But I’ve got to tell Maleeva, cos I need her help if it’s gonna work. As the hours drag by, I can see we’re heading closer to the coast. The land is flat and low mostly – home to the Ferals and Blue-faces, tribes I’ve only heard about in scav tales. I wait most of the afternoon till Maleeva is on her own, taking a turn at the wheel, and everyone else is taking a nap. She’s got her back to me, hunched over something that flares with light, as I step up to the back of the wheelhouse. And as I draw nearer, I twig that she’s speaking to someone. She’s holding what looks like a scroll of paper, except it’s a screen, and on it is the face of Commander Serov. First up I’m ready to believe she’s sold us out. But then wouldn’t the troops be chasing us down by now? Serov snaps something out in Russian, and she ain’t so much angry as cut up. “I will not,” goes Maleeva. Serov looks stung. “Your own Russia not good for you now?” “What is there for me in Moscow? What’s the point of going back?”
