Of Salt and Sand

by Barnes, Michael

  “Listen Ruthy. I’m not losing my mind. You told me once that you had mentally attached to some of the dogs, and that you had been able to calm them. You were about to attempt it now, with this animal,” Zen gestured toward the noise.

  “Yes. Calm them, but not pull information from them. Zen, they are animals. I can’t read their thoughts. That is insane!”

  “I understand this, Ruthy. But you can push a thought to them, force a picture or vision. You can do it with human minds, why not the canines?”

  “No!” she retorted, shaking her head. “I can’t. Why would I want to delve into such nonsense.”

  “Ruthy. Listen. If you were to attach to my mind—”

  “No, Zen! Not again,” she cried, cutting him off. Her body began to tremble.

  “This is the only chance we have to live, Ruthy. You must attach to my mind, just long enough to pull the image of the kiosk with the counter and the panel of switches. You could then transfer this vision to the dog. The dogs are always in-and-out of the kiosks with the guards. It is familiar territory to them. You could alter it, make it appealing. Entice the animal with some kind of food—a juicy piece of meat, or something—placed right on top of the button. If you send this image as forcibly as you can, and repeat it again and again, compelling the vision to the animal, it might just scurry down the hallway, head into the kiosk, and jump up to get the meat. Don’t you see? In doing so, the animal must hit that button!”

  “Zen. Do you hear yourself? It sounds crazy. I’ve never tried anything like this, and certainly not with an animal!”

  “I know, Ruthy girl, but it might just work. And if you don’t at least try, all of us, and most likely many Allied soldiers who have come to rescue us, will die.”

  Several large tears pooled in the corner of her sunken, dark eyes. It nearly broke Zen’s heart, but this idea, this strange crazy notion was all he had left. “Ruthy, if we don’t escape, no one will ever know of us, or what took place here. We will be forgotten and wiped from history, forever.”

  She shook her head violently. “We cannot be forgotten.”

  “We don’t have much time. Will you try, Ruthy. For me, just one last time?”

  With tears streaming down her face, the emaciated figure managed a tormenting nod. She sniffled and wiped her eyes on her tattered sleeve. “Okay, Zen. I’ll try for you, and for the others.”

  Zen grabbed her in up in his arms and hugged her tight. His own eyes had watered. He hated himself for asking her to endure, yet again, another thought-intrusion episode. She was so weak. He just prayed that she might have the strength to get through it.

  Ruthanne took a deep breath and pushed back from her brother’s embrace. “Let us get started,” she said. “That dog could take off at any second.”

  They moved to the door and sat with their backs against it. Zen took hold of Ruthanne’s bony, cold hand in his own and clasped tightly to it. He closed his eyes and brought the image of the guard-kiosk into his mind with perfect clarity. It was as if he had just viewed the entire scene. “Go,” he affirmed.

  Ruthanne took another long breath and closed her eyes so forcefully that they seemed to weld shut. “Accessing the dog,” she whispered. “It’s okay boy. We are friends.” Her words soon broke-off into mumbled whispers. Her face grimaced once, then twice. Then a calming expression fell upon her. As it did, the canine suddenly stopped his aggressive behavior. The barking ceased, and his hair began to relax and fall back into normal posture. Then the animal moved closer to the door, and laid down. He whined several times, scratched at the bottom of the door, then rested his head on his front legs and started a pleasant pant.

  “Now push the image to him, Ruthy,” whispered Zen as in a trance. “See how warm and bright the kiosk is,” he mumbled. “See how juicy and tender is the large red meat,” he toned.

  Ruthanne’s own lips began to trace her brothers. Word for word, her mouth moved with his. Their sentences, their thoughts now became as one. “Yes. Here boy! Come jump up and get the meat. It is fresh and warm.”

  The animal suddenly jumped to its feet, almost as though it had been commanded to do so. Its ears rose in attentive alert and the panting stopped while it listened. With a slight yip, it suddenly cocked its head to one side, and bolted down the corridor.

  “Go get it, boy!” continued the pair of voices in perfect succession.

