Hack:Moscow by W. Len Page B

the cloud drives. I could cancel all the credentials we used, the logins that represented two people who’d pretended to be my family. I could sever everything that bound us and forget the memories. Of us. Together.
    There was nothing I could have done to save them. Nothing.
    A loud roaring made me look up. A black limousine sped down the road at breakneck speed.
    “Stupid official on a joy ride.” The bus driver made a rude sign.
    Nobody answered him. Nobody cares here.
    I should delete whatever Luka stole. Or send it to Boris so he’d stop hunting me. There’s no reason to hold on to something so dangerous. Trade it. Bargain for my life back.
    The cursor blinked, biding my decision.
    Be careful. No good would come of opening the folder, I imagined Luka telling me.
    Then again, I didn’t feel like doing anything good. I’m done with that. I’m free to do whatever I want.
    As the bus turns, I begin typing furiously.

1.95
    In Yaroslavsky railway station, a dusty, ragged crowd mills under the beige vaulted-ceilings, waiting for their train. My nerves had been x-rayed into calm at the checkpoint scanner. I’m past that. A backpacker walks towards the exit leading to the yard outside, his ponderous backpack swinging like an elephant’s rear. I wait by a pillar, trying to see if anyone was looking for me. You are here , a map on the pillar informs me.
    Every time someone comes close, I lower my cap. I gaze up at the train schedule in slow-flickering blocky red letters on the wall, then look down at the map again. X marks the spot. I am X, an unknown variable, a catalyst. I study the layout of the station, then take a deep breath.
    Time to do this.
    I join the queue for a ticket. As I do so, a group of slant-eyed Mongolian traders with colorful canvas bags swarm the middle of the station. Across them, a soldier turns, his hand patting his submachine gun like he’s bringing a dog to heel. His flinty eyes look through me. X is one-dimensional, almost invisible. He elbows his partner, and I see him grin. I don’t like the look.
    “Hey,” he calls out, “you.”
    My heart does a somersault.
    “Papers,” the soldier calls out to the traders, who began buzzing like frenzied bees, their many hands reaching into this waist pouch or that bag for the required paper, maybe a bribe.
    When I reach the counter, I see the attendant chewing gum in a slack-jawed way. “Ticket for one?” Her chewing slows when I lay out the cash. She blows a bubble, then pops it deliberately, as if she’s trying not to be impressed. “You never heard of a credit card? Where to?”
    I want to go home, but I’ve no home now.
    Earlier, in my apartment, I didn’t waste time. I had thrown clothes into my bag. My passport. I shoved half the money Luka gave me under Old Nelya’s door, along with a note, then ran down the stairwell. That was when I saw Anna sweeping the stairwell. When she saw my bag, she knew. “Where are you going? You’re leaving.” Her eyes suddenly became hopeful.
    “I’m…” the lie began, and stopped. She’s the only one who’d never deceived me.
    She grabbed my wrist. A strong grip, the callused finger tips of a pianist. “Wait for me.” She turned and headed back into her apartment.
    I can’t even take care of myself, I wanted to cry while eyeing the stairs desperately. My plans wavered. It was safer for me to go alone. It’s best for her.
    Then, I made up my mind.
    At the ticket counter, I finger my destination on the printed train schedule.
    “That’s a long ride.” The attendant eyes me, proffering an unusual look of concern. When I say nothing, her bureaucrat mask slips back on. “One ticket?”
    “Two,” I answer, holding Anna’s hand in mine.

2.00
    On the train, a middle-aged couple in matching t-shirts slowly set up their bags on the other side of the cabin. Anna’s head rests on my shoulder. The excitement has sapped both of us.
    “Don’t worry, I’m strong,” she tells me, then her tone