Page 157 of Betrayal and Vows

We wake to frost-covered clothes and stiff limbs. But Georgia’s on the other side of this ridge.

We sip our water, eat the bread and cheese and gather the strength to keep moving.

We walk in silence for hours.

Then finally, like a miracle, the forest thins and the temperature warms. A stretch of road appears, winding like a ribbon down into green valleys.

"We’re close," Lena says.

We stop one last time to rest before the descent. I hand Lena my bottle of water when I see her bottle is empty. She’s filthy, scraped, bruised, and glowing with something fierce and beautiful.

She catches me staring. "What?"

I shrug. "Just thinking how I’ve never seen anyone look that good covered in dirt."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Very classy."

"Once we’re over the border, we’ll meet our contact who will drive us to Tbilisi,” I say. “We’ll have to lay low for a couple of days.”

We drop below the tree line. I can see the border checkpoint in the distance. Two small buildings, a gate, and guards with rifles.

"Stay in the trees," I whisper, pulling Lena deeper into the forest. "We go around."

The next hour is the longest of my life. Every snapped twig sounds like gunfire. Every bird call makes my hand move toward my weapon. Lena stays close behind me. We don’t dare speak in case there are guards roaming the area.

We circle wide around the checkpoint, staying well within the cover of the pines. The forest is thick here, older trees with heavy branches that block most of the afternoon light. Perfect for hiding. Terrible for moving quickly.

"There," Lena breathes, pointing through the trees.

I follow her gaze and see it—a battered blue truck parked on a dirt road about two hundred meters into Georgian territory. Steam rises from its exhaust pipe. Our ride.

But between us and freedom are fifty meters of open ground. No cover. No trees. Just grass and rocks and nowhere to hide if someone decides to look this way.

I study the checkpoint. Two guards, both facing away from us, focused on the main road. They look bored. Good.

"When I say run, you run," I tell Lena. "Don't look back. Don't hesitate. Just get to that truck."

She nods.

I countdown on my fingers, then grab her hand. "Now."

We burst from the trees like rabbits fleeing a fox.

My legs pump harder than they have in days, Lena keeping pace beside me despite her injuries.

Behind us, I hear a shout. Russian voices. My blood turns to ice.

"Faster," I growl, not daring to look back.

A weathered man with kind eyes waves us forward urgently. "Quickly, quickly!"

We dive into the back of the truck. It's filled with hay bales and smells like hay and diesel fuel. The man is Elena’s contact, I assume. He hits the gas and bounces down the road.

Hay pokes at my face and fills my nose. Beside me, Lena's breathing is quick and shallow. I find her hand and squeeze.

We’re out of Russia.

Now, we have to trust Elena’s contact not to betray us.