  Ruthanne saw the guard-kiosk in her mind with undaunted perfection. She fought back the need to reach out and touch the panel with her own hands. Directly in front of her was the red mushroom-shaped button, just as Zen had told her. She focused with all her strength, pushing the piece of meat that Zen had mentally sent her onto the faceplate. In seconds, the delicious morsel appeared across the entire panel of switches and knobs. It was perfect. She had a good connection to the dog, and was about to send the image to it when Zen suddenly pressed her hand and spoke: “Not yet, Ruthy. The animal must smell the meat . . . smell it or he will not believe it is real.”

  Ruthanne bit down on her lip and forced a nod. Now she had to pull from her own memory the odor of raw meat. She suddenly felt a wave of fear roll over her as she fought to recall any memory containing this smell. She had none.

  Zen felt her sudden apprehension. He was prepared, and had already placed a memory in his own mind.

  It was a memory he had as a small boy at his uncle’s farm. He hadn’t been very old at the time, and had wanted to join his father and uncle in the barn. But his mother, knowing what was happening in the barn, had told Zen, no. But like most young boys, curiosity drove him to disobey. And when his Aunt Loraine’s laughter had distracted his mother, Zen slipped from her view and hurried straight for the barn. But when he stepped inside, a horrific sight filled his view. There, dangling from the rafters, was a skinned steer, just hung to bleed out. The smell accosted his noise violently, and he nearly vomited. It wasn’t so much the pungent odor as it was the sickening scene; the combination of which was overwhelming for one so young. The strange stench had attached itself, like an unseen mark, forever in his memory. After that experience, Zen had found any excuse he could to avoid the weekly jaunt to the butcher shop with his mother.

  “That’s it, Ruthy. Attach the smell to the meat. You’re just about there.” The girl did as her brother asked. Over and over again, she formed the mental image and pushed it to the animal’s mind. For nearly five-minutes—an eternity for a mind-intrusion session—she pressed the image into the dog’s conscience.

  And then it happened . . . the click reverberated throughout their cell. The door shuttered once, and the latch fell open.

  The canine, although undoubtedly disappointed, had made his jump at the meat. Nearly twenty yards down the corridor, the animal had inadvertently opened every door in the block. It was a miraculous achievement. More so than even Zen could have imagined.

  Zen hooted and leaped to his feet with more energy than he knew he had in him.

  Ruthanne’s eyes were still closed and her cheeks were puffy and stained in damp trails.

  He grabbed her up in his arms and kissed her forehead. “You did it, Ruthy girl,” he cried. “You did it!”

  The faintest smile formed on her drawn lips. “I did?” she mumbled weakly. “I did it, Zen.”

  “Yes. You have saved us all!” He gently laid her down on the cot and pulled a tattered cloth over her. “Rest, little sister,” he said kissing her curls. “Very soon, I will carry you from hell and take you out to freedom.” As he pulled her up into his arms, he realized that she had already fallen deep into an exhausted slumber. He had expected this. In several hours she would awake in a lethargic stupor, but she would recover from the incident.

  Zen carefully lifted her across his back and tied her off with a piece of blanket he had ripped into a cloth-like belt. She flopped like a ragged doll, but through her closed eyes, the occasional slit of amber shone through. That, along with the soft cadence of breath, gave Zen the reassurance he needed that his sister was oka
y.

  He hurried from the cell into the darkened corridor. He had to find the other children as quickly as possible—time was running out! He knew he would find them. He had to, the alternative was too terrible to think about. And when he did find them, they would all break out together through open, unguarded doors. They would run free into the sunlight. Then, from the concealment of a secluded viewpoint, they would stop and turn to witness for themselves, as perdition tore through and took back what it had placed on earth. They would watch the GGRC building blow itself to oblivion. Oh, how he longed to witness it, to see for himself the percussion of the explosion as concrete, metal, wood and bricks ripped from their foundation; as fire and heat fed and engulfed the debris. They would watch until all consuming residue had faded to smoke and glowing amber. Then, and only then, could they justly cry, Freedom!

