Читать книгу Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape - - Страница 4

Morning, waking up at 10:00. The worries have already faded away. Shower, breakfast, everything is going as usual. I received a call from my brother via Telegram at 10:45. Before I could answer, another call came in, this time from my sister.

In that very moment, I sensed what had happened. As soon as I picked up the phone, the first thing I asked my sister was:

Did they come for me?

Yes. Mom is talking to an officer, and there are two more people in military uniforms with them.

Mechanically, I started repeating:

I won't go there.

I had already decided for myself that it was definitely not my path and I didn't need to go there. My sister asked me what I would do, and all I kept repeating was, "I won't go there, I won't go there."

Without even hanging up the phone, I went into Egor's room, woke him up, and told him they had come for me. Egor, still groggy but with fear in his eyes, asked:

Where? Back home to Crimea?

Yes, we need to decide something quickly.

Egor called his parents, asking if they had come for him. His parents answered that everything was calm, and there was no need to worry.

I asked Egor what he was thinking and whether he would leave with me now or on his own. Egor said he would stay in Moscow for now and hide in another apartment. I decided not to delay, as there was no time for it, and this news gave me a strong push to take action.

A few minutes later, my mother called me and relayed the dialogue she had with the military personnel.

Is Alexey Yuryevich Bardakov living here?

Not at the moment.

Where is he currently located?

He is in Moscow.

How long has he been away?

He has been living and working there for a long time.

Why didn't he register with the local military office?

I don't know.

Do you know his phone number?

My mother gave them my phone number, and many people might wonder why. In such situations, it's better not to resist since they would have found out the phone number anyway. Moreover, I have never changed my number.

My mother was worried and wanted to know what I would do and what I was thinking. I replied to her, "I don't want to go there, and I have no intention to." My mother asked me not to do anything foolish and not to make hasty decisions. She suggested talking to the military office and finding out what they wanted.

Given the current situation, their intentions were clear to me. I understood that it was better not to share my thoughts and possible actions with her to avoid causing her unnecessary worry. I had already made my decision, and I had no intention of changing it.

I needed to leave immediately, and the sooner, the better. The fewer people who knew about my departure from the country, the safer it would be.

I called my workplace and briefly explained the entire situation to my manager, informing them that I wouldn't be coming in today or in the near future. They understood completely and wished me good luck, for which I am grateful.

Next, I called my father, hoping that at least once in my life, he would do something significant and help me with my journey to the Kazakhstan border. Unfortunately, I was naive in those thoughts. The only thing I heard was, "Don't be foolish, there's no need to go anywhere, call the military office, and everything will be resolved."

I realized that I would never receive any help or support from this person. Just like in the past, he had never taken any part in my life, and he had no intention of doing so now.

As I packed my things, I simultaneously searched for a car to the nearest border. I chose Saratov and then onwards to the Kazakhstan border. I found a car through BlaBlaCar at three o'clock in the afternoon, leaving me with only four hours available.

I went through the items I had gathered earlier once again. Reducing them to two backpacks, this time I only took the essentials and warm clothing.

At one o'clock, I called a taxi to arrive early at the departure point. After getting into the taxi, I contacted the BlaBlaCar driver to find out the exact address and departure time. The response to my question shocked me: "We have already left and are speeding along the MKAD." Sitting in a taxi heading to a different address, I tried to negotiate with them to wait for me somewhere. For a modest extra fee of 200 rubles, we agreed to meet at the Kashirskaya metro station at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Changing the address from one point to another naturally altered the taxi fare, and it was pointless to change cars when there was simply no time. The taxi driver turned out to be excellent. Somehow, we managed to reach the designated spot in less than an hour from the other side of the city. I called the BlaBlaCar driver, and he said he was approaching. We agreed on a more specific location for me to wait.

The driver arrived in a brand-new Toyota. I introduced myself to Dima, whose character and initial manner of communication were quite unpleasant, which increased my caution and mistrust towards him. He appeared to be no younger than 40. Dima turned out not to be alone but with a colleague, with whom they worked as long-haul truckers. His colleague's name was Artem, a young, short, and slim guy in his twenties. He had returned from mandatory military service a couple of months ago. He was extremely quiet and reserved.

Artem went to the store to buy cigarettes for the journey, while Dima and I stood outside the car, getting to know each other better, so to speak. He asked why I was going to Saratov, a question I had to lie about, which I really dislike doing, but I had no other choice since I didn't trust Dima. Without much thought, I answered his question, "I'm going to my girlfriend's relatives for the weekend."

Dima got distracted by a passing woman who appeared to be slightly over 35 years old. She approached us and asked for a light, to which Dima, being a true gentleman, helped her with this request. After flirting with each other for about five minutes and exchanging numbers, the woman went about her business. Dima's subsequent monologue about this woman was not the most pleasant. I don't think it's worth describing it here.

Artem returned from the store, we got into the car, and we were ready to leave, but Dima received a phone call. The guy who called him seemed clearly worried and pleaded intensely not to leave without him. Dima turned to me and asked if I minded waiting for the guy. I, of course, had no objections because I had been in his position just an hour ago. Dima agreed to wait for him for an extra fee for one hour. We parked near the nearest shopping center next to the metro station.

After 50 minutes, he arrived, and we set off. My fellow traveler turned out to be a young lad named Vitya, who didn't look older than 22. Vitya studied the IT field on YouTube and, according to his claims, quite successfully. He had managed to get a job at some company by lying about his work experience.

Vitya tried to conceal the purpose of his trip, but Dima quickly figured him out, and Vitya confessed that he was running away to Kazakhstan.

During the journey, Dima and Artem shared the purpose of their trip. They were deliberately heading to a military recruitment office, even though they hadn't received any conscription notices. Dima expressed approval for the events unfolding in Ukraine. For about an hour, he talked about his anticipation of an attack on Kyiv, as it was the capital and there were many places where they could find supplies. At that moment, I realized that this person was not going there with the aim of defending the borders of the Russian Federation, but rather for plunder and looting. Dark thoughts, a dark soul.

I thought of giving Vitya some advice and handed him my phone with a note open, which read, "Try not to talk too much about the border, where you're going, and what you think about it." He wrote down his phone number and handed me my phone back. In our conversation, I told him that I was also heading to the Kazakhstan border. After that, Vitya and I decided that we would continue together towards the border because, at the very least, it would be easier and somewhat safer.

We had plenty of time to explore options for getting from Saratov to the "Ozinki" border. We estimated our arrival time in Saratov to be around three o'clock in the morning. We managed to find a driver who would take us to the border for 5,000 rubles per person. We didn't have any other choice since taxi fares were starting at 15,000 rubles, and many other temporary taxi drivers were charging at least 10,000 rubles. So we had to agree on the price of 5,000 rubles. Vitya arranged with the driver to pick us up at four o'clock in the morning at the Saratov train station.

We were driving fairly quickly and confident that we would make it on time, but we encountered some issues as darkness fell. We got caught in a major traffic jam, which later turned out to be caused by a collision between two trucks. Both of them were engulfed in flames, leaving only their metal frames behind. Besides the police and firefighters, there was no one else around. If there was an ambulance, it had likely left after taking care of the injured. Because of this traffic jam, we were already running late for our scheduled time, at least a couple of hours late, so we informed the next driver that we would arrive later.

Along the way, approximately every couple of kilometers, there were cars stuck in ditches, and the drivers stood on the roadside, waiting for someone to pull them out. It seems to me that this is due to several factors. There is no road lighting, no barriers, and, of course, driver drowsiness. These are probably the main problems during night journeys between cities. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, I succumbed to sleep, as its arrival could no longer be restrained.