“So,” the Major said, knocking back the cognac. “Tell me, in explicit detail, exactly what happened.”
I told him the full torrid tale, leaving out only my brief foray to Schmidt’s toilet to take my medicine and the dizziness that struck as I chased the handy man into the street. I’d tossed back another of those magic pills before stepping into the office and already my brain felt like it was wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket. The Major listened in silence, his brow creasing when I reached the part about Jurgen overpowering the both of us. The whole bloody scene was playing out again inside my head, every tiny detail recalled as if I were right back in that room. But this time the pain was numbed and anxiety didn’t strike. I watched calmly as the German snatched Lane’s pistol and fired it at point blank range and my comrade fell out of the frame. My heart didn’t speed up, hammering my ribs when the gun turned towards me. And when the bastard fled, I simply floated after him. He was stood in the middle of the road, the girl clutched to his chest, and I pulled my own weapon and fired a single shot, putting him down for good.
“What happened to the girl?” the Major cut in. I shook my head and spread my palms.
“I don’t know. I asked her where she lived and she just ran off.” He pursed his lips and reached down into his bottom desk drawer, pulling out the bottle of cognac and setting it on top of the newspaper. He topped up his glass and lifted it to his nose, giving the dark liquid a cursory sniff before tipping back a mouthful.
“You know,” he said, easing back into his chair, “this is precisely what I was trying to avoid when I gave you this assignment.” His tone was strangely calm and I felt the first twinge of unease settle in my stomach.
“I know, sir,” I replied, clearing my throat. “He took us by surprise. I should have been ready when he lashed out at me.”
“Doesn’t matter.” The Major sank some more of the booze and tapped the glass against the edge of the desk. “What matters is how we handle this. If things get any worse between us and the fucking Germans, we’ll have a riot to deal with.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They’re already right on the edge from God knows how many years of Nazi rule. If they see us shooting their friends and family in the middle of the bloody street, they’ll dive right over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean, Christ almighty. Killing someone for a few biscuits and some bread.” He finished the glass and pushed it away, reaching for the cigar instead. “Are you sure that was the full story?” the Major asked, before sucking down a lungful of smoke. I thought back to what Jurgen said to me, how he refused to admit his crime even when my gun was aimed at him. Not just that, he’d vehemently denied it. Denied it with all his might, perhaps a minute or two after I watched him gun down a soldier.
“Yes, sir,” I said, my guts turning to lead inside of me. He stared at me for a while, the cigar smoke trickling from both nostrils. Then he shrugged and flicked away the overhang of ash.
“Fine. Go back to base. I’ll assign a new recruit to work under you, you’ll have him in a day or so.”
“Sir, I-”
“I’m choosing this time, Captain.” The way he stared at me reminded me of the old him, the man who led us into a wall of gunfire and mortar shells to take over this town. But that spark of passion sank back down again as soon as it emerged. The Major pushed back into his chair and flicked a hand towards the door and I rose with a nod. One last glance at the panel of angry heads, then I departed with a burning deep down inside my gut.
I was halfway back to the barracks when I realised I’d left my hat at the morgue. By now the second magic pill was most definitely wearing off, so I cursed and kicked out at an innocent rock lying helpless in the road, before turning and stomping back the way I’d come. Thoughts of desertion danced around in my head, the glory of being free of this godforsaken town and its inhabitants and this meaningless duty. Heading home to the family, or what was left of it at least. Meanwhile, my feet automatically carried me back to the stone shack we were using to store the dead before burying them or shipping them off.
The place was quite small, just four rooms in all, connected by a tiny corridor. When we’d first taken over the town, each room had been quickly filled with corpses, arranged across every spare bit of floor space. Now there were just three inhabitants, each lucky enough to possess their own private quarters. The first room on the left was Lane, while opposite was Herr Schmidt. Herr Jurgen was stored in the far right room and for now the far left was empty. I had the feeling, given the tension and the madness that seemed to have gripped the entire bloody town, that the damn thing wouldn’t be empty for long.
I quickly grabbed my hat from the hook in Lane’s room and was stepping back out when the door opposite swung open and a young lady dressed in a bright red coat and a long, slightly shabby brown scarf hurried out into the tiny corridor, almost stumbling straight into me. She glanced up and saw me just in time, peering at me through suddenly terrified eyes, half-hidden beneath long, golden curls of hair. At a guess, I’d have said she was a few years younger than myself, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She licked her lips and bowed her head slightly, staring down at my chest.
“S-sorry,” she said, her voice breaking apart. She cleared her throat and dragged her fingers through her hair, pulling it from her face.
“That’s alright,” I replied, fumbling my cap in my fingers. I stared over her shoulder into the room beyond and saw Herr Schmidt laid out on his back. The doc had done a decent job cleaning him up, but his clothes were still soaked in blood and there was no disguising the crater in his head. “Did you know Herr Schmidt?” I asked the girl.
“Opa,” she said, risking a quick glance up at me. I nodded and sucked on the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should pop another of the pills. No more than one a day he’d said, and I’d already sunk a pair.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I heard good things from some of the other townsfolk. They said he was a generous man.” The girl’s expression didn’t change, but her head raised a little, tilting to the side.
