Keller grunted and wobbled back, unsteady. He turned and fled the pub with the last remaining soldier, half doubled over and bleeding.
Another moment passed in silence. Vergess, looking satisfied that the soldiers wouldn’t return anytime soon, walked back to the long table, his expression set into forlorn contemplation. Geist joined him, though she knew their time was short. They hadn’t killed the soldiers, so someone would report the incident soon.
Victory held the bandages over his eye in place as he glared. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know you anything about German laws in occupied countries? It’s a crime to interfere with the military’s business—attacking soldiers is all the more worse.”
“What should I have done?” Vergess growled. He pulled out his chair and took a seat, reeking of anger. “Should I have done nothing?”
“You don’t think the soldiers will harass the pub more now that you’ve attacked them? Think! You won’t be here to protect this place when they come calling a second time.”
“I’m not going to sit back and watch them torture some girl just because they may come back in the future. Perhaps they’ve learned their lesson. Perhaps they’ll be too embarrassed to return.”
“The girl was in no danger. Or did you forget I could see that? If I had seen her hurt, I would’ve intervened.”
“Is that right?” Vergess snapped. “Or would you have avoided the trouble, like with the U-boat? I’m starting to think your sorcery has made you a coward. Am I only one here with the guts to fight the enemy when they’re digging their claws into our necks?”
Blick slammed his hand on the table, shaking the oil lamp and nearly toppling it to the stone floor. “Enough of this shit. You’ve got a bloody problem. I don’t know what’s going on, but—”
Blick cut himself short.
Sofie walked into the room with a tray of drinks—a full glass of water for each person at the table. She passed them out with relative speed, nodding and smiling to everyone she made eye contact with, despite the tension in the room.
Not too many people challenge the Germans, it seems.
Blick cleared his throat and changed his tone to one of pleasantness. “Ah, just what we need.”
When Sofie reached Vergess she stopped and combed her fingers through her hair. “Thank you.”
Geist didn’t appreciate the admiration in her tone or the way she took in Vergess from head to toe. But she forced herself to remain quiet.
Sofie placed a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate what you did.”
Vergess jerked away from her touch. “Forget it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Bring us our food and pretend like you never saw us.”
Geist’s eyes widened.
Sofie stepped back, her lips in a tight line. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Before anyone could say anything further, she trotted back into the kitchen, her pale skin awash of red.
“What’s gotten into you now?” Blick demanded.
Vergess scoffed. “Don’t lecture me on etiquette.”
“You’re only making things worse,” Victory said. “She could have been useful later, a local girl like that. And now our chance is ruined.”
Vergess stood, knocking the chair to the floor in his haste. “Keep your future-sight out of my business. Maybe you should stay focused on your own problems before you lose another goddamn eye.” He stormed out of the room, past the bar, and out the front room to the street. The others watched him go with varying levels of visible relief.
“Is he ever reasonable?” Dreamer asked. “I’ve yet to see him friendly since we began this trip.”
“He’s reasonable,” Geist said. “He hasn’t been himself since—”
Since heading back into the German Empire.
“It’s because he’s back in German territory, isn’t it?” Blick guessed. He leaned back in his chair, resting his weight on the two back legs and kicking a foot onto the table. “Remember who said bringing him would be a bad idea? He’s a liability—and this only proves it.”
Geist stood. Battery stared up at her in confusion. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to speak with him.”
“You are?” Battery held out his hand, palm up. “At least let me lend you a little of my power. You never know what’s going to be out there.”
“I’ll be fine. The rest of you can determine the path we take to Spa. I’m sure the locals will know the roads best for travel. Speak to the girl and apologize for Vergess.”
“All right.”
Geist exited the pub, her eyes on the scuffed hardwood as she made her way by the bar and out the heavy oak door. She ignored the ominous feeling she got from Victory—like he were paying attention to the future a little more for a reason—and instead contemplated how she would deal with Vergess’s behavior.
Ever since stepping foot on Belgium soil, Geist had been absorbed with thoughts of the nation’s continuing downfall. The thoughts left her cold and numb all over. We all deal with suffering in different ways, she thought, spotting Vergess in the afternoon shadow of a nearby building. I try to ignore it, but maybe Vergess needs something else.
He had a lit cigarette hanging in his mouth as he leaned against the bricks. Geist approached warily, trying with all her might to seem casual.
“Hey,” Geist said.
Vergess exhaled a long line of smoke. She met his gaze as she slipped into the shadows next to him. Where did he find that cigarette? The smoke stung her nose and she knew it to be some European brand. They reminded her of her father.
“What’s going on?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. “You weren’t like this in Fort Douaumont. I know this is difficult for you, but you need to pull it together.”
“Shh,” Vergess replied, motioning with a jut of his chin.
Geist gritted her teeth, half-ready to yell. Is he even paying attention? She followed his gaze down the main road and all her anger disappeared. German soldiers lined the sidewalk in front of a tailor shop. Two inhabitants were dragged out by their arms and hair—a teen boy and forty-something man, their blood relation apparent in their shared copper-brown hair and dark complexion.
