Minds of Men

by Kacey Ezell

  Well. It was bravery. There was no question. None at all. So if Carl and Bob could be brave, knowing that they were facing their deaths...If Madame Bertrand could be brave when contemplating possible capture...maybe she, Evelyn Adamsen, could be brave in her own way, too.

  They returned to the cellar after dinner and slept. The next day contained more of the same. The inaction began to chafe at the men, and even Evelyn felt the abrasion of ennui under her skin. It seemed forever before Madame Bertrand once again summoned them to sit around the fire and listen to the radio.

  “This has been ‘The French speak to the French,’” the BBC announcer said. Evelyn felt her own attention sharpen, and each of the men seemed to sit a little straighter in anticipation. “And now, a few words for our allies in occupied France. Jeanne prefers the red dress. Guillaume thinks his tea may be delayed. The brie, however, is right on time, and excellent. And a very good evening to those in the house of Alphonse. The winds are strong when a storm is coming...”

  A very good evening to those in the house of Alphonse.

  Evelyn looked up, feeling the electricity of the men’s attention. Madame Bertrand met her eyes and smiled with that bright ferocity.

  “So,” their hostess said, “a good evening after all.”

  “What happens now?” Abram asked.

  “Now, we must confirm. There will be another broadcast at nine o’clock. If it is still a good evening, then we will take the next steps and get you into position. But for now...shall we dine?”

  They did, and just as well as the previous night. Given the news, everyone was in good spirits, so the meal was convivial and fun. They cleaned up as before and then settled down to listen one more time for the all-important phrase.

  “...and a very good evening to those in the house of Alphonse...”

  Looking back, Evelyn could never remember much of the details that came next. She knew they waited in the pitch black of the cellar for a long while. At a certain point, someone opened the outside cellar doors, and they climbed the steps out into the midnight air. The cold was quite biting, especially after three days of being inside.

  Once again, they piled into a truck...though not the one driven by Monsieur Cosca. They took a short drive over a mercilessly rutted road and pulled up to a stone house perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the tossing sea.

  Evelyn felt the truck lurch to a stop, then felt the slam of the driver’s door reverberate through the frame. A moment later and the silent man helped them each out of the bed of the truck and pointed toward the house. After the darkness of the farmhouse cellar, the sky seemed brightly lit, even though the tiny sliver of moon had to fight through a veil of clouds as it flung its light on the scene below. The roaring sound of the waves echoed up the cliff at them and left Evelyn with a shivery feeling. Whether it was excitement or fear, she couldn’t have said.

  In a single-file line, they trooped up the gravel drive. The stone house stood silhouetted against the cloud-laced sky. A door opened silently as they approached, and a thin-faced woman waved them in. Behind them, the truck roared to life again and pulled away. Evelyn could hear the crunch of gravel under its wheels.

  “Inside, quickly,” the woman said, her voice light. As they drew closer, it became apparent she was young and very pregnant. A feeling of awkwardness originated from one of the men and reverberated through the net. Evelyn thought it stemmed from Paul.

  Are you all right? she asked through the net as she walked past the pregnant woman.

  Why is she doing this? Paul asked. His discomfort surged through all of them again. Evelyn found herself trying to insulate Sean and Abram from it, with little success. They’d all four been linked together for so long, it had become near-impossible to separate their psyches one from the other.

  A problem. But one for another day. First, they had to get back to friendly soil. Evelyn reminded herself that she was brave and pushed on.

  What do you mean, Paul? she asked.

  That girl! She’s going to have a baby! This work is far too dangerous for her. What if she’s caught with all of us in her house? The Germans would likely kill her and her child as well! How can she take that risk?

  Evelyn paused, stymied. Of all of her men, Paul was by far the most practical. He’d killed three guards and not blinked an eye. She’d never have expected him to worry about something like this. But...

  It’s her choice, Abram said. What kind of world do you think her baby will live in if the Nazis win? I can perfectly understand what she’s doing.

