Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape

He is in Moscow.

How long has he been away?

He has been living and working there for a long time.

Why didn't he register with the local military office?

I don't know.

Do you know his phone number?

My mother gave them my phone number, and many people might wonder why. In such situations, it's better not to resist since they would have found out the phone number anyway. Moreover, I have never changed my number.

My mother was worried and wanted to know what I would do and what I was thinking. I replied to her, "I don't want to go there, and I have no intention to." My mother asked me not to do anything foolish and not to make hasty decisions. She suggested talking to the military office and finding out what they wanted.

Given the current situation, their intentions were clear to me. I understood that it was better not to share my thoughts and possible actions with her to avoid causing her unnecessary worry. I had already made my decision, and I had no intention of changing it.

I needed to leave immediately, and the sooner, the better. The fewer people who knew about my departure from the country, the safer it would be.

I called my workplace and briefly explained the entire situation to my manager, informing them that I wouldn't be coming in today or in the near future. They understood completely and wished me good luck, for which I am grateful.

Next, I called my father, hoping that at least once in my life, he would do something significant and help me with my journey to the Kazakhstan border. Unfortunately, I was naive in those thoughts. The only thing I heard was, "Don't be foolish, there's no need to go anywhere, call the military office, and everything will be resolved."

I realized that I would never receive any help or support from this person. Just like in the past, he had never taken any part in my life, and he had no intention of doing so now.

As I packed my things, I simultaneously searched for a car to the nearest border. I chose Saratov and then onwards to the Kazakhstan border. I found a car through BlaBlaCar at three o'clock in the afternoon, leaving me with only four hours available.

I went through the items I had gathered earlier once again. Reducing them to two backpacks, this time I only took the essentials and warm clothing.

At one o'clock, I called a taxi to arrive early at the departure point. After getting into the taxi, I contacted the BlaBlaCar driver to find out the exact address and departure time. The response to my question shocked me: "We have already left and are speeding along the MKAD." Sitting in a taxi heading to a different address, I tried to negotiate with them to wait for me somewhere. For a modest extra fee of 200 rubles, we agreed to meet at the Kashirskaya metro station at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Changing the address from one point to another naturally altered the taxi fare, and it was pointless to change cars when there was simply no time. The taxi driver turned out to be excellent. Somehow, we managed to reach the designated spot in less than an hour from the other side of the city. I called the BlaBlaCar driver, and he said he was approaching. We agreed on a more specific location for me to wait.

The driver arrived in a brand-new Toyota. I introduced myself to Dima, whose character and initial manner of communication were quite unpleasant, which increased my caution and mistrust towards him. He appeared to be no younger than 40. Dima turned out not to be alone but with a colleague, with whom they worked as long-haul truckers. His colleague's name was Artem, a young, short, and slim guy in his twenties. He had returned from mandatory military service a couple of months ago. He was extremely quiet and reserved.

Artem went to the store to buy cigarettes for the journey, while Dima and I stood outside the car, getting to know each other better, so to speak. He asked why I was going to Saratov, a question I had to lie about, which I really dislike doing, but I had no other choice since I didn't trust Dima. Without much thought, I answered his question, "I'm going to my girlfriend's relatives for the weekend."

Dima got distracted by a passing woman who appeared to be slightly over 35 years old. She approached us and asked for a light, to which Dima, being a true gentleman, helped her with this request. After flirting with each other for about five minutes and exchanging numbers, the woman went about her business. Dima's subsequent monologue about this woman was not the most pleasant. I don't think it's worth describing it here.

Artem returned from the store, we got into the car, and we were ready to leave, but Dima received a phone call. The guy who called him seemed clearly worried and pleaded intensely not to leave without him. Dima turned to me and asked if I minded waiting for the guy. I, of course, had no objections because I had been in his position just an hour ago. Dima agreed to wait for him for an extra fee for one hour. We parked near the nearest shopping center next to the metro station.

