Flawed (25 page)

A chill not from the cold sent a shiver quaking up her spine.

Ellyssa didn’t want to think about what could have been. What mattered was he that was safe.

She resealed the cracks in her mental wall.

“How’s he doing?” Woody asked as he bounced up and down. He alternated between blowing warm air between his hands and vigorously rubbing his palms together.

“He’s fine,” Ellyssa answered, gently applying the cold compress.

Sensing Woody’s hand hovering above her shoulder, Ellyssa reached into the cup of water to wet the cloth again. A moment later, she felt his hand. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she relished his touch, his friendship, the fact that he was there. The awkwardness between them a couple of days ago seemed to evaporate in that moment. Although different, they both carried a love for the other.

Ellyssa looked up at Woody. The floodlights circled his head like an aura.

“That was pretty intense,” he said.

“It’s going to get worse.”

“Yeah, I know.” Woody squatted next to her. He grazed his fingers across her cheek, leaving a streak of warmth. “He’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” Ellyssa smiled. “Thank you.”

“I know I’ve been acting weird lately. Just me trying to deal.”

“I understand.”

“I do love you, though.”

“I love you, too.”

Sighing deeply, he said, “I know.” He pushed a lock of hair from her eyes; his soft touch grazed her skin. He dropped his hand to his knee. “Friends.”

“Always.”

A comfortable silence wavered between them for a moment until Woody asked, “Did you get a read from any of them?” He motioned to the dead bodies.

“Just that there are other patrols. I think mostly south of here. I couldn’t catch the exact locations.”

“Do they know our destination?”

“I don’t think they did,” she answered, raising her chin toward the dead bodies. “Someone is tracking us, though.”

“I think now would be a good time to start heading west.”

Groaning, Rein’s lids fluttered open and Ellyssa’s heart jump-started with relief. He looked at Ellyssa, then, eyes widening, he swung into a sitting position. The color in his face bleached away, and he fell back on his elbows. “Whoa.”

Ellyssa reached out to him, her hands fluttering about, unsure what to do. “What’s the matter?”

“Dizzy.” He paused for a moment before attempting to right himself. “Where are they?” he asked, remaining upright this time, pink recoloring the paleness.

“Dead.”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved for a brief moment. Suddenly, Rein’s gaze flicked to Ellyssa, fear touching his eyes. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Not a scratch.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Good. I wish I was as lucky,” Rein said, touching the spot above his ear. His breath hitched. “Damn. What happened? My brain feels like it got caught in a vise.”

“You were shot. Nothing serious. Barely a graze,” Woody reassured.

“Shot!” Rein winced again as he touched the side of his head.

The expression on Rein’s face was comical, a mixture of confusion and surprise. Ellyssa couldn’t help but smile, more with relief than anything else. She handed him aspirin and a canteen of water.

“You’re going to live,” she said as he swallowed the medication.

Mouth twisting into a lopsided grin, Rein brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Is that your professional opinion?”

He was so beautiful, his eyes shining with humor even when in pain. Ellyssa captured his hand in hers. “I promise.”

“I guess I have little choice than to go with your diagnosis, but remind me to duck next time.”

Woody knelt next to them. “I don’t know,” he said, eyeing the side of Rein’s head. “Looks like you’re going to have a small bald patch.”

“Great.”

“You can comb it over like old Mr. Wilson used to.”

Ellyssa surmised that it was a name belonging to a Renegade she hadn’t met.

“I’m not taking any styling advice from you.”

From the direction of the ATVs, static sizzled followed by a female voice. “Patrol four, status update?”

After waiting a couple of seconds to make sure no one else responded, Dyllon answered the call. “Patrol four. Clear.”

“Wrap it up. Bring it in. Over.” The radio silenced.

Grabbing Trista by the hand, Dyllon walked over to Ellyssa. “I think that’s our invitation to bug out.”

With Woody’s help, Ellyssa pulled Rein to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist to keep him steady. “We should hide the bodies and vehicles.”

“Good idea,” Woody said. “Let’s get the injured man over to the van and make it happen.”

The sun peeped over the horizon of the flat land and spread its rays out in a spectacular display of oranges and reds. The puffy white clouds reflected the brilliant light and tinted the plains. Unfortunately, the sun refused to warm the air.

The chill bit the tips of Mathew’s fingers as he toted an armload of pickaxes—apparently his new job—to the area next to the Commandant’s office where the rec center would be erected. The new detail would prove to be challenging, as the ground was hard and frozen, but at least his fellow inmates were more warmly dressed.

As agreed upon, the clothes and boots had arrived soon after his talk with the Commandant. Dinner had proved to be a treat with a bit of protein in the form of peanut butter and two pieces of bread each. Breakfast came complete with cups of cold milk and wedges of cheese.

Mathew couldn’t help but feel surprise. Deep down, he’d expected the commander wouldn’t follow through, the sadistic need to torture those he believed beneath him proving too great to deny. It seemed the information Mathew could provide about Ellyssa was more tantalizing.

After Mathew dumped the pickaxes on the ground, the prisoners in their new but still too thin grey-striped coats, each grabbed a tool, one at a time under the scrutiny of the soldiers because of the potential for using them as weapons. The worry was needless. Even with the added protein, the inmates were too weak to withstand the cardiovascular exertions of a fight; they could barely lift the axes. Such energy would take a lot more than a dollop of peanut butter and a glass of milk.

Even with the pickaxes, that didn’t account for the double patrols Mathew had noticed over the last few days. Enlisted men in six groups of four, wearing olive-green coats and armed with rifles, walked the perimeter of the fence. The metal gates had been sliding back and forth on clattering wheels more often than when Mathew had first arrived, as more soldiers reported to duty.

