heard the old man's voice. It seemed to be coming from miles away. Janek dared not open his eyes.

What if it's a trap

"You look like a deer caught in the headlights." The old man called out again, closer this time. Janek gripped the cylinder in his palm, his fingernails digging into his skin. They were going to have to tear it out of his hands if they wanted it. It wasn't until the stranger laid one hand on Janek's shoulder and whispered,

"You're okay, son. You can stop running now."

that Janek opened his eyes. He saw the old man staring deeply into his eyes.

"You're safe."

Janek took a deep breath and exhaled.

"That's it. Breathe."

Janek took a couple more deep breaths before straightening up. He realised his heart was pounding in his chest, and his knuckles had gone white from clutching the cylinder.

"You good to walk? I can give you a shoulder" the old man offered.

Janek took another deep breath and shook his head. He looked around, found the outhouse and began walking towards it. The old man set off after him, after a moment. There was a pail and a sponge next to the outhouse, like the old man had said. Janek unwrapped the towel and folded it up, slipping the cylinder between the folds. He set it down on the ground and walked over to the pail. Five minutes later, Janek had just finished drying off when the old man returned, carrying a shirt and khaki pants. A fresh pair of boxers and socks were on top of the clothes.

"I don't know your shoe size but if you get dressed and come in, I'm sure we can find something for you inside the house."

Janek pulled the clothes on. They were at least two sizes too large for him, especially the boxers. He found a piece of old bicycle inner tube lying next to the outhouse. He picked it up and slipped it over the waist of the khaki pants, cinching it tight and tying off the two ends above his crotch. When he walked inside the house, the old man was waiting for him. He held out two pair of boots to Janek.

"Try these on and see what fits."

As Janek slipped the first pair on his feet, the old man noticed the belt that he had fashioned for himself.

"That's handy." He commented.

The second pair fit better than the first one.

"All set? Dinner's waiting." The old man announced. He led Janek into the small dining room. The table was already set, plates laid out and knives and forks arranged neatly. A big pot in the centre of the table contained what looked like broth. Wisps of steam rose up from the pot, and the smell wafted to Janek's nose. After almost a week with no warm food, his mouth began watering at the smell. There were a couple loaves of bread in a basket next to the pot, and some cutlets in another dish.

"Sit down and serve yourself. My daughter usually serves our guests, but she's out in town at the moment catching up with a friend."

The food was simple but delicious. Janek hungrily devoured the cutlets and went for a second helping of the broth. The old man ate slowly, watching Janek relish the food. When he was done, Janek leaned back, turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes. He set his knife and fork down on the plate. The old man had finished a while before him.

"My daughter will take care of the plates. Come, I'll show you where you will be sleeping tonight."

The house had three bedrooms on the upper floor. The bedroom that the old man had picked out for Janek was at the end of the corridor. A wooden floorboard creaked underfoot as the two men entered the room. It was sparsely furnished: a bed was propped up next to the window on the east wall, and next to it was a desk with a woven rope-backed chair tucked underneath. A solitary bulb hung from the ceiling.

"This is where my wife used to come sleep on nights when she couldn't take my snoring anymore". The old man said quietly.

"It's been a while since anyone has used this room. The window doesn't open. Tomorrow I'll come and fix it. If it gets too hot in the night, leave the door open."

Janek sat down on the bed. The mattress had been worn thin over the years, but for someone who had been sleeping on bare earth for the past week, it felt luxurious. He began taking his shoes off.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

His hand hovered over the light switch next to the doorway.

"If you need anything during the night, my daughter's room is next door. She'll be back sometime later in the night. I apologise in advance if she wakes you up. I'm in the far room but I'm afraid once I hit the sack it's hard to wake me up."

Janek nodded at the old man.

"I... should've introduced myself earlier. My name is Piotr. My daughter is Natalia. Have a good sleep."

Piotr switched off the light, plunging the room into darkness. A shaft of moonlight stabbed into the room crossways, illuminating the desk and chair into a wheatish glow. Janek reclined on the bed. Despite having woken up only hours earlier, sleep came quickly. But the old man had been right about the heat. At some point in the night, Janek woke up, his torso covered in a sheen of sweat. He got off the bed, feeling thirsty. He went out in the corridor, heading for the stairs to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. He passed Natalia's room, noticing the thin shaft of amber light that spilled from under the closed door. When he came back up a minute later, the light had gone out. All was silent in the house except for the dull snores that came from the direction of Piotr's room. Janek went back into his room and lay down on the bed. It felt unnatural sleeping in complete silence. In the past week he had gotten used to the sounds of the forest. Out there, silence under the tree cover meant danger.

Janek tossed and turned in his bed for about half an hour before getting up again. This time, he grabbed the pillow and went downstairs. Before he left his room he made sure to grab the cylindrical canister with him as well, slipping it into the pocket of his pants. He slid out of the house and headed for the crop field. He walked into the wall of maize stalks and kept walking until he could no longer see the house behind him. There, in a narrow clearing, he threw down the pillow on the ground and lay down. Back under the moon and the sounds of the night, sleep came quickly to him...