Illyushenka
The sun beat down, but there was little warmth in it. It was chilly, but the little boy had learned quickly how to survive in the open. Now he had no choice.
He sat perched in the forked branches of a tree keeping as still as he could, peering down through the foliage. He could hear nothing at all but the chirp of birdsong and the distant bark of a dog. He would sit here, unseen and unheard for as long as it took. First papa and then Uncle Viktor had drummed into him the importance of patience, being able to sit perfectly still, sometimes for hours without fidgeting. A skill that was a necessary part of survival to one who had to hunt for food to feed a family.
He felt like he had been running for days. It had started when the camp had awakened early in the morning to the sound of gunshots and men shouting. The barking of dogs soon followed. Mama had peeped out of the caravan window, and he remembered the way her hands shook as she fumbled to open the trap in the floor of the van. Something grandpa Kuryakin had created so that he could empty his rubbish and waste without having to leave the shelter of the van when it was dark or icy.
She had beckoned her children, whispered that they should hide in the hole under the van and wait for their chance, and then as quickly and quietly as possible, they should run and hide in the forest until it was safe to return. First out had been the eldest, fourteen-year old Maya, then twelve-year old Nicolai, and finally, seven-year old Illya.
"Be very quiet my Illyushenka, and be brave." Mama had whispered. They landed in the rubbish hole and crouched as low as they dared, listening in terror to the shouts and screams as men in uniforms with guns shot down everyone who moved. Finally, the caravans were all set alight, prompting those still cowering within to flee in terror, only to be gunned down in their turn. The three children crouched silently in their hiding place, feeling the heat unbearably hot as the caravan that had been their home for the past year burned fiercely over their heads. Finally, driven out by the heat, the three children pulled themselves carefully from their hole and dragged themselves away from the flames.
Illya had happened to emerge just a foot away from a thick bush, and ignoring its sharp spikiness, pulled himself into the middle to collect his thoughts and wait for a grownup he trusted to come and fetch him.
His view from his bush had been limited, but it was clear that these men with the uniforms and guns had killed everyone. He could see people lying on the ground, men, women and children he had lived among for a whole year. He had had to put his hand tightly over his mouth when he spotted mama lying on the forest floor beside the burning remnants of their caravan. She was quite dead.
He had waited in his bush for a while until he realized that the men had big dogs on leads that were sniffing all over the camp. What were they looking for? He had wondered. He found out quickly enough, as one of the dogs gave a howl and started charging forward. Illyusha closed his eyes tightly. It had been Uncle Viktor. When he opened his eyes again, Uncle Viktor was lying on the ground, with blood on his shirt. He had felt his courage leave him, he took to his heels and ran as fast as he could. He ran and ran, hearing the sound of the dogs on his heels. He remembered Uncle Viktor taking them to the animal trap a few weeks ago. A large hole that had been dug on the forest floor and disguised with branches and shrubbery. It was wide but narrow, and very deep. Perhaps he could jump over it? Deciding to take a chance on it, he had made for the trap, and leapt as high in the air as he could, grabbing an overhanging tree branch.
The next moment, the dogs had plunged deep into the pit, and were even now hollering and making a horrible noise in their anger. Illyusha climbed the branch carefully, and once he had made it to the trunk of the tree, and climbed as high as he could, managing to cross between trees by carefully traversing the thicker, safer branches half way up the trunk. Finally, he could go no further forward. He would stay here until he was sure that the horrible men who had killed his parents and his whole tribe were gone.
What had happened to Maya and Nicolai? They had dashed for the trees, with men and dogs chasing them. Had they made their way somehow to safety? Or had those men caught up with them and killed them too?
He clutched his tree branch, wiping he frightened tears frm his cheeks. There was no one to help him now, to wipe his tears away. The large purple bruise on his left shin where he had barked it during his headlong flight was painful and throbbing and starting to swell. What could he do? Where could he go? In relief he remembered his dedushka, his mama's papa. Mama said he was rich, and had a big house, with lots of space for a little boy. He would go there. Dedushka would care for him, and treat his sore leg. His mind made up, little Illyusha stayed put, determined to wait until the dogs were all gone. Then he would go to dedushka.
For what happened next, see my stories
Raw Recruit: The Mask he Wears; and especially
Raw Recruit: The Visitor.