Chapter Forty-Three
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I sprang out into the rain, shield up to block any bullets — but the guard was already on the ground, dead. Yelena had her pistol raised, already turning as another set of guards appeared behind us.

"Get back inside!" She shouted at the girls around us, pointing back to the shipping container. They needed little convincing with the sound and light of gunshots filling the night air, intermingled with their screams. I charged forward as Yelena fired upon the new set of guards, and had just smashed into one when a distant klaxon began to ring, and the facility was bathed in a pulsating red glow.

"Fantastic!" Yelena shouted in aggravation, as I took down the two remaining guards — one fist to the face, the other down with a strike from my shield. "This day is just going so well! I love it!"

"Quit complaining and get to cover!" Natasha yelled back as she stepped outside, guarding the entrance. "They'll have reinforcements! Mia, can you shut that noise off?"

"On it!" I said, pulling up my hood.

It had started to rain again as I tore down one aisle of stacked shipping containers. The downpour increased as I ducked out of sight, the roar of rain nearly smothering the sound of running footsteps coming in my direction. By the time the approaching guard squad rounded on my position — it was empty. The four men came to a stop, confused by the vanishing shadow.

Never thinking to look up before I landed on top of them.

One set of shoulders provided cushioning as I landed feet first. He collapsed beneath me. The second was down before any had a chance to turn around. The third pulled his gun on me first, but couldn't keep his aim properly trained as I moved — pulling the trigger just as I sidestepped.

His bullets hit his compatriot instead, who had fired simultaneously. They both recoiled, shouting in alarm.

I watched, silently, as they both dropped by the other's gun.

Stepping over their bodies, I kept moving.

The main watchtower had to be the best view of the facility, but it wasn't perfect. The height of all the stacked containers naturally meant hidden aisles no matter how tall it was, and the security cameras (posted on free standing poles) had plenty of blind spots. They never saw me coming.

All the warning they had was the slow decline of radio communication — one by one, their grunts going down; most in without a sound, vanishing without a trace. Or perhaps a voice interrupted mid-shout, followed by an eerie silence.

The two security guards were visibly sweating when they sent their reluctant third to go outside and check it out.

His flashlight beam swept along the outer catwalk, the pouring rain pinging off all the metal, creating a veritable cacophony, a thousand pounding drums that hit every other sound — including his own racing heart. He had to keep blinking with the water dripping into his eyes, the light beam shaking from his trembling hands. Bracing it against his raised pistol didn't help much.

A hiss of movement behind him. The slightest brush of air that wasn't the wind.

He whipped around. Nothing there. Nothing but the narrow square glow of the tower doorway — much farther than he realized.

In the distance, among the thick jagged silhouette of the treeline, he thought he saw something move. Stories of Baba Yaga and her hut on giant chicken legs, flitted through his head — right before a pair of hands landed on his shoulders out of the darkness.

With an aborted scream, he went careening over the edge of the catwalk, landing with a bone-crunching splat in the mud below.

The sound drew out the remaining two guards, who approached the doorway but didn't step out. Wisely they knew, the danger was outside.

Unwisely, they assumed they were safe from it, when they slammed that door shut. It was thick metal and bullet proof glass. Deadbolted and magnetically locked, no one could get inside.

Except when they turned around, there the shadow loomed.

Soaking wet, hair hanging in my face, still bloody and bruised from earlier in the day — I must have been quite a sight.

They both screamed and raised their pistols. My shield was already in front of me and blocked the incoming fire with only a twitch of my arm. Panicked as they were, they unloaded their entire magazines into vibranium without reconsidering their aim. By the time their fingers were clicking useless triggers and I was still standing there, it was too late.

It was maybe a little cruel to go throwing it around in such a cramped space — taking out the overhead light in the process. But it got the job done quickly enough.

