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“ Flowers Bloom when the World is Doomed”

By Terry Echoes

For G. and K.

Falling asleep on a bed of straw on the floor amidst the din of a hundred other snorers was difficult enough without him adding to the noise. Olesya Antonov could hear their bodies making the hay scratch at the cement floor. She could hear the light slaps of fur on flesh, the passive grunts and other emanations at work, and she wondered how in the Hell her brother had the gall to be carrying on with her sister less than two feet away. Their backs were to her when she glowered at them, so she started piling up straw from underneath herself into the small space afforded between them in their stall. They were trying to be quiet—of that, she was sure—but she could hear every breath, every motion, and picture in vivid disgust every action the two men took.

She drifted away for a second, but the rustling of hay startled her back into her present circumstances. She sat up, annoyed, and watched the departing shape of blackness exit their stall on shaky legs. All she saw of him was the band on his finger glinting in the thin stream of moonlight from one of the high, barred windows on the wall overhead. Grumbling to herself, she slumped back onto her side and tried to will herself to sleep. She tried to block out the vivid impressions of sex still writhing in her brain and the images of her own sibling by reminding herself of the life she’d be leading if she hadn’t been locked away in this foul place. She’d be overseeing the stage props of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and organizing all the director’s notes for him. Then next year, they’d be putting on Urinetown.

Cripes, did reality not affect her brother? Didn’t she wish she could go off and have sex with some boyfriend, too? Except she couldn’t. To her, it wasn’t right. Not in this hellhole.

She didn’t realize morning had come. Olesya thought she must have fallen asleep, but she hadn’t quite reached that point where sleep was restful. Now the sun was glaring down on them all, even through such little windows, and all the people milling about making noise just meant that she had to be ready for role-call, tout suite.

Her brother, Maksim, was still asleep. She whacked him one in the ribs with the back of her paw. That woke him up with a snort, but he was so groggy he didn’t realize what’d happened.

There was no time to linger. The sun was just cresting the barren horizon opposite the Chernobyl outskirts. Everyone had to stand at attention and hope they weren’t the ones due for a caning. As her brother tightened his slacks beside her, Olesya stood rigid, both large ears perked up, tail not dragging the ground. The morning wind was chill enough for her furless and vulnerable feline skin to quiver. Her eyelids felt like they had sxiteen-ton weights attached to them. No, keep them open. She didn’t want to have to limp to the mess hall.

After the guards were done laughing to themselves about how long they kept their prisoners waiting, they emerged from their little office building outside the second set of barbed-wire fencing and entered the compound. Their wards, Yefrem Matveev, and Arseniy Vadilyev were a pair not to be reckoned with. The sight of them made her sick with hatred and fear. Arseniy was a large and imposing bear, with a ruddy undertone to his brown fur as if he bathed in blood each morning. Yefrem, that Siberian tiger bastard, always wore a fanged smile, and somehow that terrified her even more.

“Good morning, you fucking ugly koguts!” Yefrem’s voice was as chipper as a morning TV presenter. Arseniy backed him up like a laugh track emanating from a toilet. It must have been a good day, however, because they only ended up socking one man in the face, rendering him a big black eye. After role call was twice done, Yefrem flipped through pages on a clipboard too fast to be reading them and called out duty roster. “Antonov, Maksim. Antonov, Olesya. Mess hall duty. Get your ugly, wrinkled asses over there.”

Thank God for kitchen duty, Olesya thought. They could peel spuds and serve potato porridge and then spend the rest of the morning cleaning up the kitchen. She couldn’t help but wonder if she and her brother kept getting assigned it because they were Levkoy cats. No fur to get in your food. But there were plenty of reptilians in the camp, too.

They had to work fast, though—role call was needlessly long, but it didn’t last forever. Olesya couldn’t humor the other prisoners the way her brother could. “I’ll have the spaghetti, please,” said a flop-eared canine.

“Spaghetti it is, chief.” Maksim plopped a splat of potato porridge into his bowl, and the man moved on.

The only time Olesya could muster a smile for the grueling routine was when Vitali Pasternav strolled by her for his breakfast. He was a Danube crested newt with striking color, and he knew how to get things around the camp that people wanted. The occasional spices, for instance. How the hell he managed, she couldn’t figure out. He must’ve been goddamn magic or something.