Mathew stepped away to return to the tool shed for shovels. Down the path stood the sergeant-at-arms, his crooked nose and square jaw visible beneath the visor of his military cap. A momentary pause later, Mathew kept his present course until he stood face to face with the formidable man.

“The Commandant requests your presence,” the sergeant sneered.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Mathew mumbled.

He started to turn back toward the office when the sergeant grabbed his arm. His fingers dug in painfully.

“I want to know why the Commandant has such interest in you.”

Glancing down at the sergeant’s hand, fingertips lost within the folds of his grey-striped coat, Mathew fought the urge to defiantly yank away. It wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. He couldn’t risk bringing further attention to himself or the jeopardize the fringe benefits his fellow inmates were receiving. Instead, Mathew looked into the younger man’s eyes with a lie on his lips. “I’m not sure I understand, Sergeant.”

“Do you not think I haven’t noticed the changes around here?”

“From what I understand, the prisoners are building a new rec center for the men stationed here.”

The sergeant-at-arms ripped his grip away, almost yanking Mathew off his feet. Folding his arms across his chest, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I find it interesting how one day your hide was being ripped off your bones with the Commandant’s crop and the next you’re polishing boots, warm inside the barracks.”

“I perform the details I’ve been assigned,” Mathew said with growing disquiet. “Perhaps this conversation is something you should take up with your commander.”

“Perhaps I will be keeping an eye on the situation.” The sergeant executed a perfect one-hundred-eighty degree turn and strode away.

Mathew watched the sergeant until he stopped by the wall separating the two camps. He flipped around and grated Mathew with a hooded glare soaked in animosity. Muffled by the thick stones, he heard sharp tinks of metal on stone. Offhandedly, he wondered if the Commandant had kept his end of the deal and provided for the women too. There was no way to tell; Mathew had little choice but to take the commander’s word and hope lies didn’t taint Nazi lips.

Shoving his hands in his flimsy coat pockets, Mathew started down the walkway toward the Commandant’s office. Curious stares of soldiers and downcast gazes of the prisoners followed him. Trying to ignore them, Mathew kept his head down and ascended the steps onto the porch.

He was going to have to inform the Commandant of the sergeant’s inquisition, although he doubted the sergeant cared; his job was to police the camp, and that was exactly what he was doing.

After opening the door, Mathew stepped inside the colorless, immaculate office with the corporal, who was perched over the computer, tapping away. He glanced up at the intrusion, then popped out of the chair to escort Mathew into the Commandant’s office.

As the corporal straightened his pristine dark-blue tunic and smoothed his grey breeches, he ordered, “Come with me.” The single diamond insignia on his left collar sparkled under the fluorescents as he turned his back on Mathew. “The Commandant expected you five minutes ago.”

“I was detained.”

The corporal stopped with his hand on the knob. Sidling to the left, he glared at Mathew, his blue eyes colored with disbelief. “I highly suggest the next time you are summoned, you come immediately.” He opened the entrance and stepped inside. Extending his arm, the corporal said, “Heil.”

Mathew heard the Commandant’s voice as he repeated the salutation.

“Your ward has arrived.”

“Send him in and then you may go.”

The corporal stepped back, allowing Mathew room to walk into the warm interior of the Commandant’s office and all its homey browns and greens. As soon as Mathew went by, the corporal backed out, closing the door behind him.

Mathew stood just inside the door as the Commandant rose from his chair.

“Mathew,” he said with a single nod, “sit.”

Mathew hesitated. All the misgivings he thought he’d smashed down and disregarded plummeted down on him at once, leaving a sinkhole where feelings of betrayal and treachery tumbled. Technically, he wasn’t supplying any information to compromise the Resistance. But divulging Ellyssa’s secrets might prove to be worse.

“Second thoughts?” Commandant Baer asked as he regarded Mathew. Amusement danced in his eyes, Mathew’s discomfort clearly entertaining him.

Mathew studied the Commandant, meticulous to the most minute detail from his combed silver hair parted on the right, to his crisp blue
Waffenrock
where the black swastika was arrogantly displayed on his left arm to the shiny medals and insignias gleaming with pride.

“Remember, Doc, you will either keep your end of the bargain,” the commander continued, placing his hands on top of the mahogany desk, “or I will torture each of the women, slowly, until their screams echo throughout the camp. Then I will move to the men.” He smiled, a terrifying skeletal smile. “You will have a front-row seat.”

Nausea percolated in Mathew’s stomach at the thought.

For whatever reason, Commandant Baer wanted the information he could provide, confirmed by the fact that the commander had agreed to Mathew’s conditions in the first place. He was going to have to get a grip and play the game he’d agreed to and do so well, or he would lose the upper hand.

“No second thoughts,” Mathew denied, covering the sinkhole with renewed faith that if he could keep everyone alive a bit longer, a miracle would present itself. Piecing together the nerve with which he had started the endeavor, he went and took his usual chair across from the commander. Mathew causally leaned back and leveled his gaze. “I will remind you, Commandant, to me, death is not a threat.” His tone managed to remain steady while voicing the untruth. Mathew didn’t want to see anyone tortured to death.

Commandant Baer grinned. “Very good.”

“I think we should start with your sergeant-at-arms.”

An hour after passing a toppled town sign with letters starting with an A and ending in NY that had somehow managed to hold its place against the passing of time, the van had coasted the last meters before coming to a stop amidst the flattest land Ellyssa had ever seen. There wasn’t any natural cover to hide behind. Besides a scraggly tree or bush defiantly poking through, the land was barren. No towering buildings stretched toward the sky, no cars, no people; absolutely nothing moved. In a way, it was peaceful; it was also eerie and definitely freezing cold. The blustery air thrashed across the expanse with freedom to move as it pleased.