After 50 minutes, he arrived, and we set off. My fellow traveler turned out to be a young lad named Vitya, who didn't look older than 22. Vitya studied the IT field on YouTube and, according to his claims, quite successfully. He had managed to get a job at some company by lying about his work experience.

Vitya tried to conceal the purpose of his trip, but Dima quickly figured him out, and Vitya confessed that he was running away to Kazakhstan.

During the journey, Dima and Artem shared the purpose of their trip. They were deliberately heading to a military recruitment office, even though they hadn't received any conscription notices. Dima expressed approval for the events unfolding in Ukraine. For about an hour, he talked about his anticipation of an attack on Kyiv, as it was the capital and there were many places where they could find supplies. At that moment, I realized that this person was not going there with the aim of defending the borders of the Russian Federation, but rather for plunder and looting. Dark thoughts, a dark soul.

I thought of giving Vitya some advice and handed him my phone with a note open, which read, "Try not to talk too much about the border, where you're going, and what you think about it." He wrote down his phone number and handed me my phone back. In our conversation, I told him that I was also heading to the Kazakhstan border. After that, Vitya and I decided that we would continue together towards the border because, at the very least, it would be easier and somewhat safer.

We had plenty of time to explore options for getting from Saratov to the "Ozinki" border. We estimated our arrival time in Saratov to be around three o'clock in the morning. We managed to find a driver who would take us to the border for 5,000 rubles per person. We didn't have any other choice since taxi fares were starting at 15,000 rubles, and many other temporary taxi drivers were charging at least 10,000 rubles. So we had to agree on the price of 5,000 rubles. Vitya arranged with the driver to pick us up at four o'clock in the morning at the Saratov train station.

We were driving fairly quickly and confident that we would make it on time, but we encountered some issues as darkness fell. We got caught in a major traffic jam, which later turned out to be caused by a collision between two trucks. Both of them were engulfed in flames, leaving only their metal frames behind. Besides the police and firefighters, there was no one else around. If there was an ambulance, it had likely left after taking care of the injured. Because of this traffic jam, we were already running late for our scheduled time, at least a couple of hours late, so we informed the next driver that we would arrive later.

Along the way, approximately every couple of kilometers, there were cars stuck in ditches, and the drivers stood on the roadside, waiting for someone to pull them out. It seems to me that this is due to several factors. There is no road lighting, no barriers, and, of course, driver drowsiness. These are probably the main problems during night journeys between cities. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, I succumbed to sleep, as its arrival could no longer be restrained.

September 24st.

I woke up around two o'clock in the morning due to the noise of a heavy downpour, which was so intense that the roads were barely visible. Dima asked us if we minded stopping somewhere along the way to wait out the rain and allow him and Artem to get some rest. Of course, we agreed because our goal was to arrive at our destination alive. Vitya informed our next driver that we were even further delayed and would arrive much later than planned, and we didn't know exactly when we would be in Saratov. He kindly agreed to pick us up when we arrived without changing the price.

Instead of two hours, we waited for nearly four hours and resumed our journey closer to six in the morning.

We reached Saratov around 10 o'clock in the morning, where a Kazakh driver in a Lada Granta was already waiting for us at the train station. The first thing I asked him was where I could find an ATM. Luckily, there was an ATM around the corner, just 50 meters away from us. Leaving our belongings in the car, Vitya and I headed towards the ATM.

I withdrew almost all the money, not only from my debit card but also from my credit cards. I was aware of the potential consequences this could have in the long run if I didn't repay the money back to the credit cards. Unfortunately, I didn't know and couldn't anticipate how much money I would need and whether I would be able to use credit cards once I was abroad.

After finishing this task, we returned to the car, and as soon as we got in, the driver informed us that we would make a stop at the airport to pick up three more passengers before heading to the "Ozinki" border. On the way to the airport, we asked the driver to stop at a store to buy something to eat for the journey.

A few kilometers from the airport, the driver asked us not to mention that we were paying 5,000 rubles per person because we had agreed on that price before the increase, and he didn't want to change the terms. However, the guys we were currently traveling with agreed to pay 12,000 rubles. According to him, the price had risen from 5,000 to 12,000 per person overnight. To avoid any problems with the driver, we agreed.

