Happy Halloween! In the spirit of the holiday (although unintentionally) this chapter has some dark content, so be forewarned! Things hit the fan, so to speak, and we are finally picking up speed!
Mngirl - Don't apologize! I appreciate every review you give! Your questions are answered below :)
Guest - Thanks! I go back and forth, but I think Joe's chapters are my favorite to write. Maybe it's all of the cursing? LOL
Luckylily - Glad you like Joe! Thanks for the reviews. We'll see if the rest of Easy comes into the picture ;)
He led them back to the house, navigating down through the rocks and then the dark, cool forest. The narrow path was fraught with fallen trees and muddy hallows that forced them to walk single-file and reminded him to be grateful that neither of them had broken their necks in that harried, confusing chase. She fell in behind him, silent save for her soft footfalls, and he found himself looking back every few steps. It was ostensibly to make sure she was getting over some of the more treacherous hazards but he knew that it was really to reassure himself that she was still there.
His hand was already coming up empty before he thought to reach in his pocket for his non-existent cigarettes and he rubbed his palm uselessly against his pant leg as they ducked through another thicket of tangled branches. He had been doing pretty well with the nicotine withdrawal but this morning was pushing him to the fucking limit and he craved to feel a Lucky between his fingertips. The climb up what felt like a fucking mountain on top of the struggle to hold himself back from taking out the old woman had left him spent. The effort with Greta was almost as physical as mental and now his body dragged as though he had wrestled an actual raging beast instead of his own mind.
Then again, he dispiritingly thought, maybe it wasn't all that different. He certainly knew what prowled inside him. And now Caroline did too.
He should have been more forthcoming yesterday. Whatever he could have said would at least have dulled the shock he put her through today. Then he wouldn't have almost lost her to either to the woods or her fear of him. He didn't even want to contemplate what happened at the top of that hill. Acknowledgment of the dread and wariness on her face, of how she avoided him, or of how close he came to losing fucking everything would just drive him over the edge. Just the little snippets that slipped through his focus– like his imploring requests for her to look at him and how terrified he was when she wouldn't – made him forcibly stop his train of thought, afraid that if he let it continue he might decide to never let Caroline out of his sight again.
Still, when they encountered the husk of a dead tree across their path and he grabbed her hand to help her over, he couldn't tell himself to let go afterward and the physical connection grounded him in the reality that she had come back to him.
Fucking him, of all people. If it wasn't happening right in front of him he wouldn't believe he could ever find himself in this situation. She had seen the worst of him, the horribleness that turned everyone else away. She blinked like any reasonable person would, buts still gave him a chance. Now her hand was holding his back.
That was more than anyone else ever did.
He slowed as they reached the tree line on her property and crouched down before they uncovered themselves by crossing the open field. She stayed beside him, following his lead to silently zero in on the house, her grip on his hand instinctively tightening with apprehension. A cold breeze pushed past them, shaking the evergreens and making the shadows dance across the ground.
The house rose in the distance, looking all but abandoned with its missing wall and eerie stillness. No one appeared around it, but he did the quick calculations in his head. It would take Greta about ten minutes to reach home. Another five to make the phone call. Twenty for whoever was coming to assemble their gear and transportation. Then ten more to get back here, assuming they were coming from the village. That was about forty five minutes. They had spent maybe thirty in the woods, but he didn't have his watch on him.
They needed to get their stuff and get the fuck out of here.
Caroline was already looking to him, her blue eyes finally clear of the tears and horror he saw earlier. He took that to heart, pulling her closer to him to speak lowly in her ear.
"We don't have any time before they get here. I need to get my gear in the cellar and you need to pack a bag-"
"I'm going with you?" she whispered back, blinking as though the thought hadn't occurred to her before now.
"Yes," he answered, squeezing her hand. "I told you that you aren't getting arrested." Greta changed everything and Caroline was definitely was not staying here, even if he didn't have clue about what they would do if they made back to his side of the front. Her face told him that she wasn't sure either, but her relief was tangible and she nodded quickly. There wasn't time to discuss anything else. With the urgency pressing into him he spoke faster. "Keep it light. I'm not sure how far we will have to go." He never got a chance to look at those damn maps, not that it mattered now. They were made before the battle started again so they probably weren't accurate anymore. The noise coming from just past the horizon served as a beacon anyway. He just hoped he wouldn't lead them right into the fucking middle of it. "We need to be out of there in less than five minutes."
She nodded again and went to stand. They were going to have to separate to get this done and before he let go his lips pressed into the back of her hand. Her head jerked over to him from looking at the field in front of them, her surprise melting into a small smile towards him before they parted.