  As Zen supposed, the clinic appeared evacuated and void of sound or movement. But he would not be taken by surprise, nor by complacency. Like a fox, he began his stealth course, moving from passageway to passageway, carrying his precious weight on his back. He listened and calculated his every step with perfect finesse.

  The shadowy corridors were not only void of sounds of the living, but of wounded, captured or dead. Perhaps the Allies have not entered the building at all? Zen wondered. It was too quiet. No lingering noise of battle—no boots scurrying down passageways, no tap of gunfire, no exploding grenades or cries of attack. And yet . . . he thought again. Something is not right.

  There had been ample time for the Red Army to prepare and initiate an assault on the clinic. Any trained and skilled force should have already moved in? Zen’s apprehension mounted as he mentally rehearsed the preceding hours and reviewed each event as it had unfolded chronologically. He became even more convinced that his vindicators should have entered and seized control. But all was ghostly silent in those dark, deserted hallways.

  As Zen moved ahead, he fought back the urge to shout out to the other children. They had to be close. He had heard their voices? But there were so many passageways, turns, and dark rooms. He didn’t know where to go or where to look? For a frightful moment, Zen felt anxiety engulf him. He was completely alone—lost and roving like some wounded ship left to drift on relentless waves.

  As he rounded a dogleg turn, he stopped suddenly. “No,” he whispered. There at the end of the hallway was his cell. He had gone in a full circle! With frustration nearly at the bursting point, he decided to take a risk. He would call out for help. He would either be heard by the Allies, one of the other children, or by a Nazi. The latter was a sickening prospect, but a ticking bomb took precedence. He hesitated only a moment for a last spot of courage, then hollered out: “Is anyone here?” His voice barked back from the empty labyrinth like a provoking parrot. Where were the other children?

  Then, on the breath of the stifling silence, came a whispered sound: “Zen?”

  Eli’s voice reverberated back. It was a most wonderful sound, taking Zen’s breath right out of his lungs! He whirled around. There in the shadows, at the end of his block entrance, stood the silhouette of children! He gawked unbelieving. It had been so long since he had seen any of the others. “Eli, Ellen!” he shouted. “Morty, Mary! You are all alive!” The other pair of twins appeared from around a bend as if out of thin air. They smiled wide and beamed at his sight.

  The group ran toward him, arms open in a tear-filled rush.

  Zen found himself both hugging and being hugged by his young friends. Their thin arms wrapped around his waist; their warm cheeks embedded against his slim frame. There was a feeling of such camaraderie that Zen’s heart boomed within his chest. Had it been so long? Had he allowed himself to forget that emotions such as these existed within the human realm? Emotions powerful enough to flood the heart and lift the soul to limitless heights? In that instant, he avowed a quiet resolve: he would never again forget.

  Ellen was the first to suddenly pull back with a start. A look of sadness fell across her face and she threw a hand to her mouth. “Oh no!” she muttered in a tiny voice. “Zen! What has happened to Ruthanne!”

  Other faces also took notice, growing equally somber and saddened. Their countenance changed as they each drew back, their eyes locked to Zen, awaiting his feared response.

  “No, no. She sleeps,” he quickly said between a comforting smile. “Ruthanne is well. She will soon awake. You will see.” He pulled the cloth down from her face. “See. Come touch her face. It is warm,” he assured. “Listen. You can hear her breathe.”

  Their smiles returned and a sense of relief fell over them.

  “But where is Jacob?” Zen asked, suddenly noticing for the first time that their group was one short.

  The boy Jacob was not among them, anywhere.

  Zen felt his heart sink, and the fleeting bliss of their short reunion began to fade into a tightening knot deep within his stomach.

  Where was Jacob? The small child who—above all others—had endured the most horrific genetic experiments, and survived to harbor an extraordinary gift of genius. This alteration, like that of the others, had also been cleverly concealed from the Nazi administrators. But had they discovered it and taken the boy away? Or worse? Had they forced another volley of tests and experiments on the child, this time so intrusive that he had not survived? No, no! thought Zen. I will not think this way!

