Minds of Men

by Kacey Ezell

  I will reestablish the net in the morning. Thank you for allowing me to link with you all today, she said, as she felt her brain’s instinctive reluctance to sever the connection. Net work was so seductive, especially with men.

  It was our pleasure, Oberhelfer, Josef said, smoothly taking over. She swayed, and he reached out to grip her shoulders, hold her steady. Lina let her eyes fall closed and concentrated on gently letting go of each connection, one by one, until only her link with Josef remained.

  I cannot bear it, she whispered in her mind, as if it were some great, guilty admission. I do not wish to be separated from you.

  Nor I, you, he admitted. His brown eyes searched hers. I dreaded it all day. My Lina...

  Yes, she said. For suddenly, irrevocably, she was his Lina, and he had become her Josef. This thing between them that had hovered in the background of their connection all day burst over them both like a tidal wave. Lina felt her awareness expand to include his every nerve ending. She knew him, knew that he knew her more intimately than anyone had ever known her before. He knew her, and because of it, he had become part of her.

  She felt him move, as if it were her own body. She felt his agonizing desire to touch her skin. She lifted one gloved hand and pressed it against his cheek, now roughened from the day’s growth of stubble. His liquid brown eyes, full of nothing but her, drifted closed.

  Somewhere a twig snapped, a fire crackled. The spell broke.

  Lina dropped her hand, opened eyes that she hadn’t realized she’d closed.

  “I must go,” she whispered, unsure where, exactly, she was supposed to go to. All she knew was that she felt terribly exposed.

  “Lina,” Josef whispered. “Do not withdraw from me, I beg you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I will not. But they will see, they will know...”

  He smiled. “They know already. They have been feeling the electricity between us all day. Go, refresh yourself. Willi has your tent up, rest awhile, but do not, please, do not ever leave me.”

  Lina blinked. “I cannot,” she said, only then realizing it was true. “You are part of me.”

  She felt his deep, swelling emotions surge down their link, rocked back on her heels from the force of it. He reached out to grab her again, and she steadied herself with a hand on his chest. Sudden need slammed into her, and she dropped her hand as if he’d been actually aflame, instead of just metaphorically on fire with desire for her.

  “I...” she said. Then trailed off. What could she say? She ached for him, wanted to be his in every possible way, but the circumstances were what they were.

  He smiled. “My Lina,” he said. “Go. Rest. I will be here. Always.”

  It felt cowardly, and not really at all what she wanted to do, but Lina turned and fled into the solitude of her tent.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  For the rest of her life, Evelyn would have nightmares about that fall.

  Sky spun into ground spun into sky, in an impossibly violent whirl of aching blue and dark, threatening green. The wind tore the breath from her lips and slapped her face with stinging, acid cold. Her stomach rebelled as she spun, and spasms of nausea ripped through her as she heaved, helpless and hurtling to the ground. A throbbing roar echoed in her ears, overwhelming her senses.

  She may have screamed. She never knew. The only thing she could think to do was to claw at her chest, where Sean had said the ripcord was.

  Then something jerked at her, snapping her legs up over her head and then back down. She suddenly found herself hanging under a round canopy. The edges of the canopy dished in momentarily and then snapped out over and over again. The straps of her harness dug into the soft flesh between her thighs, and it was all that Evelyn could do to force her lungs to breathe again.

  Focus, take stock, she told herself. The world seemed drowned in noise as the wind whipped past, even if it was slower than the freight-train roar of the wind in free fall. Despite this, however, the trees beneath seemed to be rising up at an alarming rate to meet her. A burst of memory from the one, pitifully inadequate lecture she’d had on this subject surfaced.

  “Feet and knees together, eyes on the horizon,” she whispered to herself. “Cover face and jugular in trees, and...and...”

