I love him, she realized, with more shock and awe then she’d felt over the bombing of Baghdad. I like him, I’m attracted to him, but this is more than that. I love him. Perhaps I’ve always loved the idea of him, but now, knowing him, I love the man.
Carefully, slowly, she reached over and put her hand on his and held on. She was so cold and scared, she could barely feel anything, and yet, they might have been holding each others’ bare hands, so acutely did she feel the contact. Her heart beat wildly, with joy and fear. She wanted to tell him but luckily for them both she couldn’t.
Finally, when she thought she must move or scream or do something, do anything, a cool, cultured voice broke the silence. “Perhaps, Kass, you should have waited until after questioning the old woman to shoot her.”
Mel recognized that voice. He’d directed the search back where they landed. And Kass, that was the name of a brutal Nazi.
“Did she have any other family?”
Kass’s answer was too faint to be heard.
“Inform the priest of the…accident. Have your men search the house and barn, but I think even we can agree that if they were here, they have gone.”
“We should search the area, mien Herr.” This time Mel could hear the harsh voice of Kass.
“If you wish to stumble about in the dark, be my guest. The rest of us are going to eat our supper.”
Mel had to smile, even though her legs were killing her. The noise of the search was loud enough now to cover their retreat, though Mel paused to smear more mud on her face. The rest of them followed suit, Mouy with a slight, briefly visible smile. They moved more cautiously now. Mouy would move ahead and wait, while one by one they joined him. Then it started again. Each patch of snow was avoided. As was each patch of light. They clung to the shadows as to dearest friends. It was cold, but fear kept her warm enough for her nerve endings to keep sending complaints through to her brain.
They couldn’t talk. In the deep silence of the night, their movements sounded like clanging bells. Had she ever kept her mouth shut so long? She didn’t know, but didn’t think so. She was a reporter, a television reporter. Words were her trade, and the silence was almost as painful as the cold.
One thing the long walk was doing for her, it was giving cold reason a chance to douse her girlish longings for a happy ending with harsh reality. So many emotions swept through her during the long walk. Guilt over the old woman’s death. A deep longing for her own free and ordered world, a determination to do more with it if she ever got home. And through it all an unreasoning, singing joy at having time with Jack. She would love and lose, but she couldn’t regret it. Well, she looked around her at the dark and hostile land, if she were honest, and she tried to be, maybe she regretted it a little.
Chapter Fourteen
Thorhaus was convinced the escaped fliers had been at that farmhouse. He wondered if they’d watched from the dark as they flailed around looking for them. Did he imagine he’d felt their fear during the silence? It was a whimsy unlike him. He felt odd, almost disconnected since that plane had come down in his territory. Each decision felt more important somehow.
He looked at his dinner, hot and inviting, and then out the window. The wind had come up, bringing a few wisps of snow to dance in the light falling across the sodden ground. It was a cold night to be outside and hungry. He hoped they’d found new shelter.
He tried to push away the fellow-feeling he had for them. They weren’t alike…or were they? They were in the dark, he in the light, but both were afraid, neither free to do what they liked. How had Germany lost her freedom? How had she lost her way?
He took a few bites of food, but it turned to ashes and dust in his mouth. What good was plenty without freedom? Why did he suspect the three fliers were more at peace, even hungry and cold, than he was right now?
Kass would be wondering why he pulled back on the search. But it would have been silly to flail around in the dark. It wasn’t just caprice. So much they did now was silly…silly and wrong.
Right and wrong. He’d never had to think much about it. As a soldier, his job was to do his duty, to follow orders. It was…comforting to know what he was supposed to do at any given moment, or it used to be. Now it was all hollow, all sound and fury, all noise and death.
It was treason, but he didn’t want to find them. He didn’t want to turn them over to Ullstein. But it was his duty. He must do it. He had to do his duty. Didn’t he? The truth was, he didn’t know how to do anything else.
* * * * *
As Jack once more took up the rear, right behind Mel, he found himself wishing Larsen had landed elsewhere, not because he was annoying—though he was—but because his constant presence kept him from asking Mel the questions trying to burst free of his throat—no, they weren’t questions anymore, but certainties he’d like confirmed for his own peace of mind. The dangers of talking about who and what she was here, in this place, in Occupied France, had not escaped him. It should be enough to quiet his brain and make the dangerous thoughts go away. Only it wasn’t.
She’d known about the infiltrator, not because of any patrol. She’d said she had a photographic memory. If he’d sent her here from the future, he’d been, well, he was going to be, incredibly irresponsible. Someday. No question Mel was a remarkable woman, but she was a woman. What had he—what would he be thinking? To send her here and put her in such danger? If only he knew what was at stake.
But he knew himself, Jack realized. The stakes had to be high or he wouldn’t have done it. Well, he wouldn’t do it in the future. Dang, this was confusing. How did Mel keep it all straight?
As they continued their jerky progress along some path that only the Frenchman seemed to know, Jack pondered his certainties, even though he had no real proof beyond his own gut instincts.
