Wartime
“Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast Thou founded strength:because of Thine adversaries; that Thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger…” (Psalms 8:3)
She could still make it.
Maybe.
The frozen tree branches whipped her, but did not slow her down. She could make it. She could. Right left, right left. Pam pam, pam pam.
Her feet sank deep into the snow, beating against the fallen branches. It hurt, but maybe she still had a chance. The war was over, and the area was... friendly?
Run far enough, fast enough, and maybe you can still save yourself! And the children. Most importantly.
Right left, right left. Pam pam, pam pam.
The air burned her lungs, and the small wicker basket, in which the twins lay, weighed on her hands, her shoulders, her back. She corrected her grip, held it to her body and clutched it tighter. Close to her chest, close to her soul.
Pam pam, pam pam. Right left. Pam pam.
Arms ached. Hands screamed. But she did not listen, she did not give in to the demands for relief from her hands, her legs or her lungs. No time for that. Not now. Currently there was only one goal: to get to the other end of the forest. Escape. Escape.
She deliberately chose the longer route, more entangled. She deliberately gave up the temptation of the easiest path that was more suited for her light shoes. And now she was between the dripping leaves and the frozen ground, running more and more slowly, being careful of beating branches and tricky roots. She must not fall. She must not stop. Behind her...
But she did not look back.
*
Death chased behind her, armed with a well-oiled hunter's rifle. He was heavily dressed in peasant boots, well-tailored gray wool trousers and a winter coat of a rough cowhide. Death knew his way around this forest less well than she did, but still enough to figure out where she escaped to.
The road. She was trying to reach the safety of the road.
He went on, cursing the past three years, in which he’d neglected his daily training and nourished a farmer's belly.
Occasionally he saw flashes of blue nightgown between the branches, and knew he was closing in on her.
How did she get away from me anyway, to begin with?
He did not want to admit the answer. He did not want to think at all. He was Death, and his goal was death, and nothing else mattered now. He knew what he needed to do.
Right left, right left, pam pam, pam pam.
The pursuit continued.
*
The echoing shots still barked in her ears, especially that splash which passed her face as she left the cabin. The same splash that ruptured a part of her left cheek. Was it still bleeding? She did not know. Right left, right left, pam pam, pam pam.
Gasping heavily, she looked down at the twins. And they, in return, looked back at her with a round and trusting gaze. Why was mother taking them out for a run in the woods? They did not know. And so they lay side by side, watching their mother panting in pain, and thinking babies’ thoughts in the fragmented Polish which had begun to take shape in their minds.
Right left, right left, pam pam, pam pam.
Had she lost him?
Had Death wandered off in the other direction, in the frozen woods?
