Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution by Ian D. Moore Page B

brought his breakfast spoon down hard upon the forehead of the attacker, then lunged at the man, grabbed his clothing, and lifted him clean off the ground. He let out one almighty growl as he launched the man, easily of my own build, back through the door to land in a heap on the path outside. He was about to go out after the would-be assailant, but stopped at the sight of numerous barrels pointed his way. Yaromir edged backwards, unsure of what he could do to prevent the soldiers from entering his home.
    With a gun pointed at his chest, Yaromir continued backwards until the table prevented any further retreat. I moved next to him, determined that if we were going to go down, it would be one hell of a fight. Barbie took one look at the pointed gun before she threw herself at the soldier. It took both of us to pry her off the man and keep her still. The soldier, in shock at her ferocity, suffered claw marks to his face but was otherwise in one piece. He edged backwards, the gun now pointed at Barbie, rather than the big Russian, to be replaced by a smarter-looking, uniformed man.
    “Sit! All of you, sit!” the soldier ordered.
    We did as we were told, though not before I gave Barbie a sharp look and a mouthed “No!” She sat to my left, purposefully placing her body between me and the imposing threat in the doorway.
    “There now, isn’t that more civilised?” he added, his tone no longer that of an officer.
    Yaromir struck up a conversation in Russian. The questions and answers flowed far too fast for either of us to discern what was actually being discussed. After ten minutes of debate, Yaromir finally ceased his barrage, leaned back in his chair, and waved a hand at the officer, permission for him to enter his home.
    “I am General Uri Volkov. I apologise for the brash entrance, but we did not know what kind of resistance we might find here.”
    “General of what?” I asked boldly.
    “I am the leader of the resistance. The People’s Resistance Army. And you would be Simon Lloyd, British citizen. You are currently wanted as a top priority by the hierarchy of Mother Russia, da?” Volkov smiled.
    “But how do you—” I began, taken aback by his knowledge.
    “We have been tracking Russian military communications for the last few days, Mr Lloyd. We know only too well of your significance although as to why they want you so badly, that, we can only guess at. We felt that you would be safer with us, hence our intrusion. I see you met Yaromir already. He is one of us, though not quite as active as he used to be, I might add.” The officer tipped his hat towards our host, who merely smiled at his last remark.
    “But that still doesn’t explain how you know my name,” I challenged.
    “All in good time, Mr Lloyd. Please, be patient. I would like you and the lovely lady, that name we haven’t been able to source yet, to accompany my troops and I to a safe mountain retreat. The military have already mobilised, searching for you, it is only a matter of hours before they tear this place apart to find you, and they will,” Volkov warned.
    He spoke quickly in Russian to Yaromir; the response, this time, gained a militarily curt answer.
    Yaromir then stood and spoke calmly to me. “Go with the general, you will be safe there—safer than here. The Russian military will not harm me if you are gone, have no reason to,” he urged.
    His eyes never left mine as he spoke. I felt that I could trust this man with my life, indeed, with both of our lives. With little time to spare, I appraised the officer now standing in the shadow of the man-mountain we had come to be friends with.
    Surely, Yaromir wouldn’t lead us into any kind of trap? Not now, not after all he did for us?
    General Volkov stood perfectly straight, confidence incarnate; his air of professionalism and leadership radiated, even to a civilian like me. He was young, I thought, for one of such responsibility, and yet, he wore no outward signs of rank. There were