The White Rosebush

Chapter 25: Moi'rozovyi'kust

 Chapter 25: Moi’rozovyi’kust

Two gunshots rang out with an earsplitting shriek that was made especially loud by the fact that it echoed off the tunnels and I was standing just feet from Andreas. Before I could even react to the deadly projectiles, I was on the ground, incoherent and dazed. What was going on? It was all happening so fast...

 "Oh no, oh GOD, no..." Alfred was moaning. I quickly sat up. There was something in his tone that filled me with dread. Alfred was always confident, optimistic, and slightly arrogant, so to hear him sound so defeated was definitely cause for alarm. I looked back at Andreas, frightened, but his attention was no longer on me. He had his back to me, the gun still out, poised at Ivan. Ivan, meanwhile, was laying on the ground, slowly rising to his feet, his arms under his chest as he attempted to get his legs under him. Andreas was laughing.

 "I should have figured you'd be difficult...You're a real fool, you know that?"

 "You're the fool," Ivan gasped. He was finally standing, but his legs were trembling, struggling to support his weight. I became sick to my stomach. Right in the center of his chest, there was a red stain, which was growing by the second. I was dizzy and wanted to vomit; Andreas had shot him. He had been aiming at me, and Ivan had sacrificed himself to keep me safe. Tears began to slide down my face.

"I'm the fool?" Andreas echoed nastily. Ivan was deteriorating rapidly. He was bleeding much more profoundly, and his chest was heaving with the effort of breathing.

"Not really a fool; I shouldn't have worded it that way. You're not a fool." he strained weakly. "Just misguided. I feel sorry for you."

“You feel sorry for me?" Andreas laughed again; a cruel, merciless sound as Ivan took in another shattered breath of air. "I'm not looking for pity from a dead man."

"Da, I do." Ivan was looking at him critically; I earnestly believed he meant exactly what he said about Andreas, which was odd, especially since they didn't seem to get along. "It's a shame. You were so lucky. You had great things, comrade... And I'm not dead yet." He paused to cough harshly, almost bending over from the intensity of it. Not dead yet, I thought, but I knew he was dying right before my eyes.

"What did I have? What do you know about me?" Andreas was very agitated; I silently willed Ivan to stop arguing with him. Why? Why was he just standing there? I understood that Andreas had the weapon and that Ivan was injured, but this was so unlike him... He should have had Andreas in a chokehold or busted his head off a rock by now... But he didn't; he merely stood still, quivering with weakness or pain and trying to breathe.

"You were once my friend. You had everything I ever wanted, and you took it all for granted. You had a home. You had a family. But you were discontented, and thirsted for power. You became bloodthirsty, and that's what will be your downfall."

"My downfall?" he sneered. "You know Ivan," he taunted, circling the injured teen like a vulture, "your terminology is interesting. Bloodthirsty, you said."

"Da," he whimpered in a pained voice. His entire body was starting to shake from pure exhaustion; it was a wonder he could even stand, a wonder only Ivan could have achieved. I could barely look at him; the bloodstain now covered most of the front of his shirt. My own breathing was getting as bad as Ivan's, but mine was from sheer distress.

"Bloodthirsty..." Andreas repeated again, as if musing over the word. Without warning, he spun around and let loose another shot, striking Ivan in the leg. The Russian let out one of the most pained and miserable sounds I'd ever heard as he fell to the blood-stained ground again. "Yes, you're quite right. I am bloodthirsty. Though I must say, you can't have much blood left. My thirst is just about quenched. Fool." Andreas pointed the gun at him again. "Just look at yourself," he sneered. "The mighty Ivan Kozlov. Behind all the intimidation and fear you strike into others, you're nothing. Without Alfred and Arthur and all your hundreds of little servants, you're no different than any other miserable orphan."