Locket full of Secrets (20 page)

              “Okay,” I said with a sigh. “What do we need to do for this to work?”

              “Here we are everyone,” our tour guide announced as we parked in front of the travel agency back in Kiev. “Feel free to tip the driver on your way out. And be sure to tell your friends about your time with us. We hope to start offering daily tours soon. Thanks for a great day, everyone.”

              Pretending to fiddle with my camera, I allowed the others to exit the bus as we had planned. The car we had met in Pripyat was parked next to us, the men standing by the hood smoking. They seemed unaffected by the falling snow and cold weather. I, however, found myself shivering.

              “Are you ready?” Steven asked quietly.

              Afraid to speak, I nodded my head in reply. My passport was tucked in my cargo pants’ pocket along with a wad of cash. It was the only items I would need besides the camera I was still wearing. I had placed a few clothing items into Steven’s bag so I could leave mine behind. Olena explained that since he had a bag the men would go after him instead of me in case they followed the two of us. It made me nervous for Steven, but hopefully no one would follow us to begin with. I wish we had left everything at the hotel, but Olena insisted we had to be ready in case things did not go as planned. Clearly, she anticipated that for a good reason.

              Once about half of the bus had cleared out we made our move. Crouching low, we exited the bus behind some other college students who were carrying large bags. They provide cover for an extra moment as we turned right, racing down the sidewalk and away from the men waiting for us.

              Behind me, I could instantly hear the men yelling as we reached the street corner. Giving Olena a quick glance, I turned left on to the side street. Steven did the same after handing Olena the letters that had been in the lockbox a few hours ago. I knew they were items Olena would want to keep, but if it could get the men off our trail long enough to get help then it was worth it. Olena took the papers then turned right, cutting across the main street. All I could do was hope I would see her again.

              As planned, we began to make our way towards the US Embassy. Steven and I wove our way through town, cutting between buildings, down streets, and through crowds of people. I could feel my lungs burning in the cold air and my legs straining for the second time that day, but I tried to just push on. Getting across Kiev was the only option at the moment.

              “We’re being followed,” Steven said breathlessly as we rounded another corner. We still had three more blocks until we were at the Embassy, and then we still needed to get inside.

              A deafening noise sounded in my ear as we cut through another back alley. The wall beside us exploded in tiny shards that flew out way. I let out a scream as I ducked down and continued my pace. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Steven remove his pack and take something from it before tossing the bag aside. Turning my head towards him I watched in shock as he pointed a gun behind us and fired.

              “Steven?” I managed between my panting breaths.

              “Keep running,” he replied, before once again shooting at the man behind us.

              As we exited the alley and continued onto the sidewalk, I could see the Embassy down the street ahead on our left. We just needed to make it a little farther. As if in response to my thought, my body exploded with pain. Fire seemed to rip through my left leg as stars exploded behind my eyes. Dropping to the ground I cried out, the sound covered by Steven once again shooting behind us.

              “We need to hurry,” Steven mumbled as he picked me up from where I lay on the sidewalk. As he pulled me into his chest I could see the cause of my pain. The area above my knee was soaked with blood. It appeared that the bullet had passed through my leg, leaving a ragged hole on its exit point on my inner thigh.  

              “No...no….” I moaned as the jostling from Steven’s running caused my leg to throb with even more pain than I thought possible. It was only a matter of time before I passed out. I watched as blood pumped out of my leg, fueled by my racing heart.

              A sudden yell ripped from Steven’s mouth as his grip on me loosened. He faltered in his step only slightly before recovering and racing forward once again. His strength was clearly running out, his endurance after carrying me fading.

              My eyes swept around us, taking in the Embassy now just feet away. It felt like time was moving in slow motion as we spun through the revolving doors. I watched in a daze as the men and women inside the building began shouting, drawing their weapons and pointing them towards us. Their voices echoed off the walls, distorting their words.

              “Please help her, she’s been shot!” Steven called out, dropping to one knee while still holding me in his arms. His eyes darted around the room in panic, but no one was responding.

              I tried to speak, but only managed a moan of pain. The entire thigh of my pants were soaked with blood, some of it now smeared on Steven’s shirt as well.

              “Help her, she’s American,” Steven called out again, now setting my body down before raising his arms up in a show of surrender. “Please just help her.”

              One of the guards approached, asking Steven something in Ukrainian. The man was yelling, clearly trying to make sense of us. I tried to reach for my passport in my pocket but my hand stayed limp beside me. I was fading fast.

              Turning to the man with his arms still up in surrender Steven spoke to the guard. He talked quickly, gesturing to me. The only words I could understand, however, were my name. But that was suddenly the least of my concerns. Steven had just spoken in what sounded like perfect Ukrainian.

              “Steven?” I whispered. My voice was quiet, but his eyes locked onto mine.

              “I’m sorry Claire,” he said softly, before turning to talk to the guard once more in Ukrainian. I closed my eyes then, giving up the fight to stay conscious.

              The next few days of my life passed in a blur. I was in and out of consciousness both from pain killers and blood loss thanks to my injury. The memories stacked up in my mind like photographs rather than moments.

              Steven speaking Ukrainian.

              Guards carrying me somewhere.

              Traveling in an ambulance.

              A mask being placed over my mouth to knock me out for surgery.

              Waking up and seeing my leg wrapped in a thick bandage.

              My mother’s voice over the telephone.

Traveling yet again.

Another emergency room prepped for surgery.

              When I finally woke up with a real sense of alertness I had no idea what day it was. I knew we had toured Chernobyl on a Monday, but it was hard to tell what day it was now. I could feel a dull throbbing in my leg despite the morphine drip I had been on since waking from my second surgery. It was making my brain foggy, but as I glanced around the room I could feel my head finally beginning to clear. My leg was propped up, its wound still masked below layers of gauze. It did not hurt, which was only a small comfort in light of my extreme confusion. I also noticed that my arm was re-bandaged, the gauze looking more precise than what Steven had applied.

              The room around me was very basic, its features the same as most of the hospital rooms I had been in. Looking next to the bed I found what I was searching for. Reaching my hand out I pressed the call button repeatedly until a nurse entered. She immediately asked me if I was in pain, but I ignored her to ask my own question.

              “What day it is?” I asked, speaking as if my mouth was full of cotton.

              “It’s Friday,” she commented, while hurrying to get me a cup of water. I sipped on it for a moment before speaking again. I had noticed her slight accent when she spoke but could not tell where she was from yet.

              “Where is Steven?” My only response was silence. “Is Olena okay?”

              The nurse looked confused at my questions. She looked to be just a few years older than me, so it was likely information was not given to her unless necessary.

              “We have word that your parents will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning,” the nurse smiled, checking my vitals and taking notes on her clipboard. Hearing her speak more did not help in identifying her accent. It did not matter much anyways. What mattered was that I was safe.

              “Where-” I paused, not sure if it was safe to ask the question forming on my lips. “Where is my camera?”