They’d made a mess of the woman, and she was bleeding heavily. Katrinka ran over, dragging a small stool. She dropped her pistol and attempted to lift Lucienne from the metal hooks, but could not support her weight. She was tearing flesh. A black sickness swarmed up through her, and she began to shake.
“Stop. Please. Where is my son? He ran when they came.”
Katrinka hesitated. She knew the woman was dying, and there was nothing to be done about it. “He was hiding in the trees. He is safe. He is well.”
Lucienne’s eyes were luminous in the dim light. “He is dead. The soldier ran after him, and I heard his cry. Tell me.”
When Katrinka replied, her voice was gentle. “Yes, he is dead.”
Lucienne’s body seemed to shrink into itself, turning a grayish hue. “I told them nothing. Nothing.”
Katrinka roused herself. “I’m getting you down from here.”
Lucienne shook her head. “Take your gun. Please. Take it and…”
Realizing what she was asking, Katrinka jerked back, tripping over the stool. “No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please. Alain will be needing me. He will be waiting for me.”
The two women stared at one another. Finally, Katrinka picked up the gun. She checked the chamber, then looked at Lucienne. The woman’s eyes were calm and steady. Katrinka raised the pistol, her hands trembling. Then with a sharp cry, she flung it to the ground.
“I can’t do it. I can’t.”
There was a sound next to her, and she swung around, choking on a scream. It was the grandmother. She watched as Jeanne picked up the pistol and walked over to Lucienne, speaking to her in a soft voice. Katrinka covered her ears and turned her face away. She heard the crack of gunshot, and her legs gave way. She hunched over, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She did not rise when the grandmother left, nor later when she returned with two young men. Somehow, the men got the body down from those terrible hooks. She heard their feet as they shuffled across the floor and out the doorway, taking the body away. A few minutes later, she heard them again, just outside the door. They were taking Alain now.
The grandmother returned and sat down beside her. She could hear the woman’s breathing. It seemed to Katrinka that there were long, struggling pauses between each breath.
She sat up then, putting her arms around the old woman’s frail shoulders, and they clung to one another.
She asked Katrinka over and over again, in a monotonous voice that held no inflection whatsoever, “Qu’est-il arrivé aux hommes de ce monde.” What has happened to the men of this world.
* * *
The news spread fast. Farr had just returned to the camp after sending a hasty message to abort the drop. He paced up and down the soggy ground. What the hell had he been thinking to drag Katrinka into this? He continued to pace, his boots making squelching sounds in the mud.
He finally saw her, a dark shadow on the path, moving slowly. He ran up and put his arm around her shoulders, but she flung him away.
“Get your hands off me,” she hissed.
Farr drew back, shocked. He waited for her to say something else, but she stumbled on, leaving him alone in the dark, staring after her.
Katrinka made her way out and away from the makeshift camp. She crawled into her sleeping bag and lay on her back, staring up at the black sky. But the stars seemed too far away tonight. They were just a smattering of bright, cold dots, suspended in a void. Why had she ever thought this was a beautiful world. That a basic goodness ruled the universe.
She had been wrong. The universe did not care at all. Life was a string of unexplainable events, lumped together until you died. You were slammed from one episode to the next, trying to keep afloat, until a wave came that was just too big. And it would sweep over you, and you would go under for good.
She could see that wave far out to sea. It was coming for her.
* * *
Life went on. Jeanne fled from the farm and went south to live with her sister. The team scrambled to find a new camp. Katrinka missed Lucienne with a dull, heavy ache. She missed the peace of the farm, the warmth of the kitchen, and a child’s scattered toys lying upon its sunlit floorboards.
Katrinka took the events of Lucienne and Alain and locked them up tightly in another box inside her heart. She wondered how much longer her boxes would stay locked.
* * *
A few days after the incident, Raphael dropped a message off with the major. The test for venereal disease had come back clear. Nye thanked God that whatever else had happened to her in the farmhouse, she’d not have to deal with that. He went out to tell her the news. She was not back from a delivery, and after running into Farr, Nye told him instead. He pretended not to see the man’s face light up.
Farr worked late that night, and when finished, he hurried to Katrinka’s hut. He was not quite sure of his welcome. On the few times they’d spoken since Lucienne’s death, she’d been moody and distant.
The structure was dark and smelled of pig. He found her outside, with her bedroll spread across the ground. She was standing on a rise, with her back to him and her arms crossed over her breasts. The wind sifted through the tree leaves, giving them a low, restless sound. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He hesitated, then sat down on the bedroll. Pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket, he lit it, watching her.
She glanced back at him, then looked away. Her eyes were dark, and the shadows under them heavy.
After a few minutes, he spoke. “Trink?”
She turned.
“Do you remember the day we met? At the farmhouse?”
Her body tensed.
“You never talked about it. What happened, I mean.”
“No.”
“I went in after the shooting, when you were outside. I saw the man. The one on the bed. Did you…? I don’t blame you. Did he—”
Her eyes seemed blank, but something was moving behind them. “What are you trying to say, Wolfe?”
