Watch of Nightingales

by Honor Gable

  Rivka stares down at her hands and up at the carnage, her face calm and fearless. She glances at me and I nod, dread and resignation weighing down my head. We've already ignored London once, what's one more?

  We wade back into the inferno, yellow energy blasting from Rivka's hands, and I dart to the closest injured partisan and haul him onto my shoulders like I did with Audrey so long ago, zipping back to dump him with Xavier. Streaks of yellow, smoke, bullets, and blood flies over the clearing as I push myself back and forth, scurrying the downed men and women to safety where Xavier patches them up.

  Flashes of Lois and the other girl's determined faces flicker at the corners of my eyes. They keep us safe and covered.

  Am I faster than a bullet now?

  My stomach complains with loud gurgles, but I'm not lightheaded like I thought I'd be and my legs aren't protesting as much. What's happening to me? It's like my body is finally accepting the poison from the meteor rocks.

  And I don't know if it's a good thing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  AUDREY

  A child is part of our workforce. Twelve years old and so skinny it's like she's turning inside out. She's so small it hurts me to look at the sharp bones poking out her skin like some sort of living skeleton. Most of us look like that, but it's different seeing it in a child. It's infuriating and heartbreaking and the helplessness plaguing me shatters my soul. Will I even have a soul left when this is over? If I survive, that is.

  The girl is Jewish, based on the scrap of fabric sewn onto her uniform. Where is her mother? Is she here alone? I nudge Henri with my elbow when the guards aren't looking as we march from the camp, jerking my head in the girl's direction. Henri's brandy colored eyes darken with furious pain and her lips turn down at the corners. My brows raise in a question and she nods in answer. Looks like we'll have ourselves a new charge.

  Hopefully. She's turned our other offers of friendship down so far. Her eyes skittering around, searching for enemies and threats. This girl has grown up only knowing fear and hate.

  I keep my eyes stuck to the back of the woman's head who marches in front of me as we make our way through the town. I can't stand the sight of the townspeople scurrying in the other direction, keeping their heads down, refusing to witness. Cowards. I hope they enjoy the fruits of our labor and the safety they live with.

  When we make it to the factory, Henri and I swoop around the Jewish girl and make sure she's put to work with us. Maybe not the kindest thing, considering the back breaking work we have to do, but it's no better anywhere else. It's all horrible. Everywhere. But we can try to keep her safe.

  "What's your name?" I ask her as we start piling the metal plates into the handcart. Henri and I try to take the bulk of the weight, but she frowns at us with fierce eyes.

  "I'm Hannelore." She speaks so softly, I barely hear her.

  "It's nice to meet you. I'm Henri and this is Just." Henri ducks her head to try to catch Hannelore's eyes.

  I smile at the nicknames Henri and I were given by our bunk mates and some of the other French women. Hannelore's head pops up in surprise.

  "Those are strange names."

  "Well, we'll have to come up with a nickname for you too." I take a break from speaking, needing to catch my breath and focus on pushing the handcart. My arms and legs strain against the weight, and we all grunt and sweat with the effort. "What about Hannah?"

  Her lips twist in disgust and she shakes her head. "No, thank you."

  Henri chuckles. "All right. No Hannah. What about Anna?"

  Another head shake. "No."

  I notice a cut on her hand from the metal plates, and I reach in for the bandages I nicked and keep in my bodice. "Here." I wrap them around her hands, matching hers to ours. I curse myself for not thinking of it before we started.

  She looks up at me with big grey eyes, huge in her shaved skull. "Thank you. Today's my birthday."

  I close my eyes against the pain. "Well, happy birthday. I think I have your name. What do you think of Lore?" I open my eyes to watch her reaction.

  A smile breaks across her face. "Yes. That's my name."

  An answering smile lightens my own face. "Good. Now that we have that out of the way, I guess we should get back to work." A guard is heading our way purposefully and Lore will not get a beating for her birthday.

