Page 2 of Tracking Shadows
“Challenge accepted,” I say with a grin, though inside, I’m already recalculating my approach. Dmitri’s warnings aren’t to be taken lightly.
“Be careful, Alexei,” Dmitri adds, softer this time, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “This mission could get you both killed.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve danced with death,” I reply, turning to leave. “But don’t worry. I’ve got the best partner, right?”
The door closes behind me, and as I step into the hallway, the thrill of the hunt buzzes in my veins. Irina Petrovna, the woman who’s been chasing Sergei for years. This is going to be interesting.
***
The sun’s warm rays hit the back of my neck as I walk down the street, my backpack slung over one shoulder, the weight of my textbooks making me lean just a bit to the side. I can still hear the laughter from school echoing in my ears, a joke one of the guys told during lunch replaying in my head. It’s been a good day. No pop quizzes, a solid game of soccer during gym, and a promise from Mom that she’s making my favorite dinner tonight. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
“Dude, you’re not serious about joining the soccer team, are you?” My best friend, Mikhail, is walking beside me.
“Why not?” I kick a stray pebble off the sidewalk. “I’ve got skills.”
“You’ve got the skills of a baby giraffe on ice,” he snorts. “Stick to what you’re good at—being a math nerd.”
“Hey, I can be a math nerdanda soccer star.” I punch him lightly on the arm. “I’m multi-talented.”
“Sure, sure.” Mikhail shakes his head, but he’s grinning too. “Just don’t cry when you don’t make the team.”
We round the corner, and there’s my street, the same one I’ve walked a million times. It’s quiet, peaceful, the kind of place where nothing bad ever happens. The air smells like freshly cut grass, and a few of the neighbors are out, tending to their lawns or chatting by the mailboxes. I give a wave to Mrs. Petrova, who’s pruning her rose bushes with a look of fierce concentration.
“Later, Mikhail,” I say as we reach my house. He lives just a few blocks down, so we usually part ways here.
“Later, Alexei. Don’t forget, we’ve got that algebra test tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder as he starts to walk away.
“Like I could forget,” I mutter, though I’m still smiling as I head up the driveway.
Just as I’m about to reach the front door, something catches my eye. It's a van parked a little ways down the street. It’s nothing special, just an old, beat-up thing with rust spots along the edges. The engine’s running, a low, steady hum thatseems out of place in the otherwise quiet afternoon. I frown but then shake my head. It's probably just someone waiting for a friend or something.
I’m about to reach for the door handle when the sound of screeching tires makes me freeze. The van lurches forward and speeds up the street towards me. Before I can react, the side door slides open, and three men jump out. I barely have time to register what’s happening before one of them grabs me by the arm in a vise-like grip.
“Hey! What—” I try to pull away, but another man clamps a hand over my mouth, shoving a cloth against my face. The smell is sickly sweet, overpowering, and I gag, my vision blurring as I struggle.
My backpack slips off my shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud. I twist and kick, trying to break free, but it’s like fighting against a brick wall. My heart is hammering in my chest, panic flooding my veins as the world starts to go dark around the edges.
“Got him,” one of the men grunts, dragging me toward the van. “Get the door.”
The last thing I see is the sky, that endless blue sky, before everything goes black.
I wake up to the sound of the van’s engine rumbling beneath me, my head pounding like it’s been split open. For a second, I don’t know where I am. The floor is cold and hard beneath me, and there’s something tight around my wrists and ankles. When I try to move, plastic ties bite into my skin.
Panic surges through me as I blink, trying to focus. It’s dark, the only light coming from the small windows at the back of the van, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor. The air smells stale, like sweat and fear, and my stomach churns.
I try to scream, but my throat is raw, my voice coming out as a strangled croak. “Help!”
There’s no answer, just the low murmur of voices from the front of the van. They’re speaking in Russian, too low for me to make out what they’re saying. I struggle against the ties, but they’re too tight, so they only cut into my skin. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might burst right out of my chest.
How did this happen? One minute, I’m joking with Mikhail about soccer tryouts, and the next, I’m bound in the back of a van with no idea where I’m being taken. I try to piece together what’s going on, but nothing makes sense. I’m just a kid—who would want to hurt me?
The van jerks to a stop, and my heart leaps into my throat. There’s the sound of doors slamming, then heavy footsteps. The back doors swing open, and harsh sunlight floods in, blinding me. I squint, trying to make out the shapes of the men standing over me.
“Get him out,” one of them orders, gruff and impatient.
Two pairs of hands grab me, yanking me out of the van and onto my feet. My legs are shaky, and I almost collapse, but they hold me up, dragging me across a gravel lot. I stumble, the sharp rocks digging into the soles of my shoes, and I blink against the brightness, trying to get my bearings.
We’re in some kind of abandoned industrial area, surrounded by rusted fences and crumbling buildings. The air is thick with the smell of oil and decay. My head is spinning, and I’m starting to feel sick.