  But there are others...It just isn’t right.

  It’s not up to us, Paul.

  But...

  Enough. They’re helping us. We’re going home. Tonight. Let’s not put them any more at risk by acting foolish, all right?

  But...

  Paul, Evelyn said. Please. She has her reasons. And we can’t do anything about it. Let’s please just go home tonight.

  All right, Evie, he sent, finally. The tension he’d sent singing through the net slackened all of a sudden. All right.

  The woman in question, their hostess, closed the door behind them before leading them through another doorway. In the room beyond, Evelyn came to a dead stop, surprise freezing her mid-step.

  Nearly twenty men stared back at her. Men with hollow, hungry eyes. Men wearing ill-fitting clothes. Men with dirt smudged on their faces. Fugitive men, with a barely discernible hope burning in their gaze.

  “We shall have quite a party on the beach tonight.”

  The voice spoke from behind them. Evelyn started as she recalled herself and stepped forward into the room in order to allow the speaker to follow her in.

  He was a slight man of medium height and a wry smile. As he entered the room, she saw several of the men give him nods of recognition. More than one chuckled at his dry joke. He turned to Abram, who as usual had stepped forward to try and shield his own group, and offered his hand.

  “I am Jerome Millet. Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you,” Abram said, taking the man’s hand and shaking it. “We appreciate your hospitality, and that of your wife.”

  “Anceline. Yes. She tires easily, but she insists on doing what she can. She is tough, for someone so delicate and pretty,” the man said, obviously bursting with pride in his young wife. “I am sorry for the cramped quarters, but we must wait until the moon sets. Around midnight, we will set out for the beach. I must ask you not to speak if you can help it. Sound unfortunately carries, and with so many of you here...”

  “We understand,” Abram said.

  “Good. Make yourselves at home, then. I shall call for you in a few hours.”

  More waiting, Sean said. Do we know any of these fellas?

  I don’t, Evelyn said, probably needlessly. She and the other psychics had rarely had the opportunity to socialize with anyone other than their own crews. Their inclusion was, after all, classified.

  Me neither, Paul said. He still seemed out of sorts about Anceline’s condition, but he was dealing for the moment, so Evelyn left it alone.

  Doesn’t matter, Abram said. We shouldn’t talk anyway. Let’s find someplace to sit down and get as much rest as we can. I get the feeling that our hike down to the beach ain’t gonna be just a stroll along the sand.

  * * *

  Unfortunately for all of the evaders in the so-called “house of Alphonse” that night, Abram’s premonition turned out to be dead-on accurate.

  Shortly after midnight, Jerome Millet announced that the moon had set and it was time for them to go.

  “You will stay in groups of eight. Our people will guide you along the trail down the cliff. It is very treacherous, and while the rain is good for helping us not to be seen, it does make the cliffs more slippery.”

  Great, and it’s raining, too? Abram groused silently.

  At least it will be harder to see us, Evelyn reminded him. And we’re so close to going home.

  “There is some fog, as well,” the Frenc
hman went on in his accented English. “So it will be very difficult to see. It will be necessary for each man to hold to the belt of the man in front of him as we climb down the cliff.”

  So, really hard to see us, Sean thought. He seemed rather determinedly cheerful about the whole thing. Paul, as usual, said nothing. But they could all feel his typical pessimism. Their bombardier expected things to go wrong so he was always prepared when they did.

  “Once we reach the beach, you will hide among the rocks while we attempt to make contact with the British gunboat. Once we have positive contact with them, they will send out rowers. It will seem as if it takes forever, but the trip is only about ten minutes, I assure you. Then you will go in your groups of eight into the rowboats and out to the gunboat. If there are no questions, we will leave now.”