When we arrived at the airport, the guys were already waiting for us. They immediately started bargaining with the driver, arguing that they had been offered 7,000 rubles per person at the airport, and if he didn't lower the price to 5,000, they would go with any other driver. Our driver didn't resist for long, and after a couple of minutes, he gave in, and we set off in a cramped space but without hard feelings.

On the way, we got to know the guys, all of whom appeared to be no older than 25. Misha worked in IT, Kolya was a car dealer and importer from abroad, and Vlad was involved in some entrepreneurial activity.

We discussed with the guys the main topic of the past few days and how their parents reacted to their departure. None of the guys, except me, had served in the military, but they still worried that they might be pursued. Without any hidden agenda, I shared with them that people had already come looking for me based on my registration, and only after some time did I realize how rash it was to trust people I had just met in my life, even though I usually think several steps ahead before taking such actions.

I told the guys that I hadn't made any plans because I wanted to cross the border first and then think about what to do, as I was 99% sure that I would not be allowed to leave the country.

By 3:30 PM, we arrived at the border. The beginning of the queue was 7 kilometers away from the Ozinki checkpoint. The guys and I decided to walk to the beginning of the queue and try to cross the border on foot, as there were rumors in the chats that groups of 5 or more people were being allowed through. If that didn't work, our next option was to try and hitch a ride in a car as close to the border as possible. As we walked further, the price to hitch a ride with someone willing to make a profit increased from 5,000 to 15,000 rubles per person. Our belief that we would be allowed to cross on foot did not waver. It served as a good motivator in such sweltering weather.

After an hour and a half, we reached the barrier where the border guards turned us away, informing us that pedestrian crossing was closed. We had no choice but to begin searching for cars that could at least take us across the border.

And so the game began. We started looking for people to hitch a ride with. Any car from the higher-end segment with only two occupants and empty back seats would either roll up the windows or turn their faces away, ignoring us.

I approached a simple sedan with a young couple and a three-year-old child in the back seat. I tried to negotiate with them, and after a minute of silence, the driver's wife finally engaged in a conversation with me. Even after explaining our situation, she still hesitated and cited the visit from the military registration and enlistment office earlier that morning, expressing her reluctance to put someone else at risk if her husband was not allowed through. Left with no other option, I decided to take a gamble and share my story, as I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I told them that the same thing happened to me yesterday, so I had nothing to lose and was in the same circumstances as him. After exchanging glances and a brief discussion, they still declined, apologizing for being unable to help. I sincerely wished them well and went on to search for another car.

I caught up with the guys after about 10 cars. Kolya managed to strike a deal with a person who agreed to give us a ride to Uralsk for 5,000 rubles per person, four of us in his car and one in his brother's car. We agreed and divided ourselves as follows: I, Vitya, Kolya, and Vlad in the first car, and Misha in the second. By 5:00 PM, we were already in the car, with only about 20 cars left to the border.

After putting our belongings in the trunk, I took off my t-shirt and hung it on the door to dry, as I was drenched in sweat and the shirt could be wrung out. The guys and I had a snack with what Vitya bought at the store.

A few minutes later, the same woman who was with her husband and whom I tried to negotiate with approached me.

If you still need it, let's go. We can take two people for free.

Since we had already made arrangements with the driver, it wouldn't be nice to change plans. However, we decided to send Misha with her, as he was in a separate car with unfamiliar people.

We drove to the border barrier for about a couple of hours, moving at a snail's pace. During the journey, we decided to get to know the driver better. He was from Kyrgyzstan and earned a living by transporting cars from Georgia to his homeland, so Kolya had something to talk to him about, as their activities were similar.

And then came that long-awaited and decisive moment when we passed the barrier and approached the stop line in front of the border booths for personal document checks. As we sat in the car, we watched and tried to listen to the guys going through passport control ahead of us.