Orphan Monster Spy

by Matt Killeen

  Imagine you’ve an armful of bratwurst and an empty stomach. Imagine there are angry Viennese Hausfrauen in pursuit.

  She sprinted the last two meters, and with the limb bending precariously beneath her, she exploded off the end, arms stretching out in front of her.

  Flying.

  Falling.

  Sarah crashed into the spindly parallel branches that snapped instantly under her and tore at her shirt. Her arms wrapped around the largest survivor, her shoulders screaming at her. One hand slipped from the other and was dragged away by her weight. The other tore at the bark . . . and held.

  She swayed forward and then back, suspended by her fingertips and a shoulder on fire. Sarah looked down and watched the torrent of water spitting and broiling among the rocks. Her feet grew wet with the spray, but the river couldn’t touch her. Sarah grinned in mirthless triumph.

  Though now she found her other arm was numb and slow, so she had to heave at the good arm until the weaker limb could wrap itself around the branch. The effort made her cry out loud, a high piercing noise that scared her. Sarah realized that she didn’t have much energy left to finish her crossing.

  Last lap, dumme Schlampe.

  She swung herself back and forth to get her legs up and curled them around the limb. Then, after an agonizing scramble of arms and feet, she climbed onto it. Her fingernails were torn and bloody, her arms wet with tiny scratches.

  But she was okay. She’d made it. The way through to the other bank was easier, with thicker limbs and fewer jumps. She slowly climbed to her feet, taking the extra seconds to stretch out her muscles for the last effort. She was safely back on her apartment roof, with a dinner of bratwurst to come. Better than that, she was Trudi Meyer smiling with her gold medal.

  She trotted along the branch and skipped over to a wider limb just a meter away. She landed with a hollow clunk—

  She hadn’t managed to move before the rotten wood split in two and tumbled down into the river, taking Sarah with it.

  SIXTEEN

  THE PAIN OF the impact was lost instantly in the icy flash of deep, all-over cold. Water filled Sarah’s mouth, and her ears howled with the change in pressure. She thrashed her arms and legs, but she couldn’t coordinate her movements as she tumbled in the current.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Darkness.

  She grew slow. The deep chill pushed its talons through Sarah’s muscles, all the while whispering and hushing and reassuring. It numbed her brain and body, taking control.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  There was something she was doing. Trying to do.

  Light.

  So cold.

  Stab of pain. Something had smacked into her head and neck. It tore at her back with rough fingers. Light . . .

  Her face emerged from the water momentarily as she was dragged across the rock.

  Breathe.

  Then beneath, in the darkness. Not cold anymore. Strangely warm. Had she been cold? She was spinning, like turning cartwheels in the park.

  She could hear her mother singing nearby, but she couldn’t see her. It was the pirate song from that musical. The girl was cleaning, sweeping the floors . . .

  Sarah looked into the light, the darkness, the light, and wondered why she couldn’t see her mother when her voice was so close.

  The girl, Jenny, was sweeping the floor.

  The floor.

  Sarah reached out. Her fingers sunk into wet sand and gravel and were pulled free. Light. Then, a moment later, the gravel brushed her knuckles. Darkness. Light. She stretched again and her fingers pushed into the sand. Darkness. Longer this time. She extended her limp, cold limbs once more, and this time her fingers slid deep into the silt, catching on larger rocks and slowing her spin. Her shoes caught on something, so she dug the toes down. This seemed important.

  She was facedown, digging deeper into the silt as she moved. Her mother stopped singing.

  “You see, Sarahchen, right now you’re sweeping the floors, but one day . . . they’ll be sorry. Really sorry.”

  Sweeping . . .

  Sweep . . .

  Ss . . .

  . . .

  * * *

  • • •

  There was a thud and the dull sensation of an impact.

  Light.

  Dark.

  Light.

  Air.

  Sarah exhaled with a gasp, the stale air bubbling into the shallow water. She raised her head and took a violent inhalation that was like swallowing glass.

