The Last of the Russians

I emerged from the catacombs left of the cathedral and stood under a full moon. The army I had fought for long gone. I would not be missed or searched for. It felt as if I had merely entered another dank tomb. There I sat, shivering with only a few lentils and almost no water, passing in and out of consciousness. Only once in the thirty-six hours I cowered in that room did I push aside the stone lids to behold them, both repulsed and fascinated. Some time around midday I awoke from a thin sleep to hear the march of footfalls on the street above as what may have been the final formation left the city.