I was completely and utterly lost. The streets of Ukraine bent and twisted in unnatural ways that were extremely unfamiliar to me. Glancing around in every direction, I began to think that coming here was the worst mistake of my life. I searched and searched for the right house, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find it. And with every breath I took, a strange, metallic taste crawled its way into my throat, causing me to cough consistently. 
I needed to find her.
Zoya Vann was the girl I was searching so intently for. We had been exchanging letters for more than two years now. We were pen pals. Have been since eighth grade. And even though we had never talked in person or even seen each other’s faces, I felt unnaturally close to her somehow. I had really gotten to know her through the way she portrayed her personality onto the page.
It was April 27th, 1986 when I landed in Ukraine from the plane so I could finally meet her in person. I really wanted to surprise her, so I never mentioned the flight that I had booked. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when she opened the door and saw me standing there.
However . . . the maze of houses was the only thing stopping me from seeing her.
Continuing my search, I began to knock on every door, determined to eventually find the right one. Yet, no one that I ran into could speak English, and that just resulted in making me even more confused and aggravated, as Well as the person I was trying to have a conversation with. The coughing continued, and I soon noticed that others in the area appeared to have fallen ill as well.
In the long run, I ended up plopping myself down on a street curb, just wishing I hadn’t come. If I wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t be lost in some foreign country right now. Kicking at the rocks in the curb, a young, curious looking boy tapped me on the shoulder. I stood up and glanced down at the kid. He had dark brown hair and even darker eyes.
“Vitayu?” He asked, looking me up and down.
“Umm . . . hello . . . ?” I said.
“Ya ne rozumiyu.” The little boy said.
I stared at him blackly, not understanding a single word that came out of his mouth. “My name’s Ryder.” I told him, “Ryder Fritz. I’m from California, and I’m looking for a girl named Zoya Vann. Do you know her?” I had recited these lines numerous times before, and had already learned that no one would be able to understand me, but I asked anyway.
“Ya ne rozumiyu.” The boy repeated, staring up at me.
I coughed again, covering my mouth with my sleeve, and replied, “Yeah . . . uh . . . sure.”
“Oleksander?” A girl’s voice sounded from down the street. When I glanced up and got a clear look at her, I couldn’t help but stare.
She had beautiful black hair that flowed graciously down her shoulders, eyes so dark you couldn’t see her pupils, and flawless chocolate covered skin.
“I, uh . . .” I found myself speechless, and suddenly my face felt a lot hotter than usual. I coughed once more, embarrassed.
“Dobryy' vechir.” The girl said.
Once I finally worked up enough courage to speak, I apologized, “I’m really sorry, but I don’t speak Ukrainian . . . I’m from California. Name’s Ryder, has been since I was born.” I paused, wondering how such a stupid sentence could come out of my mouth.
“Oh, you speak English?” She asked with a thick accent. Startled, I stared at her in wonder.
“You can understand me?” I asked.
“Well . . . yes, I am conversing with you, aren’t I?” She replied, giggling.
My heart leapt, and I started to laugh until I broke into a coughing fit, doubling over and trying to hold in my breakfast. 
“Are you alright?” She asked, sounding concerned.
Once I could speak again, I answered, “Yeah, I should be fine. Just a little cough.” Then, remembering why I came here in the first place, I asked my usual question, “I’m looking for a girl named Zoya. Do you know her?”
Her face retorted in surprise, and she looked absolutely shocked.
“Zoya . . . Vann?” She asked, a little uneasy.
“Yeah, that’s her! You know who she is?”
“I am Zoya.”
Gears turned in my head, making my brain work overtime. For a minute, all I could do was stand and stare at the beautiful girl standing right in front of me. Finally, I checked, “You’re Zoya?”
She nodded, “Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry . . . I guess I never told you. I’m Ryder Fritz.”
Her whole face lit up and she began to laugh. “You’re Ryder?”
“Yeah . . . I am.” I couldn’t tell if she was happy about that or not, but she seemed relieved.
“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you! Well, why don’t you come over to my house for lunch?” She asked, grabbing my arm and dragging me down the street before I could protest.
My lungs burned and when I got to her house, I observed that her two little brothers were also coughing. Kliment (the youngest), even threw up a couple times.
“Why is everyone so sick around here?” I asked in between coughs.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. Nobody really knows . . .” Zoya said, tending to her little brother.
“Where are your parents?”