Mel had known they were going to crash in France. He realized that now, looking back at the things she’d done and said. In that light, he could understand her reluctance to tell him who she was. It was dangerous what she must know, and the odds of them making it to England were a million to one—if that good. He and Larsen were most likely going to sit out the war in a prisoner of war camp, but first they’d be interrogated. If the Germans suspected Jack had information…well, he didn’t kid himself that he could hold out against concentrated and determined torture.
And still he longed to know, would she make it back to the future? What time did she come from? How well did they know each other? Was there any hope…
Mel stumbled again and Jack reached out to steady her. Her arm, through the heavy jacket, was strong and supple. If she weren’t a woman, he’d think he’d done a great job of choosing a time traveler. But she was a woman, an amazing woman, but a woman. If the Germans got their hands on her, torture would be the least of her problems.
Dear heaven, he hoped he’d arranged a way home for her. It was his turn to stumble, on the thought and on a rock lurking under the snow. Mel caught him, her slight frame absorbing his weight and standing firm. The future must be an amazing place if it held women like her.
A soft order from their guide halted them. They crouched in the shadows of a hedge, but not far off, bathed in pale moonlight, Jack saw the steeple of a church.
Sanctuary, he thought with relief. Then, to his dismay, he realized they were turning aside…toward the cemetery next to it.
A crawl along a small ditch brought them close to crypts and tombstones, then they used the stony shadows to inch closer and closer to the church. Jack felt himself relaxing again, until they stopped in front of a large crypt. It seemed their guide turned a key, then noiselessly eased the iron door open just enough for them to slip in one by one. Jack was only slightly relieved when their guide followed them inside and had to fight unreasoning panic when he pulled the door closed behind them. Even deathly cold, the place was noisome and stale and smelled strongly of death, rotting plants and rotting…other things. And in the enclosed space, he could smell them, too, their fear, their perspir
ation, their individual odors.
Their companion moved with almost eerie stealth. There was only the rustle of clothing until he heard the rasp of match and saw the small flicker pierce the darkness. This light was applied to a small, heavily shuttered lantern that faintly illuminated the grisly interior.
Jack felt Mel reach for him and he gripped her hand, hoping he could steady her, when he felt none too steady himself. The man knelt on cold stone and worked at the panel on the front of one of the stone coffins to one side of the crypt, then pulled it off. From it he abstracted more blankets and a pot.
“We’re…staying…here?” Larsen had a tremor in his voice and Jack didn’t blame him. This was definitely horror movie stuff. It was all Jack could do not to fight his way out the door into clean fresh air. Mel gripped his hand so tightly, the fingers were going numb.
“How…” Mel had to stop and clear her throat before she could finish. “…how long do we have to…stay here?”
“Someone will come when it is safe,” he said. “You must not talk. When you need air, open the door—very narrow. No light, except when door is closed. And then only this much. No more.”
He showed Jack how to light it, turn it down and off, and how to work the shutters.
“What…” Jack began, looking at the pot. Be tough to cook in it with no fire. Or food.
“It’s a chamber pot,” Mel said. “At least we got the room with a…view.”
“A…” Jack stopped as realization struck him. “Oh.” Glad to learn that before he tried to fill it with food. To his surprise, he realized he was grinning.
Their host looked amused, too. “We did not anticipate…” He jerked his head in Mel’s direction.
“Neither did we,” Jack said and got a slight but pointed nudge from Mel.
“No light. No sound. Is clear?”
“Is clear,” Jack said grimly. This place was making a POW camp look pretty good. He’d start digging out the white flag…if not for Mel. If they could get her away safe…
He looked down at her and found her looking up at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “We’re a team. We stick together…until…”
“Until…what?”
“Until we can’t anymore.”
And when would that be? She smiled. It lit her face. It lit their gloomy quarters. It lit his heart. He loved her. It was the wrong time. It was the wrong place. If she was who he suspected, she was the wrong person. And still the knowledge filled him, catching in his chest, almost choking him with an odd, clearly out of place, sense of peace, of rightness. He loved her. It was that simple. He’d never expected it. He’d expected to die without ever feeling it. He didn’t mind being wrong, but it was crazy.
They were at the mercy of strangers. They were stuck in Occupied France. They were being hunted by the German army. They were hiding in a grave.
But they were together. For now, it was enough. It would have to be. They were fast running out of time…
* * * * *
Mel woke from a light, fitful doze. If she’d dreamt, she didn’t remember. She was stiff and cold and as usual she needed to pee. Just before dawn, someone had come and moved them into yet another cellar. In the dim light and half asleep, it was hard to be sure, but Mel thought it was the priest who came to pull them out of the crypt. There’s been some hot soup in huge wooden bowls and a trip to an actual, though ancient, water closet before being shut in again.
Larsen was either too dazed or too depressed to talk much. He’d retreated to a corner as far from them as possible and wrapped himself up in his share of the blankets. Mel had to keep reminding herself how very young he was to keep from kicking his tush. She was, however, tempted to spank him.
Jack, now he tempted her for a far different reason. Last night it had seemed as if she saw something in his eyes when he looked at her. She was hesitant to identify what she thought the flash might be. What if she were wrong? In this instance, it felt more terrifying to be wrong about that than facing down the enemy.