  We hurry away from him, lifting more metal plates before going back for another stack, Henri and I keeping up a steady stream of chatter to keep her mind and our own off the misery. She gives few replies, but seems amused by the things we talk about. Especially when I tell her my dream of moving to America and becoming a Motor Maid.

  "What's a motor maid?"

  "It's this club for women who drive motorcycles."

  "Why would you want to join?"

  "I love motorcycles. The feeling you get when you drive one...it's unexplainable." I can almost feel the wind whipping back the hair I no longer have, the blood pumping hard through my veins, the swooping in my stomach. The good kind of fear. The kind that strengthens you, thrills you, makes you feel invincible. I miss that feeling. The same kind I had when we floated over France for the first time. When I took part in the underground prizefighting. When I signed the document agreeing to become a hero.

  I snort at the memory. How young and stupid I was.

  THE WORLD SPINS AS I troop back into our block after the evening appel, my arms shaking as I climb up the platforms and over women to get to my spot on the bunk. Taking advantage of being the first one there, I stretch out on it. I get a whole minute before Henri nudges me and I have to swing around to lay sideways on the mattress so she and our other two bunkmates can fit, our legs hanging over the side.

  "Look who I found hidden in a corner."

  I peek my eyes open and grin in surprise. "Lore! I didn't know you lived here too."

  She nods shyly. I scoot over father and open my arms. She climbs over Henri and snuggles between us. We introduce her to Nina and Gisele, and lapse into silence.

  I smack at the flea I see jumping across my arm, but I miss. Who cares? I'm exhausted and every bite I get heals. Though it takes almost an hour just for flea bites to heal now. My eyes shut and I wait for sleep. It was a brutal day, pushing handcarts up and down filled with metal plates we have to load and unload. For eleven hours, with only a short break at noon where we were given a tiny and wrinkled boiled potato and something called soup, though I'm convinced it was nothing but lukewarm water with some beet peels floating in it. And dinner was a thin turnip soup. My bowl didn't have a single turnip inside it and my stomach screams with hunger. Constantly.

  I am not enjoying this life.

  "Neither am I, comrade."

  I jump. "Did I say that out loud?"

  Henri's impish grin hovers above my face. "You did. Were you asleep?"

  "No, just thinking. Out loud, apparently." One of the people in the box above us adjusts her position and dust and dirt rain down on us, the wood creaking. We squint our eyes and watch, listening for any splintering sounds. Just yesterday a bunk collapsed under the weight, and three women and their bed landed on those below them. They're in the medical block now.

  I turn to Henri. "Can I borrow your pencil if I can unearth some paper somehow?"

  She doesn't look up for a moment, finishing her thought in furious scrawls. When she's done, she reaches into her uniform, smiling a little and pulls out a piece of paper. "You can have this. I'll get more."

  I take the precious parchment from her and gasp. "You've defaced a book? You?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It was some Nazi propaganda garbage. Not worth wiping my bum with."

  Giggles overtake me, and the people below us curse as dirt and other disgusting things float down on them because my laughter shakes the bed so badly. I'm not even sorry. The laughter sweeps through my body, healing my soul, using muscles lying dormant for weeks. And it's amazing. It's so amazing, I have a hard time stopping. I stay silent to keep from
waking Lore, but I can't believe me shaking like an earthquake doesn't rouse her.

  The laughter leaves us and we lie in silence.

  I'm almost asleep when Henri sighs. "You know what I miss?"

  "What?"

  "Rabbit stew."

  My body shakes with more silent laughter. "Of all the things to miss."

  "I grew to like it very much. Why? What do you miss?"

  "Rock Buns."

  "What are they?"

  "These sort of scones with fruit in them. They're delicious." Water gathers in my mouth at the mere thought of them.

  Gisele's voice carries from the edge of our bunk. "I miss wine. What I would give to be tipsy right now."

  Everyone giggles at that, every one of us would give up anything to lose ourselves in drink.