  She stopped sliding forward and settled on the sandbank, face above the water. She shivered, but her chest was on fire. Laying her forehead against the sand as the water lapped around her, she concentrated on breathing in and out until she didn’t have to make herself do so.

  She waited for the ache in her head and chest to ebb away, reconstructing the fragments of memory.

  Get up.

  With difficulty, Sarah rolled over and looked back into the river. A big rock and a fallen log had created a pool of calmer, shallow water by the bank. She’d hit the rock and been swept into the shallows by the current.

  Get up, dumme Schlampe!

  Why had she fallen in the water? Shaking uncontrollably, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She had to get out of the water. Why?

  Ticktock!

  A race. The race. Sarah rolled over again and climbed on all fours up the bank. Her numb fingers were bundled into claws, but her feet responded to her as she stood. She looked around, still confused. Which bank was she on? Which direction should she be running? Her teeth chattered, so she clamped her mouth shut.

  Think.

  Which way, Mutti? Help me.

  High bank, upriver. She had been running upriver. She’d climbed the trees on the high bank. She was on the other side.

  Ticktock!

  Two banks, one bridge, a U-shaped course. A dangerous boast. She staggered into the trees, looking for the path. How long? Had the other runners passed her already? She found the track and then began to limp downstream. There were no fresh tracks . . . maybe she was still ahead.

  But she was traveling too slowly. Her body wasn’t responding properly, her movements awkward and jerky. The path was uneven and covered in roots masquerading as twigs, with leaf litter concealing potholes. The sense that the others were on her heels was inescapable, like the dream dogs howling behind her. In her head Kohlmeyer loomed, a snout full of teeth and the smell of blood.

  Sarah let the panic warm her, feeling her increasing heart rate push life into arms and legs.

  Think of the dogs . . .

  Sarah let her mind conjure the barking, snarling, and panting, until she could hear them. The trees began to whip past her as she went faster. The ache in her thighs, the tearing skin under the wet clothes, and the pain in her chest and head, it all fed into the flight. She let the fear conquer everything until there was nothing else.

  Feet pounding. Arms swinging. The wind whistling in her ears. Her breathing wheezing a rhythm for her stride. She was on her way, and her body was responding. How far was there to go? Could she make it? Surely she couldn’t be caught now. Even Kohlmeyer was human.

  She began to grunt as she breathed in and out to a tune that had appeared in her head.

  Sarah smiled.

  Won’t they be surprised, she thought, when I cross the line first? She couldn’t wait to see the Ice Queen’s face.

  Rahn’s shoulder crashed into the side of Sarah’s knees as the huge arms wrapped around her legs. With a shriek, they tumbled into the brush, Sarah landing facedown in the mulch and Rahn collapsing onto her feet.

  “No, no, no, no . . .” Sarah stammered as she tried to crawl away, tears pricking her eyes. Rahn let Sarah free her feet, then grabbed an ankle and effortlessly dragged
Sarah back underneath her. The tears came, and Sarah couldn’t stop them. The Final Year girl dropped onto Sarah’s back, a giant knee on each arm pinning her to the ground. The smell of sweat was thick like a blanket. Sarah kicked her legs but couldn’t move. She could dig her heels into Rahn’s back, but there was no power in her kicks.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” crowed Rahn, pulling Sarah’s head back by her hair. “Stop sniveling.”

  Sarah sagged and sobbed into the leaves, giving herself over to failure. She was beaten. She’d nearly done it, and maybe if she’d not been so pleased with herself, she’d have seen Rahn in the trees.

  Think. The Captain will have to come and get you, and you’ll be safe. He can’t leave you here . . . but then what? What use are you to him? What use will you be to anyone? What is Rahn actually going to do?

  “Just get on with it,” hissed Sarah.

  “Shut your mouth,” Rahn grunted, turning around to grab Sarah’s ankle. “Give me your foot.” Sarah pushed her legs flat to the ground, unwilling to help in her own destruction. Rahn had to rebalance herself and stretch out. “Give it here, you kleine, dumme Schlampe . . .”

