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“Heavy fighting between the rebels and the government forces continues throughout the city of Pogoren and is not likely to die down soon. The citizens of Pogoren are advised to keep away from areas of particular interest on pain of death…”
Katia slammed on the radio’s power button in frustration, silencing its tinny voice. She missed the days she could look forward to the news. Even if there was no good news to be reported, which was the case nearly every day of this damned war, her instinct told her to be on top of the situation, a preference stemming from her journalist days when she was the first to witness events happening. Besides, she appreciated the reminder that people like her were still out there, doing their services to the citizens of Pogoren when she couldn’t. And yet, now, she could no longer stand hearing that monotone voice spouting off the same message for days on end.
Rubbing her tired eyes, Katia turned back to the city map sprawled on the table—or rather, the yellowed, decrepit piece of paper barely passing for a map that she had acquired before she followed her passion out of the country several years ago. With a last, mournful look at the crossed out spots, where she had marked the locations that were blocked by conflict, Katia began counting off the leftover places.
The shelled cottage just a few blocks away was wiped clean of supplies in the first following days after she settled down in this shelter—no meds. So was the abandoned construction site farther to the north—she shuddered, remembering her close encounter with that pair of soldiers. The supermarket was her most recent visit, but the lion’s share of its stockpile was taken by a team of armed scavengers that happened to be there that night. Sure enough, they didn’t dare to leave such a valuable object as a bottle of pills for her.
Just like that, Katia’s mind raced with possibilities that she immediately discarded—not here, not here, not here either, dammit- She buried her face in her hands and allowed herself a distressed wail. Of course, why was she so foolish to hope for anything better, when she was living in a nightmare itself? Succumbed to resignation, she lifted her head and confronted her last two options. The thoughts had always resided in a corner of her mind, threatening to overwhelm her every time she looked at the map, and she had tried her best to avoid them. Well, here they were, closer than ever, and she could feel a healthy amount of dread rising within her as she was forced to seriously consider them.
The first option—a wave of shame crashed upon her conscience as she thought it an option at all—was the small garage near the edge of the city. It would be all too easy for her to rob the inhabitants. She knew the place, after all.
With that thought, her mind began replaying vivid images of her last visit there. The garage owner’s concerned expression as he practically begged her for medicine for his ill father. The two of them haggling over the price of the pills she offered. His hasty thanks after they agreed on the deal, relief evident in his voice.
The images, once offering her joy and comfort by reminding her that she could still give hope to others in the otherwise hopeless reality that she lived in, now crushed her with extreme guilt. She really had fallen so low, Katia realized with a bitter sigh, to contemplate stealing meds from an ill old man, least of all meds that she herself had traded away. How ironic that their savior would become their damnation.
The second option would have been more bearable—if it was several weeks ago, that was. St. Mary’s Church was a name everyone in this city had heard of, thanks to the kindness and generosity of Father Olek. During the war, it became a safe haven for his flock, while the priest offered to barter with any willing traveler that came by. They were all gone now, slaughtered by a band of bandits, the church turning into their base of operations. No doubt those bastards were sitting on a motherlode of resources, resources that they robbed from countless innocents. It was so unfair to think that some people had more supplies than they knew what to do with, while others were starving to death in the streets. It was only right that Katia took some of their supplies in return.
Only… how, exactly? She could sneak around, but she couldn’t be sure she could make it undetected. What then? Those men surely had firearms, and the best weapon she had was a dull axe that she didn’t even know how to wield. She would probably freeze in place, before inevitably getting shot dead instantly if she was lucky. If she wasn’t… she didn’t want to imagine what monstrous acts those bandits would do to her. That kind of stuff was sadly too common these days, she shook her head.
Of course, she could wait for that door-to-door trader Franko to come knocking on the shelter, hoping he would bring some medicine. But he wouldn’t turn up tomorrow, if his schedule so far was to be relied on, and she needed the meds tonight. She was afraid she didn’t have enough time for that.
In conclusion, she could either risk her life stealing from thugs, or stamp all over her morals stealing from a family in need. Instead, Katia could only conclude that whatever God might exist had definitely abandoned this cursed hellhole.
