Viktor's hands were very steady and precise for their size, and his taping up of my back took all of twenty minutes. Once he had completed his task, I felt him pull down the shirt he had given to me so that the spare fabric of the overlarge shirt piled around me slightly. Once he had done this, he did not hesitate to close the back door and make a quick move to the driver's seat, leaving me to collapse on the seat if I did so wish. However, the cool temperature of the leather upholstery discouraged me from doing so. Though I heard him switch the heat on in the vehicle, it did absolutely nothing to alleviate the chill from my skin. I just simply would not stop shivering.

Seeming to notice this before shifting the vehicle into drive, he picked up a large, heavy-looking coat that matched his uniform from the passenger seat and passed it back. The coat, more than likely belonging to Viktor, probably contained more fabric than any item of clothing that I had ever handled. The garment was even heavier than it looked, my shaking arms having difficulty moving it. The rectangular patch positioned at about the right breast area, which I could guess based on American military uniforms was some form of name tag, read "БЕЛИКОВ". After taking a few seconds to feel the thickness of the heavy fabric between my fingers, I slipped my arms into the sleeves. As expected, the jacket was very roomy and my hands came nowhere near the ends of the sleeves. However, the fabric was warm and comfortable, and the jacket smelled pleasantly clean.

Though Viktor now had the engine running, he had yet to put the vehicle in drive. His eyes were locked on the rearview mirror, those warm brown orbs seeming to be observing me. Once I noticed this, I cleared my throat. "I'm okay," I said aloud, adjusting my position so that I was sitting cross-legged. "Really."

Something in his eyes told me that he didn't believe me. Instead, he had a few completely unrelated questions. "Why is it that I haven't seen you in town before?"

This seemed like a fairly innocent question, but they weren't the types of questions one should answer honestly in a situation like that. Whether the concerned Viktor was an act or not, I could not tell at this point. All I knew is that I was inside an armored vehicle with a strange Russian man who had every single capability to do anything he wanted with me. What if he was sent to lure my family out of hiding? I didn't want to take the risk of revealing their location to a guy that I didn't even know. After a few moments of quiet pondering about my answer, I replied back, "I'd rather not say. Why?"

The questioning tone in my voice seemed to have sparked something in Viktor. It was as if something had suddenly clicked in his head, and, because of that, the situation made a little more sense. "We got a report of a small group of people hiding out on the outskirts of town. Group of teenage boys stole weapons from the sporting goods shop and escaped in a flat bed truck. Have you encountered them?"

This statement jogged my memory a bit. I knew that I had seen some of my classmates escaping in a red pickup, but I couldn't quite remember who exactly it had been. Slowly, I shook my head in response to his question. "I was at my cousin's house, with my cousins, my aunt, and my older cousin's best friend and girlfriend." I paused for a good thirty seconds before adding, "Cousin's best friend is the one outside on the road."

Viktor seemed quite shocked, almost aghast, at this new information. "And he would do that to family of his closest comrade?" His expression was far beyond disgust; he was angry. He looked like he wanted to kill Billy all over again.

I nodded. "He's never liked me," I explained. "He thought that anyone who wasn't as gung-ho to go out 'killin' reds' as he was to be a traitor. I fell under that category."

This snippet of information seemed to capture Viktor's interest more than anything else that had been said. "I take it that you do not share the fanatical obsession with slaughtering comrades that is so very prevalent in your country?"

The question was quite benign compared to what it could be, and I decided to answer. "I've actually taken time to attempt an understanding of how something works before allowing myself to hate it." That was my answer. I said no more and no less as a response to that question.

"And?" It was clear that Viktor had expected an assessment of my impression of Marxism. His eyes were trained on me with extreme interest.

"I don't get what the big deal is," I admitted, tucking a strand of still-wet hair behind my right ear as I spoke. "I don't understand what there is to hate with such a passion. It's not bad. It's just different, which is a concept that Americans seem to have a problem with."

After that statement, Viktor seemed a bit lost for words. For well over a minute, he just sat and stared at me, his facial expression full to the brim with surprise. "Are you sure that you are American?" he questioned. There wasn't a single note of joking in his voice. "All other Americans I have met seemed to regard the Motherland with the same contempt as they would the Third Reich."

I laughed slightly at his question. "Yes, I'm sure," I assured him. "My father is even an air force pilot. I just seem to have been born a free thinker."

That, as well, made him smile. We shared a brief laugh after that, both grinning at each other. He was the one who spoke next. "You are called Farrah, you said?" Now being just a bit confused, I nodded and waited for him to continue. "Farrah, how old are you?"

If I were to be honest, I would have to admit that I hadn't given one thought to age before this point, but once the subject had been brought up, I suddenly felt pathetically young. My eyes raking over Viktor's large, solid build, I couldn't help but think that I looked like a child to him as well as next to him. I certainly felt like a child next to him. Finally, I answered, "Sixteen." Clearing my throat, I added as an afterthought, "Seventeen in November. And you?"

It was Viktor's turn to clear his throat, and I could only think of two reasons why he would. He was either much older than he looked, or he thought that I was older than I was. "I will be twenty-one this coming February," he replied. "I thought you to be at least eighteen."

That was a new one, because I was almost sure that I did not look eighteen. An awkward, girlish sort of giggle escaped my mouth. "I expected you to be at least ten years older than me," I admitted, speaking in a low voice. I stole another glance at his solid build. "You have…" I couldn't think of the words. "I guess you could call it a mature demeanor."

He was much quicker to reply to that than I was to his last statement. "You do not carry yourself like the other high school students I have seen here," he stated. "They are all crass, violent, and rather hateful."

"I can only guess that to be the reason why I'm here," I interjected, a thought coming into my mind. "If the group detects an individual that does not match the widely-accepted model, that individual isn't treated very well."

"And you think what happened to be punishment for nonconformity?" Viktor questioned. That brief stumble over the language that was not native to him made me smile ever-so-slightly, his heavy accent making the effect all the better. "What are you laughing at?"

My face turned red at that point. "Did you mean to ask, 'Do you think that what happened was punishment for nonconformity?'." He returned the grin.

"I would enjoy to hear you attempt my language," he counteracted with a sly smirk, a facial expression that I will admit made my heart flutter just a bit more than it should have. "I never claimed my English to be well as a native speaker's."

I couldn't help but continue to giggle at what he had just said. "You did it again," I said with a smile. I didn't notice, possibly because it had been replaced in the forefront by the conversation at hand, but the chill was finally gone. I was warm.

It was Viktor's turn to get red now. "I will have you know that I speak the best English in my division," he said, the words seeming to have some sort of animated energy to them.

"Sure you do," I teased, my giggles never ceasing between replies. "Are you legitimately the best, or the best by default?"

That night was some of the most fun that I had happened to have in quite awhile at that point, but exactly how bizarre it had been did not quite sink in until morning. That morning, I woke up, still wrapped in Viktor's coat, stretched out in the back seat of that very same armored vehicle with the bright light of the rising sun nearly blinding me. Viktor had fallen asleep in the front seat. At first I was severely confused, but it all came back to me. It was in that reflection that I came to recognize the strangeness of it all.