Prologue PROLOGUE KHARKIV OBLAST, UKRAINE TUESDAY The children ran for their lives. Those who could, fled into the woods. Those who couldn''t--the smaller and the sickest among them--were forced to take up hiding places inside. The adults tried to convey calm, but it was wall-to-wall panic. And rightfully so. The monsters were coming . In the basement of the abandoned Soviet-era tuberculosis hospital, via a decrepit passageway punctuated by broken light fixtures, rusted pipes, and puddles of fetid water, was the kitchen. And in that kitchen was the best answer the orphanage had been able to come up with for its most complicated problem.
An old pantry had been outfitted like a chicken coop. Its shelves had been taken over by wooden nesting boxes pre-staged with bedding. The few blankets that could be spared had been tacked to the walls to help deaden any sound. A run-down refrigerator with a false back hid the entrance of the pantry from view. Each of the infants inside had been given an emergency ration of formula. The toddlers, many of whom were suffering from colds and flu, had been given small pieces of bread soaked in tea and dabbed with a little bit of honey. Anything to keep them quiet. It was imperative that they maintain absolute silence.
With all able-bodied men at the front, the entirety of the orphanage staff, save for its eighty-year-old custodian, was female. There was no one available to fight for them. They would have to look out for themselves. Weeks'' worth of discussions over what to do if this moment ever came had given birth to a plan. Everything about it--the running, the hiding, all of it--was extreme, but absolutely necessary. One of the evilest tendrils of the war was about to slither in and wrap itself around their throats. The children had practiced taking deep, quiet breaths. Those with respiratory issues had been given pillows to cough into, but only as a last resort.
Their hope for survival now rested not in their numbers, but in their ability to remain invisible. Anna Royko, who had been at the orphanage for only a few months, had insisted on taking watch. She was an American of Ukrainian descent. Born and raised in Chicago, the twenty-five-year-old had been deeply affected by the suffering she had seen coming out of Ukraine. When news broke that the Russians had bombed a children''s hospital and maternity ward in Mariupol, she could no longer sit by. She had to do something. After emailing her resignation to the law firm where she worked, she booked a one-way ticket to Poland, as martial law had been declared in Ukraine and commercial air traffic had been suspended. She spent a week knocking on doors and visiting various aid organizations across Warsaw before one finally took her on board.
Though she had zero experience working for an NGO and even less experience operating in a war zone, it was her fluency in Ukrainian that proved too valuable to pass up. The group that hired her was a small humanitarian organization focused on getting much-needed supplies to the hardest-hit orphanages throughout Ukraine. The position paid next to nothing, would require grueling hours, and was extremely dangerous. So much so that there were reams of waivers she was required to sign. The good they were doing was unquestionable and so, keeping her inner lawyer in check, she moved rapidly through the paperwork. After signing and initialing where indicated, she started work the very same day. What Anna saw on her first trip into Ukraine ripped her heart out. The misery, the desperation, the horrific conditions the children were living in.
all of it. The only thing that gave her hope was the heroism of the adults who were risking everything to take care of them. As the war ground on, the situations at the orphanages grew more dire. No matter how quickly she and her colleagues returned with supplies, there was never enough. It was like showing up as the Titanic was slipping under the icy water only to toss out pool noodles. Watching people slowly die, especially children, wasn''t why she was there. She had come to Ukraine to help ease people''s suffering, if not to somehow reverse it. But when she and her team arrived at an orphanage for special needs children in the southern city of Mykolaiv--halfway between Odesa and Kherson--something inside her snapped.
The building had been bombed and completely destroyed. As badly as the supplies from Poland were needed, being a glorified delivery driver was no longer enough for her. She had to do more. Remembering a dilapidated orphanage in an old tuberculosis hospital in eastern Ukraine, and the tirelessly dedicated women who ran it, she decided that was where she could make a difference. By focusing solely on that location and the children within it, she could have the greatest possible impact. Once she got to Kharkiv and had finished distributing supplies, she bid her stunned NGO colleagues good-bye. As she walked across Freedom Square and disappeared from view, she tuned out their voices, which were begging her to reconsider, as well as warning that she was making a grave and likely deadly mistake. Anna didn''t care.
At that moment, she had no clue how she would reach her newly decided-upon destination, nor whether they would even accept her help. All she knew was that it was where she was being called to be. When she finally made it to the orphanage''s front doors, the pack with everything she owned slung across her back, everyone inside was shocked to see her. Despite desperately needing an extra set of hands, they tried to discourage her from staying. They felt that by taking her in, they would somehow be depriving the other orphanages that had grown so dependent on her. Anna, however, would hear nothing of it. Allowing her inner lawyer to come out, she informed the women that she knew they needed help and that she wouldn''t take no for an answer. The staff was stuck with her, whether they liked it or not.
Truth be told, they were thrilled to have her. She was a breath of fresh air. The children loved her. And as the youngest member of the staff by at least fifteen years, Anna had reservoirs of energy that none of them could match. With so many children, so few resources, and such an old building, there was always something that needed doing. No matter what the task, she was always the first to volunteer. Which was what had brought her to the present moment--acting as the orphanage''s official lookout. In each of the designated hiding places, the children needed at least one adult with them.
Since Anna knew the building like the back of her hand, was a runner who worked out daily, and could move from room to room and floor to floor quickly, everyone knew she was the best choice. She was also, the staff believed, fearless. In their minds, based upon the characters they watched on TV, most American women were fiercely independent and didn''t take shit from anyone. Throw in being an attorney, and it took Anna''s badassery in their eyes to a whole different level. But it was one particular incident that had cemented her reputation at the orphanage as someone that you didn''t want to mess with. Shortly after her arrival, a group of three men had shown up in the middle of the night attempting to "secure" the building''s generator for the "war effort." Not only were they wearing tracksuits and gold jewelry, but they were also remarkably drunk. The most likely explanation was that they were a mafia contingent roaming the region, stealing whatever would fetch a good price on the black market.
Anna had been determined not to let that happen. When one of them tried to intimidate her by pulling a knife and saying that he was going to rape her, she kneed him in the groin, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pressed her own knife--one she had been carrying since arriving in Ukraine--against his throat. His cohorts were shocked, knocked off balance by how quickly she had taken control. It only lasted for a moment. Soon enough, the duo had regained their composure and were gaming out their next move. The men didn''t believe she would harm their associate. When they advanced, however, Anna didn''t waver. She pressed the blade deeper into the man''s fleshy neck and kept going, even after she drew blood.
As the front of his shirt began to stain a deep red, the other men froze, once again unsure of how to proceed. Anna told her captive to drop his knife, which he did, and she kicked it to the side. There was only one message she wanted to get across to these scumbags--that this orphanage was more trouble than it was worth and that they shouldn''t ever bother coming back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the custodian, who lived on the edge of the property, had shown up, shotgun in hand. With backup on scene and her message delivered, Anna released her captive, giving the thug a shove in the direction of his comrades. Watching them back off toward their vehicle, she offered one last piece of advice--that they find their man a hospital with a staff who knew what they were doing. None of the local butchers would be able to sew up the wound she had carved into the man''s neck. If they didn''t quickly head for one of the bigger cities and get him properly taken care of, the artery was going to rupture and he was going to bleed out.
It was a lie. Bluster. She hadn''t cut him anywhere near his a.