"Amerika? Amerika!"
Alfred nearly dropped the phone he was holding. "Gahh, Ivan, what? I'm tired, dude!"
"I...had a nightmare."
"Oh, so you won't tolerate me telling you my dreams and yet I get to listen to yours?"
"I..."
Alfred heard light sniffling coming from the line. Instantly he felt guilty. "Hey, Ivan, sorry. Tell me about it."
"It...it was something...I can't..."
"Spit it out. I'm letting you tell me but I'm not patient right now."
"9/11."
Alfred went silent. Instantly he was brought back to the fateful day. "Wh...why did you dream about that?"
"That's like asking you why you dreamed of Anya."
"Good point."
"What do you think is happening to us, Amerika?"
"I've been asking myself that for a long while now."
"I do not like it at all. I am sick of it."
"Same, dude. Same."
There was a sigh from Ivan. "I just-" Then a long pause.
Alfred frowned. "Ivan...? Dude?"
"Amerika..."
Ivan sounded like he was in a great deal of agony.
"Ivan! What's wrong?"
"Gah...Amerika ...he-help me..."
"Ivan!"
The phone line went dead. Alfred just stood there breathing hard. He had to get back home to get to Ivan. If not...who knows what could have happened to him?
He contemplated confronting Russia's boss about it, but then realized he couldn't speak Russian and settled for just hitchhiking a flight instead. If nothing else, he would threaten his way onto one.