“You’re looking beautiful this morning,” Vitali told her.

“I look emaciated and dead on my feet,” said Olesya.

“Aw, you’re just saying that.”

Olesya chuckled and doled out his portion. Whatever scant free time they mustered in the evening, they preferred to spend together, but she could never go further with him. A Russian gulag on the border was no place to settle down and be content. If she’d still been working at that theater in Chernihiv, she’d be happy to explore the possibilities.

“Burger and fries for you, good sir. With a pickle.” Maksim smiled another “customer” on her way. Olesya’s frown returned. She’d just remembered why she was so dead tired, and started picturing him as she had last night.

No. No, don’t do that.

When they’d shared an apartment, they could go on with their own lives. He was out all day working as a magazine typesetter. She spent her evenings working at the theater. They hardly ever crossed paths or even met each other’s dates. Nowadays he was getting shagged up the ass by some guy two feet away from her on the other side of a pile of straw.

Piss, she could go for a burger herself right about then.

The breakfast rush cleared out, emphasis on “rush”. No rest for the weary, and all that. Olesya shuttered the counter between mess and the kitchen, and then she and her younger brother helped themselves to a bit of mush themselves. She couldn’t take her eyes off Maksim, however. She clattered her spoon to her bowl. “What in the Hell is the matter with you?”

Maksim looked around as though she was addressing the wall behind him.

“Is a concentration camp not enough to put a damper on your boner?”

He opened his mouth without speaking, but she could just tell he was thinking up something snarky.

She dumped her dishes in the sink, then turned back toward him, her hands resting on the countertop behind her. “Do you think I don’t want to be back home, with it still standing, going to work and shacking up with guys? I can’t sleep when you’re two feet away, grinding on some guy’s lap! How am I to get that image out of my head?”

Maksim walked up close and dumped his bowl in the sink as well. He set his hands on the countertop beside her own. Olesya could see the joke winding up in his whiskers before he spoke. “You’ve been thinkin’ about me, big sis?”

“Wow, you’re hilarious.” Olesya sat on the edge of the counter, her knees slightly spread.? ?

“No, I’m dead serious.” Maksim worked his hips in between her thighs, and traced a finger along her cheek.

Olesya swatted his paw away. “Okay, you’re taking this too far, imbecile.”

“But it’s like you said: Nothing can stop my dick. My date left in the middle of the night, and now I got this morningwood.”

They both went silent. She was losing herself in his emerald eyes, and his erection was riding the crotch of her slacks. It was a little late to be morningwood. She could read his face loud and clear: He hadn’t meant to take his joke this far. Maybe it was the collective exhaustion. Her lips were on his without a thought in her head, and he didn’t back down.

“How bad do you need this?” Maksim asked. She could see he was terrified, but the kitchen was rolling around her, swelling and contracting. Maksim was standing right in front of her, but at the same time, meters away. She tried to delay the moment by weighing her options: This was the only private time they’d have, Maksim would be unlikely to gossip about her, and…what else? Her reeling mind was quelled by a kiss from her brother.

Memories flooded her brain of the guys she’d dated, back in her old life. Memories of last night pierced her, corrupting her with illusions of Maksim’s naked body. Her senses were overloaded by the taste of his tongue and the gentleness of his lips. Olesya shifted side to side to draw her thin slacks down, exposing herself to him. She was quaking throughout, and yet her brother’s touch was so tender, so calming. He was having a much easier time acclimating to this drastic paradigm shift. They’d do this once, she told herself. Just the once. Only here and now, because of this apocalyptic setting, and then never again.

When his erection parted the petals of her moistened sex, she knew that was a lie. His member was so thick, so muscular, and it reached up to her navel. He teased her, letting it throb against her inner labia. “How are you so moist?” he whispered. Then he drew back his hips, angled himself just right, and began the steady process of wedging himself within her body.

Oh yeah, she thought. That’s it for me. A layer of inhibitions was swept aside like so much shattered glass. Olesya squeezed her thighs around her brother’s hips, and urged him in faster. Time was of the essence. It hurt sort of like a burning sensation, but she knew the pain would recede in a couple of seconds or so. Maksim clapped his pelvis up against hers, and their furless skin smacked together in a resounding collision. Olesya relinquished a deep, hearty moan as she closed in around him. Her passage had been aching for this. Her knees swept up to his ribs as her arms clutched around his shoulders. Maksim pushed up her shirt and clasped a handful of her breast, circling her areola with his thumb like a shark waiting to strike.