The boy sported a black eye, busted nose, and bloodied shirt while his father stood straight in a clean white-collar vest, slacks and coat. Geist eyed the soldiers. One, his tunic smeared in crimson, had a bright red ear and swollen cheek.
Was the boy fighting the soldiers? How foolish. He’s worse than Vergess.
But that wasn’t all she saw. Keller and the two soldiers from the pub were amidst the group of Germans. Keller pointed down the street, urging the other soldiers to follow, and Geist knew what they wanted. Fighting a squad of Germans was the last thing on her list.
“We should get inside,” Geist whispered. “We’ll get the others and exit out the back.”
Vergess threw down his cigarette and snuffed it out under his boot. “I can handle them.”
“No. We’re not here to fight every enemy soldier we see.”
“Fine. Whatever you say.”
There it was again—something in his tone, nearly driving her to frenzy.
Geist turned to the pub and froze. The door was open and Sofie stood at the threshold, her eyes locked on the soldiers down the street. The teenager and father were pushed and pulled, forced to their knees like dogs in the mud. Sofie retreated into the darkness of the pub, her gaze flitting over to Geist and Vergess for but a second.
In that moment, Geist could see her weighing the consequences of her actions.
Sofie locked the pub door with a heavy click of the metal latch, leaving Geist and Vergess to the soldiers on the street. Geist caught her breath, shocked that Sofie would lock them outside, but she realized right away why. Sofie was giving them to the soldiers. There would be no need to scour the pub if their targets were already on the streets.
Geist crossed the cobblestone road and hit the front door of the pub. She attempted to pass her hand t
hrough the thick wood. Pressing her palm up to the solid object only burned her skin when she attempted to pass through it. She pulled back and bit her lip. Damn. I can’t do it on my own yet.
She motioned for Vergess to join her. He could dislodge the door, if needed, but it was too late.
“Halt!” a German soldier shouted. “By order of the German Empire, you will surrender and place your hands atop your heads!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE RESISTANCE
GEIST PLACED HER HANDS ON top of her head, lacing her fingers together through her curly hair. Vergess followed suit. He stood still, keeping his gaze down and his posture relaxed.
The soldiers approached with Mauser rifles at the ready. They surrounded Geist and Vergess, jittery, casting their commanding officer frequent glances. Keller, his uniform tunic splattered with his own blood, muttered warnings and curses under his breath. He pointed to Vergess.
“They attacked us,” Keller stated. “And he consorted with the Belgians.”
Geist straightened her posture. “We’re citizens of the United States. We’ll return to our ship.”
Perhaps her statements would have allowed her to return to the docks unmolested, but Vergess destroyed all chances when he spat on Keller, his saliva arching to hit the soldier on the jaw. Geist had heard stories about the Germans. Always serious. Taking every offense to heart. If she could, she’d shake Vergess by the collar of his jacket—or strike him for his foolishness.
The enemy soldiers shouted among each other and brought their bayonets to bear on Vergess’s neck and Geist’s back.
“We’re in charge here,” a soldier stated. “We’re taking you both into detention.”
With a few quick shoves the soldiers pushed Geist together with the Belgian father and his teenage son. They gave her sorrowful glances, both a mix of pity and frustration. Vergess joined them, but not until one soldier struck him across the face with the butt of his heavy rifle. The force of the blow sounded as if it would hurt a normal man, but Geist knew it couldn’t have done much to an apex sorcerer. To her amusement, Vergess stumbled back and played into the blow, his black hair disheveled and hanging across his face.
Soldiers wrestled him into the group of detainees. Vergess kept himself close to Geist as he scanned the soldiers, his gaze lingering on their guns and ammunition. Geist kept her wits about her, knowing that normal men could still kill a sorcerer quite easily.
If an opportunity presented itself to attack, she would take it. But revealing their sorcery here in Antwerp would blow their cover.
But the moment we’re alone…
Civilians peeked out from behind wooden shutters and thick curtains, but when Geist met their gaze, they hid away. Doors locked and shops closed.
“God, forgive me,” the father muttered under his breath in hasty statements. “Watch over my family. Let my wife know I love her. Protect my unruly son.”
The teenager, sullen, stared at his feet. Blood dripped from his nose and lips, spilling in droplets across his leather shoes.
“March,” Keller commanded.
Geist walked where the soldiers told her to walk, biding her time, her mind racing. The Germans steered her toward the edge of Antwerp.
The old stone walls of the city stood in shambles. Debris from the German siege littered the outskirts—barbed wire filled in the holes in the wall and shreds of clothing caught on the sharpened metal told a desperate story Geist didn’t care to think of.
A terrible odor of decay hung in the air with the fog once they exited the city. Geist glanced around, her gaze drawn to the bloody furrows in the earth, shallow trenches not used for war, but for corpses. Bodies lay in piles in all states of decomposition. Flies feasted, but the carrion birds dared not venture too close to hungry men and their guns.
The soldiers forced the father and son to their knees on the edge of the trench, a good three hundred feet from the wall. Geist and Vergess were pulled and pushed to join them. Mud soaked into Geist’s slacks, sending a cold shiver from her legs up to her spine. The foul stench stung her eyes.