Then they burst out of the trees, sprinting towards the building that had been both their refuge and prison. With his long legs he reached the kitchen first. Jumping through the opening, he paused briefly to grab her arm and yank her up over the jagged, crumbled remnants of the wall that lined the foundation. It was faster than having her slow to climb over it herself. Then he was sliding down the cellar ladder and ripping off his civilian clothes in the dim light thrown through the opening. The floorboards above creaked with her hurried footsteps as he grabbed his uniform to pull it on. His shit was a mess, dumped in a pile that took him precious seconds to sort through to stuff his belongings back into his uniform pockets. Throwing on his gear belt, he ripped open one of the black bags and shoved extra rations and first aid kits in whatever space he had left on him. His heart beat steadily in his ears, warning him about every second ticking by.
Taking one last sweep around he spied the maps crumpled under the bags he had tossed aside. Pulling them free, he went over to the stove to shove them inside. Even if they were outdated he couldn't risk them falling into the wrong hands. Digging for his matches, he heard Caroline coming down the ladder behind him.
"I just need to get my things from here and I'll be ready," she said softly, going over to the shelves to grab that broach as well as the watch and comb. As he struck the match she slipped them into the knapsack she was holding, the worn leather looking like it had seen better days.
The paper flamed, illuminating the cellar. She slid the strap of bag across her chest and looked at him, nervousness making her chew on her fingernails. He slapped his helmet on his head.
"Do you have a coat?" he asked, eyeing at the baggy sweater she had pulled on. It wasn't going to keep her warm if they were still traveling after sunset. She shook her head.
"I can't find it. I imagine it was destroyed at some point – I'd left it in the kitchen."
Well, shit. She was going to freeze, but there was nothing they could do about it right now. He would cross that bridge when they came to it. "We should get go-"
A faint sound came from above and he froze. A rumbling, not deep enough to be from the fighting in the distance, trembled through the house. An engine. Caroline stiffened and he heard her breath hitch.
They stood, ears perked, hoping that it would pass by. When the engine downshifted and the squeak of brakes sounded he swore loudly before running for the ladder, pushing her ahead of him. "We have to make a run for it," he said fiercely, his mind desperately flipping through their options. "When you get to the top make a break for the trees –"
"We'll be nothing but target practice for them," she protested, resisting his maneuverings to force her upward.
"We don't have much of a choice," he retorted, listening as the car doors slammed outside. She twisted around to look at him, shaking her head.
"It would be suicide. Let me try talking to them."
Talk to them? Had she lost her goddamn mind? "Fuck no -"
"Joe," she said surprisingly firmly as she placed her shaking hands on his shoulders. "We don't have a choice. If I can't convince them to leave at least down here you will have a chance. They can only come down the ladder one at a time."
"Until they decide to just blow this place up –"
"They won't, not if it's Schueller up there. I know him. He would give anything to have an American POW to brag about. They aren't going to kill you if they think they can capture you."
He swore again when he saw the determination in her eyes and realized that there was no arguing with her. She was really going to go up there, by herself, and convince a bunch of Nazis to not look for him? There was no way in hell it was going to work.
"Probably not," she replied when he voiced this thought. "But it's our only chance and we don't have any more time. We are dead any other way."
She began pulling herself up the ladder and he had to fight with every fiber of his being not to tug her back down. Tactically, he knew this might be the only way - being who she was, they weren't going to shoot her right out of the gate and she might have a chance to reason with them. And if they came down here for him… well, he had the shadows and the bottleneck created by the opening to use to his advantage. Ah, fuck, this was a shitty situation.
Chances were they were both going to be shot to death. This might very well be their last moments together, goddammit.
His hands flew out, catching her around her waist and lifting her off the ladder. She gave a startled noise, her eyes wide as he turned her around. Pulling her to him, he ducked down until their lips met, needing to have this one last bit of her. As the noises intensified outside he focused on her: her smell, her touch, her taste, everything he had come to know this past week. It was a kiss that was different than the others before it – hard, passionate, and filled with all the things he was afraid they would never get to do or say. His hands ran up her sides, over her shoulders, and brushed past her neck to tangle in her hair. She leaned into him, kissing him back with equal ferocity until he thought his eyes would cross, and her fingers glided down the rough stubble of his jaw to curl around the lapels of his uniform jacket.
But too soon, always too soon, she pulled away, her face flushed and her breathing heavy. "I have to… I want…" Words seemed to fail her and he leaned his forehead against hers, knowing what she was trying to say.
"Go," he whispered, the word almost becoming stuck in his throat in his inherent abhorrence of what she was having to do. What he was forcing her to do by his very presence.
