Russian Roulette by Anthony Horowitz Read Free Book Online Page B

to get out of the factory. They told me to run away because they knew what was going to happen.” My voice cracked. “They died too.”
    “I’m sorry, Yasha.”
    “Me too, Leo.”
    He was my best friend. He was all that I had left in the world. But I still wasn’t telling him the whole truth. My arm was throbbing painfully and I was sure that he must have noticed the bloodstain on my sleeve, but I hadn’t mentioned the syringe. My mother had inoculated me with the antidote against whatever had escaped into the air. She had said it would protect me. No one had done the same for Leo. Did that mean he was carrying the anthrax spores on him even now? Was he dying? I didn’t want to think about it and, coward that I was, I certainly couldn’t bring myself to talk about it with him.
    We were still walking. The rain was getting heavier. Now it was making its way through the leaves and splashing down all around us. It was early in the afternoon, but most of the light was gone. I had taken out my compass and given it to Leo. I could of course have used it myself, but I thought it would be better for him to have his mind occupied—and anyway, he was better at finding directions than me. Not that the compass really helped. Every time we came to a particularly nasty knot of brambles or found a tangle of undergrowth blocking our path, we had to go another way. It was as if the forest itself were guiding us. Where? If it was feeling merciful, it would lead us to safety. But it might be just as likely to deliver us into our enemies’ hands.
    The forest began to slope upward, gently at first, then more steeply, and we found our feet kept slipping and we tripped over the roots. Leo looked dreadful, his clothes plastered across him, his face deadly white, his hair, soaking wet now, hanging lifelessly over his eyes. I felt guilty in my waterproof clothes, but it was too late to hand them over. Ahead of us, the trees began to thin out. This was doubly bad news. First, it meant that we were even less protected from the rain. But it would also be easier to spot us from the air if the helicopters returned.
    “Over there!” I said.
    I had seen an electricity pylon not too far away, poking out above the trees, part of the new construction. They had been laying all three together—the new highway, the water pipe, and electricity—all part of the modernization of the area, before the work had ground to a halt. But even without tarmac or lighting, the road would lead us straight to Kirsk. At least we knew which way to go.
    I had very little memory of Kirsk. The last time I had been there had been about a year ago, on a school trip. Getting out of Estrov had been exciting enough, but when we had gotten there, we had spent half the time in a museum and by the afternoon I was bored stiff. When I was twelve, I had spent a week in Kirsk Hospital after I’d broken my leg. Both times, I had been taken there by bus and had no idea how to get around. But surely the station wouldn’t be too difficult to find, and at least I would have enough money to buy two tickets for the train. A hundred rubles was worth a great deal. It was more than a month’s salary for one of my teachers.
    We trudged forward, making better progress. We were beginning to think that we had gotten away after all, that nobody was interested in us anymore. Of course it is just when you begin to think like that, when you relax your guard, that the worst happens. If I had been in the same situation now, I would have gone anywhere except toward the new highway. When you are in danger, you must always opt for what is least expected. Predictability kills.
    We reached the first evidence of the construction: abandoned spools of wire, cement slabs, great piles of plastic tubing. Ahead of us, a brown ribbon of dug-up earth stretched out into the gloom. The town of Kirsk and the railway to Moscow lay at the other end.
    “How far is it?” Leo asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said.