  The locked box where Sarah trapped all the horrors sprang open.

  The older girl had taken only the tiniest weight off Sarah’s right shoulder, but this placed her knee centimeters from Sarah’s cheek. Just as Rahn caught her foot and pulled it upward, Sarah wrenched her face around and sank her teeth into the top of Rahn’s calf. She bit down with every strand of rage and fury that was spilling out of her.

  Rahn screamed as Sarah’s teeth broke through the skin. She dropped the foot and swung away, arms aloft. The movement unbalanced Rahn, and Sarah heaved her off with her left shoulder. The older girl rolled away, her calf still in Sarah’s mouth, arms thrashing as she fell.

  “Let go!” she screamed, hitting at Sarah’s face with her hands, but panicking and not making good contact.

  Sarah pushed her hands against the older girl’s leg, pulling upward and away with her head. She felt something give, and the leg was free. In the moment that Rahn cried out and grabbed at her leg, Sarah found what she was looking for.

  She swung the rock at Rahn’s head. She didn’t get much speed, but the stone was heavy and sharp. It made a satisfying cracking noise where it hit. Rahn went limp.

  Sarah backed away frantically on her hands and knees, clutching the rock. Panting and hot-faced, she spat at the motionless body and waited for Rahn to move. A second passed, her advantage seeping away, but nothing happened. Climbing to her feet, she turned back to the path and, with a last look over her shoulder, limped and staggered away.

  What did you do?

  Ticktock.

  Did you just kill that girl?

  Sarah glanced back, but she wasn’t being pursued.

  You don’t even know. Did you kill that girl?

  She shook her head, as if she could shrug off the thought. She loped into a jog, stretching out her muscles.

  A blood vessel in the hare’s neck ruptured, and he bled out into the soil.

  She looked back down the path once more. In the distance something moved. Sarah slid to a stop. Just visible through the trees something small and white was traveling at speed toward her. Kohlmeyer.

  Sarah started to run. She ignored the pain in her knee, the ache in her chest, the throbbing in her head, and the guilt that sat on her shoulders like baskets of laundry. She imagined the dream dogs, the pursuing Viennese children and boys of the Hitlerjugend. She pictured the SA storm troopers with their buckets of acid and Fräulein Langefeld with her stick. She thought of Sturmbannführer Foch with his wrinkled fingers and smell of oranges, letting the sensation run down her scalp and along her spine. She saw the ghost of Rahn rise from the mud with eyes of blood and a mouth of fangs . . .

  There was no calculation, no shortcut, and no furrow to hide in, just a straight run against the hare. But Sarah knew she was no hedgehog. She could be her own hare, albeit a small one. One with a head start.

  She sped down the path, panting to a faster beat.

  Just keep going. Don’t look around.

  She turned her head. Kohlmeyer was only a hundred meters away, face contorted with outrage and effort.

  Don’t look around!

  Sarah pushed herself into a full sprint.

  Just keep going. Don’t look around.

  The path narrowed, twisted, and bucked, throwing Sarah off her rhythm, and the track was crowded with bushes and leaves. She pushed through the overhanging branches with her forearms and nearly ran into a girl standing just to one side. The girl started and then, as Sarah passed, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “It’s Haller! Haller is leading!”

  In the distance Sarah heard shouts.

  “It’s Haller!”

  “Haller . . .”

  Sarah rounded a bend in the path and saw the finish line, a clearing at the end of a wide avenue lined with suddenly screaming girls. To her horror, it was still two hundred meters away. The uphill slope was now noticeable, and the ache in her legs had become a stabbing pain that speared her with every step. How much longer could she do this?

  She nearly slipped as she leapt onto the cleared ground that had long since been trodden into puddles by hikers. Each had frozen solid, making the home straight desperately icy. She kept her balance and pushed on, fixing her eyes on the clearing and ignoring the bouncing, waving, howling monsters.

  Don’t look around!