Olesya found herself able to look him in the eyes. “Hurry up.”

Maksim obeyed. His hips smashed into her lap at a thunderous pace, the crisp sounds of their contact growing louder than they dared to speak. His other hand squeezed at her love handle while he buried his face into her neck. He kissed and licked and blew on her skin, but when he pinched her between delicate teeth, she whimpered and cringed. All of a sudden, she was drowning in lust. Her head fell back as another lurid moan escaped her vulnerable throat. His bounteous testicles swinging into her posterior caused her to melt, and her claws raked down the length of his shirt.

“Faster!” Minutes passed of this debauched spectacle, with every passing moment bringing with it a greater sense of urgency, waning the awkwardness that hung over them at the start. The threat was always just outside that door. It chased her, pursued her, so she clung tighter in her brother’s embrace and willed her orgasm into being. Her body convulsed at once, tail lashing, ears drawn back. Her veins tickled with some rich, ephemeral substance. She didn’t even realize how she was milking him right then, her svelte love canal greedy for every inch of him. It was all Maksim could do to yank himself free in desperation, only to expel his seed all over her groin.

Both siblings were left hunching into one another, feeling ugly, feeling ashamed, yet feeling terrific. Their bodies were assaulted by their stolen pleasure, leaving them virtually paralyzed. They were anchored in the ticking moments of their afterglow, sensually as one, and they prayed they would be granted a few more minutes of solace.

* * * * *

Across a few yards of dusty, cracked ground stood the workshop. This morose building contained numerous tables where the more dexterous prisoners set to task manufacturing things by hand, the old-fashioned way. For the eighth time, Nina Shevchuk poked her finger on a nail and sucked on it until it stopped bleeding. She was a red squirrel, but as of late, her color had been fading, and her tail had steadily become more scraggly. Her head was killing her; the lights above were pounding into her skull and drying out her throat. She tried to ignore these issues, tried tinkering away at repairing shoes, but she’d done so many that morning that the sight of them was making her nauseated.

On the opposite side of the table sat her husband, Erast Shevchuk. The marbled polecat looked for all intents and purposes like a jolly sock puppet in stark contrast to Nina’s scowl. He was having a much easier time of it, piling up the finished shoes and complaining in his jovial way about their need for new tools.

Nina interrupted him. “Where were you last night?” She averted her gaze.

“What? Oh, some of the boys made some moonshine vodka, is all. I’m sorry.”

As though Erast had been chanting a summoning ritual, in walked Vitali Pasternav. The newt just about had free reign of the compound, working as a gofer, but what a lot of the workshop prisoners thought of him as was a miracle worker. Erast brightened up at his approach, and when he brightened up, his wife’s cloud darkened.

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, Erast!” Vitali dropped a long, heavy bundle wrapped in a dirty red cloth onto the table. Unwrapping it revealed two wonderful new hammers, a slew of nails, and even some laces! Perfect for the two cobblers to continue with their work.

“You sly devil, you!” Erast patted Vitali on the back.

“Did you hear those shots last night?” Vitali asked. “Word is the guards shot down another drone!”

“Excuse me.” Nina stood up from the table. She walked away without hesitating until she was just within earshot of their talking. She wanted to keep on strolling right out the door, but her burning curiosity kept her hooked.

“How’s she doing?” Vitali lowered his voice, just not enough.

“She’s been sick.” Erast offered up a helpless shrug. “Here, I set these boots aside especially for you.”

“I could get some medicine.”

Erast shook his head. “She doesn’t belong here. She wanted us to go to her parents’ place in Belarus before the war started.”

A choked sob from Erast was the signal for Nina to resume her silent march out of the building. The guards had better things to do with their time than exercise absolute stringency. All she needed was five minutes of fresh air. Once outside, Nina hurled onto the dirt. She pressed a hand to the exterior wall for balance as the heat bore down on her from above. She spat out the remnants of her burning saliva and turned back toward the door. Then she gagged again.

No, there was no use postponing it. She’d have to quell this demon fire raging inside of her sooner than later. She reached into her slacks into a secret pocket she’d sewn on the inside and drew out a dusty-looking hypodermic needle.