In the self-inflicted darkness, I turned to face the control panel. The fuzzy camera feeds on several screens; the variety of switches, toggles, dials, and buttons. It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at, which switch turned off the klaxons, turned off the floodlights, the alarm that went out to whatever satellite station it was reporting to. All of it off. Going through the security footage and software, destroying physical and digital copies. It was a closed circuit system, so I didn't have to worry about it being sent wirelessly anywhere else.

Any digital, visual trace of us was deleted, removed from existence. I was pleased to find, besides a few flickering shadows, my face was never captured. Dad would be proud.

After he was done being angry, maybe.

Stepping back, I was about to leave, considering the job done, before I paused. There was a radio, and the guards had left their smartphones on the desktop. I glanced at the screens, and wondered if there wasn't one more thing.

I didn't have a good count, but there had to have been at least two dozen girls in that shipping container. More than the three of us could possibly move on our own. We couldn't take them with us. The help they needed was not something we were equipped to give. And there were very few people I trusted to take care of them.

For better or worse, Sharon Carter was one of them. Was she pissed at me? Definitely. DId she hate my guts? Probably. But would she prioritize the safety of these girls over chasing me?

I thought it was a pretty good bet.

There was no way to send a message, ensure her urgency, without giving myself away. In fact, I was hoping my presence here would guarantee Carter got here as soon as possible. Which needed to happen. There was no way I was going to leave these girls to fend for themselves.

And who knows. Maybe this storage facility had other dirty secrets that Carter could take care of.

That was all I needed to decide before grabbing one of the phones.

There were a few numbers I knew she had, kinda old, didn't know if they were still viable. I didn't know her current number, and the last one was from Steve as a last resort kinda thing. There was also a CIA/Interpol tip-line that I figured with the right keywords and phrases, would work its way very fast to Carter.

Deciding I'd rather be safe than sorry, I messaged every route I had. Maybe none of them worked. Maybe all of them did. If so, I hoped the spam would convince Carter I wasn't fucking with her. I hoped she was still in Europe. It would be better if she showed up in person.

These girls had been hurt enough.

By the time I'd returned, there was a renewed sense of calm with the freed girls, huddling around in the open entrance of the container and out of the rain, while Yelena counted heads. I encountered several more bodies of fallen men, but it didn't seem to have been too bad of a firefight here. Yelena, hands on hips, said, "What are we going to do about them?"

"I called for help." I said, and received double looks of horror from Nat and Yelena. "Carter, specifically."

"Carter? As in Sharon Carter? Are you insane?" Yelena snapped, reeling on me. "You'll bring the entire world right down on us!"

"Not Carter," I scowled, not appreciating the critique. It wasn't like I'd chosen lightly. The only person left in any government position that I thought could effectively help, was Sharon Carter. "She'll make sure these girls are okay. She's good like that."

"She'll have to report it to Ross," Nat reminded me, her tone grim, but not quite reproachful. She knew Carter better than I did, I figured. I hoped she understood my choice. "He'll be back on our trail."

"We can keep ahead," I shrugged. The three of us, two being accomplished Widows? Piece of cake. "Right?"

"It'll be tight," Nat mused, pursing her lips together. "But not impossible."

"What a fucking nightmare," Yelena muttered.

"Well, what else can we do?" I demanded, gesturing to the girls huddled within the container. Though it was still raining, I didn't bother ducking inside for cover — I was already soaked through to the bone. "It's not like we can take them with us. Where would we even take them that could be safe? At least Carter will have resources."

"Yeah, after we're all arrested!" Yelena snapped back. She looked back at the girls, and faltered for a moment. "We — we could've — we would have figured something out eventually!"

"We don't have time to wait for eventually —"

"Could've talked about it first!" Yelena snarled, "But nooo, you just had to run off with your own plan, some American cowgirl trying to be the hero all the time!"

I opened my mouth to retort, but Natasha cut me off with a raise of her hand. "Enough! What's done is done. With the way things are, we didn't have much time to begin with. Hey, you!"