“Generous, yes.” She shook her head and pulled another stray tangle of hair away from her eye. “Sorry, my English, it is not very good.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, forcing a goofy grin. “My German, bloody awful. I can say, uh, ‘ich bin Englisch’ and ‘nach hause gehen’.”
“Good,” the girl said, and a glimmer of a smile crossed her lips. “Good accent.”
“No, terrible accent, but thanks anyway.” I coughed into my fist and realised I hadn’t felt this bloody awkward in a long, long time. “What’s your name?”
“Loriett,” she said, dipping her head again.
“Loriett,” I repeated. “Good to meet you.” Then, not really knowing what to do, I donned my cap and held the front door open for her. She stepped briskly out into the fading daylight with a grateful smile and a nod and I followed, wishing her a good day before striding off towards base.
Two (Katherine)
When I came back to the house, the place was deathly quiet. I called out for Katz but heard only silence in return. Typical. Just when I needed him most, the big lug was out scavenging somewhere.
My arm was still throbbing as if Pieter had pounded it good with one of his knuckle punches, so I headed to the back garden and eased it out from my sleeve. When I saw the naked wound, I winced. I’d had plenty of cuts and bumps and bruises before, but this was worse. A gash as thick as my finger, and so deep that I was shocked that I couldn’t see bone. It was black from where the blood was getting all crusty. I stared at it for ages, then I stooped by the little tap that was underneath the window and I ran a trickle of water. Chewing on my lip, I slowly slipped my arm beneath the ice cold drizzle. The dried blood dissolved away from my skin, but when the water touched the gash, it felt like someone had pressed a burning match to my arm. I jerked away with a yelp and tumbled over backwards. My arse slammed onto the stone paving and I cried out again, rolling over onto my
side. I crushed my eyes tight shut, waiting for the pain in my arm to ease off until it was just a throbbing ache again. Even then, I didn’t feel like getting up. The ground felt good beneath me, cool against my cheek and my palm. I stretched out my limbs and sighed.
Katherine, what on earth are you doing girl! Come on, on your feet, right now! You’re not a dog, you don’t roll in the filth like one!
“Yes, mother,” I said, pushing myself up with my good arm and shuffling back inside.
I’d grown up in this house before the Nazis came and ruined everything, but even though it was different now, it suited me and Katz fine. We were out on the edge of town, away from the crowds and close to the woods where we took our walks. Best of all was the enormous basement where I’d played Ghost Hunter as a child and that was where I trudged, nursing my injured arm. The old wooden stairs creaked beneath my feet as I descended into the dark. I’d placed one of my scavenged candles at the very bottom, along with some matches, because the bulb dangling down from the ceiling didn’t work anymore. Carefully I struck a match and lit the wick, before creeping across to the far corner. Down here it was damp and cool (hence the perfect place to find ghosts), which felt amazing on hot, dry days. Somehow the cold air seemed to help my aching shoulder, easing the horrible burning feeling. I let out a tiny sigh of relief.
I kept a big, soft blanket in the corner, next to my treasure chest which was filled with all the fascinating things I’d found just lying around, mostly after the English soldiers came and stole our town from the Nazis. My prize find was a silk handkerchief, which had a picture of a tree sewn into one corner. It felt so good against my skin so I always took that out first and stroked it against my cheek. Carefully I set the handkerchief aside and rummaged through the rest of my collection. A slightly squashed hat, a silver cigarette case, two chipped wooden ducks that were painted yellow and red. And there at the bottom, the German pistol that I’d found beside a dead body and took when no one was looking. I don’t know why I’d picked it up. After everything that had happened, I thought that I’d hate guns forever. Still, somehow I felt safer knowing that it was here if I ever needed it.
Katz came back that evening just as the sun was starting to drop. I was up in my bedroom by then, staring out of the window at the woods and the corn fields beside them. As usual I heard him before I saw him, his claws tapping against the wooden floorboards as he raced up the stairs and into my room. He was panting hard, his huge fleshy tongue dangling from his jaws like a dead animal. I figured he’d been chasing squirrels again, getting all overexcited. He jumped up at me, almost bowling me over. When he stood up on his back paws like that he was easily as tall as me, his nose pushing up against mine, all wet and slimy. I laughed and pushed him back down, which made my arm ache all over. He wasn’t to know, though. He’s just a dumb dog.
Katz spent some time chewing his own leg while I slipped out of my dress and frowned at the raggedy blood-stained tear in the shoulder. This was one of my favourites, the daisies reminding me of the daisy chain necklaces my mother used to make for me. I carefully folded it up and left it to one side while I pulled on another one, the green dress with the ribbon on the sleeves.
“Come on, Katz,” I said, scratching him behind his ear until he stopped biting his fur. “Let’s go for a walk.”
We’d only just cut inside the woods when Katz sniffed out a squirrel or some other hapless animal and immediately hurtled after it, howling and snarling and snapping his jaws. I took off after him, ducking the thorny branches and leaping over muddy craters, but he was too fast for me. Soon his shaggy hide was hidden from view and I only had his angry barking to follow. I called after him, knowing that it was hopeless. When he gets a whiff of those little furry creatures, he turns all crazy. This one must’ve been a rabbit, because a squirrel would’ve been straight up a tree and I’d have no problem catching up. But this one just kept on running and eventually I couldn’t even hear Katz barking any more.