* * * * *

Things changed after the lunch rush. Maksim had to attend to the quarry right afterwards, which left Olesya to take out the garbage scraps. Moldy potato skins from breakfast, tomatoes from lunch’s soup, and whatever ort was leftover filled two large, plastic bags. The guards didn’t care to patrol a garbage dump, nor have the trash pile so high the prisoners could hide about in it. All Olesya had to do was leave the bags by the corner of the building, and some of the other workers would be monitored to carry it out of the compound. As for her, she had to be back in the kitchen, scrubbing the place for dinner in a few hours. Hard tack and swill. Yum, yum.

She heard a clattering from inside the kitchen. Jogging back to the door, she griped aloud to whoever was in there. “The food is locked up! You have to wait like the rest of us.”

She stopped just outside. She couldn’t figure out what, but something about the way the door was ajar made what little hairs she had on the back of her neck stand up. She was certain she had left it open herself, so what was this sense of unease? There was no reply from inside. Surely she wouldn’t be attacked, right? Steeling her bravery, knowing it was useless to fetch a guard, she pushed the door open.

Blood smeared the linoleum leading up to the sink. The pungent stench of copper wrinkled her nose. The sink was running, trickling loudly into the metal basin, like the drum of a marching army. Sitting on the floor, propped up against the counter, was Vitali. Large, ugly bruises blotched his head and neck and chest. One eye was swollen shut. The blood was his.

Olesya rushed to crouch at Vitali’s side as though her equilibrium had launched her there. The room wasn’t just spinning; it was funneling around the grisly scene before her. “Vitali! Vitali, stay with me. What happened to you? Who did this?” As she barraged him with questions, she wet a sponge and dabbed it delicately against his wounds to cool them.

Vitali sputtered. His voice was hoarse. “Guards. Two guards. Those bastards, Matveev and Vasilyev, the brutes.” Somehow he managed to stretch a smile across his beaten snout. “I’m dying, Olesya.”

“No. No, you’re not.” She soaked the sponge next in what little cooking alcohol they had left and dabbed harder at his wounds. “It takes more than a beating to kill a man.”

Vitali winced. “Well, if you say so.” His next laugh metamorphosed into a series of hacking. “You probably don’t want to kiss me right now.”

Olesya furrowed her brow with concern. “Always joking, Vitali.” She rolled her eyes, but it was a gesture that pleaded to the heavens. She coaxed his face toward hers and granted him a tender kiss upon the lips.

“I love you, Olesya.”

She shushed him with another gentle kiss. “Alright. Time to go. I’ll carry you to the infirmary myself.”

“No, no no.” But Vitali wasn’t in a position to resist.

Olesya hooked one of his arms over her shoulders and stood, knowing it was a risky move for his condition. She told herself he’d improve a lot faster in the infirmary than on the floor of the kitchen. “Why did you come in here, anyway?”

“To see you,” he mumbled, dropping his head like dead weight.

“Vitali! Stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep.” She hoisted him to the door, her weakened muscles aching every step of the way to support his weight.

As though wanting to reassure her, Vitali kept mumbling to her the whole route to the infirmary. “No, not the infirmary.”

“Why did they do this to you?” Olesya asked. “For smuggling?”

“They wanted me to deal shirka, but I wouldn’t.” He was on the verge of blacking out, but kept muttering to assure Olesya he was alive. He continued even as she carried him to the compound infirmary. There, the nurse instructed her to set him down in a bed. Olesya, worried out of her mind, but knowing of the guards’ wrath, regretting leaving him behind as she returned to work.

* * * * *

Maksim’s body was aching and sweaty as he heaved his pickax. Alongside him was Erast, swinging away in the hours outside the workshop. The pair stole fleeting glances of one another’s physique, muscled from hard labor, yet malnourished from the poor diet afforded them. This was their minute consolation as they worked the quarry; meaningless, sisyphean labor to wear them down under the watchful gaze of their cruel overseers.

“It’s official,” Maksim said. “This has me more sore than you left me last night.”

Erast loosed a nervous chuckle. “That makes two of us.”

The shrill staccato of iron on rock continued like a disorganized bell choir. Lurking around them like thirsty reapers were the guards in their jackboots and fatigues. From their ranks, Yefrem and Arseniy emerged like the bravest scavengers. They seized Erast out of the blue, dragging him back a couple feet, kicking up dust in the process.

