A man runs fast through the woods.
The freezing temperatures of the tiny village in central Siberia made it hard to breathe... It actually hurt to breathe. He was covered from head to toe in protective gear. Without it his blood would stop flowing and frostbite would set in.
He'd been running for so long. He wanted to stop but he couldn't. He had a bullet wound to his shoulder; he needed to remove before infection set in. He was glad he wasn't bleeding profusely, his blood was probably afraid of the cold.
Even through his shielded ski goggles, the bright white snow irritated his retinas.
He was sweating inside the suit and his adrenaline pumped as he ran. He couldn't let them see him. He ran until he saw a stream. He found an overbank and slipped through into it.
As he waited his breathing was labored and he knew he didn't have much time left. With each breath he took, it felt like he was inhaling pins and needles. His nostril hairs were frozen. Pretty soon he would get sluggish from the lack of oxygen. The severe cold could easily slip through a crack in his gear.
His shoulder had gone numb from the pain. He hadn't eaten in a day and even then it was just a can of beans from his pack. This morning he washed down 3 aspirin with the last of his water. The aspirin would help maintain blood flow to his extremities and lower his chances of needing amputations from frostbite. What he wouldn't do for a warm bed and a hot meal right now.
He waited an hour in the dugout and hoped to God they left. He slipped out and noticed the sun had gone down.
Now the clock was really ticking.
Oymiakon was the coldest inhabited place on earth. It was known for recording, -70 degree temperatures. His heavy boots crunched on the hard snow as he walked along the side of the stream. He was sure they were gone now.
Ironically to his left was the infamous Road of Bones created during the Stalin regime. The slave laborers were literally worked to death while building it.
One for every meter... they would collapse and die from the horrible work conditions. Each time a person died, they would just leave them on the road. The barbaric soldiers would simply bulldoze the dead into the mixture.
The Road of Bones got its name from the millions of lives forever engraved inside and all around it.
As the scarce sunlight retreated, it left traces of bright rays on that very path. It gleamed as a reminder; you can try to cover up the past but when the light shines it's impossible to forget.
He couldn't be one of them... one of the fallen. He didn't know where the will to survive came from but he just knew there wasn't any other possibility.
The Evergreen trees mocked him as they stood tall and proud; they carried loads of heavy mushy snow and still remained standing.
Tall and proud.
He looked up towards the clear gray sky and the snow covered ground seemed to mesh together. There was an eerie gray light that bounced from the ground to the heavens.
It was disturbingly quiet. No doubt a reminder that nothing living remained.
He squint his eyes and thought he saw a single smoke cloud coming from the distance. His stride became a little more forceful and he swung his unwounded arm a little wider. He would need the extra blood flow if he was going to make it.
When he finally arrived at the small cabin he was glad it wasn't a mirage. Someone was definitely home and he could almost feel the warmth radiating off the house. He found the entrance and door which had been recently salted and cleared of snow. He pounded on the door with the last strength he had left.
No one answered. He leaned against the door utterly tired and sleepy. With no longer having control of his body, his eyes closed and he blacked out.
___________
When he woke he thought he was in hell.
There was a large fire blaring in the distance. Everything was blurry and the heat was suffocating. He felt like he was swallowing burning coals. He coughed and shook as a chill ran through him.
Why was he so tired? He had a throbbing headache.
He felt so sluggish that he couldn't even open his eyes. But he heard mumbling around him, he couldn't make out what they were saying. He fell asleep again.
When he woke the second time, he felt small warm hands hugging him from behind under the thick blankets. Soft small breasts caressed his back and he thought maybe he wasn't in hell after all.
He tried to move but he couldn't. He slowly opened his eyes and realized he was stripped of his gear and clothes, bathed and wore thermal underwear. The fresh scent of soap invaded his nostrils. He could also smell the delicate smell of the woman behind him.
For the first time he noticed his shoulder was patched and wrapped in a long bandage. He had to move quickly because by now they had found his weapons.
It hurt to move his arm but he succeeded. The small hands still clung tightly to him. He heard a small whimper and he was sure he was dragging her to the edge with him. He had yet to see her.
"Pa-roos-key?" An older man asked who was suddenly hovering over him.
"No, I'm American." The wounded man said.
"Ah... American. You are a far away from home comrade but relax... we are friends here." He said in a thick Russian accent.
The wounded man hesitated as he looked at him but relaxed and said, "Dah."
"I'm Olev," the older man said as his hands pointed to his chest encouraging the stranger to say who he is.
"I'm... Ralph."
The old man chuckled as he knew the stranger was lying. But from the looks of his gunshot wound and the high tech equipment and weapons he carried Olev didn't really want to know too much anyway.
'Ralph' looked down and the small hands were still clinging to his chiseled abs. He looked around and saw a girl no older than 18 looking up at him with dreamy bright blue eyes. Her freckles ran freely throughout her face as her platinum blonde hair topped her head.