  Evelyn was relatively certain all of them, not just her crew, had many questions. But no one said anything. So at Millet’s gesture, they all got to their feet and sorted themselves into groups of eight. She and her four men stayed together, of course, and they were joined by two Brits, a Canadian, and an American fighter pilot from Texas. They didn’t dare exchange much more than a silent nod of hello as they were hustled out into the inky, wet darkness.

  Not for the first time, Evelyn found herself thanking Providence for the skill of Doctor van Duren. Her ankle ached, but it was not so bad she couldn’t push it to the back of her mind. They started down the steep, switchback trail (Trail?? This was more like a goat path! A mountain goat path!) that crisscrossed the sheer cliffs above a narrow strip of sand. Evelyn knew the ever-present ache was shortly going to become a full-on stabbing pain. That was, if she was lucky enough not to roll her foot under her.

  Millet hadn’t lied. The already slick path became even more threatening, thanks to the rain and the wet mist that seemed to cling to everything. Evelyn flexed her fingers around the cord that served as Sean’s belt and fought to keep upright and close enough she didn’t overbalance him in return.

  Almost there, Sean sent after a few minutes. Look, the fog is clearing; you can start to see the beach below.

  Forgive me, but I’m not looking down, Evelyn sent back, a bit tartly. Let’s just keep moving.

  Sean’s silent laughter echoed through the net and intensified with humor from Abram and Paul both. They weren’t laughing at Evelyn’s refusal to look down so much as they were her tone with Sean. In fact, Evelyn found herself smiling, too. It was one of those moments that shouldn’t have been funny...but manifestly was. And no one cared to explain why, even if they could.

  Evelyn’s foot slipped out from under her, sending a shower of pebbles down the slope to patter onto the heads of an earlier group. She clutched hard at Sean’s belt and felt Paul’s strength straining to help keep her upright. Sure enough, pain lanced through her injured ankle, stabbing up toward her knee. She bit down hard on her lower lip in order to keep from crying out and tasted the metallic taint of her own blood.

  It’s okay, Evie. We’ve got you, Paul said, calm and cool as ever in a crisis.

  I know, Evelyn said, reaching out along the lines of the net, borrowing their strength to steady her own nerves. You always do.

  We always will, Abram said from his place behind Paul. Keep going. We’re almost there.

  At one point, they had to sit on the ground and let themselves slide on their rears down the unstable slope. Evelyn fervently prayed there weren’t Nazi patrols waiting somewhere down on the beach, alerted by the avalanche of small rocks and dirt caused by their passage. By the time they reached the beach, Evelyn felt bruised from heels to crown, and her ankle throbbed its anger at this new abuse.

  Their guide led them forward to a clutch of boulders near the base of the cliff and gestured for them to hunker down. This close to the base of the cliff, the roar-and-swish of the waves echoed deafeningly. So much so that Evelyn could barely hear their guide as he spoke into a device she’d never seen before. It was like some kind of radio handset, only the radio set itself was carried on the back of the second man.

  I wonder where they got that, she sent to the men.

  MI-9, no doubt, Abram theorized. What I wonder is where they keep it so that the Nazis don’t find it!

  Same places they kept us, Paul said dryly, causing humor to flow through the net from all corners once again.

  “All right,” their guide said in harsh, accented English. “The boat, he is coming. Wait here.”

  As if we could do anything else. That was Paul, naturally. Evelyn fought not to snort a laugh. Their combined impatience amped steadily up. They seemed so close to the end of this ordeal. To wait any longer seemed unbearable...

  Light bloomed overhead, scattered by the fog. A moment later, the sound hit them like a truck as two shore batteries opened fire. The concussive booms echoed off of the sheer cliff that loomed above them. Evelyn couldn’t hold back a cry as she slapped her hands over her ears. Someone (probably Sean) grabbed her and pulled her to the ground, sheltering her with their own body as hell itself seemed to open up in the sky above.

  “Merde!” their guide swore before switching back to English. “The damned Boches! They’re firing on the gunboat. They will be here any minute. Run! Scatter! Not the path up the cliff, you’ll never make it. Down the beach...you may find another trail. Go!”