  The dappled green of the top layer of leaves seemed to reach up at her, and Evelyn flung her hands up to cover her face. Some instinct helped her to keep her elbows tucked in, close to her body. A crashing, ripping sound greeted her. Something ragged and sharp sliced up the inside of her leg, and she let out a pained gasp. She’d forgotten to cross her legs for the landing in trees. A tiny, detached corner of her mind pointed out dryly that her mother would be disappointed in her. The rest of her fought to belatedly interlock her ankles. Those same jagged wooden claws sliced up her forearms and hands, and Evelyn couldn’t help but scream. Her head bounced back and knocked against something hard enough to jar the teeth in her skull, but she kept her palms pressed tight against her face until she came to a stop. Her right hip and shoulder pressed against something solid, but her feet dangled in the air. Her head throbbed, and as she hung there, her body began to twist slowly to the left.

  For a moment, all Evelyn could do was tremble, braced against some other wracking pain that she was certain was about to hit. Her chest heaved, first with panicked breaths, and then with full blown sobs as all of the lacerations and contusions made themselves known. She slowly lowered her hands from her face, feeling her spin continue as her risers and lines twisted in the branches overhead.

  Look down, she told herself, willing her body to obey. Her eyes blurred in the dim green light, and she blinked rapidly and forced them to focus on the forest floor below. The ground looked to be only about five feet under her boots, and she breathed a sigh of thanksgiving. Her shaking fingers fumbled at her harness releases, and they opened before she was really ready.

  Evelyn dropped and landed badly. As she came down, her right foot folded underneath her, rolling to the side and a sickening snap shot up through her leg and straight into the rest of her. She dropped to her hands and knees as the pain ripped a scream from her. Her eyes filled, and she stuffed one gloved fist into her mouth to quiet the sobs that started all over again. Unable to do anything else, Evelyn collapsed onto the leaf-covered forest floor and sobbed out her fear and pain (so much pain!) and grief all at once.

  She must have lost consciousness at one point. Eventually, however, the rest of the world once again asserted itself into her awareness. Her face was cold. Actually, all of her was cold, but her face was also wet, both from her tears and from being pressed against the moist, snow-pocketed ground of the forest floor.

  Evelyn put her trembling hands against the slick ground and pushed, trying to lever herself up. As she moved her right foot, that tearing, shooting pain lanced through her again, eclipsing what she felt before. She let out another scream, followed by a series of whimpers. Jagged blades of agony stabbed into her with every movement. She sucked in great mouthfuls of air, feeling her face buzz from the overload of oxygen, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Eventually, she forced herself to half-roll, half-push herself to a seated position up against the trunk of the tree.

  Sure enough, her right foot sat at an odd angle. Maybe it was shock, or the cold, or just more pain, but at first, Evelyn couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what she was seeing. She tried to bend forward to touch her boot, but her flight gear was too restrictive to let her fold herself down that far. And when she tried to bend her knee to bring the ankle closer, agony shot through her and caused bright flashes to appear in her vision. She held herself very still after that and concentrated on just breathing enough to make the pain sparkles go away.

  “Okay,” she said out loud. Her voice sounded disturbingly high and shocky. She took another deep breath to try and calm down. Sudden nausea churned in her stomach, intensified by the throbbing pain that radiated from her ankle and lower leg. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back agai
nst the rough tree bark and focused on not throwing up. Not that there was anything left in her stomach. She’d lost it all on the way down.

  Where had Sean and the others gone? The thought suddenly occurred to her. She hadn’t been the only one to make it out of the doomed Fort, had she? Her fall itself had been so violent and terrifying that she’d lost track, but surely at least one or two of her men had survived as well. After all, she was alive, and she had been given much less training than any of them.

  “Okay,” she whispered again to herself, trying to calm her mind. “Okay, Evie-girl. They’re out here somewhere. You’re hurt, so you can’t go find them physically, but they can’t be that far. In London, I could reach Carl...Captain Peters...” She stopped as grief crushed her chest with a pain that was almost physical. Once again, she closed her eyes against the threatening flood of tears and tried to focus on making herself breathe.