Maksim, startled, whirled around, forgetting the pickax in his hand. His ears folded back as he stared up at Yefrem. In a flash, the guard’s fist sailed toward him, and in the next moment, Maksim was crumpled on the ground, tasting blood and feeling something rattle around in his mouth. The bastard had knocked out one of his teeth.

“Everyone, get back to work.” Yefrem wore a bored expression. Even now, his voice carried a condescending rather than threatening tone. For an awkward and terrifying moment, he and Arseniy just whispered to one another with venomous smiles on their faces. “Erast Shevchuk is under arrest for the murder of Vitali Pasternav. Let that be a little lesson to you all.”

The uncuffed Erast’s manacle and dragged him through the dirt toward the compound. His eyes were wide with the pandemonium in his brain. He tried to stand to walk alongside them, but the pair held him low, preferring to haul him like a sack of garbage. They carried him through the gates, to a stake driven into the ground outside where they cuffed him by the neck using a heavy chain.

No one dared say a thing. Not until the guards were satisfied they were working again. When they returned to free Maksim so prepare for dinner, he dreaded that he was to meet a similar fate. To his relief, he was spared, and he found Olesya standing there just outside the mess hall, staring at Erast in shock.

“What do we do?” Olesya asked in a hushed voice.

“Do? ‘Do’?” Maksim wanted to cry right then. “It’s hopeless to do anything.” He stared at Erast kneeling there on the ground, his head hung with shame, no doubt his mind a storm of confusion and fear. Maksim looked at the tooth he clutched in his hand and let it drop. “This is our lives now, Olesya.”

Tears rolled down Olesya’s face. On instinct, Maksim reached to touch her cheek, only for her to pull away and retreat to the mess hall.

Dinner that evening might as well have been slop. All during the dinner shift, the siblings overheard baseless rumors and accusations rumbling among the rabble. Erast was a murderer. The cameras all over the compound proved it. If he didn’t kill Vitali, who did? Poor Vitali. Did you see the camera footage? Of course not. No wonder his shoes weren’t very well made.

Maksim and Olesya felt their shared indiscretions had taken a backseat to the greater tragedy surrounding them. Once they had served the food in silence, they shut the divider, and Olesya broke down crying. Maksim stood there like some comical mannequin, his arms reaching for his sister, unable to provide comfort.

“It’s my fault,” Olesya sobbed. Maksim found the strength to now crouch down and put his arms around her. Olesya dried her tears. “I left him in the infirmary, and they went and killed him.”

“Who? It wasn’t Erast!”

There was a clamor outside. Both siblings sped out of the kitchen to find the bags of refuse they were meant to remove had been ripped into. Several prisoners were dashing away, holding armfuls of food scraps.

“Vandals!” Maksim yelled after them.

Olesya pressed her hand to his chest. “Something’s happening.”

Stepping around the mess hall, the pair beheld a barbaric scene. Erast was still chained up. The other compound inhabitants were hurling refuse at him as they cursed his name, crying, “Murder! Murderer!”

A growl lodged itself in Maksim’s throat. His tail lashed about. His rage commanded him to rush up and condemn them, but then he saw Nina, Erast’s wife. His gut twisted like a pretzel between sparing Erast further indignity and guarding their secret tryst. Nina stared at the scene, dumbstruck, but with a tired furor hanging over her eyes. Her nose twitched, but her ragged tail remained very still. Maksim skulked outside the crowd in her direction, then hissed into her ear, “Nina, your husband is innocent. Why don’t you say something?”

Nina stared straight through him. “Maybe some truths will come to light.”

The crowd had gone through the table scraps and hurled small stones from the dust at Erast as though skipping them across a pond. One sharp edge sliced across his temple, leaving a bleeding streak in its wake.

Maksim could no longer remain silent. He charged between the stone-throwers and their target. “How dare you? How dare you do this? We shouldn’t be fighting amongst ourselves! Is his reputation nothing to you scoundrels? Better to throw the shoes he fixed up for you! Which of you has proof Erast murdererd Vitali? Nobody! We should not take the words of our opporessors at face value!”

The mob was dissuaged from throwing anything else, but they still found voice. One man shouted, “Why was he seen visiting Vitali in the infirmary where he was killed?”

