City of Fate by Nicola Pierce

the fighting?’
    The woman simply closed her eyes, pressed the baby closer to her, and began to sing the same song again.
    Peter stood up beside him and took his hand. Yuri heard his name being called, but he couldn’t move. It was as if another explosion had sounded but this time it was inside his head. Whatever way the woman was cradling the baby, one of the blankets had got caught in her sleeve, exposing where Yuri’d expected to see the child’s feet – and there was
one
alright, pudgy just like Anna’s, but that was all, just the one. The right leg had apparently lost its foot; there was nothing below the ankle bone, which Yuri was sure he could see. And not a sound did that baby make. It never stirred.
    ‘Yuri?’ Peter spoke louder to get his attention. ‘The baby is dead.’
    Yuri shrugged him off. ‘No! It just has a sore leg.’
    He knew that Peter was right but was prepared to put off accepting the truth for as long as he could, willing himself to see the baby breathe, just as he had willed himself to see food where there was none. Thoughts raced in his head:
babies are too small to die in war. They haven’t done anything bad or wrong. How can something die when it has only been born?
    He realised he was wasting precious time; the guns were getting closer. He asked the mother, ‘Is it a girl or a boy?’
    Only Peter answered him, ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    Yuri gazed at him, shocked by his words. ‘What?’
    The boy stared at the ground, mumbling, ‘Nothing. Can we go now?’
    Of course Peter was right. Why were they still standing here with this mad woman when they could plainly hear German voices and Russian insults? It was far too dangerous to remain here any longer. However, Yuri had to try one more time, ‘Why won’t you look for shelter? The soldiers are coming. Don’t you hear them?’
    The woman stopped singing and opened her eyes, which were shining with tears that she couldn’t seem to release, ‘You run along now, boys. Baby is tired and needs to sleep.’ Her voice cracked and for no more than two seconds, she showed them her crushing sadness. Three seconds later, she closed her eyes again and continued with the song.
    The wind picked up, as if the soldiers were bringing it with them, or even creating it with their bullets. A man screamed out in pain, and Peter pulled on Yuri’s arm; it was time to leave.
    They raced to the wall. Yuri dragged Peter over it, never once letting go of his hand and never once looking back. He had no idea where to go, only that they needed to escape the deadly bullets. Somehow, without his realising it, Peter took over and led the way, not stopping until they had reached the statue of the laughing children again.
    ‘See, Yuri, they’re still playing!’

TANYA
    T anya had no interest in politics. For her mother’s sake she had tried to do what was expected of her. On her fifteenth birthday she’d applied to join the Komsomol, the Communist Youth League, to camouflage her lack of interest in following the rules and orders of Russia’s Communist Party. She had expected it to be worse than school and knew she might be asked to do things like report on her neighbours if they showed any signs of loving something else more than their country, even if that something else was their family.
    She had deliberately arrived late at the admission meeting which had annoyed the secretary of the Komsomol, a young man who looked like he never ever enjoyed himself. He had scolded her in front of everyone, saying, ‘Since you couldn’t bother to be here on time, you are clearly not mature enough to join the Komosol.’
    Her application had been denied there and then. Tanyahad done her best to look upset, at least until she’d left the hall. At home she’d told her mother what had happened, feeling free to laugh about it all.
    Her mother, however, had been nervous. ‘Be careful, daughter. They will be watching you from now on.’
    Tanya hadn’t been worried, even