His back was warm against hers. She’d suggested they all huddle for warmth, but Larsen had ignored her. Jack had seemed to hesitate, but it was both sensible and logical. And it wasn’t as if they could get up to any mischief in their present circumstances. She wanted to roll over and wrap her arms around his middle and take comfort from his closeness. Instead, she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. They weren’t even close to comforting and, like the rest of her, they stank. On the upside, they didn’t smell as bad as their quarters in the crypt.
Just thinking about that chamber of horrors made her shudder all over again. If she had an ounce of gumption, she’d kick Jack for getting her into this. She felt rather than saw Jack stir and drew herself into a tighter ball. Nope, no gumption at all.
“Mel?” his voice sounded sleepy and yes, sexy. Dang.
“I’m right here.”
She felt him thinking. No question the lack of privacy was a problem…and a blessing.
“We need to talk.”
She didn’t ask about what. When she didn’t answer, she heard him sigh.
“In the movies, people find ways to be alone,” Mel said, keeping her voice light. “It’s kind of funny, really.”
“How so,” Jack sounded ironic and amused.
“Well, we’ve hardly seen anyone or talked to anyone. We’ve spent at least part of a night in a crypt…we’re so freaking alone, we might be the only people on earth…but we’re not.” It was ironic.
“It’s…annoying.”
That, too, she had to agree. She sensed Jack wanted to say more. That he didn’t indicated impressive self restraint, in her opinion.
“I wonder how long until someone comes? Do you think the sun has gone down again?” She wished she could see. She needed to be moving, even if it was only calisthenics. She realized she was tapping her fingers against her knee. It mightn’t have mattered, but her knees were bruised and didn’t like it, so she stopped.
“I don’t think I believe in the sun anymore,” Jack said, ruefully. ‘How long since we saw it last?”
“That would depend on what day it is,” Mel said. She was pretty sure it was Tuesday, but not enough to assert it with confidence. If it was, that left four days, four freaking long days until her date with the vortex. Assuming that hadn’t changed, too.
“I think it’s Tuesday,” Jack said, “but it’s possible we slept through it—”
There was the sound of fumbling with the door, and it opened, sending light to stab into the room and into her dark-widened pupils. Mel couldn’t speak for Jack’s pupils, but hers were getting pretty pissed about the extremes of light and dark. She shielded them as best she could and heard a soft, kindly voice say in excellent English, “I’m Father—”
He stopped. Mel didn’t blame him. This was not a good time for too much sharing. “I’m the priest of this parish. I’m sorry I could not attend to you sooner. I had business...”
Mel knew what business he had to take care of before attending them.
“We’re very sorry about Madame,” she said. She lowered her hands and saw an old man in a cassock standing at the top of the wooden stairs holding a small lamp high above his head. Was that some kind of lamp etiquette? It looked tiring.
“Madame was a brave woman,” the old man said, gravely bowing his head. “It is evening. I can take you out to wash and refresh yourself, but only one at a time. It is not safe.”
“Larsen,” Jack said, in his command voice. “—you go first. Do exactly what they tell you. Don’t linger.”
“Yes, sir.” Larsen scrambled to his feet and moved stiffly toward the stairs.
“Will you be all right for a bit longer?” Jack asked her in a low voice.
“Sure,” she murmured, though she wasn’t. It kind of depended on how long Larsen took and how good her sphincters were. To her relief, the priest set the lamp on the edge of the stairs, before closing the door. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sitting
in the dark again.
This cellar looked much like the other, so Mel didn’t waste much time examining it, instead, she turned her attention, and her eyes, in Jack’s direction. Okay, so he didn’t look as good as he had. He had several days’ growth on his face and his hair was matted and filthy. His clothes were stiff with mud and the blood of his dead comrades. He looked tired and worried. And still, somehow, cute. Or maybe it was just that her definition of cute had been revised down by circumstances.
He stepped close, gripping her elbows. She hoped her face wasn’t as dirty as his, but suspected it was far worse. She’d been pretty heavy-handed with the mud.
“He won’t be gone long.”
She hoped not.
“We might not be alone again.”
She hoped not again.
“So we should cut to the chase.”
Still he hesitated. Was he wondering which question to ask first or unwilling to commit himself to the key question? Whatever his problem was, Mel decided it was time to help him out of it. He’d told her it was her call. From what she could tell, all Jack needed was confirmation now. He already knew the essential part. She didn’t know how he knew it, well, she sort of did. She wasn’t the world’s greatest liar. Or time traveler for that matter.
“Yes,” she said.
“What?”
She knew what she needed to say, but it was still hard to say it out loud.
“Yes…you sent me here.”
Neither of them were what she’d call shifting around, but it felt like he went still. Or stiller. If there was such a word.
“To this place. To this…time…”
He gave a great, shuddering sigh.
“It worked then. I did it.” He sank down onto a handy barrel and shoved his hands through his hair. When he lowered his hands, hair was sticking up in several places. “I did it.”
Out of Time Page 20
