Irina, sitting on the edge of the barn, lazily swung her legs and drank lemonade straight from the bottle.
- Think.
"What are you suddenly thinking about? It's bad for us to think in our village; it only causes unnecessary problems." Pasha leaned against the barn wall and lit a cigarette.
"Exactly. I'm thinking about how to get out of here." Irina looked at him, shielding her eyes from the sun.
"Well, it's easy to knock them off the roof. But you won't be able to pick up the bones." Pasha laughed.
Irina grimaced.
"Not from the roof, but from the village. I'm tired here. Every day is the same: Mom and Dad are arguing over potatoes, the club is still playing Santa Barbara, and you—the best local intellectual—are hanging around doing nothing."
"Hey! By the way, I'm planning my career!" Pasha raised his eyebrows.
/* */— What? You didn't even really finish school.
— I'll be a showman, like Urgant. Or a taxi driver. I have a flexible schedule for now.
Irina rolled her eyes.
"So where are you going to go, smart guy? The nearest town is 200 kilometers away, through forest and a couple of broken bridges."
“But we have a bicycle, an old map and a brilliant idea,” Pasha said conspiratorially.
- And what does it consist of?
"It's simple logic, madam. We take your dad's scooter, fill it to the brim, follow the map until it runs out of gas, and then start a new life."
Irina thought for a moment. The idea sounded stupid, but there was a certain bold charm to it.
— Okay, let's go. But if I end up in the news, it'll be under the "curiosities" section, not the "tragedies" section.
Pasha smiled triumphantly.
That same evening, Operation Great Escape began. While Pasha furtively lugged a can of gasoline out of the shed, Irina pulled an old map from the attic, which looked more like a collection of scraps than a guidebook.
"Look," she pointed at the map. "There's a forest drawn here, and there should be a road through it. Well, at least there was one when my parents were still falling in love."
"The main thing is that the bears don't eat us, and we'll figure out the road," Pasha said optimistically, screwing the gas cap on the scooter.
They rolled the scooter out into the yard. The scooter, proudly named "Wind of Freedom," was old, peeling, and looked more like a museum exhibit than a means of transportation.
"Is he really going to go?" Irina asked doubtfully.
"Are you kidding me? It's a local road legend!" Pasha patted the steering wheel lovingly. "Get in, you'll be my navigator."
The scooter started on the third try, deafening half the village with the roar of the engine, and they set off.
An hour's journey
"Tell me honestly, do you even know where we're going?" Irina asked, clinging to Pasha as the Wind of Freedom shook over every bump.
— Well, roughly. There are some lights over there on the left; it could be a village. Or just someone's headlights.
- You know, Pash, I look at you and it seems to me that you won’t become Urgant anytime soon.
"I'm just saying this for effect, but at heart I'm a strategist!" Pasha briskly turned right, and the scooter gave a dull roar before coming to a stop.
"What happened?" Irina climbed down, looking around suspiciously.
“Looks like we’re out of gas,” Pasha admitted guiltily.
"You're a genius!" Irina threw up her hands. "We haven't even reached the highway yet!"
They remained standing on the road, surrounded by forest, where it was dark and suspiciously quiet.
"Well, it's not all that bad," Pasha said, listening. "Do you hear that? That river's somewhere nearby. There must be people there."
“Or bears,” Irina muttered, but followed him.
Later
They reached the river, where they suddenly discovered something strange. A raft, with a brightly burning lantern, sat on the shore, right in the water. A backpack lay nearby, revealing pieces of fresh bread and a can of condensed milk.
“There’s someone here,” Irina whispered.
“Or was,” Pasha clarified, looking around cautiously.
Suddenly, a loud rustling sound came from the trees, and a man jumped out onto the shore. He was wearing a huge, obviously ill-fitting cloak and was holding an old fishing net. Seeing the boys, he froze.
"Who are you?" he asked, squinting.
“We’re… uh… tourists,” Pasha said. “And you?”
“I’m here… fishing,” the man muttered, clutching the net to himself.
Irina quickly realized something was wrong. Pasha seemed to realize it too.
"Yeah, fish," she drawled. "At two in the morning, with a lantern and a flat raft. Weren't you the one who dug up our road, by any chance?"
The man tensed and suddenly turned sharply, throwing the net.
"Get him!" Irina shouted.
Pasha rushed after the suspicious guy. What was he hiding? What was in his backpack?
Pasha, deftly holding the man by the sleeve, caught his breath. Irina, meanwhile, approached, still eyeing the fugitive suspiciously.
"Okay, tell me normally," she said. "If you take us for idiots, this won't last long."
The man, realizing that he couldn’t escape, sighed and nodded.
— Okay. My name is Grigory. I... well, let's say, work part-time.
"What do you do on the side?" Irina asked, crossing her arms.
"Oh, to hell with it, I admit it. I'm from the city, I came here to... get by. I'm having problems with work, someone's looking for me, and here, in the silence, it's easier to hide."
"What about the backpack?" Pasha nodded toward the things left by the raft.
Gregory was slightly embarrassed.
"Just food. And a little money. I left the cans to take to the nearest recycling center. It's not my chain, I found it here."
Irina and Pasha exchanged glances. The story sounded plausible, but the details were scant.
"Why did you run away then?" Irina asked.
"Who are you, anyway? I thought you were the local 'city dwellers' hunters. You know how they treat outsiders here."
“That’s true,” Irina nodded, remembering how the last time the entire village had turned against the vacuum cleaner salesman who had been talking too loudly about the discounts.
Gregory still looked wary.
"Listen, I'm not a thief. Just a guy who needs a little time to figure things out. If you don't believe me, you can check my backpack."
Irina silently opened her backpack and saw a can of condensed milk, bread, a couple of hundred-ruble bills, and a notebook inside. She glanced back at Pasha.
- It looks like he's telling the truth.
"Okay, Grigory," Pasha said slowly, unclenching his hand. "But remember, our village is small. If you do something wrong, every dog will know about it."
"Yes, I understand," the man sighed. "Thank you for not giving up right away."