Blood of My Monster: Chapter 8

For a moment, I don’t move.

Time stops, and my surroundings plunge into an unnerving sea of silence.

Then everything comes crashing down. Something of inhuman strength grabs my shoulder, pushes me forward, and shoves me down. My knees hit the snow-covered soil, and my chest follows, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

At first, I think the explosion was so big that it blew me away and I’m currently dying. All my goals, hopes, and little-girl dreams start flashing before my eyes.

However, the cold hits my bones and I taste it on my tongue. The savage grip is still on the back of my head, shoving me into the snow and forbidding me from moving an inch.

The residual shock wave of the explosion buzzes in my ears. It’s impossible to make out my surroundings, but I can hear gunshots and a distorted “Go, go, go!”

I try to lift my head, and the firm grip slowly loosens but doesn’t disappear.

“Stay down.” The harsh command rises above the warped noise in my ears.

I don’t have to look to know it’s the captain. He has a distinctive voice and presence that’s impossible to mistake.

The loosening of his grip allows me a glimpse at the situation. We’re both crammed behind a tree opposite the warehouse where the sound of the bomb came from.

My lips part as the gruesome image comes into view.

The warehouse is on fire.

Shreds and tendrils from the blown-up building and blood smudge the whiteness of the snow. Some pieces sink into it, and others form a pool of water around them.

But that’s not the sight that chills me to my bones. It’s the human limbs scattered everywhere. They fill up the field of snow like props.

Those…those clothes are…ours.

Those men are from my unit.

A shrill sound of panic screeches in my ears. Images of blood and corpses with holes in them invade my head.

Screams. Wails. Tears.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop—

Just like back then, I’m helpless, and so broken, I can’t even stop the bleeding, let alone save anyone.

They’re dead.

I’m not.

They’re—

“Breathe, Lipovsky.” The authoritative voice sounds so close to my ear, I flinch. “Fucking breathe, Aleksander.”

His command has a firm roughness, and I look down to find that my fingers are curled around the rifle’s trigger, and my shoulders are shaking so hard that I can’t control them.

“Look at me.” It’s that voice again. There’s nothing gentle about his tone, not even an attempt to sound nice, but maybe that’s precisely what I need, because my head slowly turns to the side.

My chaotic breathing evens out as I’m caught off guard by the icy depths of the captain’s blue eyes. Staring into them is no different than being trapped at the North Pole.

“That’s it. Breathe.” His voice lowers further, and it’s almost welcoming but still commanding. “I’m going to need you to snap the fuck out of it, or you’ll die. Do you hear me?”

Slowly but surely, I regain control of my breathing. The shaking stops, and I nod sharply.

“Use your voice, soldier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Team A was hit, and Team B went in as backup, so we’ll need to cover for them. Are you able to take a shot?”

Adrenaline rushes into my limbs, and I instinctively tighten my hold on my rifle. “Yes, sir.”

“If you don’t have the mental capacity, stay out of it. I will not have you endanger my men’s lives with your indecisiveness.”

“Those men are my friends.” I lift my chin. “I will do whatever it takes to get them out of this alive.”

There’s a short pause before he nods and motions at one of the nearby trees. “Go there.”

“Why not one of the previously designated spots?”

“Those are compromised. We lost all our snipers.” He says it without a hint of emotion, as if he didn’t just announce that many of the people I’ve started to consider my second family are gone.

A slight tremor rushes through me, but before it can disperse and grow, I briefly close my eyes, inhale deeply, and then crawl to the tree.

I’ll think about this later. For now, I’m on a mission.

The moment I push myself into that mindset, my head clears. Little by little, my movements become instinctive, robotic, and drip with purpose.

I don’t even pay attention to the persistent sound of gunshots or the mines that go off all around us.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

In a swift movement, I let my rifle hang at my back and climb the tree in record time. Instead of stopping at the first solid branch, I continue up until I have the best view of the warehouse and balance on a branch.

The downside is that this branch isn’t as strong. But then again, I don’t weigh as much as my male colleagues, so where they’d likely break this one and fall off, I won’t.

I lie flat on my stomach, rifle in position, and stare through my lenses. The first thing I do is take in the whole scene.

My mouth fills with saliva, and my body shakes at the sight of dismembered bodies—mostly our soldiers. A crippling fear grabs hold of me at the prospect of seeing either Maksim’s or Yuri’s body. Or even Viktor’s. I’ve somehow gotten used to the stoic grump, and I know for a fact that his loss would hit Captain the most.

Static sounds in my ear, and I startle for a second, thinking it’s another bomb. But then, the distinctive command comes, “Focus, Lipovsky.”

“Yes, sir.” I inhale deeply and close my eyes. When I open them, I’m filled with an unearthly calm.

I don’t wait for orders or think twice as I aim and shoot an insurgent who’s engaged with one of our own. The shot hits him in the head, and he falls to the ground like dead meat.

The soldier stares up for a moment. Like Captain, Team B must’ve figured out that we lost our snipers and, therefore, thought that no one had their backs.

Captain and I do now.

“You better stay alive,” I mouth to myself as the soldier disappears behind a shed.

The moment he’s gone, I aim at another insurgent, half hidden by the bomb’s waste, and take him down with a clean shot to the heart.

My adrenaline level spikes.

Click.

Aim.

Shoot.

The rhythm becomes natural as I lay them to rest one after the other.

