Flesh: The Jack Riordan Stories, #8

Running

Sonja Antić would always remember that day in August 1991. It was fine and sunny, and hot, as the summer made a last attempt to stave off the chilly winds of autumn. She was sixteen, in her last year in school, and as she turned the corner of her street, looking forward to coffee and kremšnite with her parents and her little sister, the sight before her stopped her in her tracks.

Just today in school, she and her friends had discussed the state of tension between Croatia and the rest of the Yugoslavian Federation. Croatia wanted independence. Here, where she lived, there was a large Serbian component of the population, and Serbia had cast covetous eyes on Croatia, hoping to gain all the Serb populated areas of her neighbours and thus to dominate a new Yugoslavia. Croatia itself had been agitating for independence from the rest of the Yugoslavian Federation. During the afternoon, the students had heard faint popping sounds and the rumble of an occasional explosion, although they did not know what it was. Perhaps a fireworks display? No! The Serbs had acted, and their targets were the Croatians, their neighbours in the border villages and towns.

Sonja could see a small group of bearded men, perhaps half a dozen, gathered outside her house. They carried assault rifles and wore woodland camouflage fatigues. Suddenly, she heard a brief burst of firing and the screams of her mother and sister. The men began to laugh and press forward. The women screamed again, and Sonja was sure the noise was coming from the upper bedroom windows. For a moment, she stood there, unable to believe what she was seeing and hearing, then she turned and ran.

She heard shouting behind her, and a couple of bullets whizzed past. Then a loud voice called, Don’t shoot! The captain wants her for himself! After her, run!

Sonja ran down the street, past the shops, past the water tower and the football fields, past the school she had left just minutes before. Behind her, her pursuers fell back, first the fat sergeant, then the others. They were not going to catch her and, anyway, they didn’t care much; there was plenty more to choose from. Sonja ran past the church, out of the town, into the woods, and across the river. She could do this all day, for she had been the 1500 metre champion of Yugoslavia, and her coach, ironically a Serb, had told her she would go to the Olympics if she trained hard. She ran, and she ran, and she ran until the trees grew thick and their canopy blotted out the sky. After two hours, as night fell, she stopped, exhausted.

SHE AWOKE COLD, WET, and hungry. For a moment, she was disoriented, then she remembered the horror of the day before and the likelihood that most of her family lay murdered; she began to cry, great wracking sobs that made her slight frame shudder. She screamed: No! No! repeatedly before collapsing into the wet carpet of pine needles. She did not know how long she remained there, but it could not have been long, for when she looked around her, the heavy ground mist was only just beginning to disperse. She could not see the sun yet but reasoned it must be where the mist was looking slightly thinner. What could she do? If she returned to her home, she would be in mortal danger. She must go to the small farm of her grandmother. Her brother was there; he would know what to do.

The farm was many miles to the north-west, near the tiny village of Nova Cernic, close to the border with Hungary. It would take her three or four days, even with some kind of transport, and she had nothing but the clothes she wore. She looked around her and calculated where east was, then set off in an approximately north-westerly direction. A sudden wind blew up, coming from behind her, and on it she thought she could smell smoke and hear the faint rattle of gunfire. She increased her pace.

Despite the summer weather, it was cold in the forest and it was an hour or more before she dried out and began to feel comfortable. The going was not so bad; this was a state forest, so the trees were mature, towering above her and the forest floor kept free from fallen logs and undergrowth. She kept up a steady pace that day, finding water from the little streams that crossed her path, but she had nothing to eat. About an hour before nightfall, she was weak from hunger. She had almost given up hope of finding food or shelter when she emerged from the trees to see a small homestead in the valley. It looked peaceful and beckoning, with a feather of smoke coming from the chimney. She moved toward it, cautious, fearful of bearded men in camouflage uniforms. More than once she stopped and crouched to check the building. A cow was grazing quietly near the rear of the house, and she could see geese, or maybe ducks, nothing out of the ordinary. She waited, carefully watching, trying to ignore her fluttering heart that vied with her hunger for the decision she was about to make.

Then, as the light leaked away from the sky, she saw a light come on, dull yellow. A candle, she thought, or maybe a paraffin lamp. Her head fluttered and her mouth was dry; she knew she would have to overcome her fear and go to the house. She walked to the building, climbed stairs to a veranda, and knocked on the door. Somewhere inside, she could hear a radio playing. After a couple of minutes, she heard shuffling footsteps and an old woman, lamp in hand, opened the door. "Bože moj," she said, Šta vam se desilo, dete? Sonja’s eyes opened in fear. She had spoken Serbian!