  Perhaps they had not moved him to this block as they had the rest of the captive adolescents. If not, Zen knew that they would have to act fast. They would separate into groups and find him. They would all leave the building together, or not at all. This had always been their devout resolve.

  “We don’t know where he is,” replied Morty at last, his voice heavy with distress.

  “We were searching for him when we heard you call out,” added Eli.

  Zen sighed then carefully untied the cloth belt which held Ruthanne against his back. The other children helped him gently shift the girl against a wall.

  Ellen scooted in next to her and gradually let Ruthann’s head lean against her own shoulder.

  Zen’s assumption had been correct. The clinic officials had moved every captive child to Sub-Level One—the basement block. They had done it for one purpose: to insure the youth’s eradication. Not only from existence, but from history. On this level, the bomb would have the most devastating effect. The collapse of the building, with its upper levels, would bury the sub floor under thousands of tons of cement and debris. Everything on their level would be left a sealed tomb, forever.

  Then why had they not moved Jacob as well? The most obvious explanation kept banging in Zen’s head like a docked barge in stormy waters. Jacob was not moved because he had not been in his cell. He was dead then? But when? Days? Months? Zen had not seen Jacob for nearly a year.

  Eli’s quick insight easily deciphered Zen’s expression. He knew what his friend was thinking. Eli had also made that same terrible mental loop, and had gone full-circle and back to the same conclusion. “We haven’t heard any news of Jacob for several months now,” he finally conceded.

  “Even the guards have not mentioned him,” Mary added, somberly.

  Zen nodded, then sighed bleakly. His eyes drifted to his sister, still asleep in her peaceful world, unaware of the toils around her.

  An ominous silence surrounded the group as each pondered their missing companion. What to do next? But there was no time to consider further. Precious seconds were ticking away.

  “We must act. There is a bomb.” The sentence spilled out of Zen’s mouth like the shattering of a glass tipped on a quiet table. “And if it has been activated, it could detonate at any moment,” he declared. “You must get out, now!”

  There was a momentary air of shock as his words were absorbed, heard by the ears of children whose minds reasoned as adults.

  The response wasn’t what Zen expected.

  Each child locked a determined look upon him and shook their head, resolutely. “Not without Jacob.”

  Their
faltering did not come from lack of trust or confidence. Zen’s integrity would never be questioned. Nor did it come from fear—a bomb was simply another word in a list of ways the Nazis could kill them . . . and still might. To these who had been subjected to repeated atrocities, this threat fell blankly against their callused skin. But the oath they had all made to protect each other, even in death . . . now that came hard to each one, and brought a wrestle of conscience and soul. Could they now turn and leave one behind? No! They could not! Would not!

  Zen turned to Eli. “Take Ruthanne and the others and get out. Get a safe distance away. I’m going to try and find Jacob.”

  “No, Zen.” The boy countered, shaking his head once more. “We can’t leave without you and Jacob.”

  “You won’t have to, Eli. You know of what the Nazis created in me . . . my talent,” Zen spit out the noxious word. “I can use it to locate Jacob—faster than any of you can. If he is alive, I will find him. You must trust me.”

  They did trust him. Zen, being the oldest, held great deference and respect. His cunning skills had saved their lives before, and they would follow him completely.

  It took a little more convincing, but finally, one by one, each child came to understand Zen’s reasoning.

  Zen bent and kissed Ruthanne one more time. “Take care of her,” he said. Then he shot off down the dark corridor, his enhanced senses in full force.

  In the next minutes, Zen had moved from the basement section to the next floor up. As he edged ahead, he memorized every detail of his surroundings. He hoped that each floor was structurally similar. This would help him maneuver more quickly on each subsequent level.

  Zen hadn’t gone far when he suddenly sensed movement somewhere ahead of him. No normal human sense could differentiate motion through solid barriers, but Zen could. He cautiously paused, then slowly eased forward, his body pushed up against the wall. Just ahead of him was a corner. He peered ever-so-slightly around it. A long shadowy hallway laid out in front of him, its doors left open, cluttered with tumbled chairs, tables, desks—whatever had been thrown out of each room and into the corridor.