Her sudden shout made us both jump, and we turned to look at whoever she was staring at. A shadow tried to slink past the container while we were distracted, but Natasha caught up and grabbed her by the arm. The girl from before, with the burn scars, wincing as Natasha pushed her back against the metal wall with a hollow thump. "Where do you think you're going?"

The girl grimaced and wrenched her arm away, "What do you think? I just want to leave!"

"I don't think so," Natasha said, as we joined her side. "You're not like the other girls."

"Because of the way I look?" The girl snapped back, cheeks flushing and hackles rising in indignation. "How dare you —!"

"No, because I know you," Nat replied, her voice even, her gaze hard and unwavering. The girl tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go, so she only cowered slightly against the wall of the container.

"What? I've never met you before in my life," The girl said, looking Natasha up and down, trying and failing to hide her fear beneath a veneer of disdain.

"Wait —" Yelena began, her brows drawing together as she studied the girl in the darkness. "I know her, too. She's —"

"I know." Natasha said, her eyes never drifting away from the girl. "You're Antonia Dreykova."

"Of course," Yelena snarled, lunging forward, only for Natasha to raise an arm between them. "I knew it! Dreykov's darling little princess! I used to serve you tea! What the hell are you doing here?"

The girl flinched as if struck. Natasha continued. "You've never seen me, but I've seen you before."

The girl, Antonia, looked between the three of us, shoulders hunched guiltily. Her eyes, one pale, one dark, flicked with suspicion. Fear. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer on Yelena. She looked tempted to deny it, before saying: "…How?"

"Doesn't matter," Natasha said, a short shake of her head. "What matters is why your own father would insert his daughter in his own human trafficking operation."

"And why I shouldn't kill you right now," Yelena added venomously. If eyes could kill, Antonia would be dead ten times over by now. Her vitriol was surprising even for me, and while I didn't doubt Yelena had her reasons, I was also not inclined to let her kill an otherwise unarmed civilian.

Even if she was the daughter of a supervillain. "That's not happening."

"Speak for yourself!" Yelena swung her burning gaze at me, jabbing a finger at the younger girl. "She stood and watched and did nothing while Dreykov had us under his control. Sitting pretty while I was forced to play handmaiden to her whims! And now she's here? Why?"

"I didn't ask you to do any of that!" Antonia protested, but Yelena's response was just to spit at the ground between them. She looked to Natasha, adding, "My father didn't send me. He'd told me his White Widow —" cutting another nervous look towards Yelena, who seethed "— He said she'd gotten away. And I figured if she could do it… maybe I could, too."

Yelena's eyes narrowed. "Oh, what? Mourning your favorite slave? Was my next replacement not good enough for you? And here I thought you were lounging on your little throne this whole time."

"Well, I wasn't!" Antonia snapped, and there was a fragility in her eyes, like she might start crying. Maybe she really was as young as I thought. But if she was trained as a widow, then I'd need to reserve my judgment. As if sensing my thoughts, she turned on me, jerking her chin. "Why don't you have your silent muscle kill me, too? Bet you'd love that."

"Oh, trust me, I don't need her help —" Yelena's eyes gleamed, and she took a step forward, before Natasha snapped her arm out to stop her.

In turn, I said, "I don't want to kill anyone."

"Says the trained assassin who just killed a bunch of guys," Yelena grumbled.

"No one is killing anyone," Natasha raised her voice to end the argument, sounding more than a little aggravated by our bickering. Her gaze remained impassive, if cold, towards Antonia. "But I can't in good conscience let you run off on your own, either."

"Natalia Romanova? A conscience?" Yelena raised an eyebrow, snorting to herself. She seemed to be fighting with her own disappointment, crossing her arms and fighting a pout, like Natasha had denied her a little treat. "But fine, we won't kill you. For now. Wonder if Dreykov would actually shed a tear, for once."