The woman had a kindly face, and she saw the fear in Sonja. Quickly, she shifted to Croatian. Come in, child, she said, It seems you have had a hard time of it. Sonja felt relief flood through her body. Thank God, she thought, thank God, and stepped through the door. For a moment, the aroma from the stove almost made her faint, and she staggered to a sofa and sat. The old woman sat with her, holding her as she struggled to contain her tears, listening as she told her story. The men in uniform, the cries of her mother and sister, the bullets, the run from danger. Finally, her trek through the forest and the refuge she had found in this cottage.

Dijana was the old woman’s name, and she fed Sonja with a rich stew of vegetables and rabbit. Sonja thought she had never tasted such wonderful food. Then they talked. Dijana had heard some news on her radio, broadcast from Serbia, and she knew what was going on. The generals are at it again, she said. It seems that Croats and Serbs will never have peace. I have seen the Germans, the Russians, the Serbs, and the Bosnians all fight over this lovely land of Croatia. Surely it is cursed.

Sonja kept falling asleep. I will prepare some food for you to take in the morning, Dijana said. "Sleep now. You will be able to go on tomorrow. In a few days, you should be safe. Do not go into the village of Grokce. They are mainly Serbs there. It would be best if you go west for a while first. Be extremely careful of any you may meet. These old grudges are long held and dangerous."

Sonja woke with a start. Something had shocked her from her deep sleep. She could hear heavy vehicles in the distance and the ripple of automatic rifle fire. She ran to the window and saw, off to the south, fires burning. Sonja did not hesitate, dressing quickly and picking up the parcel Dijana had left for her. She hesitated. Should she say goodbye? No, she decided. The old woman was a Serb after all and might hand her over to the others. In any case, if she didn’t know in what direction Sonja had gone, she could tell no one.

Sonja stepped from the veranda and, casting about for the west, began to run.

It was slow going this time until the moon rose and bathed everything with a silver glow. She kept away from the tracks and roads she encountered. There were few habitations and even fewer road signs. The sounds faded into the night. Then, as morning approached, she stopped, ate, and sought shelter in a thick mass of fern fronds, near the base of an enormous tree, down around its roots, and slept.

She woke late in the morning and set out once more. The forest thinned out, and there were more pastures, livestock, and farmsteads. At the top of a small hill, she surveyed the valley below. A small stream ran down the valley bottom, and away to the left she could see a road. She watched a farm cart, drawn by a battered green tractor, pass along slowly. Two older cars, probably Yugos by their boxy appearance, rumbled by, one beeping its horn at the tractor driver who raised an arm in casual salute. Nothing to be wary of there. She started down the hill towards the farmhouse.

Two little girls played with a kitten near the front door. They smiled at her and ran to tell their mother. Sonja was not anxious; their flaxen hair told her they were Croatians, most likely. Then the door opened, and a young couple welcomed her. She related her adventures, and they made her some breakfast, milky coffee, bread, and a slice of spicy sausage. All seemed well, but the family seemed nervous. They asked her if she had seen any sign of soldiers nearby.

No, she said, although last evening I heard shooting. What have you heard?

The young man, named Stevan, said, "We have been listening to the radio in Zagreb. The Serbs attacked us without notice and have made rapid gains all along the frontier. We don’t have many soldiers, but they have mobilised the police reservists. I think we must leave here soon. The Serbs are animals and we don’t want them to harm our little girls. Would you like to join us? We will leave here soon. Our neighbour Toma is coming with his tractor and cart. I’m sure there will be room for you."

Sonja was pleased; she would have company and a degree of protection, and she agreed immediately. Two hours later, they left in Toma’s cart with a pile of belongings. Toma said, "We will head to Daruvar. There is a police station there and you will all be safe. Stevan and I will have to go with the police. We will need every man now. Sonja was apprehensive–she wanted to keep away from towns. You must leave me before the town, she said. I will head north and west to Nova Cernic. Baka will be there,"

As night fell, they made camp and slept around a small fire. Sleep did not come easily to them and as the dawn lightened the sky to the east, faraway thunder came to them, faintly on the breeze. Away to the south-east, lightning flickered along the horizon, puzzling Stevan. The last forecast he’d heard had been for fine weather. Then he realised the thunder was the noise of artillery, still far away, but it had not been there last evening. They hastily packed and continued their journey.