Katia slumped forward in her seat, exhaustion finally taking over. Not for the first time, she dearly wished Roman was here with her, if only to listen to another opinion on the matter that she would more likely than not disagree with. But then, if he was here, the problem wouldn’t have existed in the first place, would it?
Ever since Roman’s illness got serious enough to leave him bedridden a few days ago, she had been managing the shelter alone. Every night, she had to venture outside and scavenge for supplies. And then she had to spend the entire day building, crafting, trading with Franko if he came by, and taking care of Roman. The poor thing could barely get himself off the bed alone, reduced to shivering underneath his blanket. Lately, she even had to coax him to eat, his diminished appetite understandably not willing to deal with rat meat. With what little time she had left to rest, she slept fitfully next to her companion, snapping awake whenever he showed so much as a sign that his condition was getting worse.
It just felt utterly, completely wrong that he of all people could be so dependent. Katia recalled her first encounter with Roman with terrifying clarity. It was not a regular occurrence, after all, that some dashing hero swooped in to dramatically rescue her. Yes, she was concerned that he killed the thug that she was running from with no hesitation whatsoever, moreso when she learned he was a rebel deserter, which meant he had been doing exactly that for years up until then. But in the end, her gratitude for the man that saved her without even knowing her, and the practicality of having such a man as her bodyguard won out. He was forced to agree as well after she returned the favor by talking her way out of their whole fiasco with the army picket.
That was how they found themselves here, holed up in a ramshackled, yet relatively intact house. Roman, sturdy as ever, did his share of the work, helping around in the shelter, steadfastly defending it during the night, even offering to go out instead of her and scout any place rumored to be dangerous. Their shelter was always filled with chatter—well, more like arguments usually, his opposing worldview and fiery temper made for an explosive combination, but over time she’d gotten used to that, even craving them at times.
Like now, for example. When the shelter was dreadfully silent, not a single sound, because he wasn’t here, because he was in his bed, entirely helpless as he lay dying-
Tears pricked Katia’s eyes as, yet again, the full gravity of her situation hit her. Her partner was dying of illness. There was a very real possibility that she’d lose him, and the shelter’s silence would be permanent.
She wasn’t ready for that. She would never be. She’d had more contact with him than anyone else in this war. Even now, she missed his assured posture, his determined expression, the stability she had come to rely on so much during this turbulent time. She missed the lively tunes he’d always play on their guitar. She even missed his gruff voice, bellowing in rage whenever something so much as a lack of cigarettes bothered him.
And here she was, lying uselessly around, having done absolutely nothing that could help him stave off the odds. Soon enough night would fall, and she still wasn’t sure how to go about getting medicine for him.
Dammit, she couldn’t lose him. She wasn't sure she wanted to live without any of it.
A surge of feelings Katia refused to name rose up within her. No. She didn’t need to sort that out on top of everything else she had to worry about.
She needed to take a walk and clear her mind.
Katia wiped her tears and stood up, the chair shoved backwards with a loud creak. She let herself wander aimlessly through their rooms, down the rickety metal ladder, past the crackling heater they had built in preparation for the coming cold spell. Yet as she walked, it soon became clear to her where she wanted to head.
She opened the door leading to Roman’s bedroom and approached his sleeping form. There he was, laying in the bed, his breaths shaky, his brows furrowed, his face drenched in sweat. A pang of pain struck Katia’s heart as she laid her hand on his forehead to check his fever and watched him toss and turn in his restless slumber, knowing there was nothing she could do for him right now. Then the mad impulse from earlier arose again, and before she could quell it, she found herself leaning down and placing her lips on his forehead. If she were honest with herself, though, she’d say she didn't regret any of it.
Katia didn't know how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but eventually Roman awoke and sensed her presence. He turned and stared at her with half-lidded eyes for a while, silently questioning her for meds, as she stayed quiet. Their eyes locked with each other until he broke the silence, his voice angry despite the croak, “Katia… one way or another, you gotta get me some fucking meds!”
Normally she’d retort at his rude words, but now she was half guilty for not having any meds, and half relieved that he still had the strength to get mad at her. She carded her fingers through his matted hair, trying to soothe him. In that moment, her mind was finally decided. “I will. I promise I will.”