Nodding once, she ascended the ladder again. Pausing at the top, she looked down at him, her eyes bright in the soft light and the muscles of her throat tightening with emotion.
"I love you," she breathed. And then, as though a bolt of electricity shot through her, she leapt out of the hole and pushed the door shut, not giving him a chance to respond.
He stood there in the darkness, frozen and looking stupidly at the spot she had been occupying.
What?
She loved him?
…
Holy fucking hell.
…
Him? Really?
"Caroline." An oily voice came through the floorboards and he jerked back into himself. Shit, it was that Schueller asshole. Snatching his rifle, he moved opposite the ladder, letting the blackness wrap around him as he knelt in the corner. His hands squeezed around the wood, trying to give him some sort of silent outlet for his anxiety at Caroline being so exposed up there.
"Herr Schueller," she responded. "I have a feeling about why you are here."
He wrinkled his brow, straining to hear her soft voice over the rapid pounding of his heart.
"Oh really? Why would that be?" Footsteps sounded through the main floor as whoever was with him checked the kitchen and bedroom. Two other men, it sounded like.
"Greta got suspicious of my friend, Josef."
There was a pause and he imagined Schueller's face twisted with his confusion at her confession. He didn't know where she was going with this, but hoped whatever it was she could pull it off. Caroline was still a terrible liar.
"Yes," the word was spit out, colored with dismay that he had lost the element of surprise. "What do you have to say about it? Where is he?"
"I don't know. He disappeared after Greta left."
Another agonizing pause. Joe felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck.
"Why would he do that?" Schueller asked slowly, suspiciously.
"He just said that he needed to get back to his unit. And then he was gone."
The floor creaked as Schueller shifted his weight.
"Just… gone?"
"That's what I said." The same meager defiance he heard the night he came here was back in her voice. He swallowed and prayed Schueller fell for it.
"Why wouldn't he stick around to talk to us?"
"He didn't say," she answered. "He showed up at my doorstep a few days ago, saying the aid station discharged him to recuperate but that he wanted to stay close to the front so he could rejoin his unit when he could. You might check with them." Her voice was dismissive, feigning nonchalance.
"Ah yes, the 272nd Volksgrenadier. I have a request pending to see if a Josef Baumann is assigned there."
"Good. You can talk to him when you find him."
There were lazy footsteps as Schueller began strolling through the room, heading towards the kitchen. "How do you know him?"
"We grew up in the same neighborhood."
The footsteps stopped. "In Berlin? You've managed to keep in touch with him after all these years?"
"Yes, we've exchanged a letter every now and then."
"Really? It's quite lucky he found you here." Something clunked in the kitchen as if he kicked it.
Caroline hesitated, seemingly unnerved by his casual tone. "What do you mean?"
The footsteps started back towards her. "What do I mean? I mean that it is lucky he was able to visit you here when you haven't written him since your arrival and no one outside of this valley breathes a word about your location. Do you forget that I know everything? Including every piece of mail you send and every word you write?"
"I-I-"
"Try again, Caroline."
Joe breathed hard through his nose, forcing himself to stay still.
"He heard it at the aid station," she said quickly. "I had to visit, after you broke my hand. They were talking about me and he got the idea to find me. I wrote him before I came here, not after. I know I'm not allowed to tell anyone what happened."
The footsteps continued until he was standing right next to her. "How is your hand, by the way?"
Joe knew where this going even before her cry of pain ripped through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the urge to burst up there and kill every one of them. At least, not yet. He needed the men to separate so he could pick them off one by one. Bum rushing the group would be reckless.
"It's just going to get worse if you keep lying, Caroline," Schueller sneered. "Tell me the truth."
A tense silence followed, punctuated by another soft cry from her. His eyes watered and his fingers dug so hard into his rifle he was sure he gouged the wood.
"Fine! Fine, I'll tell you," she said tightly and he heard her fall against the floor, breathing heavily.
"Yes?" Schueller prompted, sounding unperturbed.
"I didn't know him before he approached me in the road a few nights ago," she began, still gasping for air. A jolt when through him and he straightened. Was she going to spill out the truth? What the fuck had Schueller done to her?
"He was deserting – said he had slipped out of the aid station. He needed shelter while he finished healing and made me give it to him. Threatened to kill me if I didn't cover for him."
She had a whole stable of stories to pass off, he thought gratefully. She was quicker on her feet than he gave her credit for. Although to be honest he wouldn't be surprised if she had been formulating excuses for his presence since his first night here.
There were more pounding of boots as the men circled around the house. "Where is he now?" Schueller hissed.