As they approached their destination, groups of stragglers joined their party until there were over fifty of them. Most looked frightened; some wore blood-stained dressings. Significantly, there were few young women and men of military age. Sonja drifted back through this strange collection, talking to many, trying to find out what had happened to them. Their stories were all similar, the surprise attacks, murder, rape, and pillage. The Serbs shot the young men, they said, and the survivors fled and would join the Croat army if possible. These people had heard similar accounts. Some said there were rumours of Bosnian Muslims being killed on sight or raped and left for dead.

Sonja thought long and hard about this. Maybe it would be easier to go west towards Zagreb. There would be trains, much faster than walking, that would carry her away from the invaders. There was only one problem–she had no money. However, she changed her mind and went on to Daruvar with her companions; perhaps she could get on a train there, someone would take pity on her, maybe give her the train fare.

There were no trains in Daruvar, and next to no people either. A couple of policemen halted the little convoy and went along, checking everyone’s papers. Sonja had no papers, so they took her and a couple of middle-aged men to the police station. The men had no choice, although their papers were in order; they were of military age and would go into the army. Sonja told the police her story. The sergeant demurred for a while, but he accepted her account–she was hardly a Serbian spy. She asked about trains. They have stopped running, the younger policeman said. Where do you want to go?

"To my grandmother in Nova Cernic."

Hmm, Valentin has a small bus for hire. Come, I will take you there.

Valentin had only one eye and looked like a brigand, but he appeared sympathetic. I can take you north, he said. It is time I left. If the Serbs find me, I will have short shrift. Besides, I have a daughter and a wife. I know what they will do to them! It will cost you, though. I am not a charity.

Sonja said, But, I have no money.

Valentin cast his single lecherous eye upon her and smiled wolfishly. Perhaps you can pay me in another way?

Sonja looked helplessly at the policeman. Leave us, he said, and wait over there near that row of shops. To Valentin, he said, Come with me! He took the man to the other side of the bus. Now, he said, "you are a dirty dog, aren’t you? She is just a child."

She has to pay her way, said Valentin. How else can she do that with no money? It is what women are for. She’s probably dying for it, anyway!

The policeman cuffed him behind the ear, not so gently, sending him sprawling in the dirt. I think, he said, that your vehicle needs a good check-over. I am sure it is not roadworthy. To begin with, your taillights do not work.

Valentin smiled, not a friendly gesture. How can you say that Constable? Your sergeant inspected it a few days ago. The lights work.

The policeman walked behind the vehicle and smashed both lights with his nightstick. They don’t work now, he said.

You can’t do that!

I can, and I just did. Now, let us inspect the headlights. If they don’t work, I will have to write you a fine and take the bus off the road for a month.

Valentin dropped his head. Ok, I will take her, just forget the fine.

I thought you might see it my way, said the cop, "and if I hear that you have harmed her in any way, I’ll be looking for you. Razumjeti? "

An hour later, the ramshackle bus headed north with Valentin, several family members, and Sonja aboard.

THE BUS WAS AN OLD Volkswagen. Even if Sonja had wondered, she would not have been able to see how many kilometres it had travelled, for the speedometer did not work. It was dirty and rusting and gave off a cloud of oily smoke. Inside, the seats were torn and sweat-stained, and dust came in through holes in the floor, but it worked. They ground on and on, stopping only for fuel, until darkness descended near a tiny village. Here, Valentin managed to get some milk, stale bread and sausage, not haute cuisine, but enough to keep hunger at bay. He also found from somewhere a bottle of vodka. It will help me sleep, he said. They got blankets from the luggage and settled down for the night. Sonja worried that the vodka might present a problem, but the night passed without incident.

The new day lifted all their spirits. It was cool, with a light breeze; birds were singing, and the latest news from Radio Zagreb was encouraging. Croatia had only a small army, and the Serbs had taken them entirely by surprise. However, they had a large paramilitary police force, and it mobilised quickly. It slowed the invasion and even checked it in some sectors. They set off to the north once more. Late in the afternoon, as the bus turned to the east, Sonja decided it was time to strike off on her own again.

It took another four days, begging rides, drinking from streams and public fountains, occasionally gleaning food scraps from rubbish bins behind restaurants, and now and then, accepting kindness from strangers. Finally, she arrived at the farm near Nova Cernic, exhausted, starving and emotionally drained, and fell into the arms of her grandmother.

Dangerous Decision

Sonja settled into the farm again, just as she had as a small child. Her grandmother was approaching her eightieth year, but she was strong and healthy. Baka had endured much in her life, living in one of the world’s most volatile areas, and her experiences had made her indifferent to