  “He might be alive, too,” she whispered, knowing it was almost certainly a lie. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and ran in a warm, wet line down her clammy cheek. “He’s such a good pilot. Maybe he and the lieutenant survived the crash. Maybe I can find them.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was the best chance she had. After all, what option did she have? She was alone, injured, untrained, and terrified. She couldn’t even move without screaming from the pain. If she could find even one of her crew, then she could guide him to her. Any of them would be glad to help. John would smile his handsome smile. Sweet young Logan would offer her a nip from his flask and help her to stand. Rico would likely just pick her up with his Latin gallantry. Les might do the same, but he’d make some kind of off-color joke to lighten the mood. Evelyn’s lips curved in a smile at the thought. Sean...Sean would probably do all three and then find a way to splint her ankle so that she could walk on it.

  Actually, Evelyn reflected, that was an excellent idea. Thanks to her breathing exercises and her thoughts of the crew, her panic had started to recede. She took one more deep breath and opened her eyes, determined to take stock and come up with a plan before reaching out for help. That way, when she reached them, the men wouldn’t be sucker-punched by her uncontrolled fear and pain. She nodded firmly. Yes. That was what a responsible psychic should do. She had to be a member of the crew, not a helpless drain on their resources. It was bad enough that she’d gotten herself hurt.

  “So,” she said, still speaking out loud. The sound of her own voice helped her to feel less alone, and if one of the men heard her...so much the better. “What is my situation?”

  She put her hands to her head and carefully began to pat herself down. She winced as her fingers caught several burgeoning bruises on her head, and she could feel a few gashes on her face where her hands hadn’t protected her. Her torso was mostly unharmed, as it had been protected by her bulky flying gear, but the long scrape up the inside of her leg stung fiercely. And then, of course, there was the ankle. In the time she’d been sitting there, Evelyn could see that it had begun to swell. Her leather boot felt tight and uncomfortable. She was tempted to take it off, but the thought that she wouldn’t get it back on again stopped her. Plus, who knew if she could even get it off. Just moving the joint was enough to make her vision start to sparkle. She really didn’t want to pass out from pain.

  So, her situation could definitely be better. So what were her assets? What could she use?

  “Well,” she said, answering her own silent questions. “I have my flying clothing. I have my knife,” she said, reaching into the inner pocket of her jacket. Sure enough, the folding knife that they had given her rested there, hard against her ribs. Sean had told her that she should always carry it because who knew when it would come in handy? She also had a small flask, like the one Logan had. Hers, however, held water rather than the rotgut hooch the ball turret gunner always carried.

  “I have water,” she said, her tone taking on a note of wonder as she pulled it out. She’d forgotten all about the little flask. Her hands still trembled, though not as badly as they had. She was able to get the flask uncapped without spilling too much of the water inside and lifted it to her lips. The cold, metallic taste of it filled her mouth. She took it in, swished it around to clear out the taste of bile and panic, then spat it out. Then she took another deep mouthful and swallowed. Her eyes closed in bliss. It tasted wonderful. It tasted like hope. Like maybe, for the first time, she might actually be able to get out of this predicament.

  She took another long drink and then resolutely capped the flask and put it back into her jacket. Who knew when she would be able to get more water?

  Right, so. Splinting the ankle. Evelyn wasn’t a nurse or anything like that, but she had grown up on and around farms. In rural South Dakota, first aid was a way of life, especially because the closest doctor might be a hundred miles away. Once they’d lost the farm and moved to Rapid City, things had changed, but her family had always insisted on being as self-sufficient as possible. Evelyn had splinted her little brother’s wrist once, after he broke it jumping out of a tree. The basic concept was to immobilize the joint and ensure as much stability as possible. So...for that...she needed some sticks.

  Luckily for her, Evelyn sat under a tree. And as it was the tree that she’d recently come crashing down into, the snowy ground around her lay littered with branches and the like she’d broken off. She reached out and pulled one or two close enough for her to work with. The one she ended up choosing had roughly the same girth as her wrist. It was about three feet long and reasonably straight. Evelyn figured that if she could break it in half, it would work admirably as a splint, if she could tie it to her boot or something.