"He ran off, going north through the woods."
She then yelped. "Let go of me! I'm telling you the truth! There's three of you and only one of him. If you go now you can probably catch him."
So there were three men. God, he hoped they lived through this so he could tell her how good she was.
"If he's gone why did you lie?"
"Like I said – he threatened to kill me if I told anyone. For all I know he's just hiding out there, listening to us!"
There was another thump as he released her again. "You," Schueller called out, "go check the perimeter." Joe listened to one of the men leave.
"Where would he be going?" Schueller asked.
"I don't know," she answered wearily before gasping in pain again. "I really don't! His accent was Austrian, I think. Ask Greta, she would know better. He could be trying to get back there."
"I should have known," Schueller muttered. "You traitorous bitch."
Joe stiffened, watching the ceiling above him.
"I didn't have a choice," she replied quietly.
"Did he kill that soldier we found?" Schueller continued.
"I don't know. He had blood on him but I didn't ask. It could have been from his injury."
"So he was here when I was talking to you about it?"
To his surprise, Caroline sounded vaguely amused when she answered. "He was standing behind the door, right beside you."
Schueller growled and there was a loud smack.
"Sir," the other soldier interrupted, coming back through the kitchen. "I found some footprints in the mud going to the woods, but there are two sets. One is a man's boot I'm not familiar with and the other appears to be hers."
Joe closed his eyes again, mentally kicking himself. Fuck.
"The subject was reported to be wearing medical clothing. The prints weren't from army-issued boots?"
"No, sir. I'm not sure, but I think they may have been the American's style."
Shit. Of all the fucking soldiers to come here it had be one that could read the motherfucking dirt like fucking Daniel Boone.
"What direction are they going?" Schueller's voice was deadly quiet.
"North, but about fifty feet further west I found them coming back."
A tense, heavy pause sounded. He waited for the usual calmness to overtake him, like it usually did before a fight, but all he could think about was Caroline.
"Search the house."
Caroline let out a sharp cry as the floor vibrated with one of the soldiers going back towards the bedroom and the other going into the kitchen.
"Are you fucking lying to me again?" Schueller yelled over the ruckus of furniture being tossed around.
"No!" she responded with a wail.
"Then why the fuck was he wearing American shoes?"
"I don't know! Maybe he stole – " her words were swallowed by another pain-filled shout. It was time to fucking act. The cat was out of the bag and he couldn't stay down here any longer. Schueller was doing something terrible to her.
As if the universe heard his thoughts, the trapdoor ripped open. He instinctively moved back against the wall. He could shoot whoever came down here, but that might trigger Schueller to kill Caroline. He needed to make this quick and quiet to keep those upstairs unaware as long as possible. He moved his rifle down to rest against the wall and a wave of numbness swept over him.
As he watched boots appear at the top of the ladder the noise upstairs dulled away in the background, replaced by all-encompassing, reassuring silence in his head. He felt his heart steady and his breathing slow. His worry and anxiety cleared and his mind narrowed to focus on the body following the feet down the ladder. He had to do this. He had to get them out of here alive. The ice had come back to him and the world bled of color.
His knife slid from the sheaf against his ankle, silently and smoothly.
The man was descending with his back to Joe, one hand fumbling with a flashlight. Joe approached silently, materializing out of the shadows behind him. His drab uniform marked him as general infantry, not the SS that had been here earlier. His poor training showed in his lack of awareness in his surroundings and his subsequent surprise when Joe's hand clinched over his mouth. His skin was cold and slick with sweat. The man lurched with alarm and Joe dragged him back, away from the rectangle of light surrounding the base of the ladder. The flashlight flew, spinning across the stones of the floor.
As the darkness closed around them Joe raised the knife, his brain telling his hand what to do automatically. The soldier's struggles became more frantic as the cold steel lined up with his neck, his panicked cries not making it past Joe's wide, unmoving palm.
The action was fluid and quick, silent and deadly. The familiar warmth splattered onto his hands and he held still, waiting for the last moments of the struggle to play out. The thrashing of arms and legs eventually slowed and the rifle that the man had desperately tried to maneuver into some sort of defensive move slid to the floor. He didn't look down to watch the life slip away, instead keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
His jaw ached with the force his fixed on it. This always happened when he did this. He would find his teeth clenched so tightly that he was afraid he would someday accidentally bite off his tongue. He didn't know why it happened – whether it was a reaction to the stress or the only outlet for whatever the ice was holding back. Bastogne left him with a soreness that made it difficult to speak for weeks.
As the dead weight sagged into him he gently slid the body to the floor to ensure the clanking of equipment did not cause alarm.