“Eleven o’clock,” Captain’s voice sounds in my ear. “You take right. I’ll take left.”

“Copy that.”

I shift in the direction he ordered me to and pause when I see about five insurgents lying on the ground. With shots to the head.

Well, damn. Seems that I’ve underestimated the captain’s shooting abilities. I always thought he was merely the strategist. I didn’t know he was an essential operational force, too.

I shoot two on the right, then pause when I realize I only killed one and got the other in his shoulder. He escapes, holding his injured arm. I follow his movements and aim.

“Don’t!” the captain commands in my ear, but I’ve already taken the shot.

And I miss again. Fuck.

The insurgent disappears behind the chaos of the destroyed warehouse.

“Why did you stop me…?” I ask with a note of frustration.

“Leave position. Now!” he shouts, and I catch a glimpse of someone dressed in all black at the top of the opposite hill before I slip. The shot hits the already fragile branch, and it cracks, taking me down with it.

I loop the rifle around my neck and hold on to another branch. But the sniper takes aim at that one, too. In my frantic movements to escape his aim, I choke myself with the strap of my rifle. With little oxygen reaching my brain and the chest bandages compressing my lungs, my escape attempts become sluggish.

Shit.

I loosen the sling around my neck and continue my way down.

The moment my feet touch the ground, I hide behind the tree, breathing heavily. I start to remove the sling from around my neck—

“Stay still.”

The captain’s somber voice keeps me rooted in place, my hands at either side of me and my heart beating so loud, I can hear it in my ears.

I search around to try getting a glimpse of him, but he’s not in any of the nearby trees. He must be close enough to see me, though.

“He’s watching your every move. If he gets a clear shot, he’ll finish you.”

“How was my position exposed?”

“He used the shots you took as a parameter to find out where you were. He’s probably the one who took out our snipers.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed, Lipovsky. Your life is on the line now. If you move, you die. If you stay there, you’ll also die, because he likely sent the infantry in your direction.”

I gulp, feeling the strap itch against my neck. Despite the fact that I’m fully covered with combat gear, ice hardens my brain.

“What do I do?” I murmur. “Should I just go for it?”

“If you’re in the mood to die, then sure, Lipovsky, go for it.”

I narrow my eyes. Was that sarcasm just now? I turn my head to the side to search for him. A shot hits the tree trunk, missing my nose by an inch.

Holy shit. This asshole has a beef with me.

“I told you to stay fucking still.” The captain’s command nearly pierces my eardrums. I resist the urge to massage my ears since that would surely cost me my arm.

But I can’t stay still. If I do, I’ll be ambushed and killed. If not by whoever the sniper sent, then by a distant shot. I’m a sitting duck at this point.

“Listen to me carefully, Lipovsky. I’m going to need you to distract him.”

“How…?”

“Any way that doesn’t put you in danger. But I do need him to take another shot at you.”

“Uh…how can I accomplish that and not be in danger?”

“Throw a stick or your rifle.”

“No way in hell. Losing my weapon is no different from losing my life.”

“That’s your inferiority complex speaking, and watch the tone. Now, think of something at the count of five, four…”

“Wait!” I can’t think this fast.

“Three, two…”

Shit.

Shit.

“One.”

It all happens in slow motion. I lunge forward, not to be a martyr, but because I honestly think the other sniper is too smart to be fooled by a stick or even a rifle.

He probably won’t take aim unless he sees me in his sights. Which is why I have no choice but to go this route.

I hear the shot and the thud in my upper back before I feel the burn beneath my skin.

Pain explodes in my shoulder, and gravity pulls me down, but I manage to use the remainder of my strength to push myself back against the tree trunk.

I even tuck my legs and arms so that I’m entirely hidden and not in his range of sight anymore.

But in doing so, I scrape the fresh wound against the tree. A scream bubbles in my throat, but I bite my lip to suppress it.

“Lipovsky, you fucking—”

“Did you get him, Captain?” I ask in a drowsy voice, definitely cutting him off, and that would’ve gotten me in deep shit any other time, but these are special circumstances. “Tell me you got the asshole…”

My breathing slows and so does my pulse, but when my body starts to lean sideways, I forcibly shake my head and remain in the safe position.

“Of course I did, but he’s not alone.”

“Sorry, Captain. I don’t think I can distract the other ones.”

“No shit.” There’s a dark intonation in his voice. “How hurt are you?”

“Shot to the upper back, the shoulder, I think, but it’s manageable.”

“Like fuck it is. You’re barely conscious.”

“Ha… Guess that means my attempts to sound strong failed…”

“Don’t you dare lose consciousness, Lipovsky. That’s an order.”

“You…called me Aleksander earlier…” My eyes droop. “I like that better…” than the fake last name.

No idea why I told him that, but it seemed imperative for some reason.

At least Aleksander is the male version of my real name, and Sasha is the diminutive form for both.

“Lipovsky!”

Aleksandra. My name is Aleksandra, damn it.

But I don’t have the strength to say that as my head lolls to the side. Some shots sound around me, continuing the symphony of war.

I try to lift my rifle even when I can’t open my eyes. It’s instinct, I think. The need to remain alive no matter what.

But my fingers barely move.

I don’t know how much time passes or if it passes at all before I strong arms surround me.

They feel big and cage-like, but instead of trapping me, they’re holding me up.

And then his voice, one made of a strange mix of nightmares and lullabies, rings in my ear. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”