Maksim thought. “Has anyone bothered asking him?” He crouched before Erast, indicating him to speak. When Erast had muttered his piece, Maksim stood and repeated it for all to hear. “He had only been visiting Vitali because he saw Olesya bring him to the infirmary! He was concerned as you all are!”

The old man laughed. “He sounds guilty to me!”

Olesya rushed to her brother’s side, her teeth gritting on the yoke of advocacy. “If you want to know who really killed Vitali, then I’ll tell you!”

But before she would get the chance, a shot rang out. The crowd fled like a flock of birds, none ready to meet a violent demise that evening. Maksim and Olesya backed into the mess hall as Nina cowered against the dorm. All of them had their ears folded and their tails curled between their legs.

Arseniy had only fired into the sky, but was satisfied with the mob’s exuent. He holstered his weapon and unbound Erast. He grinned, thoroughly enjoying his game of guards and prisoners. “Interrogation time for Mr. Shevchuk.”

* * * * *

Erast was led away through the wire fences to the compact office building situated just outside the gates. As he was taken, Maksim, Olesya, and Nina watched through the gray wire at the sunset over the Russian border.

Arseniy pushed him inside where Yefrem was already waiting, glaring at some medical-looking papers. He folded them clumsily with his fist and shoved them into his coat. Inside this confined space was a light, a table, and three uncomfortable folding chairs. Erast was sat in one, and Arseniy tipped back his with a lazy grin.

Yefrem chose to sit on the edge of the table, looming over them. “Did you enjoy our show, Mr. Shevchuk? We certainly enjoyed yours. Arseniy and I have a lot of fun watching you prisoners sneak around, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, like our own little ant farm. As we demonstrated, we are not merely the guards here, but masters of life and death and the forces of nature. Now you see why all the old religions worshiped a wrathful god.

“I won’t waste much more of our time. Vitali refused our offer. He was a very stupid man!” Yefrem looked to Arseniy and the pair laughed as though at a hysterical joke. “Will you be so kind as to sell shirka to those miserable little peasants you share filth with?”

Erast said nothing. Did nothing. Just kept his head down and his eyes closed.

“Our arms may be tired from trying to convince Mr. Pasternav, but we will convince you by the same force if needs must.”

Erast had only one thought as he stared at the linoleum: She didn’t belong here. He picked his head up, looking beaten and worn down, caked with dirt and stained with blood. “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.”

Yefrem smiled, clapping as though receiving a surprise birthday party. “Well done! That was easy, wasn’t it? We’ll take care of the murder charge so your stupid friends will trust you like that, but for now, go back to your wife for a change. I wouldn’t sleep with her though. We can’t have our precious drug mule catching some disease.”

It was dark when Erast was returned to the compound. Nothing was easy as far as he concerned. Not one step of walking back to his and Nina’s stall. He pushed the gate open and looked down at her, sprawled out on the hay as though she’d fallen from some great height. He could hear her soft snoring.

A severe pounding played at the front of his head, and a shrill ringing sounded in his ears. The Earth tipped him over, and he stumbled against the outside of the stall. His foot kicked something that tinkled and rolled for a few inches. Picking it up in the middle, he saw it was an empty and dilthy-looking hypodermic needle.

Where the Hell did this come from? It was a damn good way to spread disease, not the least of which HIV. Erast tried to think, but his mind hurt too damn much. Maybe sleep was futile. No, he needed to take this needle to the infirmary to dispose of it properly. He took several tries to return to his feet, then scraped through the compound as night fell.

* * * * *

In all the commotion, Maksim and Olesya hadn’t finished washing up after dinner. Olesya kept washing the same tray five times. Maksim, frustrated with this hold-up, threw down his towel and headed for the door.

Olesya seized his hand. “It’s finally hit me.”

“That our lives as we knew them are over?”

“I actually had the idiotic belief that life would be put on hold until this stupid, anachronistic war was over.”

“Olesya, we have to make our own happiness. Even in a world that bore life that would terminate itself.”

“Bearing that in mind…” She trailed off, beckoning him with a finger. She big him sit on the floor and placed a milk crate before him. She set two plates of cold dinner on the box, along with a glass she had filled with saxifrage she had picked from the cracked earth of the compound.

“This normally doesn’t grow this far north,” she said. “I missed romantic dinners.”

