Being on the train was not a relief.

            Even with Viktor's reckless driving, they hadn't arrived in Perm until the evening, and by then, the train she needed had already departed. Viktor had tried to insist on staying with her for a while, but she knew Irini needed him more. They bid each other an awkward farewell and parted. A moment that should have been heavy with sorrow was rushed and garbled. Natalya couldn't bear to drag it out into a heartfelt goodbye.

            Goodbye.

That's all she seemed to say nowadays.

The carriage did not make for interesting perusing; it was just drab wooden benches and a dirty floor. Instead, Natalya turned her attention back to the window. Trees had long since been replaced by vast wastelands filled only with snow. The nights were already as bright as the days, and Natalya was weary from lack of sleep.

Her night spent at the Perm platform had been long and tedious. The first ticket attendant was kind enough to let her sit inside the station house with him, so that she didn't catch her death. She'd shared her bread with him as a thank you. When he was relieved in the early morning though, the next attendant kicked her out and made her wait on the platform, even though her train would not arrive until midday. There was little shelter, Natalya grateful of her supplies to keep her even the tiniest bit warm.

It had been a fool's hope to think being on the train might actually bring her some comfort. Yet here she sat, drained from what little amount of nightmare filled sleep she had managed to get. Now, all she could do was wait.

The carriage was quiet, the squeal of the train tracks and gushing wind serenading her journey. Only one other passenger accompanied her for a portion of her time; a tiny babushka, hunched in the far corner. Occasionally, the clack of knitting needles could be heard, which Natalya found relatively soothing. But after a few hours, the little old woman departed the train and left Natalya alone with her memories again.

Sasha kept creeping back into the forefront of her thoughts. She didn't know why. For months, she had been free of his haunting presence. Yet now, his devilish grin plagued her. It would have been easier to think of her final moments with him rather than her first.

The train began to slow.

Natalya craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the platform sign. She had no idea which stop would be hers, so had eagerly searched every stop they made. At last, she read the word 'Vorkuta'. She sprung to her feet, but they had grown numb through inactivity and she stumbled, just managing to catch herself on the nearby seat. Hurriedly, she made her way to the door and waited until the train drew to a complete stand still before she slung it open.

The platform was deathly silent.

Everything was damp and muddy. Old snow compacted into grey ice clung to the sides of a tiny station house, the wearied awning dirty and heavy through rainfall. Natalya stepped off the train, the hiss of the steam the only thing to herald her arrival. Her door clanged shut, Natalya whisking her bag out of the way before it was caught by the swinging intruder.

Huge snowflakes tumbled in a sudden flurry. She stared up at the hovering clouds. They were nearly black, ready to cover this wasteland in a thick, frozen blanket. Sighing deeply, she returned her gaze downward. A conductor was huddled under the awning. He didn't get up to wave the train off, his hand simply extended out to signal them.

As the train pulled away, Natalya tried to muster some determination. There was no going back now.

'Excuse me?' she called, her words muffled by her scarf.

He glanced up. 'Yeah?'

'I need to get to Vorkuta.'

Looking her up and down, he pointed past the station house. 'Follow the left fork in the road, then just keep on that track. You'll hit it eventually.'

'How long does it take to get there by foot?'

'Half a day.'

That would be cutting it far too close. 'Is there anyone that could take me? A bus or something-'

He snorted. 'Nothing goes out that way except the guards returning from break. And they won't take you.'

Natalya stifled her need to bite back. 'Thank you,' she muttered, giving a quick nod before she hurried on.

Following his instructions, Natalya trudged forward, her pace quicker than she would have liked. She couldn't dawdle; she had to get there on time.

Sure enough, the fork in the road had a sign pointing each way. The left said Vorkuta, the right said Cementozavodsky. Ignoring the sirens in her mind, Natalya pressed on towards the camp that would claim the next four years of her life.

There was no shelter along the path. It was flanked either side by ditches, then stretching white emptiness. No trees, no houses, no sign of life at all. The snow continued to hurry down in a slanted pelt, covering Natalya and the ground alike. Even through all of her wrappings, she could feel the icy flakes pounding her side. Every step was difficult, the road beneath her feet slippery with old ice. Head down, she pushed on, her gloved hands gripping the straps of her pack.

Already, she missed the forest. She walked for just as long amongst the trees, but they held only mysticism, not dread. Yakov's teaching had prepared her for hard labour. Her chance of survival in this hell hole was so much greater because of it. What did any of that matter if her heart was no longer in it?

Each step towards the camp was excruciating, and not just because her shoes were loose and rubbed against her feet. How many times could a person lose hope before they never regained it again? Surely, Yakov's death was the final nail in the coffin. It did not help to think this way. She had felt the same about Pikhtovka and had instead found the father she had always wanted.

What were the chances that would happen again?