Zoya explained that her mother and father were in the market buying ingredients for dinner for the evening, and reported that they should be home around noon.
We both talked for a really long time, laughing and giggling at our own jokes. I felt so comfortable around her, like I could tell her anything. The information we had shared through our letters was our only connection to each other just days ago, but now we could look into each other’s eyes and just say whatever we wanted to.
After an hour, Zoya insisted that I watch TV with Olek and Klim, so I took a seat on the old sofa in the front room.
The two boys didn’t pay much attention, but some English subtitles caught my consideration.
“For the attention of the residents of Pripyat! The City Council informs you that due to the accident at Chernobyl Power Station in the city of Pripyat the radioactive conditions in the vicinity are deteriorating. The Communist Party, its officials and the armed forces are taking necessary steps to combat this.”
“Zoya!” I shouted into the kitchen, “You might want to see this.” I dragged her into the front room to read the rest of the subtitles as she listened.
“Nevertheless, with the view to keep people as safe and healthy as possible, the children being top priority, we need to temporarily evacuate the citizens in the nearest towns of Kiev Oblast. For these reasons, starting from April 27, 1986 2 pm each apartment block will be able to have a bus at its disposal, supervised by the police and the city officials. It is highly advisable to take your documents, some vital personal belongings and a certain amount of food, just in case, with you. The senior executives of public and industrial facilities of the city has decided on the list of employees needed to stay in Pripyat to maintain these facilities in a good working order. All the houses will be guarded by the police during the evacuation period. Comrades, leaving your residences temporarily please make sure you have turned off the lights, electrical equipment and water and shut the windows. Please keep calm and orderly in the process of this short-term evacuation.”
What does this mean? I thought. They’re being evacuated?
Before I could ask Zoya what this was about, I saw lights from outside flipping off, windows slamming closed, and citizens running out of their homes.
Houses were quickly becoming dark and vacant, and people stormed the streets to get to an available apartment block in hopes of being on the first swarm of buses.
“Zoya, what’s happening?” I shouted over the commotion emitting from outside.
She looked really panicked and started to stumble frantically throughout the house, picking up the sandwiches that were on the table and stuffing them into a plastic bag.
“We have to go! Shvydko!” She shouted, cramming the lunches into a backpack and swooping Kliment off the floor and into her arms.
“Chomu?” Oleksander asked from the ground.
“SHVYDKO!” Zoya repeated desperately.
Chaos erupted in the streets, and some people started to bang on the door.
“What’s happening?!” I asked again, glancing at the wild people in the streets of Ukraine.
Panic attacked me like a bird of prey. 
“There’s no time to explain! We have to go, now!” Zoya burst through the front door while holding Klim. “Get Olek!” she ordered as she rushed into the crowded street.
Obeying Zoya, I scooped up Oleksander and put him into a piggy-back position.
Hurrying after Zoya, I tried to ignore the burning sensation in my throat as I coughed uncontrollably. People pushed and shoved to try and get to the apartment block first, and in the midst of all the commotion, I lost Zoya.
Olek started to cough even more than I, and I pulled him off my back, taking my jacket off and quickly wrapping it around his mouth so mask out some of the radiation. But it didn’t seem to help at all. He coughed and spat, dropping to his knees and hurling in the curb.
As gross as it was, it was horrifying to watch as Olek started to hyperventilate and choke.
“Meni . . . treba . . .” He managed, clutching the sleeve of my shirt and staring up at me with big, watery, mystified, and bloodshot eyes. His coughing had subsided, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
A police grabbed me firmly by the arms and shoved a gas mask into my chest, yelling, “Shvydko!”
I didn’t need a translator to know that he wanted us to hurry the heck up.
I swiveled back around to strap the gas mask on Olek, but when I turned around, he was slumped against the side of a house.
“Olek . . . you need this.” I said, trying to get it over his mouth.
He breathed heavily and sweat trickled down his brow. His face was abnormally pale, and his eyes seemed elsewhere.
“Olek, please!” I begged, pressing the mask up to the child’s face. But before I could get it to touch his lips, he reached out and stopped me from moving it any closer. His small head slowly turned toward mine, and the boy’s lips folded into a small smile, a tear spilling out of his left eye.
He looked up at the sky, and I felt his body go limp.
“No . . .” I whispered, unable to accept the fact that Zoya’s brother had just died. I reached out and checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
I wrapped my arms around Olek’s lifeless body, and tears erupted out of my eyes.
