Vadim landed the glider on the first street they saw. He slid back the canopy and a foul stench burst into the cockpit – the stink of excrement in the freezing air, the anguished smell of great suffering. Along the sides of the streets there were ramshackle, dilapidated hovels with no windows; caps of clean snow on their flat roofs sparkled silver in the moonlight, but the drifts near the entrances were a repulsive black. The street was empty, and the village seemed deserted, but the silence was full of wheezes, grunts, and the muddled crackling of coughs.
Vadim drove the glider slowly along the street. The stinking cold air burned his face. Not a soul was to be seen, neither on the street nor in the dark lanes to the side.
“They’re exhausted,” Vadim said. “They’re sleeping. We’ll have t
