My head pounded. I opened my eyes gingerly. The light hurt. I was still on my back in the snow on top of the rail car, my left arm and head hanging off the edge of the roof. I sat up carefully, my head throbbing as though it might rip open.

I got onto my knees; standing didn’t seem a particularly good idea. I looked down. Nine men and four dogs were motionless on the ground. Oh, Vasily! He and the dogs were dead but I couldn’t tell about the other men from here.

I crawled to the ladder and slowly descended. I nearly fainted when I stood on the ground. Steeling myself, I walked among the men. About half had died. The remainder hadn’t but they may as well have. Their minds were little more than a chaos of unanchored emotions. They would never be people again.

The hobo’s coat that I was wearing had seen better days. Although all of the militsiya officers were larger than me, I took the coat and hat from the slightest of them and removed the insignia. The coat was too large but I was glad of the warmth.