A Tale of Two Earths

Chapter 3: Vlatko (Final Draft)

Fresh tears trickled down Vlatko's face as he ran. He hated himself for leaving. There were so many, what was he to do? Myron and Tommy had disappeared under the flood of violence.

Vlatko was accustomed to seeing terrible things, but not quite this terrible. His drab, desolate village offered little escape from hardship. Even his warmest memories of Russia were tinged with sadness.

Each winter, when the lake froze, all the children of the village took turns with a single pair of skates. For a few hours every day, Vlatko forgot about wars and poverty. And as much as he liked skating, Vlatko enjoyed watching little Zlata even more. The best the village had ever seen, Zlata was a ballerina on ice. Vlatko never argued when Zlata took his turn. Jumping, swizzling, bunny hopping, and even falling down, all performed with grace. She was their hero, until the 'wild ones' came.

Neither dog nor wolf, the 'wild ones' roamed between villages in search of food and mischief. Often heard and not seen, their appearance that day was unexpected.

Of all her talents, speed was not one. Growling and nipping, they circled her on the ice. The 'wild ones' closed in and little Zlata slipped. She fell with grace and they fell on her.

One of the fathers skidded out to stop them. He was too heavy and the ice too thin. Neither Zlata, Boris' father, or the village skates were ever seen again.

Like a black and white movie, memories of the old life held little sway over Vlatko's emotions. They were ancient and unreal. America had been a fresh start, light years away from the ravages of a war torn Russia. For the first time since moving, Vlatko doubted this new resolve.

Myron and Tommy's shouts were proof that no land is sacred. They begged him to help, but the 'wild ones' were too many, too strong, too fast; and Vlatko knew that crossing the ice would leave him counted among the dead.

Just like Zlata, they were gone.

Vlatko's mind crept back to the first time they met. "Are you strong like bull?" Myron had asked with a sloppy, stereotypical Russian accent. Myron was the first American kid to address Vlatko and he didn't know whether to hit him or cry. Vlatko had leaned towards hitting when Myron laughed. It was a peculiar laugh, with no menace behind it. It was a laugh that said, everything is a colossal joke, yet Vlatko refused to budge. He refused to be made fun of by a pasty nerd. "Lighten up, why do you look angry all the time? You do look strong. Please don't hurt me," Myron had followed up.

Vlatko decided he would be friends with Myron and his incessant laugh. A jovial chuckle he had taken for granted. For the first time since meeting Myron, Vlatko wished he could hear that annoying laugh one more time. He wanted to be 'strong like bull'. Instead, he 'ran like rabbit', far away from the 'Wild Ones'.

Vlatko stopped running when he saw Nestor attack. Darla sat on the ground, rubbing her neck. She looked up with fear as their friend swung his skateboard like a madman. Had Nestor turned? Neutralizing Nestor to survive the apocalypse was not palatable, however Vlatko was done running. He refused to let another loved one be taken away.

Approaching behind Darla and Nestor, Vlatko spied a gun. It would be his chance to save. Darla turned to him, horror carved across her puffy, red cheeks. Holding a finger to his lips, Vlatko plucked the gun like a freshly dyed Easter egg. As he aimed it at Nestor, her brown eyes flashed panic. He would not let the 'wild ones' take her.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Nestor said.

His voice jolted Vlatko out of his mission.

"Don't shoot him!" Darla shouted.

Vlatko gawked at a completely normal Nestor. He could see that Darla's fear was not from Nestor. And that Nestor had saved someone that Vlatko couldn't.

Tucking the gun in his waistband, Vlatko extended a hand. Darla stood and wrapped her arms around him.

Half of him wanted to pry her away, to leave, to run, but the other half needed the hug as much as she did.

"What happened?" Vlatko asked.

Darla let go and stepped back against the car.

Vlatko followed her gaze to the hunk of man on the pavement. "How in the hell?" he said.

"Where are Tommy and My-," she started to ask, convulsions rippling through her body.

Losing all words, Vlatko let his tears do the talking. He shook his head.

Her seasick face drooped low.

Vlatko wanted to hug her again, to tell her it would be alright; but it wasn't alright, and no amount of hugging was going to make it alright.

"We've got another one!"

Nestor's shout pulled Vlatko out of the depths.

A man in a lab coat ran full speed in their direction. Hugs were no longer on the menu.