The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Judgment Day, pt 4

       

Nadya was dying.

    She could feel it: the bullet wound made her stomach feel like it was on fire. Blood seeped through her fingers, as much as she tried to stop it. Zelenko stood over her, the murder weapon in one hand, his other hand on his own bullet wound. The look on his face was cold, uncaring. Just as it always was.

    Bastard, Nadya thought to herself. Damned bastard!

    "What was that name you shouted at me?" Zelenko asked. Even his voice didn't betray any emotion.

    "Nikola," Nadya said. She tried to sit up, but she couldn't do it: it hurt too bad.

    "Nikola," Zelenko repeated, looking up at the sky. It was starting to snow. "Who was he?"

    "My cousin," Nadya said. "You murdered him. You bastard, you murdered him!"

    "Did I?" Zelenko asked. Still, he didn't seem to care. "Many people claim that I murdered their loved ones, and it's rarely true. People seem to be confused between giving an order and being the one to commit the act, themselves."

    "It's the same," Nadya said, the anger brewing up inside her. "I don't care if you just gave the order: you're as guilty as whoever pulled the trigger!"

    "I'm sorry that you feel that way," Zelenko said. "Is that why you did this? Because you were angry with me for 'killing' your cousin?"

    Nadya realized what he was doing: he wanted to know if there was a broader conspiracy at work. She wasn't about to tell him, though: the lives of her friends depended on it, as far as she was concerned.

    "Yes," she lied.

    Zelenko nodded. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

    Nadya didn't know what to say. Could he really not tell.

    So, she simply nodded.

    Zelenko pulled back the hammer on his gun. "Consider this my apology for your cousin."

    This is it, Nadya thought to herself. This is how I die.

    She closed her eyes as Zelenko wrapped his finger around the trigger. I'm coming, Nikola. I'm coming.

***

    Arttüri's world almost seemed to stop.

    Scratch that: it didn't stop completely. It just slowed down to the speed of syrup. All he could seem to do was stand there and watch as Arkadiy fell to the ground, grabbing at his stomach. Right alongside Kirilov.

    He looked at Horacek, anger swelling up inside him like a balloon. All Horacek could seem to do was stare at him, his gun still in hand.

    "Bastard!"

    Before Horacek could start running, Arttüri took aim at him and emptied his gun right into Horacek's chest: bang!bang!bang!bang!

    Arttüri doubted that the man was alive when he hit the ground.

    Arttüri didn't have time to revel in his success: instead, he knelt beside Arkadiy to see if he was okay.

    He didn't know why he was kidding himself: he wasn't okay. He was bleeding all over the place. And judging by the look on his face, he wasn't enjoying himself.

    "You ought to get out of here, Finn bastard," Arkadiy said shakily. "They're going to want your head for this."

    "I'm taking you with me," Arttüri assured him. "You up for a little piggy-back ride, Russian bastard?"

    Arkadiy chuckled, then coughed, then groaned. "If I were in the mood for resisting, I would. My mother always told me to stay away from strange men. And Finns, in general."

    Arttüri rolled his eyes and put Arkadiy's arm over his shoulder, only for Arkadiy to erupt into a stream of curses that mainly involved his country and his mother.

    "Aw, quit being a baby," Arttüri muttered as he looked around. They were surrounded by enemy soldiers, all pointing their guns right at them. He counted them: one, two, three, four-

    Damn it! He could probably take three on his own, but there were ten of Anastasia's God-damned men around!

    But... maybe they weren't the Czarina's men, anymore. As far as he knew, everyone else had hit their targets, and Kirilov and Horacek were the last to fall.

    I'm going to regret this, Arttüri thought to himself. God, am I going to regret this? I will, won't I?

    He held his hands up in surrender.

    "If this is your brilliant plan to get us out of here, it's shitty," Arkadiy grumbled.

***

    Nadezhda couldn't believe what riding back into St. Petersburg on the tram was like. She felt like she should feel different, that maybe people should be looking at her differently, as if they knew what she'd done. But everything was so horribly... normal. She was stuffed into that car like a sardine in a can, the scent of body odor overwhelming. Nobody wanted to look anybody in the eye: everybody just had that same dead look in their eyes, trying to find a happier place in their mind than their surroundings.

    She was absolutely fine with that: she preferred to look down at her feet, trying to act as if she hadn't just murdered the air marshal.

    Right around Alexandrovsky Park, not far from Peter and Paul Fortress, the tram slowed down to a stop. And everybody began to gawk out the window, whispering under their breaths.

    Nadezhda looked around, confused. What was going on? What was everybody looking at?

    She stood on her toes, trying to get a better look, but she still couldn't see much. All she could see were a few police officers standing around something.

    "What is it?" Nadezhda asked nobody in particular. "What's going on?"

    "Looks like someone went and shot up some poor girl," the man standing next to Nadezhda said. He was squinting and weaving around so he could better see around the other people on the tram, all craning for a look.

    I'm not going to get a good look on this train, Nadezhda thought to herself. Might as well get off: I'm in Petersburg, anyway.

    So, she shoved through the crowded tram and managed to practically fall out of the open door.

    Just seconds later, the tram went forward, leaving her behind.

    She pulled her scarf up over her face before the officers could recognize her. It didn't matter: they were far too occupied with what was going on in front of them. They surrounded the body of a girl, at least, most of them did. Two other ones were talking with a man who was holding a hand against his shoulder, blood staining his hand red. The girl had light hair, and was young. God, was she young. And skinny, too...

    Nadezhda gasped, rooted to her spot in fear. That wasn't just any girl: that was Nadya. And judging by the bullet wounds, one of which was right in the middle of her forehead. She was long dead.

    And that man with the bloody hand was...

    Nadezhda and Zelenko locked eyes. And in that moment, she knew that he knew exactly who she was.

    He moved his arm to point at her.

    Nadezhda didn't stick around long enough to see his accusing finger pointing at her.

    She ran as fast as she could.
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Here's chapter two of four! Be sure to vote and comment, and I'll see you later with the second to last chapter of "The Last Romanov" :D