First Cosmic Velocity by Zach Powers

Author:Zach Powers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

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THE LEONIDS RETURNED to the village slick with sweat and gasping for breath. They doubled over in the small square, beneath the bare tree planted in the center. The younger Leonid sucked up a lungful of air and forced out a shout, “Everyone!” No one stirred in the cottages. He shouted again. This time Mrs. Tarasenko opened her door and came out.

“What is it, boys?” she asked.

The younger Leonid shouted again.

Another door and another villager, but no more.

The younger Leonid shoved his brother. “Go, go.”

The older Leonid loped to the opposite side of the square and knocked on doors, calling for everyone to come out. His calls were weak and the effort left him light-headed.

“Come to the square!” The younger Leonid seemed to have found a new wellspring of energy. He sprinted down the row of cottages and shouted full from his throat.

The villagers emerged one by one and crept toward the square. They all moved as if awoken from naps. One of the women carried a rifle. Kasha poked her head from around the Tarasenko cottage. Her fur looked like snow against the gray rocks of the mountain and the black trunks of the bare forest.

“What is it, boys?” repeated Mrs. Tarasenko.

The older Leonid leaned against the tree, still trying to gather a full breath, and the villagers looked to him. He did not know what to say. Among the faces, he saw Mr. Yevtushenko’s family, and the families of the other villagers who had trekked to the pass. They bore an expression of curiosity. They had no idea the news to come. Leonid had memories from during the war. Then, when such news was delivered, the families already knew it before a single word was spoken. The sight of a soldier at the door contained the full content of the message. How did it work now, when they were dumb with peace?

Leonid stammered out a few syllables that failed to form into words. His younger brother stepped in front of him.

“We followed the villagers to the pass,” said the younger Leonid. “There were Russian soldiers on the other side. Everyone from the village was shot.”

The older Leonid saw Mrs. Yevtushenko staring at the bloodstain on his pants, her face shifting through a series of emotions he could not name. He brushed at the stain with his fingers. The spot was still damp, or was it the same sweat that soaked his clothes everywhere else?

“Surely you’re mistaken,” she said.

“We heard the guns,” said the younger Leonid, “and then we saw Mr. . . . we saw one of the villagers fall right before us. As he died he told us to run, and we ran.”

“No,” said Mrs. Yevtushenko. The word echoed through a dozen other mouths.

“We have to go to the pass,” said someone.

The nos were replaced with yeses.

“No.” Grandmother walked up the path from her cottage. Hers was the first voice to carry any sense of authority. The murmur of broken conversations silenced.

“They may still be alive,” said Mrs.

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