While the girls were crying and standing around uselessly, I picked up the abandoned bucket, filled it with water, and put out the fire. Tears were welling in my eyes, and I wasn't embarrassed. And then I suddenly discovered Galya. Alive and well, her eyes wet with tears, she emerged from the far tent. But then who died?
I ran along the shore in the direction where the unknown, brave schoolgirl had led the flying death away from the camp. I spotted the scene of the tragedy from afar—the branches of the bushes were burning, and the ground was smoking. A green-brown camouflage jacket was torn to shreds, body parts were scattered, and the head was nowhere to be seen.
"What was her name?" I asked the girls who had arrived.
“It was Zoya Sinitsyna,” Masha, standing next to her, answered throu
