Tanya
I realize how stiffly Carlos is standing, like the gravity of what we just did is hitting him.
"We can deal with the consequences later." I reassure him. "For now....let's just... focus on getting out. Now. Right now."
"I'm sorry...." I hear Melissa say as she pulls her pocketknife out to cut the restrains still hanging around his arms- though they're not attached to anything. He tries to scoot away, like he's afraid the knife is heading for his skin.
"No no no I can't, please don't touch me-"
"Walter." I bend down next to him. Recognition flashes through his eyes, and then horror. "It's just us. You'll be safe soon."
"We're not safe anywhere what are you... what are you doing here?" The momentary distraction allows Melissa to cut and throw the straps aside. "You can't...you can't be here you'll...."
"If we were going to die we'd be dead by now."
"Ivanov.... said you resigned because of me?"
"Not really. It was more of a.... tipping point. I couldn't have pulled this off with a full detail. Can you walk?"
"Maybe." He shrugs, then grimaces at the large, perfectly circular third degree burns on both of his shoulders.
"Then... Walter I am so sorry but you'll have to. Just for a few minutes." Melissa multitasks, pulling the extra uniform out of her bag while she texts her grandpa's best friend. She just about throws it at my face, while I hand it to Walter more gently. The others turn around. He flinches.
"I can't... Tanya I don't think I'll be able to pretend to.... be fine. Even for a few minutes."
"Do you want to stay alive?"
"Not really."
"Too bad. Put this on." Two minutes later- he has. We have nothing with us that'd make his face unnoticeable, so I pray to god citizens only see the uniforms when their eyes dart over us.
We support him as much as we can on the way out, the bodies unavoidable. The smell in the tunnels makes him vomit.
"Try not to think about what we're... walking in." The sludge covers out boots and uniforms up to the ankles, soaking the dried stuff from before. I remind myself once again to breathe through my mouth.
Below the utility hole, we stop.
"Can you maybe.... try to concentrate the limping on one leg?" Melissa suggests.
"No."
Here goes nothing then.
Carlos climbs the old ladder first and aggressively pushes the metal cover up, sending it flying a few feet down the sidewalk. Some poor bystander startles- quickly moving on.
I help Walter up, and am the last person to get out. When the fresh air hits my face I want nothing more than to strip out of the shitty clothes right in front of the poor shop owner staring out his window- who looks away when our eyes meet.
We find Melissa's non-biological great uncle leaning against his van, parked in the same spot as before. I almost cry again.
"What happened to....." He starts to ask. "Oh never mind- just get in."
We drive to the airport in silence, each trying to absorb what just happened. Despite it not being a very big van- six people in a five person space, it feels empty. There were supposed to be seven of us boarding that plane. Now- there'll be just five.
Surely we could have gone about this in a safer way- at least one alternative always exists. They just don't normally present themselves until much later when we've had time to really reflect on our actions. I can picture it now:
I'll probably end up being the first president since 2009 to testify before Congress on my actions( not in the context of an impeachment and ethics inquiry). I'm pretty sure I'd be the first former head of state to admit to killing a sitting one, though I definitely am not the first to have done it. Reactions from both sides of the aisle will be mixed.
Maybe, if I'm lucky- the ICC's questioning will be brief. I know that eleven of their judges privately expressed support for me in the immediate aftermath of the bombings, so I hope I get stuck with one of them.
I shake my head. This isn't about me or those who enabled the rescue by coming along. He's almost out.
We can deal with the rest later, I tell myself again.
With the privilege he has as a translator for the Russian government, Melissa's great uncle is able to go through airport security without the car being checked. We simply get as close to the floorboards as possible when he rolls his tinted window down and has a short conversation with the guy checking us in- who seems to be an old friend. He laughs, patting him on the shoulder, and waves us through.
Once again, the great uncle starts speeding like a bat out of hell- determined to keep his word to his dead best friend.
He pulls up next to Sergey's plane, which, true to his word- is exactly where it was when we first landed.
"Я буду скучать по тебе, дядя. Почему бы не пойти с нами? Ты в опасности каждый божий день ... сейчас больше, чем когда-либо прежде.
/ I'm gonna miss you, uncle. Why not come with us? You're in danger every single day... more now than ever before." Melissa leans against his van while I watch from the top of the steps.
"Россия - мой дом, но ... если ты когда-нибудь вернешься сюда, я лично выслежу тебя и заставлю сесть на другой самолет, прежде чем ты успеешь сделать десять шагов по нашей земле. Понятно?/Russia's my home but.... if you ever come back here I will personally hunt you down and force you on another plane before you've had a chance to take ten steps on our soil. Got it?" He raises an eyebrow, his expression suddenly serious.
"Да .... Я люблю тебя, дядя./ Yeah.... I love you uncle." Melissa sighs.
"Я тоже тебя люблю, а теперь иди нахуй ./ Love you too, now get the fuck out."
She steps back, and then he's gone- driving so fast he's halfway to security again despite the size of the airport.
Most go to the spots we were in on the ride over. Melissa leans against the emergency exit door, making me incredibly nervous- despite how irrational I know that fear is. It'd take way more than a hundred and forty pounds to make it open.
I stand up and walk across the aisle to Walter, who's trying really damn hard not to have a panic attack, using every little crevasse of his lungs when he breathes.
Sergey peeks his head through the curtain separating us from the cockpit.
"Can somebody... get those...." He gesture to the stairs and manual hand crank that retracts them back into a little compartment.
But something seems off in his expression- like he's distracted and has been crying himself. A dead family member maybe?
When we've gotten just above three thousand feet- far sooner than we'd be able to move around on a larger plane, I let myself into the cockpit to ask. He jumps, quickly wiping away the tears streaming down his face.
"You okay?"
His face contorts in a mixture of guilt and sadness.
"Sergey."
"I'm sorry... Madam President. They threatened my wife. I can't.... I can't let my kids become orphans."