  Kohlmeyer hadn’t reached the avenue. The lookout was still hopping about, waiting to see who was in second. Sarah looked back at the clearing. Visible now, in front of the dark- clad teachers, was the Ice Queen with her court, tall and impossibly white, improbably golden. Already she must know that her plans were unraveling.

  And what will this change? The Ice Queen won’t keep her word. You’re just kicking the hornet’s nest.

  “Kohlmeyer!” screamed the lookout behind her.

  If Sarah was now the hare, then the Final Year girl was the wolf—faster, stronger, and inevitably victorious.

  The crowd was screaming now, chanting her name.

  “HAL-LER! HAL-LER!”

  Another slip broke her rhythm, and this time she nearly fell. She kept upright by swinging her arms around, but this slowed her down.

  The crowd gasped and then cheered more as she quickened her pace, but now they looked behind her, as the wolf bore down.

  “HAL-LER! HAL-LER!”

  She was just fifty meters from the finish now. The girls moved clear of the tape, a piece of string held across the path by two bored teachers, as the frontrunners closed in. Through the noise Sarah could hear Kohlmeyer’s pounding feet. They were so close and so fast, the feet of a wolf on the verge of the kill.

  “HAL-LER! HAL-LER!”

  As she approached the line, Sarah saw the Ice Queen break into a smile, quickly concealed. The waiting girls squealed. There were hands in front of mouths and defeated faces. Out of the corner of Sarah’s eye Kohlmeyer appeared, drawing level effortlessly. Sarah’s body had given everything it had to give. They ran shoulder to shoulder for a few more paces, and then Kohlmeyer was in front. She turned her head and sneered as she drifted past, just a few meters from the line. Sarah made a defeated little cry and began to slow, a stinging fatigue engulfing her limbs.

  Kohlmeyer was still looking behind her when she trod on the patch of ice. Her left foot slipped into the path of her right leg and she fell, crashing into the earth a meter short of the line. Sarah staggered over her and hit the tape, the string dropping to her feet. The crowd of girls on both sides exploded in a ragged, dancing, cheering mass, invading the track and swallowing Kohlmeyer.

  Sarah limped the last few meters to stand defiantly in front of the Ice Queen. A moment later, the other girls surrounded her, lifted her off the ground, and carried her onto their shoul
ders, up and away.

  SEVENTEEN

  “AND THE WINNER of the annual River Run is . . .” There was a pause while the teacher checked the name. “Ursula Haller.”

  The girls, crowded into two lines, went wild as Sarah walked between them to where the Ice Queen waited at the head of the parade. She was clutching a tarnished trophy and staring at Sarah like a butcher appraising a side of beef.

  “Heil Hitler, meine Schulsprecherin.” Sarah saluted with all the verve she could muster. Her armpits and nipples were rubbed raw, and the action was agonizing. The Ice Queen waited a beat before replying, the crowd still burbling and clapping happily.

  “So, once more it appears I have underestimated you,” she said quietly. “You’re wet. You swam?”

  “I flew,” Sarah said insolently.

  “I should have you disqualified.”

  “It’s immaterial. I said I’d cross the finish line first. I did. So we’re done.”

  “And how am I supposed to maintain order, with you running roughshod over the hierarchy?”

  “I’m not. I’m one of you, strong, fast, and superior. I’m your ally and, of course, your loyal servant.”

  You will never be this strong again. Let’s hope this works.

  Sarah sank to one knee.

  “What are you doing?” The Ice Queen cocked her head, puzzled.

  “Place your hand on my head, then offer me your hand. That’s it.” Sarah took the proffered hand and kissed the back of it. She had read this in a book. “Now help me up and tell them I don’t want the trophy; it belongs to the Fatherland.”

  The Ice Queen frowned, then smiled.

  “No, stay there a moment.” She threw her head back. “Haller rejects these petty spoils. She won the race for the Führer, and she offers him the trophy!” The crowd cheered and a few girls began to chant Sarah’s name. “No, my sisters. Don’t celebrate Haller—she does not wish it. The glory belongs to the Reich! Heil Hitler!”