  He reached down to haul Evie and her protector (It was Sean. Of course.) to their feet and shoved them out onto the sand.

  Evie! Sean! Abram cried down the net. Evelyn looked around, lost in the confusion of male bodies, sand, and that horrible, concussive sound.

  Here! Sean cried, as he reached out and grabbed Evelyn’s hand, dragging her toward him.

  We’re at the base of the cliffs, heading south.

  We’ll meet you there. What just happened?

  The shore batteries fired on the gunboat. Like they knew we’d be here.

  Evelyn didn’t know what it was that triggered her thought. Perhaps it was some subliminal clue. Perhaps it was simply paranoia. But for whatever reason, a dread certainty took shape in her mind. Sure enough, as soon as she thought about it, she became aware of a whisper-subtle probing around the edges of her psyche, and she couldn’t help but share it with the men.

  I think they did know. I think she’s here. Lina, the psychic from the forest. At the thought of her, the tempest rose within. Evelyn squeezed Sean’s hand, focusing on the slick, clammy feel of his skin. He squeezed back, even as they lumbered through the sand, and the howling storm in her mind receded.

  Can’t be! Abram said. She’s dead! We saw her body. There you are! I see you. Continue straight for the cliffs...

  We’ve got you, sir, Sean said, changing their angle slightly.

  We don’t know that she’s dead, Evelyn insisted. Did any of you check her body?

  ...No. But Evie, we don’t need to worry about that right now, do we?

  We do if she’s here! If she’s searching for us! If she’s trying to find me...

  As if he knew (and maybe he did) Sean squeezed her hand again, helping her to anchor herself in the physical world. Helping her to fight off the storm within. Again.

  I’m here. We’re here, Sean said, and Evelyn felt the weight of Paul and Abram behind him. We won’t let you be taken again.

  A-All right, Evelyn said, and swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the here and now. She had to defeat the Nazi girl’s delicate searching. She poured her strength into the borders of the net, reinforcing their connections and attempting to deflect any probes.

  Paul found them a moment later and reached out to grab Evelyn’s other hand. He caught the hitch in her step as her abused ankle protested, and without even pausing, he swung her up into his arms, as if she were a small child.

  I’m sorry, she sent to him.

  Shut up, he sent back, not unkindly. Let’s just get out of here.

  Sorry, Evie, Sean sent. I should have gotten you off your ankle sooner.

  You shut up, too, Paul told the flight enginee
r. You kept her safe in the initial panic. Keep moving!

  Behind them, Evelyn heard the sickening rat-tat-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire punctuating the ringing in her ears. She hadn’t recognized the sound at first, but the men certainly had. Someone was shooting behind them, back where they’d hidden in the rocks. Fear and grief rocketed through her. Was someone dead? Who? Their guide? The silent Brits that had accompanied them down the cliff?

  Don’t think about it, Abram demanded. Deal with it later.

  Paul hugged the dubious shelter of the rock face, with Abram and Sean close beside him as they ran south. Through the link, Evelyn could feel the searing effort in their legs as they fought through the loose, rocky sand. Every breath stabbed at them as their lungs burned. Paul’s arms ached from holding her, but if she even thought about getting down, he’d hit her with a wordless negative that ended that line of thought.

  Here! Abram cried triumphantly through the net. I found a trailhead!

  Where does it go? Sean asked.

  Who cares? Off the beach! Move!

  And so they did. The “trail” was really nothing more than a game path that led up through a place where the cliff dipped down toward the sand. Scrubby, tough shore vegetation concealed the way, which was good, but made for slow going. They climbed up a steep trail that, while not as bad as their earlier descent, was still incredibly taxing.

  You have to put me down, Paul, Evelyn said at one particularly difficult point. Otherwise we’ll both fall. I can crawl up over this bit and then you can pick me up again if you insist.

  You shouldn’t have to crawl, Evie.