Petyr huddles back against the peeling wallpaper, breath pluming before his face, as Mikhail leans out around the corner of the door, rifle in hand.
‘How is he?’ says Petyr, before spooning some more cold spaghetti into his mouth from the can.
‘Not good,’ mutters Mikhail. ‘He’s still not moved.’
‘Hm,’ is all Petyr offers.
There’s a knock at the door. Petyr rises, bringing his rifle with him. He goes to the windowpane, its glass long since broken, and then nods to Mikhail.
Through the door, Luka walks in.
‘Anything at the hospital?’ asks Petyr.
‘Just some codeine. A few of those T-pills.’
‘Nothing for Brice?’
Luka shakes his head. ‘No. How is he?’
‘See for yourself.’
All three of them look down the corridor at the other door, where Brice stands, hand caught rubbing his face, mid-walk, his clothes ruffled with the suspended motion of his stride, every molecule stuck where it is, unmoving.
‘Shit,’ breathes Luka.
They wait.
After a few minutes, Brice advances two paces down the corridor faster than any of them can blink, moving like an elastic band primed with tension then released, as if trying to catch up with himself. Then he stops, everything on him - clothes, pack, rifle - stops, stock still as before.
They wait for an hour. Luka warms some beans in a portable stove. Mikhail dozes on one of the kitchen chairs. Petyr sits with his rifle on an upper floor window, watching for movement in the city.
When he hears voices downstairs, Petyr descends. Brice is talking to the others.
‘You okay?’
‘How long was I stuck?’
Petyr sighs. ‘An hour. More.’
‘Fuck.’
‘How you feel?’
Brice shrugs. ‘Fine. It’s only been a few seconds for me. I was just coming in the door then you guys blinked about.’
‘It isn’t painful?’ asks Luka.
Brice shakes his head. ‘I barely notice it.’
‘You ready to move?’ says Petyr. ‘It’s getting late.’
Outside, the snow has begun to fall again. The four move through the city, white ghosts on a grey canvas. There’s a Christmas tree in the main square, its lights long extinct. In a bus station they find a pile of clothes, hundreds deep, left on some benches. There’s a water pump where they drink and refill their canteens.
At the outskirts of the city, Petyr turns at the crest of a hill. Behind him, Luka and Mikhail are walking back to Brice, who is stuck again.
‘Don’t touch him,’ says Petyr as he walks back down.
Brice is mid-stride, impossibly balanced on inertia that has ceased. His eyes gaze forward unseeing.
‘He’s out in the open,’ says Mikhail. ‘What do we do?’
Petyr looks around. ‘That wall up there, we’ll watch him from there.’
They sit, bodies huddled to the old stone wall as the wind blasts from the other way, piling snow against the rocks. Luka watches Brice while the other two watch the surrounding fields and the city outskirts.
‘A fire would be nice,’ mumbles Luka.
‘Good luck starting one in this,’ says Mikhail.
‘You’d see it from miles away in this light.’ Petyr looks over at the horizon, where the sun has disappeared into the earth and left a blurry smear in its wake.
He shuffles up beside Luka and looks down at Brice. Snow has built up all the way to his waist and piled on his pack, shoulders and head. Still, his leg sticks crooked in the air, ready to take its next step.
‘Will he freeze?’ says Luka. ‘You know, not like he is now. In the snow.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Petyr, ‘I don’t think so, not until he comes unstuck.’
‘We’re going to freeze,’ says Mikhail. Petyr can feel himself shivering. Even in his thick gloves, his fingers have gone numb.
‘Let's get into that house over there. At least it’s out of the wind.’
‘What about Brice?’ says Luka.
Petyr stands. ‘Nothing we can do.’
They take it in turns to keep watch, getting less sleep than they’d normally get with only three of them. They don’t light a fire in the hearth after last time. They don’t talk much or eat much. Just try to stay warm on musty beds who haven’t been slept on in years.
In the morning, they go back out and Brice is still there. Some of the snow has been blown off by the wind.
‘Now what?’ Luka asks.
Petyr rubs his jaw. ‘We move on. Can’t stay here. Brice knows our heading. He’ll follow if he gets unstuck.’
‘If?’
‘If.’
‘Should we? You know?’ Mikhail nods to his rifle.
‘No,’ says Petyr. ‘We don’t know how long this lasts. But it’s no time for him. He might have a chance.’
‘Someone will find him eventually.’
‘If they’re smart,’ says Petyr, ‘they won’t touch him.’
‘And if they’re not?’ says Luka.
‘Bad luck,’ says Petyr, as he starts to walk away.
Paddy Dobson
10th January 2021