Doggedly, he pressed on. “What happened?”
She returned to the bedroll and lay down next to him, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He smoked for a while, studying the sky, every nerve in his body on red alert at her closeness. After a few minutes, he flung the stub away and settled on the blanket next to her.
She was shaking.
He was furious with himself. Furious with what had been done to her, and furious that he could not find the right words.
“Trink.”
“Shhh.” She turned and rolled on top of him, brushing the hair back from his face. Her breasts were soft and pressed against his chest, inflaming him with their warmth.
He wrapped his arms around her, his voice rough. “Never mind. I was just trying to make sense of it all, but there is no reason. It doesn’t matter why. I don’t care anymore. I would’ve cut the bastard up myself. I would’ve…”
Moonlight turned her tears to bits of glass. She shook her head, tracing a finger around his lips. “Kiss me, Wolfe.”
He gripped her head between his hands, kissing her hard. She tasted salty but sweet. It made him a little crazy. Then he remembered and pulled back. “The test result came in.”
She pushed up on her elbows, studying him. Finally, she asked, “Am I good?”
“We’re good.”
She was silent a few moments. “I was so angry.”
“I know.”
“I hated them. I hated what they did to me.” She was crying.
“It’s over now.”
She drew a hand across her eyes, trying to see his expression in the darkness. “Do you want—”
“Do you?”
“More than anything, Wolfe.”
He held her face in his hands again, kissing her.
Kissing her hair, her eyes, and her throat. She was fumbling with his buttons. He raised his hips as she slipped his trousers down, releasing his erection. He lifted her skirt. He did not take time to consider a condom. He did not take time to pull down her panties, but pushed aside the thin material. Then with a headlong rush he was inside her, where it was wet and hot.
* * *
Later Katrinka woke, with Wolfe nuzzling her. He’d taken off the rest of her clothing, as well as his own. His muscled body gleamed in the moonlight
She pushed him over and sat up, straddling him, still half asleep. He cupped her breasts as she placed her hands on his shoulders. With eyes closed, she slowly rotated her hips, feeling him harden beneath her, wanting her. She raised herself up and slid him into her, squeezing and contracting her muscles around his shaft. She would keep him there forever. Her body would drink him in, and his fluids would flush out everything that had gone before. She kept her eyes closed as tears slid down her cheeks, falling onto their bodies like soft rain.
It was early morning when they finally drifted off to sleep, still clinging to one another, Wolfe still inside her. And for Katrinka, a few more of the invisible scars slipped away.
* * *
Several mornings later, Katrinka woke to gunshots in the distance. Raphael and Valentine were out scouting for a drop zone, so the girl jammed equipment into rucksacks while Farr and Nye stripped the camp in seconds. Throwing everything into the Citroën, Farr jumped behind the wheel, and they tore down the road toward the gunfire.
In less than a minute, they came upon an ambush between several Maquis and a group of five German soldiers. It was over very quickly, with the Germans lying dead or dying on the ground. The Maquis sprinted into the road, inspecting the bodies for weapons and papers.
A small dog with a bent ear bounded from the bushes, barking at the men. It ran up to one of the bodies and pawed it frantically. With horror, Katrinka recognized the dog and Josef, the boy from the roadblock. He lay stretched out in the dust, his eyes wide with pain and fear.
Katrinka ran over to him and knelt down, cradling him in her lap. His chest was bleeding profusely.
Josef whispered, and she leaned over to hear.
“Mein liebling, we meet again.”
“Don’t try to talk, we’ll send for a medic. You’ll be—”
“Rolf. Will you…?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Please don’t talk.” She looked up to Farr. “Help him.”
“Thank you again for the apple and—”
“Please…”
With a small, almost inaudible hiss of breath, the boy died.
“Josef?” Katrinka’s voice cracked as she bent over him, her tears mingling in his warm blood.
The major strode over, his rifle leveled.
Casting a wary eye to the Maquis, Farr placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Trink, we need to—”
She flung him off. Emptying the pockets of the boy’s tunic, she found a single white glove. It was small with soiled fingertips, smelling faintly of scent. She took this, as well as a torn and mud-spattered letter. Reaching in again, her fingers brushed against a rough-edged object. Pulling it out, she stared at the dried apple core in her palm for a moment, fingering the browning teeth marks still visible in the pulp. She returned it to his tunic with great care.
Stuffing the glove and letter into her skirt pocket, she placed his head gently on the earth and stood up. Her clothing was streaked with blood, and her face pale.
Farr stepped around her and pulled the boy’s jacket over his face.
A young Maquis had been watching, and he now sprang forward.
“Collaborateur!” he spat. “Putain!” He struck her full in the face and knocked her down.
In an instant, she swirled to her feet, knife in her hand, but Farr swatted the boy with a blow that sent him sprawling in the dust. The remaining Maquis turned from their grisly inspection, shouting angrily and weapons drawn.
“Get that girl out of here! We do not take kindly to collaborateurs.” This was echoed by the others, “A collaborateur. A traitor. She needs to be shot.” There was menace in the air.
