KRAMATORSK, Ukraine – Few people have stayed here to watch the fruit trees blossom and tulips grow on the long grass. Tens of thousands have fled. Aside from the rustling of leaves and the barking of a dog, remote bombing is one of the few sounds left. With Ukrainian forces fighting to repel the advance of Russian troops 10 miles away, Kramatorsk looks like a ghost town – empty streets, closed shops, mostly empty buildings. But in the town hall and in the hospitals some are determined to stay. Looking up at his abandoned apartment building and its lush gardens, 25-year-old Mykola Khimy wondered why. “A lot of people still need help,” he said. “I can handle this now. At least in this situation, I can handle it. “ The young man is one of dozens of volunteers combing neighborhoods for residents in need. They deliver food and medicine. They do everything they can to persuade the elderly or disabled to leave. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine on February 24 sparked international outrage. But in the east of the country, at least, the struggle has been raging for years. Large areas of the Donbas area, where Kramatorsk is located, have been controlled by Russian separatists since 2014. At least 14,000 people have been killed in the armed conflict since. But for the residents who remain in their place now, the dangers are more serious than before. Ukrainian officials say thousands of civilians have been killed in two months of fighting. Russian forces are accused of war crimes, including deliberately targeting civilians and hospitals. In Russian-occupied territories, residents have told stories of forced conscription in some places and torture and summary executions in others. Kramatorsk’s population has shrunk from 200,000 to 40,000, officials say, and most of those who remain are elderly. Volunteers and doctors staying to care for them have often faced resistance from their families. “It was like my own private war,” Khimy said. He had been arguing with his grandparents for hours, reminding them that he was not safe. He was also aware that he would feel more able to take care of others when he had only himself at home to worry about. Latest updates from the Ukraine war It took weeks and more money than Khimy had ever imagined – more than an average monthly salary – but finally on April 8 he found two seats on a bus for them. He was going to help at the train station that day as thousands of residents waited for the evacuation, but decided to accompany his grandparents first in case they changed their minds. Once that happened, Khimy said, he planned to meet a volunteer at the train station. Even at the bus stop, his grandparents were hard to convince, but eventually got on and the bus got out. His phone rang a few minutes later. “Are you okay? Are you okay?” His friend was crying. The Kramatorsk railway station had been bombed by Russian forces, he said, and dozens of civilians had been killed. When the call ended, more messages were dropped. One of the volunteers – the one he was supposed to meet – was missing. He was found dead on the platform, wearing the high visibility jacket he had worn for work. “This was the heaviest day,” Khimy said. “You’re just thinking about all the roads that have not been followed so far. I had found places for my grandparents. “I had achieved something.” He still wonders if the volunteer who was killed on April 8 had arrived early to wait for him there. For many local officials, staying is considered a duty. In 2014 many left after Russian-backed Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych left the country. “Then the system just collapsed, so this time we have to make sure the system is still working,” said Tatiana Ignachenko, a local government spokeswoman. As Washington Post reporters visited the town hall this week, an air raid siren began to mourn – for the fourth time that day – and Ignatchenko fell into a shelter. “We understand that the risks are ten times greater than in 2014, because the Russian weapons systems are overwhelming now,” she said, perched on the dilapidated bed frame used for off-duty soldiers. “Right now, there is no safe place in Ukraine.” Mariupol survivors, stunned and exhausted, describe the horror they endured At least 70 health facilities have been attacked by Russia, according to the World Health Organization. In the Donetsk region, Kramatorsk Hospital No. 3 is still the largest. Behind his desk in an office upstairs, Oleksiy Yakovlenko took a look at the map of the area he is holding on the wall. “We expect them to do the same here.” With other hospitals out of order, soldiers and civilians arrive at the hospital daily. The morgue is full. “We have to keep this place functional,” Yakovlenko said. On night calls, his family begs him to leave. “And I tell them I have honor,” he said. “If I receive the evacuation order, then I will leave,” he said. “But until that day, I live here.” For Ignatchenko, the daily number of victims crossing her office is personal. A woman with the energy of someone who can not or does not want to stop moving, is from Mariupol – the besieged city believed to be the site of some of the most extensive civilian casualties of the war. “To put it bluntly, I’re just treating all this information as a clear fact,” he said. “There is nothing that you can do about it. You just have to think about how you can help and control your emotions. “ A few days after the train strike, Khimy, the volunteer, said he felt numb. One night he took a shower with water so hot that it felt boiling. Ignatchenko’s response to the trauma is to be simply busy. “If my feelings came out, I could not stand them,” he said. Outside, the siren of the air raid stopped and some cars appeared back on the streets. Children ran out of an almost deserted apartment building to play. Their family wanted to leave Kramatorsk, but they had nowhere to go, their mother said. “They are afraid, but what can we do?” he said with a sigh. “There are only a few families here now, and so it is.” Down the street, a middle-aged couple was walking their cocker spaniel. Their son was fighting in the front line not far away, said Boris Zanusluniy, 54. “We do not want to leave yet, but the car is full and we are ready to go if the Russians try to take over here.” His wife, Dania, frowned. “I wish we had already left,” he said. If the Russian invasion of Ukraine was intended to weaken the country, for some in Kramatorsk, it instead made a stronger sense of belonging. As Kimi walked past the fruit trees to check on an old friend’s apartment, he meditated. “You know, this is something new for me. “I do not know if this is bravery, but since the beginning of this war, I feel that I care more.” His friends are worried about him, but they also tease him. “One of them said to me the other day, ‘Are you a Game of Thrones character who keeps talking about your people?’ He smiled. “When people leave, I tell them to stop crying. “When we meet again, we will all rebuild this city.” Eugene Lakatosh contributed to this report. correction An earlier version of this article incorrectly portrayed the Ukrainian volunteer in Kramatorsk. It’s Mykola Khimy, not Nikolai Olekseivish. This story has been corrected.
