The permafrost of our souls

Here’s the translation preserving the author’s gritty, atmospheric, and suspenseful style: There was nothing around but undulating snowdrifts glittering in the sun, stretching to the horizon. The camp had long vanished — left behind, abandoned in haste. The girl, knees digging into thick ice crust, clutched a knife with a lacquered wooden handle in her blue-purple fingers, deadened by frost. She chipped away at the crust, trying to break off even a little, but the snow fractured into tiny shards, scattering like dust under the blade. Tears dried on her face tightened her skin, her lashes were frozen stiff, and the girl was starting to imagine something beneath the thick layer of ice. She saw a green glow under the white buildup and kept conjuring the image of her brother, buried under meters of snow. *He simply has to be there*, she thought, mechanically picking at the snow with her unbending fingers. A rustling sounded ahead, as if someone was ploughing through the snow. The girl lifted her head, driving the knife deeper into the ice, hoping it was a hallucination, but the figure seemed real. She squinted, trying to see salvation in the man, but when his black glasses flashed, she knew it was over. “Don’t come closer!” the girl shouted, but only a croak tore from her throat. She scrambled to her feet, hands thrust forward, the knife held in a death grip. She tried to flex her fingers for a better hold, but they wouldn’t obey, frozen fast to the handle. The man was upon her too quickly, leaving no time to devise an escape. The girl shook her barely loosened fingers, making the knife slip from her grasp and tumble down the slope. Watching the blade’s silver gradually vanish into the snow’s whiteness, she decided to follow it, collapsing onto the hard ice a split-second before the man’s fingers could snag her collar. Her body slid over the frozen snow hummocks, descending lower and lower. Eyes squeezed shut in terror, the girl prayed for it all to end. She was even ready to die, just to avoid knowing what awaited her, but she tumbled further and further down, forgetting the brother left somewhere beneath the snow, consumed by that unknown green light. An impact that halted her slide knocked the last air and consciousness from her. When she came to, her fingers burned, thawing painfully. Her body ached — every bump, every shard of ice it had rolled over echoed in pain. Struggling to sit up, the girl realized she was in an animal pen. At least, that’s what it looked like — thick bars no livestock could squeeze through, musty hay scattered scantily on the floor, and a tin bucket in the corner. The girl whimpered, sinking to her knees. She wiggled each finger individually, disbelieving they were still attached. She touched her face, but it was hard to make out anything — her swollen fingers had lost their former sensitivity. “Awake,” a voice caught her attention, and she peered through the bars, trying to glimpse the speakers through the small crack of the open door. “Bring her,” the speaker’s rough voice grated on the girl, but she could do nothing as the door swung open. The man in the doorway was her pursuer. He had forced her and her brother from their camp, lost in the snows. She frowned, staring into his eyes, wondering how such a man could have such piercingly blue eyes. The door creaked open, and the man grabbed her shoulders, yanking her onto her weak legs. The girl didn’t resist, studying her swollen, blue fingers that barely bent under the dim light. She almost tripped over the threshold, but the man caught her by the jacket collar, choking her. Coughing hoarsely, she fell onto a chair, facing a desk covered in green cloth. “Resilient bitch,” the man glanced at her, then tapped the blunt end of his pen on paper, ready to write. “Name.” The girl stayed silent, jaw clenched. Her mind held no thoughts of escape, of death, not even of her brother. Just pure emptiness and resignation, ready for whatever came next. “Winter Soldier,” the man addressed the pursuer, pointing the pen at the girl. “Check if she froze her tongue off.” The girl barely turned her head before thick-gloved fingers dug into her jaw, pressing on the hinges. A cold, metallic finger slid into her mouth, pressing against her tongue. The girl winced, tasting salt. “Intact,” the Soldier replied dryly, releasing her face. She ran her tongue over her palate, trying to rid herself of the vile taste of metal. “Kara,” the girl forced out, spotting her backpack in the corner of the office. “Aha,” the man at the desk wrote something down, clearly longer than four letters. Scattered footsteps sounded in the corridor, and everyone stilled, waiting for their approach. “Captain,” a very young private peered into the room, looking at his commander. He clearly knew how to follow orders without questions. “They caught them.” “Excellent,” the Captain smirked, rising. He pointed a finger at Kara, and the Winter Soldier gave an almost imperceptible nod before the Captain vanished through the door. The man took a step towards the girl, but she was first to leap to her feet, anticipating him. He saw the fear in her eyes, quickly masked again. She straightened, ready for new trials, but the Soldier didn’t move, scrutinizing her face as if searching for something familiar. “What do you want?” Kara rasped, almost feeling the wall at her back. “What are you afraid of?” His voice was strange, unfamiliar, ill-fitting the killer before her. “Those creatures took my brother,” the girl whispered, unsure how much she could say. “Am I not supposed to fear them?” But the Winter Soldier gave no answer. He opened the door and shoved the girl into the concrete-walled corridor. He led her forward, a heavy hand steering her shoulder. Kara looked down at her feet — nausea churned from the swaying lamps and the thought of her pointless words. She had no allies left.