Although Geist had always known of the Belgian’s plight, she didn’t fully comprehend their wretched situation until she glanced up at the rifles.
The Germans didn’t keep detainees. They dragged them to hastily dug graves and filled them efficiently. Anyone who argued, anyone who showed signs of rebellion, would find no mercy, only charnel houses.
Geist gritted her teeth as the men lined up behind them and steadied their rifles, ready for the execution. I hope we’re far enough away. I’m not going to wait any longer.
She jumped to her feet, steady and without fear. The startled soldiers pulled their triggers on her, bullets flying through the air with a few cracks from their rifles. She shimmered and shifted, her body untouchable, and ran for the nearest soldier who stood no more than twenty feet away. The shots pierced and tore her clothing, but Geist didn’t care.
Geist pulled the Luger pistol from the belt on one soldier and shot another, gore splattering across the uniform of the next man in line. Amidst the confusion, the men attempted to reload, but Geist was far too swift. She fired again, point-blank, killing another soldier by running a bullet through his temple.
Vergess stood. When soldiers fire upon him, they cut his clothing, but the bullets slammed into impenetrable flesh and fell to the ground. Vergess shielded his eyes and ran to the nearest soldier with impossible speed. He slammed a knee into the man’s gut and ruptured organs. Coughing up a mouthful of blood, the soldier hit the ground with a groan.
Geist shot twice more, making sure to take aim and not hit the civilians. She struck one soldier in the chest and another in the jaw, sending them both to early graves, though neither would die for some time. They would bleed out, here in this field of death—and they got what they deserved, Geist thought.
When the remaining soldiers fired upon her, they hit nothing. When they fired upon Vergess, they hit a stone wall. Their panic took their aim, and bullets went flying off into the woods or into the walls of Antwerp. But the firefight would surely attract more attention, and Geist knew they had to end the conflict as soon as possible.
Vergess grabbed a soldier by the neck and held him up off the ground, his supernatural strength a terrifying spectacle for the other three Germans. Putrid rot emanated from Vergess’s fingertips, spreading across the soldier’s body and eating away the skin, muscle, and membranes like only a wicked disease could.
The soldier tried to scream, but his breath was lost to the rot and his voice died to a wet gurgle. He went limp in Vergess’s grip, his neck a mass of blackened flesh on the verge of ash. Vergess released the corpse, and the rot continued to spread—down the chest and over the skull, even to the uniform. After a few horrid moments, the body lay with no head and half a chest, the rest crumbling and caving in.
“Demon,” Keller muttered under his breath.
They stared at Vergess with wide, panicked eyes, never noticing Geist as she took advantage of their gaping. She rapid fired her last three bullets, striking each man in the head and downing them before they could retaliate.
“We need to go,” Geist said.
Vergess nodded.
“W-wait.”
Both Geist and Vergess stopped before they had gotten more than two feet toward the city. They turned and saw the father and teen standing near the trench, their expressions bordering on disbelief. Despite the blood and busted nose, the boy approached with his head held high.
“What are you?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. “Are you really demons? Or something else?”
“Don’t talk to them, Lucas,” his father pleaded. “It’s a godsend we’re alive. Don’t test their wrath.”
Vergess tensed. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t talk about what happened here, understand?”
Before the youth could answer, bullets struck the earth all around them. German snipers lined the broken wall of Antwerp, no doubt drawn by
the sounds of fighting. The fog hindered their aim, but each shot was closer than the last.
“Take cover!” Geist shouted.
She ran for the wall, knowing the city would be the far safer than the open fields around it. Bullets rained down, one clipping her boot and causing her to stumble.
Vergess doubled back. “Stay behind me.”
The snipers posed virtually no threat to his impenetrable skin. Geist stepped up close, thankful for the size difference between them. Two of her could hide behind Vergess with little problem.
The boy, Lucas, ran to his father and offered his shoulder for support. His father, though spry, moved with arthritic stiffness. Together they ran a short distance until the crack of a rifle echoed in the field. His father slumped and Lucas, confused, attempted to help him stand.
“Get up, get up!”
But he couldn’t.
Blood wept from the entrance wound on the man’s forehead, but it gushed out the larger exit wound in the back near the spine. He hung as dead weight on his son—a son who refused to believe he couldn’t stand.
“Get up! Get up!” Lucas dragged the body, attempting to hold it upright. “Come on!”
“Vergess,” Geist said. “Get him.”
Vergess dashed from Geist’s side. He ripped the corpse from Lucas’s grasp and wrenched the child away, despite his loud protests. When Vergess returned to Geist’s side they ran together, the boy flailing to free himself only to be yanked by the arm into Antwerp.
“Stop!” Lucas cried. “We have to go back! We have to get him!”
Vergess slammed his back against the wall of the city and shook the boy hard. “Don’t be a fool. He’s gone.”
Shouts from confused German soldiers echoed above them. The snipers had lost their position through the fog and chaos. While they had cover, Geist motioned to a nearby alley between brick buildings. Vergess shielded them the short distance it took to run. Once safe between the buildings, they stopped to catch their breath.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 21