  Nina speaks from the other side of the box, her heavily Russian accented French hard to follow. "I wish for cabbage pirog. And vodka."

  The barracks fills with the names of food in many different languages. Henriette translates in my ear, her gift for languages making her the most valuable friend I have here. She and I have grown close, both being the new kids and we've traveled through everything at the same time. She reminds me of Viola, sweet and brave, but she's more light-hearted. No pressure of growing up with weighted responsibilities carried on her shoulders. She was arrested for being a part of Defense de la France, an underground newspaper run by students. She recently told me General de Gaulle's niece was a part of the newspaper too, and she's here somewhere though neither of us have seen her.

  The French women here have really taken me under their wings, even though they know I'm British. I've been able to hide it from the Germans, but the French aren't so easily fooled. Not when we're living together. But they don't say anything. It's safer to be French than British here. British spies are executed. The French are just worked and starved to death. The Polish are experimented on and ruined. None of the Rabbits are in our barracks, but I've seen them around. They're mostly in the block next to ours. Block 32. It makes my stomach twist every time I see the gashes in their calves from the twisted experiments performed on them. Gisele whispered the whole awful story in our ears one night like it was some sort of twisted bedtime story.

  I didn't sleep for two days.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  VIOLA

  Grey sunlight and fog flit in an intricate dance through the trees, pushing and pulling before disappearing into each other. The bag strapped to my back rubs against my shoulders and pulls at my neck. The day has only begun, and already I ache and want nothing more than to lie on the moss tempting me with its soft green coat, and not get up for a week.

  We've been walking for three days and with each step the deaths at the partisan camp haunt me. As I run, scouting through the woods, they travel with me, always in the peripheral of my vision. Burning bright in death, blame written across their faces. In my dreams I try to scream I'm sorry at them, but my voice refuses to work, nothing escaping my throat but whimpers. And they parade and line up in attention before me, waiting. Waiting for my sorries and my excuses.

  Or maybe they're waiting for my death.

  Xavier has barely spoken in days. Just short replies to questions Lois and Rivka continue to pepper him with. I've asked him nothing, not liking the expression haunting his eyes. There's something broken and furious lurking behind his usually controlled face.

  I don't want to know what it means.

  Instead, I focus on London. Home. My family. If Xavier's plan works out, I could be back with them soon. My throat clogs and my eyes sting when I remember Audrey won't be there.

  Lucy Bly and her super-powered friends who were the first affected by the meteors would go after Audrey. Ready to burn the whole country down to get her back. Why aren't our powers as strong? Maybe London and Mr. Pipping will set up a mission for her extraction. But there's no way we could make it on our own. We've been back and forth about it ever since we left Paris.

  Xavier kept yapping about the greater good and how horrible it would be if the Nazis got their hands on the rest of us. It could turn the war in favor of the Germans. A bunch of nonsense unfortunately ringing with truth and logic. He's not what we first thought, taking our side over London, but he's still too cautious. Which is probably why he's survived over here so long.

  At a nod from Xavier, Lois disappears to check out the farmhouse. Dread thick in my chest, I'm terrified we'll find more dead. It'll break my heart to find Yvette or her mother gone or hurt.

  I count the beats until she returns, only getting to 128.

  "Theo's here along with Axel and his team. I didn't see Yvette or her mother."

  I worry my bottom lip with my teeth as we hoist packs and start down the overgrown trail to the house. Axel greets us with a pistol, lowering it once he recognizes us. He comes out and clasps arms with Xavier, nodding at us, before leading us back inside.

  The familiar house and the scent of rabbit stew simmering relaxes me for the first time in days. Or maybe longer. Maybe I'll be able to sleep here. Yvette trips down the steps, hugs me and then Lois, her grin wide and showing off her gapped teeth.

  Once the pleasantries are out of the way, Xavier explains everything that's happened and what we need.

  A ride home.