Antonia opened her mouth to say something, then caught herself. Reconsidering, she looked back to Nat, perhaps guessing accurately she was the leader of the group. "Running away was just one part of my plan. But if you're here to take down his operation, I want to help."

Natasha didn't blink. A sharp tilt of her head. "Why?"

"Because!" Antonia looked stunned to be asked, and threw up a hand, gesturing to the container behind her. "Do I really need to explain! He's a monster! And I should know!"

"Oh, do you?" Yelena asked skeptically. "Do you know?"

Antonia seemed shaken by that, unable to respond. But not wanting to get sidetracked in a new round of trauma Olympics, I pressed her, "Do you know where his base of operations is, then? Where he keeps his widows?"

"...No." Antonia paused and bit her lip, her gaze dropping. "I've been there but he's very careful about what I can and can't see. I just know we take aircraft to reach it. No windows. Sometimes I'm even blindfolded."

"Hm," Natasha said, and it seemed she was actually pondering the offer. "Well, you already know too much as it is. Your father might send someone to take you back — or kill you — so you can't speak to Interpol. Does he know where you are right now?"

"No," Antonia said, scowling a little as she folded her arms.

"Well, he will soon enough," Natasha said. "And hell, maybe he really does have a soft spot for you. Might be good for leverage later."

Antonia looked shocked. "You're going to use me as a hostage?"

"You just said you wanted to help, didn't you?" Natasha said, then shrugged. "Well, your father doesn't need to know that. If he's placed any value in a woman at all, it might as well be you."

"Seriously?" Yelena turned on Natasha, aghast. "You're just going to let her tag along? I bet she can't even defend herself!"

"I can!" Antonia snapped back, fists clenched. Then, perhaps remembering who she was talking to, and seeing that we were all armed, remembered herself. "…Sort of. Not as a Widow."

Yelena sniffed, unimpressed. "Of course not as a Widow. That's why he takes us, because he can't be bothered. And besides, why would Dreykov let his pretty little bird learn how to fight back? Natasha, we can not let a helpless civilian with us. Even if she's evil."

"I'm not helpless," Antonia protested. "And I'm not evil, either! I just wanted to be free of him!"

"Don't we all," Natasha murmured, remaining impassive amidst their spat. "She's staying with us, Yelena. I prefer keeping an eye on unknown elements then letting them go free causing all the chaos they want. Now I can just add a third to my list."

"Ugh!" Yelena made a disgusted sound, while I struggled to hide a smile. Antonia just hugged herself, not catching the humor at all.

Natasha swept her hands back towards the doors. "Come on, we're not getting any drier out here."

Antonia went first, perhaps fearing Yelena getting too close to her, scurrying ahead and keeping her head down. Yelena stalked after her, looking as though she'd just been assigned babysitting duty.

Before I could follow, Natasha grabbed my arm, holding me back as Yelena and Antonia darted out of the rain. She pulled us back out of sight, and spoke in an undertone, where no one could eavesdrop over the rain. "Keep your guard up with her. Don't say anything that I haven't said already."

"You don't believe her story?" I asked, not entirely surprised. It was certainly vague enough.

"That, and the fact that I think Dreykov wouldn't stoop to using his own daughter as a tool," Natasha said. "Why would he risk taking her to his base of operations if not to implement the same chemical brainwashing like the other girls? The exact thing that would prevent this sort of behavior. Just because she's not trained doesn't make her dangerous. He kept her alive for a reason. Call it a gut feeling."

I frowned. "Do you know what happened to her? From before?"

Natasha paused, and she wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at anything, as her gaze drifted further and further out. "She was caught in the bomb that was supposed to kill Dreykov. I thought she was dead."

I stared at her for a long moment, the information sinking in. That explained her surprised reaction earlier, when she first recognized Antonia. "…Should she be?"

"Maybe," Natasha said, her gaze returning to the present, blinking a little. She shook her head, coming back into focus. "Dreykov would've had the resources to save her life. I just wonder if he didn't go a little farther. If he wasn't training her to be another widow, then he must have something else planned for her."