Maksim mustered a smile. “I did too.” Their meal may have tasted like a cold storm forming in their stomachs, but the gesture outshined their misery, if only for the time being.

“Don’t you worry,” he said, “this moment only came about through greater misfortune?”

Olesya tilted her head. “I don’t see it that way. Like you said, we have to make our happiness.”

“With the way the world’s going, there won’t be much of a ‘we’ left to go around.”

“Even if the world falls to ruin around us, the flowers still bloom.”

When their private dinner ended, Maksim kissed Olesya on the lips. That kiss was followed by another, and then many others. They buried one another in each other’s face, but it was not enough. Their hands collected each other and didn’t let go.

In a fit of heavy breathing, Olesya laid back, and Maksim slid atop her. This time when they shimmied free of their meager garments, they knew full well what they were doing. They basked in one another’s nudity for the very first time, marveling at their shapes and similarities. Both bore a similar pink hue to their skin, both had splotchy patterns down their sides, along other evidence of their blood relation.

Their union was paramount. Both brother and sister were as one, every gesture of their bodies in aid of one another’s pleasure. For this occasion, there was no rush of impatient friction. Every subtle clasp of flesh, every eked breath, all added to the procession of ecstasy shared between them. The newness of one another’s familiar bodies kept the discomfort of the lineoleum at bay, and there were no barriers to their lips and caresses.

Olesya could see what Maksim had been unable to stifle. He was showing her all the passion she wanted, all that he believed she deserved. The increasing pace left her giddy from the build-up. The clap of furless flesh filled the kitchen as he dug deeper into her still.

After half an hour had passed came the crescendo. Shudders from their bodies released the essence of their love. Maksim was deep inside when he erupted, and the oozing warmth that filled her bonded them together. Flushed, both clutched together, panting as the cold realization of their surroundings crept back into their minds.

All too soon, their minds separated once again. They hesitated, then rolled apart to dress themselves once more.

“We should get to the dorms before inspection,” Olesya said.

When she had stood and stretched out her back, Maksim grabbed her hand. He was on one knee before her. “Olesya, we only have one life to share. Lives that are growing rapidly shorter. I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?”

She was dumbstruck. Could the silence that followed erase his question from existence?

No.

There it sat in the indelible stretch of the past, awaiting response. Fear of the broken taboo swept over her like a storm, and she must answer as though suffocating for breath.

“Maksim, we can’t.”

Maksim’s head fell.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she said. “It’s wrong, and…”

Maksim stood, remanding from her any need to explain. “It’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay to meet her gaze. It wasn’t okay to remain in her presence. So he hurried outside, into the dark.

* * * * *

That night, the sky was blanketed in cloud cover, threatening to pour with its occasional ekings of mist. Nina couldn't see a damn thing, and wondered aloud why she was trailing through the inky blackness before her. She wasn't even truly aware she was speaking out loud. "Gotta find that no-good, cheating bastard. Erast, where the Hell are you? Damn it all, damn everything. Here we are, going into winter, and it just keeps getting hotter."

A broad arm reached out from the darkness and covered her mouth. She was caught by some unknown assailant there between the cafeteria and the workshop. Her fleeting scream was muffled and gone before she could think what to say. Arseniy stood there, pinning her up against the wall. He said nothing, just chuckled as his forefinger and thumb jabbed hard into her cheeks and forced her jaws apart. He thrust his large tongue into her mouth, and her puny arms flailed at him in futility. Pretty soon her slacks were down, and his trousers had dropped. She screamed now when his hands moved to wedge his foul phallus inside of her, to which he pushed her head back by the jaw and proceeded to have his way with her.

The forced entry hurt. She could feel something tearing. She pleaded to God for this to end.

A pair of gleaming emeralds shone out for a second in the night. Maksim grabbed Arseniy's gun from the holster on the ground. Without even announcing himself, he shot Arseniy right through the side of the head. The hulking bear collapsed onto his side, dead, the darkness thankfully covering the gore of the bullet's exit wound. Her prayer had been answered before she’d even finished it.

Nina and Maksim said nothing. Their eyes were large as dinner plates, their bodies swaddled in terror. Maksim clicked the safety on and jabbed the gun into his slacks. Then he and Nina grabbed the dead guard by the legs and dragged him between the buildings, out of sight.