“Steady, Farr.” Nye put a hand on the sergeant’s arm.
“Arrêtez!” An older Maquis held up his hands. He walked across the road to pull the young man up, grasping him by the shoulder. “You want to be a man, but you act without thought. Go back to camp.” He turned his attention to the others. “We must leave at once, there will be retaliation for this act. Take their weapons and go. We have done enough today.”
The men slowly lowered their knives and rifles. Although angered, they were aware that the Jed team supplied their guns and ammunition. They did not want trouble. Within moments, they disappeared into the trees.
The boy pulled away from the old man’s grasp, wiping his cheek where the blow had cut. Avoiding their eyes, he strode across the road, following the others.
The old man turned to Nye. “He is young. He was not supposed to have come. It is a terrible thing when children are involved.” After nodding to the men, he paused and gave Katrinka a cool, calculating stare. Then he too, disappeared into the trees.
* * *
Farr let out a deep sigh. The dog had returned and was quietly licking the dead boy’s hand, nuzzling him with small, distressed sounds. Katrinka sheathed her knife and stumbled across the road, gathering the animal into her arms. She turned, facing both men.
Nye pointed to the body. “Did you know this soldier?”
Katrinka nodded. “We met at a roadblock. This is his dog. I am taking him with me.” She did not ask permission.
With astonishment, Farr noticed Nye move to block her way, his eyes hard.
“Katrinka, put the dog down.”
“No. He is coming with me.”
“Get into the goddamn car. You’re not bringing that animal.”
“I am! I will!”
“Major—”
“Keep the hell out of this, Sergeant.”
Farr stared.
“I’m taking him with me. You stood by and let the boy… you let him die.”
Something in Nye snapped. He lunged, jerking the animal from her arms, and threw it into the road. The dog yelped in pain, and Katrinka cried out.
“The dog stays. Get into the bloody car. Now.” He grabbed her arm.
Farr sprang forward, his face contorting in anger, but Katrinka jerked away.
“How dare you.” Raising her hand, she slapped the major with all her might.
There was a stunned silence. Nye stepped back, bringing a hand to his cheek. Except for the red imprint, his face was white.
“To hell with you,” she hissed. Spinning on her heel, she gathered up the dog and ran away from them, down the road.
Farr turned on the major, his eyes blazing. “Sir, you were—”
“Shut the fuck up, Farr. Get in and drive.”
“Fuck you. I’m going after her.”
“You do and you’ll find yourself court-martialed, Sergeant.”
Farr turned in the road.
“We’ve been compromised. We need to move, now. I’ll send a messenger out to notify the SAS men. They’ll bring her back.”
Farr felt an overwhelming and helpless anger. He knew that men’s lives depended on what he did or did not do.
The major’s voice was curt. “She may not be safe. They need to get her quickly.”
“I’ll use the field telephone. It’ll be faster.”
It was illegal use of communications, and they both knew it, but Nye nodded.
“Right. Let’s go.”
* * *
Their new camp was further from Ange de Feu, on the site of a partially bombed-out schoolhouse. Farr moved into one small room with his bedroll and set up his antennae, plugging it into t
he electrical mains. He stayed up the rest of the night waiting, but she did not come back.
The next day was quiet. Valentine and Raphael were expected, and the major stayed downstairs, working on reports. Upstairs, Farr concentrated on coding messages and sending them out, keeping the transmission time short so they could not be traced. He slept for a few hours in the afternoon, and woke up groggy and disorientated. More reports were waiting to be coded and transmitted. He got to work.
Downstairs, Nye had finished his reports and was sitting at a small folding table, head in his hands. What had happened? Everything occurred so quickly. Her words reverberated in his brain, “You let him die!” Then it was a mother’s tormented voice, and a mother’s anguished face. “You let her die!”
He sprang to his feet and began to pace. It seemed to him that the entire room was flooded in brackish light. Long-buried memories rose up, floating through the air with their phantasmal cries and reproachful glances.
The hair on his skin rose, as if caused by a cold wind. What time was it? Midnight. Jesus, hadn’t they found her? Farr would have told him. There were no messages. Had the Maquis waited in the woods, then grabbed her? He’d behaved like a lunatic. The look in her eyes when she struck him. Where was she?
It was late when Farr completed his transmissions. Pulling off the headphones, he grabbed his jacket and weapon, and ran downstairs. He was going out to find her. He’d found her once and, by God, he’d do it again. Noticing a light at the end of the hall, he wondered if Nye was still awake.
Slipping outside, he almost stumbled over a small figure sitting on the steps in the darkness. He gave a sharp grunt as Katrinka emerged from the shadows, holding the dog. She stood regarding him in the dim light, but she did not speak.
Farr stared at her. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “I didn’t know if they would find you. I didn’t know if you were safe.”
“I had nowhere to go. One of your SAS patrols found me. I spent the night at their camp. They were afraid the Maquis might be looking for me, so we waited. They contacted Pascal, who located your new camp and brought me here.”
Just Another Girl on the Road Page 9