I wanted to question that logic, but then again, I've met enough bad guys to know that some guys are just like that. Everyone is just a tool to them. Even their own children. Antonia had hated her life badly enough to run away, allegedly. So it couldn't have been sunshine and rainbows under his parenting. She seemed horrified but not exactly surprised by the human trafficking her father was committing. Jaded.

"I'll be careful." I told her, knowing that's what Natasha wanted to hear. "What about Yelena?"

"She wants to kill Antonia," Natasha reminded me with a wry look. "I don't think we have to worry about Yelena trusting her."

"Good point."

"What the hell are you two doing?" Yelena demanded, peering around the door to glare at us. "Trying to see if you'll melt? Get in here before I change my mind about listening to you."

~o~

It was early morning when Interpol finally arrived.

We stayed as long as we could, waiting as the rain died down and the clouds drifted away, revealing the night sky as it slowly began to lighten again. Just the faint touches of pale blue on the horizon, the hour before sunrise, when we heard the faint thrum of helicopter rotors.

In the distance, I could see the small dots, like bugs, emerging from the horizon.

The girls were too sick, tired, and hungry to go running off anywhere.

"Please don't leave us," one of the girls begged, clinging to Natasha's arm. "Please don't leave us to Chernobog."

"Chernobog?" Natasha exchanged an alarmed look with Yelena, who could only shrug. "What's that?"

But the girl couldn't answer, only cry and shake her head. "It comes for us, they say. If we are not good, they tell us, they will feed us to Chernobog!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy now," I helped gently pry the girl away from Natasha.

"Chernobog is only a myth," Natasha says, the word having stirred up the other girls, who began to seethe restlessly, upset. "Just a demon some old men made up to scare you. It's not real, I promise."

"It is real!" Another girl wailed. "I've seen it! Black and hulking! You cannot stop it! It'll consume us all! Chernobog!"

That sent up a cacophony of crying that took us another half hour to soothe again. Some had just began to doze again as morning approached. There weren't a lot of resources around here, but checking the guard stations and raiding a container or two procured some food and water to sustain them for the time being. The copters were only ten miles out when we finally left the facility, hoping the girls would be safe.

We were on foot for a while, darting through the forest beyond the storage facility. Better than using a vehicle when Carter might be tempted to track us, and the trees provided coverage from above. Only when we came across a cabin did Natasha hotwire the dingy little car there, and we barreled down a rough dirt road before eventually hitting a remote freeway.

Driving and driving, all day with only a few pit stops, until the following evening, when she was certain we weren't being tailed. Interpol had failed to pick up the trace.

Only then did she stop in a little town, with a small gas station to collect supplies and some hot food. Outdoor seating consisted of old plastic lawn chairs and an assortment of patio furniture, laid out haphazardly on broken pavement, beneath yellow lights. The food here was cheap and greasy and hot, and tasted absolutely wonderful after nearly twenty-four hours of nonstop calorie burning.

There was little talking to be had. Most of the car ride had been done in near complete silence, partly due to concentration, and partly for exhaustion. Antonia ended up falling asleep, and I wished I'd been able to do the same, but she smelled so bad from that container that it kept me up. Opening a window helped keep me from getting sick in the car. It didn't help that we both got relegated to the backseat this time, much to my dismay; Yelena refused to relinquish riding shotgun, since Natasha refused to let her drive, too.

Natasha gave us time to eat before she decided to dive into any serious discussions. We were all too hungry to talk anyways, and I'd devoured three whole stuffed pancake rolls before I'd started to feel satiated again. The other three ate less in mass, but just as voracious.

Natasha had even taken to a beer bottle, which I thought was unusual of her. But she also looked unusually at ease, which meant she had already figured out what she was going to do next.

So I wasn't surprised when she turned to the new member of our group and said, "Now, I want you to tell me how you escaped your father."