Quote: from Gatac on 9:33 am on June 23, 2004
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"I've never had to use those bits of knowledge up to now, though. I'm not a cleaner."
Elena breaks from Russian, driving her point home in English.
"Right, not a cleaner. For someone who is not, you have alot of knowledge on subject. Now I know you are not CIA...that kind of talk is more like FSB. I hope you are not, I like them even less than CIA."
The huntress lights up a rather carcinogenous-looking cigarette then wraps the dead body up in an old blanket. Elena puffs intently with her skills in the art corpse disposal becoming evident, applying her craft with ease as she steps outside to returning with some concrete rubble from perhaps a long-since unfinished addition to her grandfather's house. Disappearing into the second cabin bedroom, Elena appears a few minutes later with carrying a well-worn Red Army backpack, a length of rope, and a pair of snowshoes. She presents the backpack and shoes to Jess.
"You help, no? Fill this backpack with cinder. There is small river 'bout 2km north of here. We drag the bodies on sleds then dispose of them in water. The current send them downstream, with any luck they will not be found till spring thaw."
"You're not too shabby at it, either. How about we focus on the corpse for now? I like chatting, I really do, but as I have already elaborated, I'm on your side, I'm grateful for being saved, and I can't answer your questions."
Quote: from Gatac on 12:14 pm on June 23, 2004
Jess nods and takes the backpack.
"You're not too shabby at it, either. How about we focus on the corpse for now? I like chatting, I really do, but as I have already elaborated, I'm on your side, I'm grateful for being saved, and I can't answer your questions."
Three years covering your tracks and sneaking around burnt-out buildings will do that to you. Grab that pick-axe over there on your way out...the ice will be at least half a meter thick. Strap on your snowshoes and I'll meet you out behind the cabin.
Elena slams the front door shut as Jess prepares to brave the arctic chill outside. Fyodor props himself up, walking over to a closet and retrieves a cane from within.
It has been over 50 years since I was last shot...feels like old times. At least now I'm not nursing my wound in Stalingrad...
Fyodor hobbles into the kitchen, pulling out a large jug of clear liquid from a cabinet, uncorking and sampling the concoction straight from the container.
Vodka? There is a Russian proverb saying that it is good for whatever may ail you. I say it's a good pain killer and can take the chill off anything.
The grain alcohol both soothes and burns as it goes down Jess' gullet. While it's unclear whether or not the blurred vision and feelings of a liver in duress will pass, it's clear that the distilled beverage does take the edge off.
A whirring sound of a snowmachine engine turning over is heard outside the cabin. Fyodor peers out a window then turns to Jess.
"That would be Elena. You should go. She gets quite impatient if she's left waiting out in the cold. What do you want to do with Sleepy Beauty (eyeing the unconscious goon on the floor) over the there?"
Putting her body disposal skill to use, Jess finds Elena puffing away at a cancer stick all the while neatly stacking the dead mobsters on a pull-behind sled attached to an antique (at least by western standards) snowmachine.
Stopping only to re-light another cigarette, the huntress appears to have little to no remorse about the recently gory events that have been unfolding in front of her. Catching Jess' approach in the corner of her eye, Elena gives a thumbs-up over the roaring snowmaching engine and gestures the universal "hop on" signal.
Arriving in a haze of driving snow and fierce windchills, Jess acquires a new admiration for anyone who has to live in the sub-zero world of Siberia. Despite having on many layers and amply inebriated, Jess extremities are feeling the early effects of frostbite. Elena picks up on Jess' lethargic stance, smiling a bit as she unfastens the dead mobsters off the tow-sled.
"Don't worry. The pain in your fingers and feet will subside. It's just your body telling you that no person should be out in this weather. Once we start working, you'll feel better..."
A wolf howls in the distance, perhaps alerting the two ladies that life in fleeting and that they're just are not the top of the food chain in this arctic wasteland.
Chipping away a man-sized hole through a meter of solid snow and ice is easier said than done. One...perhaps two hours and a pack of cigarettes later, the first body is dumped into the frozen riverway. As the second goon is slid into his watery grave, Elena perks up at the slight flash of a light heading in their direction.
*Puffing away like a chimney*
"Could be a trapper checking his lines. Let's be quick about this last one, ok? I'd rather not have to wrap a third..."
Quote: from Gatac on 1:56 pm on June 29, 2004
"Well, what could we reasonably do out here except dispose of bodies? I don't think anyone is going to believe that we went for a walk."
"Agreed. Push that bastard into the river and let's go."
*Sl-glunk!*
The body teeters above the waterline for a moment before being dragged under by its concrete weights. Elena mounts the snowmachine, hitting the starter switch. Black smoke belches out the exhaust pipe, the aged relic of Communism sputtering as Elena tries to turn the engine over.
Jess continues to monitor the mysterious stranger approaching them with a deliberate, yet not expeditious pace. Glancing over the windscreen then back at Jess, Elena pipes up as she gives the infernal machine a chance to rest.
"I believe the engine block is frozen. Can you see what is our friend doing?
Elena works on the snowmachine engine like a woman possessed, puffing away at her cigarette.
"Check the slide on your weapon. Temperatures like this have a habit of freezing them shut....Sonuva. There is our problem."
(extracting a busted sparkplug).
"You wouldn't happen to have a sparkplug for a 1972 Russian snowmachine...would you?"[/i]
Off in the distance, the mysterious figure stops in his tracks. A few moments later, the echoing hum of an approaching helicopter is heard resonating through the river valley floor.
Quote: from Gatac on 11:01 am on June 30, 2004
"Do I look like Richard Dean Anderson?"
Jess racks the slide on the Makarov in her coat.
"Come to think of it, I never was lucky when it came to helicopters."
Elena scratches her head.
"Do you look like who? I am not sure who this person is, but we probably have less than two minutes before that helicopter gets here. I may be able to splice the starter wires together, but just in case...get my rifle out of my bag and load it."
Elena clicks on a flashlight then opens a small toolpouch, prying open the snowmachine's starter box.
Poking around inside, she steps back then yanks on two sets of bundled wiring.
"How are you coming with that rifle? The man on the ground is no doubt a spotter for the helicopter. He's probably been following us since we left the cabin."
The huntress again glances up at Jess as she begins splicing wires.
*clip* *clip*
"Now my life is on the line. Who did my grandfather and I have the misfortune of helping? And no...um... BULLSHIT. Yes, that is I think the English word. If we do manage to both survive, I'd like to know who I can blame."
