Book 4 - Spring

IV - Followed

Russia wakes up to the sound of engines and smells people and diesel in the air. His heart lodges itself into his throat and he springs up. Shooting pain enters his paws and his legs ache, but he refuses to stop.

'Shit! SHIT! I have to move. I have to move!'

He snatches up the closest person to him. He dully notes that the magic around them seems to flicker.

'If it's flickering, why aren't they any different?'

Russia shakes his head and the noises get closer.

'Fuck! I don't have enough time to run far enough away.'

Russia growls at himself, clawing at his ears and face.

'Why did I have to fall asleep?!'

The sound of yelling snaps him out of his reverie and he scrambles.

'I have to hide. I have to hide them.'

Russia sprints up the largest tree in his eyesight, laying the statue out onto some of the branches, his thoughts reeling. He scans the branches and finds that there is a place closer to the top with an almost flat platform grown into the tree. He grabs his passenger and bounds up the few extra meters.

He places them to the wood, careful to make sure that they're stable in their placement.

'Are they going to- No, they have to wake up. They have to be okay.'

Russia pushes his body faster. His heart pounds, his mind spins, and his stomach clenches. His paws leave behind a bloody mess, but he finds that the dew covers it enough. The bark of the tree pulls at his claws and digs into the cuts on his feet.

He growls at himself when his legs start going limp against the bark, almost causing him to go spilling to the unforgiving ground. He shakes.

'I still have more to move, I can't stop. I can't leave anyone behind.'

He climbs up and drops off his cargo, trying desperately to fight against the clock as he smells the people getting closer and closer.

He can almost see them when he drops to the ground and grabs Brazil, the last of the group on the ground. He claws at the branches. 

His paws suddenly cramp only a short way up, and he falls back.

'This isn't high enough to turn around.'

Russia tenses in preparation for his landing.

He spills onto his back, trying to protect Brazil as best as he can. His back pulses as he turns to get up. His whole body demands he stop, but panic forces him into the tree. He scrambles up, his legs bending painfully to catch his stumbling. 

He just manages to make it into the platformed area when he hears the loud talking and radio chatter. 

"Boss, we're here. We aren't seeing anything in sector 5R," someone says into what Russia can only assume is a radio.

"You should b_. That __ __er_ the magic is track___" the response comes through radio static.

'Tracking magic?!'

Russia turns and spots America propped up against the trunk.

'Were they tracking him?'

Russia snarls.

'Those bastards.'

Russia shifts to make himself more comfortable and flinches at the pain that radiates from every inch of his body. The wood and pine needles are soaking wet, but Russia finds that it's better than being down there.