  A strange light flickers in Axel's eyes. "It'll be about a week until we can get you into Paris safely. Things are a little too hot for anyone in the Resistance there right now. Your boy just brought word. The Allies are close and the Jerries are scrambling, but you're welcome to stay here." He grins. "Providing of course you help us out with a few little things."

  Xavier snorts and shakes his head. "What kind of things?"

  "Just a couple missions we could use a few more people for."

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  AUDREY

  Exhaustion blurs the edges of my vision as I stand in the appel, half wishing for the peace of death. It's five in the morning and I've barely survived five days of back breaking work. Today will be day six. At least tomorrow we can rest. Though shoved into a stinking barracks with over a thousand more women than it's meant for isn't exactly restful.

  How long have I been here? It seems like years, but it's probably only been a few weeks. I don't even know what day or month it is. I think it's still August, but it may be September by now. I'll ask Henri or Nina later. It's hot and bright here. I actually miss grey, wet England.

  My left foot tingles and buzzes, on its way to numb. It's been hours of standing here, and I just want to lie down. I peek from the corner of my eye to make sure none of the guards are watching and adjust my weight. Three thousand curses sing in my mind as the pencil slips from my clothes to the ground between my feet and Henri's. Her tiny gasp is barely audible, and I fight to keep my expression clear. Maybe they won't see or notice. Damn them for not giving us suitable knickers.

  Please don't notice. Nothing to see here.

  My pulse bangs in my neck, wrists, temples, even my stomach. Hurry up and finish. Let us go. Don't see.

  But of course they see.

  And of course Henriette decides to take the fall, the stupid girl. They drag her to the front of the line, and Nina holds me in her skinny arms still roped with muscles as I try to run after her. No. It was me. Another woman, I forget her name, steps in front of me and slaps her hand over my mouth before I'm able to get out anything other than a garbled scream.

  Nina hisses in my ear. "Enough. If you say it was you, it won't stop her from getting the punishment. She will need your strength once it's over."

  If she survives it. A woman was beaten to death two days ago, her body so starved and weak, she couldn't handle it.

  Furious tears gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I don't deserve them. Her backside is bared for all and red lines stripe across her skin with each stroke of the whip. She flinches, but doesn't scream, her voice strong and defiant as she counts each hit. She wavers and I hear the pain strangling her voice after the tenth.
My body jolts worse than hers each time it comes down on her. Nina's arms still hold on to me, the guards' attention on the spectacle we're forced to watch.

  My eyes burn, but I remain stoic. If she won't give them the satisfaction, then neither will I. My throat aches with the effort and my nose clogs up, sweat breaking out on my forehead and running down my back. I can't tell if it's me trembling or Nina, or a mix of us both. I've forgotten all about poor Lore, but when I search for her, the woman who stopped me from yelling has Lore's face buried in her uniform.

  At last it ends and the guards have her carried away, her strength gone and body limp from lack of consciousness. She'll be in the prison block for the rest of the day. My back twinges with phantom pain. Nina and I grip tight to each other to stay standing, to keep each other for running after her.

  We're yelled at to get back into position to resume roll call. Nina and I separate with reluctance, and I shake as we stand there for another hour at attention. Shaking with fury and pain and guilt. I want to kill them all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  VIOLA

  I angle the newspaper towards the light from the lantern, hiding behind it. Yvette had an old copy of Liberation and I'm amazed at the bravery of the writers and publishers of this underground paper. One of the articles is about the transport from the Drancy internment camp on July thirty-first. The day Audrey and I saw the 1300 prisoners taken away, singing their bravery. My fingers rub away the tears stinging my eyes. Lois and Rivka are already curled up in blankets on top of the hay, so they don't see.

  We offered to stay in the barn so we could have more privacy from the full house.

  Brave, beautiful Audrey. I can still see my friend, her head raised in defiance, her pure soul shining from her face. Another memory flickers in my mind, of her holding off the soldiers so I can escape. My Amazonian friend, so fierce and loyal. My fears take over, showing her tortured and screaming and broken and dying.