  The problem was that the wood was green and springy and didn’t appear likely to break anytime soon. She gave the limb a few tentative whacks against the ground and got the expected result: nothing. From her seated position, there was no way she was going to get the power needed to snap this young, thick branch.

  She huffed out a breath in frustration. If she weren’t hurt, she would simply stand up and step on the branch in order to snap it. Of course, if she weren’t hurt, she wouldn’t need to break it in half. She shifted slightly and thought about trying to bring her uninjured foot up to try and snap it, but the prospect of whacking her injured side with a suddenly broken length of wood dissuaded her from that idea.

  Evelyn slumped back against the tree trunk with the offending length of wood in her lap. She could always try to find another couple of pieces that wouldn’t be as big, but there wasn’t anything in reach that seemed like it would work. And moving too much wasn’t really an option. She lifted her hands to scrub at her face and felt her folded knife poke her in the ribs.

  Wait. The knife.

  Evelyn sat up quickly, and immediately regretted doing so, as her right foot shifted, sending pain shooting from the ankle throughout her body. She hissed at the renewed onslaught but kept herself from screaming, barely. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out the knife. Unfolded, it was longer than her hand and might even have qualified as something her daddy would have called a “pig sticker.”

  She snapped the knife open and turned it to catch the green-filtered light. Sure enough, the back edge of the blade was serrated. It would take a long time, but she just might be able to saw through this blasted branch in order to make a serviceable splint.

  Evelyn carefully arranged herself, moving slowly and carefully to avoid disturbing her ankle. She propped the branch on her left thigh and eyeballed the midpoint as best she could. Then she took the knife and started sawing.

  At first, it didn’t appear to have any effect at all. Despair started to rise within her, but she fought it and pushed it back down. She just needed to have patience, she told herself. Patience and an unwillingness to quit. She renewed her efforts and sawed back and forth faster, pressing down into the wood.

  Slowly, slowly, the knife started to do its job. Its serrated teeth bit into the tough, green wood of the branch, carving out a fragrant trench bit
by bit. Eventually, the teeth got gummed up with chewed-up wood and sap, and Evelyn had to try and clean it out. She did this by wiping the knife on her jacket and by carefully using her fingers to pull the wood pulp out from between the teeth. Then she was back at it.

  By the time she was halfway through the branch, her arms ached, she had blisters forming on her hands, her neck throbbed, and her ankle was on fire. She took a break to stretch and get some more water, and then she re-attacked. She must have worked for a number of hours, for the light under the forest canopy changed subtly, casting longer shadows that melded with the growing green darkness.

  When she had cut three-quarters of the way through, she picked up the branch again and attempted to snap it. This time, it gave with relative ease and a loud snap. Evelyn gasped in relief and felt her eyes fill all over again. She’d done it! She’d seen a problem and found a solution! She wasn’t helpless after all!

  Moving as quickly as she dared, Evelyn took the two lengths of wood and placed them alongside her swollen right ankle. Then she fumbled at her neck for the scarf she wore to protect her throat from the icy cold while flying. It came free, and she gritted her teeth and managed to use it to wrap under and around her boot and the makeshift splint. Once again, pain stabbed through her, and her vision threatened to recede under a sparkling gray nothingness. She bit her lip, took shallow breaths, and hung doggedly onto the shreds of her consciousness. Eventually, she managed to tie a knot just above her kneecap. It wasn’t comfortable, not by any stretch of imagination, but it was the best she had.

  She sat back again, gasping for breath, but this time triumph rose within her rather than despair or panic. She treated herself to another drink of water and considered her next move. When she found her crew, she’d likely have to move, so maybe she ought to find some kind of crutch that she could use. However, she still really kind of hoped that they’d be nearby enough to come get her, so she decided not to delay any longer. Plus, it was getting dark. She’d vastly prefer not to be alone in this forest in the night. Who knew what kind of wild animals lived in German forests?