She continued her stride for a good hour, peeking up every so often to see if there was another sign that might hint she was headed in the right direction. No such luck. Further up the path, her pace slackened. She was exhausted already, and she couldn't even be a quarter of the way there.

A patch of black ice caught her step and sent her tumbling to the ground. She slipped from the road and down into the ditch, a frozen graveyard of old snow doing nothing to break her fall. Winded, Natalya curled into a ball, breathing through the pain. Never had she been so heavy. She needed to get up. She had to keep walking or she'd be late. Her life depended on it.

What was the point?

If her life was all that hung in the balance, then getting there on time truly didn't matter. Weary had long since been replaced by enervation, and now she had neither the strength nor the drive to push forward. Her grandmother would miss her, she knew that. But she had already lived without her for nearly a year; she must be accustomed to her absence. Perhaps without Natalya's return to cling onto, Ekaterina would finally find peace. She caused her grandmother nothing but trouble. Ekaterina should be relieved.

Natalya tugged her scarf completely over her face, letting the lingering scent of the hut soothe her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back with starikan now. She might even slip into nothingness.

Something kicked her.

Immediately, Natalya sat bolt upright, tearing her shroud form her eyes.

No one was there.

Rubbing her back where something had struck, she rose to her knees, looking around. Nothing lay beside her. There were no tracks of any kind, animal or otherwise leading to her. She was alone. But the pain in her back was very real.

Clambering to her feet, Natalya squinted into the distance.

There was a small figure, dark and blurry, just visible on the horizon.

'Yakov?' she called, her voice hoarse. That was stupid. It couldn't be him.

Why couldn't she shake the feeling that it was?

The figure turned away from her and began to walk away.

'Wait!' Natalya scooped up her bag and began to run clumsily across the vast open space. She had to reach Yakov.

He had kicked her.

She knew it deep down in her gut.

Her starikan was punishing her cowardice. She should be ashamed of herself. She scrabbled back up onto the road, the snow deep enough that she could traverse across it with speed.

All she could focus on was finding that figure. She just knew if she could reach him, she'd be safe. From the snow, from despair...

From herself.

More figures started to appear.

They were all working on some sort of wall, dipping and straightening through their labour to build it higher. One of them caught sight of her and slapped their friend beside them. She slowed her steps, catching her breath for a moment. She was close enough now that she could see four of them were in patchy, shabby jackets, and another two were in long, khaki coats with fur hats. These two might have their backs to her, but she could see their rifles poking out from their silhouettes.

Four prisoners, two guards.

'Andros!' one of the prisoners called. 'Look.'

A guard turned around to look at her, the other following suit. They both pointed their guns. 'Who are you?'

'I'm meant to be at Vorkuta,' she shouted as loud as she could.

Andros lowered his gun. 'A woman?'

The other followed suit, all six men staring at her.

Andros beckoned her closer, and she obliged. To her surprise, he seemed concerned, or at least shocked. 'You're so small,' he said, inspecting her.

'Only in height,' she retorted.

His brow furrowed though she was sure she saw his mouth twitch into a small smile beneath his mousey moustache. He wasn't what she expected of a Vorkuta guard. He didn't seem overly old, and his countenance was almost pleasant. Of average height and build, there was nothing about him to suggest he was anything other than a typical, ordinary man. His hand extended to her. 'Papers?'

Fishing them out, she handed them over.

'You're cutting it close. You're due there by the end of the day.'

'I was waylaid.'

He eyed her up and down again, but simply handed her papers back. 'Come on, I'll run you down there.'

'Really?' she gushed, surprised at the delight in her tone.

'Consider yourself lucky I'm in a good mood,' he said.

The other guard cut in. 'How will I get back if you have the bloody truck?'

'Such a work shy lout,' said Andros as he slung his gun over his shoulder. 'You'll do just fine without me until I return. Dmitri Ivanovich is coming to check on this lot later, so they know to behave themselves.'

The prisoners had all returned to work now, seemingly working even harder at the mention of this man.

'We're lucky enough to be graced with the big man himself then?' This guard, on the other hand, was exactly how she had imagined a guard. A little older, he seemed to have a permanent scowl etched onto his face.

'Or he'll send that Kirill. Depends on his mood.'

The other guard grumbled. 'Fine. But be quick.'

Andros just rolled his eyes, tugging Natalya with him passed the other convicts. Stumbling, Natalya took one last look at the open, snowy fields.

Yakov wasn't there. Of course he wasn't. At least not physically. She glanced to the sky, squinting into the sun now peeking through a small gap in the heavy clouds.

'Thank you,' she mouthed.

Taking Andros' proffered hand, she climbed up into the back of the truck. It wasn't too dissimilar to the one she had arrived in at Pikhtovka, except now, she was the only passenger. As the door slammed shut, she settled in and listened to Andros' heavy footsteps. The whole truck swayed as he jumped in the cab, the engine sparking to life. He swung it round and set off on the road to their looming destination.

Vorkuta.