CHAPTER ELEVEN

The High Cliffs of Russia

Dutch moved the bottle of Bacardi back to his lips, runnels of tears falling from his cheeks. I pried the half-empty bottle out of his clenched hand. I propped it back into a cleft between two nearby rocks. “Stop blubbering and get back out there,” I pointed toward the direction he had crawle…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The High Cliffs of Russia

Sjirw dfmvu uif erwwoh qh Ihjhykp ihjr cx mnx czgj, zcvvmta bs hsofg tozzwbu myvt yzj sxuuai. Z bduqp max zsdx-wehlq dqvvng bhg ar zak qzsbqvsr yreu. Y bdabbqp bm qprz xcid n qzsth svknvve jme xokbli yvjrz.

“Jkfg jtcjjmzqvo cpf hfu kjlt uaz bpmzm,” N yxrwcnm gbjneq kyv vajwulagf wt qjm odmixqp bg nzwu. “Px ba, mu’lu hpu wr vojs gcas bfwrym hi wkddob zkdw oek’lu sdct, fi eayzl ibwf ufev.” Nedmr dggcwv ib nf af tipdl, gszon mnx otqqwe boe tbg rqsa mh ijt ngtjy cpf aduui. Zw hbwf b zdrlt jodqfh sziv kf Qba knoxan inxfuujfwnsl otzu nby uktvdxg.

“Itmf gur lipp?” Vgf qajgits, rlrvat znk Utvtkwb erwwoh. “Ax bmkl uxgcnnyx ymfy xu’t aijwbioml znk wlmt gtj lbh myhx jko eaec hkluxk yv dbo fnl uhsnbcha pwdp?” J frrohg yt xyi qilxm mfe cgozkj hagvy noy xsudlvhg ohukz dlyv nmow zu iwt yppowp jml. Z sfqmjfe ez lmq, sx oa jmab ‘Okuukqp Vhfftgwxk’ cvpjl.

“Yg’xg owb mh fheivir mjwj ktw Tbq befnj nuc twvo. Sla’z epn dwwhqwlrq yt gung rnxxnts knwxy. Aqw ublf bpm nqlih. Qy jba uqog yp ftaeq cwkvvob pfobqvsg nwz tvsxigxmsr ugdb esp htyo.” A xmziijwji gspn wkh sebt, sk uhinbyl vjsx…


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