Above him Schueller was still yelling at Caroline and the soldier was in the kitchen, unaware that their number had diminished to two. He approached the ladder again, listening. His knife glinted a wet black in his hand.
The footfalls in the kitchen went to the hole in the wall before disappearing. The other soldier was outside. This was his opportunity. He darted up the ladder, wrenching to a stop just long enough to take a cursory peek over the edge.
Schueller had Caroline pushed up against the wall by the front door, his hand gripping her hair painfully tight. Her nose was bleeding and he felt the ice grow colder.
His movements went unnoticed as he slid out of the cellar, his eyes focused on Schueller's back. Her face blanched when she spotted him over Schueller's shoulder as he came closer. She didn't say a word, only wincing as Schueller pulled her hair tighter.
"I swear to God if you were hiding a fucking American here you are never going to see the light of day again," he was yelling into her ear. Joe felt his hatred grow and knew that look was on his face again. But she didn't flinch this time. No, those blue eyes seeped into his world of gray, steadily focusing on him in a silent plea he was more than happy to finally answer.
A soft creak to his right had them both whipping their heads around and Joe spied the end of a barrel a split second before he dove and the gunshot made his ears ring. The round whizzed by him, burying itself in the parlor wall. Caroline screamed and Schueller gave a stunned shout.
The other soldier had come back, as silent as a fucking mouse.
Joe rolled as he hit the ground and felt his knife skitter away in the process. Leaping back to his feet, he saw it had slid too far to try to retrieve and instead barreled towards the other man. The soldier jerked the rifle over to Joe's sudden change of position and went to pull the trigger again. Darting forward, Joe pushed it upward and a second round went into the ceiling, showering plaster dust down on them. Wrapping his hands around the burning barrel, he gave it a strong, sharp jab forwards, violently shoving the stock into the soldier's solar plexus. He choked, automatically bending forwards to protect his middle. Advancing, Joe wrapped his hand around the bottom of the grip and punched it upwards, causing the bolt to catch the man's chin and throw his head back.
The soldier lost his footing and fell backwards, but his hands stayed determinedly on the fucking rifle and Joe was dragged down with him. They landed by the breakfast table and Joe planted his knees on either side of the Nazi's stomach, straddling him and giving Joe the leverage to beat the shit out of him. He heard sounds of a struggle behind him and looked over to see Schueller on the ground in agony, holding his groin, and Caroline scrambling over to the knife. Schueller reached out to grab her ankle and yank her back.
Pain exploded in his jaw and as his head snapped to the side he realized the soldier had clocked him and was now trying to throw him off. But it wasn't a strong punch and the pain quickly disappeared under the ice. He tightened his grip on the rifle that was twisted between them, trying to pull it away. The man pulled back with equal ferocity and as they struggled he quickly took stock of his opponent. He was older than Joe and shorter, but stouter by about twenty pounds. Joe had the advantage of position, but if he tried to pry the rifle away with brute strength it would end in a draw if he was lucky.
With this in mind Joe brought his left hand back and delivered his fist into the man's face. The Nazi's head bounced against the floorboards and blood spurted from his lip, but his grip didn't loosen. The struggle behind him intensified and the urge to get back to Caroline had him drawing his fist back again. He would crush this fucker's face in.
Before he could deliver the blow the man's right hand darted into his coat and instead of a punching Joe latched on to the soldier's wrist, stopping the knife that was flying towards his chest. They came to a stalemate again, pushing and pulling against each other as Joe struggled to control both the gun and the hand holding the blade.
A dull rattling sounded and Joe's knife skidded over to rest softly against his leg. The soldier's eyes darted towards it before meeting Joe's again. Joe's face didn't give anything away, but it didn't matter. There was only one way this was going to end.
He slammed his head forward, butting it against the man's face as he released his grip on both the gun and wrist. The German gave out a howl, dropping the rifle but swinging the knife wildly in Joe's direction. Joe distantly heard his uniform tear and felt a stinging on his stomach as he grabbed his own trench knife. The soldier's eyes watered and it was easy to dodge his blind stabs at the blurry figure in front of him.
His fingers fit smoothly around the handle and he wasted no time, shoving the blade in between the soldier's ribs. The man screamed, but it made no difference and seconds later Joe's opponents had been narrowed down to one.
Breathing heavily from the fight he stood, turning to view the scene behind him, his eyes automatically seeking out Caroline.
She stood before him, her expression was a mixture of dread and panic.
Behind her Schueller stood with an arm wrapped around her neck and holding the Luger to her temple.
"Joe," Caroline shakily whispered.
With a grim smile, Schueller pulled the trigger.