“Dumb dog,” I hissed, slowing a little to let my legs recover. I was already a little out of breath, so I sucked down some big lungfuls of the mossy air and rubbed my side where it had started to ache. “Should put you on a lead, see how you like that.” Except it wouldn’t make a difference, I’d just be dragged along behind him.
Suddenly I thought I heard a sound from somewhere off to my left. I stopped dead and turned, freezing in place. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it sounded like a man shouting. For a moment I considered calling back, but something stopped me before my lips parted. No one from the town ever came out to these woods. If there was someone out here, it was probably one of the English soldiers; their camp was just to the West, a little past the lake, in the old Nazi barracks. So instead of calling, I just kept on going straight, this time keeping as quiet as possible.
I didn’t hear any more voices and soon I was at the edge of the woods, peering out towards the lake. The sun was dipping low now and in another hour it would be gone entirely. I chewed my lip and watched the silhouettes of the soldiers, gathered at the lakeside as normal. They were already screaming and hollering at each other, but I could hear a violin straining to be heard over the din, playing some up-beat music that I’d never heard before. I listened for a little while, before my heart leapt at the sound of a dog barking frantically. The next thing I saw was Katz bursting from the trees and tearing across to the soldiers.
“Katz,” I hissed, watching in horror as the dumb dog bounded up to the gathering and started leaping in circles, howling and panting. The soldiers matched his enthusiasm, jumping out of his path and laughing like children. Before I really had time to think about it, I found myself hurrying across the muddy field towards the lakeside, my shoes slipping across the slimy surface. Twice I almost toppled face-first into the filth, but I kept my balance and charged up to the group. Katz was leaping up at one of the soldiers when I got to him, throwing his paws onto the man’s chest and barking non-stop, but when I called out to him he backed down and shuffled over to me, his head bowed like he knew he’d done wrong. “Bad dog,” I scolded him, suddenly aware that every soldier was staring at me. Some of them looked surprised, but most of them just looked amused.
“Is that your dog?” one of them asked, a short, skinny man with a thin moustache. I nodded back, resting an arm across Katz’s neck.
“He’s a beast,” someone else said, daring to step closer. This one had a cap slung backwards across his head and was clutching a bottle. The soldier held out a hand as if to pat Katz, but he pulled back sharpish when Katz unleashed another mighty bark. “Jesus,” he spluttered, laughing and swigging from the bottle. “Take your bloody arm off, that thing.”
“Or your bollocks,” cackled another. By now my cheeks were burning and I wanted nothing more than to swivel around and run right back to the woods, but I also didn’t want to hear these men crowing behind me, laughing at the scared little girl. So I just gripped Katz’s fur and pulled his head against my thigh.
“He would do that only if you annoy him,” I said, forcing my chin up. The skinny moustache man held up one hand and moved the other to his groin.
“Well, I’m a very amicable person,” he said, backing off a step. “And I like my bollocks too much to test him.”
“Don’t know why, Moss,” bottle man laughed, “you never have any use for the bloody things.”
“Not stuck out here with you lovely gents, no. But when I get home, they’ll be bursting for action again.”
“Hey.” The bottle was jabbed in Katz’s direction. “Does your doggy like whiskey?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He gets sick.”
“Can’t hold his booze. Damn shame!” He held the bottle out to me instead, the smirk growing across his face. “How about you, girlie? You like whiskey?”
I stared at the brown glass bottle and the liquid sloshing around inside and was suddenly aware that my heart was thudding hard inside my chest. I’d tasted alcohol a few times, with the others. Mos
tly wine. I figured whiskey would be the same and for some reason I decided that I wanted to prove myself to these men. So I reached out with my good arm and took the bottle. The glass was warm and clammy against my palm and as I lifted the neck to my lips, I was aware of two things. First, the sudden quiet all around me and second, the strong, pungent smell that forced its way up my nostrils. The violin music rang in my ears and I held my breath and tipped the bottle up, allowing the whiskey to trickle out over my tongue. The taste was horrible, not at all what I expected, but the worst came when I swallowed it down in a hurry. It felt as if I’d stuck my head in a fireplace and inhaled the thick black smoke. My throat closed up and I started to choke and cough, doubling up and almost dropping the bottle. Beside me, Katz began to bark and howl again, jumping up onto his back paws like a startled horse.
“You okay?” Moss asked, gently taking the bottle away and resting a hand on my back. My mouth was suddenly filled with saliva, so I was too busy spitting it out across the pebbles to answer him. Eventually I managed to catch my breath and the burning sensation faded, but my throat still felt all gravelly and raw.
“Good girl,” bottle man said, taking back his whiskey. “Think that means you can join our squad, eh Mossy?”
“You really are a prize-winning prick, Kali,” said Moss, but when I glanced up at him he was smiling. “You know,” he whispered to me, “most people would’ve just had a sip. Not knock it back like it was water.”
Devil's in a Different Dress Page 3