“SHVYDKO!” I heard an officer shout from behind me.
Reluctantly, I pushed myself away from the boy, and strapped the mask over my own face, glad that the facade covered my tear-filled eyes as I recognized the back of Zoya’s head.
She pivoted around, revealing her face hidden beneath the mask.
I glanced through her mask, and was surprised that I could see her eyes; full of worry, panic, and longing, they bore into mine, and all I could do was shake my head. 
As soon as she seemed to realize what I meant, her body broke out into violent sobs. I enveloped her in a comforting embrace, and Kliment stared up at us, oblivious to the fact that his older brother was dead.
Right then and there, I was determined to get the rest of her family out of the city safely. “We have to go.” I said gravely, grabbing Zoya’s and Klim’s hands and marching down the street to get to the bus. Even though there were hundreds of people in the street all going in the same direction, I managed to push through the crowd and make it to the apartment block.
Citizens bustled around, fighting for a spot on the commercial motorized vehicle. Zoya cringed when she witnessed a woman trip and fall to the ground, people stomping over her and smashing the lady under their feet.
Kliment began to cry, and I picked him up into my arms and clutched Zoya’s hand as I pushed people away to get her and her brother on the bus safely.
Pressing Zoya into the vehicle, I shouted, “Go, get out of here! I’ll find your parents!”
“How?” Zoya asked, her voice broken.
I shook my head, “Honestly, I have no idea . . . but you love them, right?”
She nodded curtly.
“Then I’ll find them. I’ll bring them back to you.”
She smiled and pulled off her mask.
“What are you doin-?”
Before I could finish, she ripped my own mask off, and pressed our lips together.
I would’ve been crapping myself because I didn’t have to protection of the mask anymore, but as soon as she kissed me, I didn’t care anymore.
All worry faded away, and a sense of peace drifted into my mind.
I could’ve stayed there all day, radiation or no. I wouldn’t have any interest whatsoever.
Then our lips parted. I couldn’t hide the idiotic grin that was spread across my face, and when she saw it, she slammed the gas mask over my head, laughing.
I put her mask back on for her, and then ran toward the market – wherever that was . . .
“VANN!” I shouted, using her last name to find anyone who expressed a single hint of recognition. I searched for half an hour before I found a couple raise their hands into the sky.
Sprinting toward them, I could see the family resemblance.
“Shvydko!” I shouted, using the only Ukrainian word that I knew. They seemed to understand and hurried toward me, Zoya’s mom saying, “Khto?”
I ignored her, dragging her to the bus where most of their kids were.
I didn’t tell them about Olek. I didn’t know how, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have wanted to see the pain on their faces when they found out their son had died.
So I just pulled them along, desperate to reunite them with Zoya and Klim.
When I finally reached the bus, I shoved them into the vehicle and watched as the family came together in a loving embrace.
I was so tempted to get on that bus . . . but I knew that the kids had to go first.
I stayed behind with the officers, moving the smallest children into the bus first, then the elderly. I wish I could’ve stayed to help the rest of them, but then a police man shoved me into the nearest bus without a word.
“Wait!” I shouted, “I have to help! Please, let me help! Take the kids first!” I began to cough into the mask, and an unbearable pain seared through my lungs. A small trickle of blood dripped out of my mouth, and I struggled to breathe through the mask. Once the door of the bus closed, I ripped the mask off and drew in desperate breaths.
Watching the blood pour out of my mouth, I became light-headed and dizzy.
A hand patted me on the back, and I looked up to see Zoya.
“Ryder, you have to put the mask back on! You’ll die!” She said, her eyes full of threatening tears.
“I . . . I can’t . . .” I murmured, my lungs feeling as if they would burst at any given moment.
Is this what Oleksander felt?
I couldn’t help but wonder if my life was about to be ripped away.
My throat hurt so much that I couldn’t even cough anymore, and I couldn’t move my arm enough to raise the mask back up to my lips.
“ . . . Zoya.” I whispered, my voice unrecognizable, even to myself. Cradling her masked face in my hand, I couldn’t help but smile. A singe tear rolled down my cheek.
Her eyes misted over, and she began to cry again. “Ryder.”
“I’m sorry . . .” I said, wishing I could tell her that I had tried to save Olek. But my voice failed me. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t move.
I closed my eyes, and light turned to dark.
Day developed to night.
And life became death.