Emanations of Hate
Chapter 8
The mood in camp was decidedly ugly the next day. The humidity was oppressive and the men were worn out from fitful nights of tossing and turning, trying to escape nightmares they had no memory of. Even Klink sensed that his surly prisoners were not about to stand through another lecture on the glorious victories on the Reich and dismissed the men as soon as the count was over. As many men as Hogan would allow fled into the tunnel system in hopes of finding some relief from the heat, only to find that it wasn't much better.
Kinch and Baker made a half-hearted attempt to figure out the problem with the radio, but both found that they were having trouble concentrating. Every couple of minutes one would turn his head, distracted by some strange noise. When the other would give him a questioning look, he would turn back to his work and pretend he hadn't done anything at all.
Finally Kinch could stand it no longer. As soon as Baker turned his head again, Kinch demanded, "What Baker? What is it?"
"Nothing."
"What is it?" he snapped. "What do you hear?"
"Kinch, I'm just not sure! It sounds like kind of a scraping or grinding, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. I don't like it! I don't know why, but it's grating on my nerves. And what really gets to me is that it's reminding me of something, but I can't put my finger on it. Are you hearing it?"
"No. No scraping, but I am hearing a dripping sound and it's doing the same thing to me. I keep telling myself it's just some pipe sweating, but that's not it, I know it. It sounds like water dripping into a frying pan and I don't know why that should disturb me but it does."
At the back of his brain flashed the image of blood dripping into a surgical pan.
Where in the hell did that come from? Before he could lose the thought, he turned to Baker and asked him a question. "Dave, that scraping sound? Does it remind you of a hospital in any way?"
Baker stared at him. "How'd you know that Kinch? Just after I said it, I had a picture of something scraping on bone. Something like a scalpel or chisel or some other medical instrument. Why would I be thinking of that? I've never even heard that sound."
Abruptly the two radio men were interrupted when Lebeau came tearing through the tunnel. Rushing about from side to side, he was practically raving.
"Lebeau, what is it?" Worried, the pair quickly chased after the Frenchman.
"Where are they Kinch? I can't find them! I can hear them but I can't find them!" His voice was ragged and he was nearly sobbing.
"For God's sake Lebeau, hear who?"
"I don't know!" he wailed. "I hear them crying but I can't find them!" He stopped and began helplessly wringing his hands. Then, spouting off in such rapid-fire French that even Kinch didn't catch any of it, he started off again. Horrified, the taller man swiftly grabbed hold of him and pulled him over to a chair and forced him to sit down.
"Calm down Louie. Tell us what you're hearing."
"I'm sorry, but it is horrible! It won't stop! Why won't it stop?" he pleaded with Kinch as if his friend could make it stop for him.
"But what is it Louie? You still haven't told us."
"Crying! I cannot get away from it! Everywhere I go I hear little children crying! It is terrible - they are so desperate! I know they need help, but I can't find them!" Teeth clenched, he pounded his fists on his thighs in frustration.
"Where did you hear this?"
"In the bunk room we built for the escaping prisoners we have to keep for awhile. Colonel Hogan said we might have some coming in soon, so I thought I would clean it."
"Okay, I'm going to go check it out. Are you still hearing them?"
"A little," he admitted. Kinch could see him still glancing around a bit nervously, but he was getting himself under control.
"Why don't you go up top with Baker and have some coffee or something? Take it easy for a few minutes."
"You do not believe me, do you mon ami?"
"Actually Lebeau, I do."
"So do I," Baker added.
Lebeau looked them both in the eyes; they seemed perfectly serious. "Alright Kinch, I will do what you say." He gave them a weak smile, "Who knows? Maybe I am simply overtired."
"That's right Lebeau, maybe that's all it is," Baker agreed. "C'mon, some coffee will fix you right up." The junior radio man looked to Kinch to back him up.
"Yes, possibly," Kinch said without much conviction. He was staring distractedly over towards the bunk room.
Baker raised an eyebrow, then helped Lebeau up. "I think maybe we'll get you that coffee now," he said and began to tug Lebeau towards the exit.
"No, wait!" Lebeau halted. "Do you really believe me Kinch?"
Just as he asked, the light in the room started to waver. As one, the three men looked upwards. The light bulb, dangling from it's wire, was swinging back and forth. Enrapt, they watched as slowly, eerily, with each pass, the arc of it's swing increased.
"Louie," Kinch replied in a hushed, barely audible whisper, "I really, really do."
"Kinch?" Baker asked, "What do you think we should do?"
"I think we have to investigate what Lebeau heard in the bunk room." He felt the Frenchman tense beside him. "Louie? You want to do this? We won't blame you if you'd rather go upstairs."
Lebeau took a deep breath and pulled himself up straight. "No, I'll come."
"You sure? Really, we won't think any less of you," Kinch said. Baker nodded in agreement.
"No. I need to know Kinch."
"Alright." He lead the other two men off to the bunk room.
When they reached the cramped quarters that they had built for escaping prisoners on their way through the underground, the two taller men stopped in their tracks, stunned by what they saw. Lebeau, caught behind them, demanded to know what was wrong. Getting no answer, he pushed between them and then swore passionately.
"What! What is this? I did not leave the room like this!" Furious, he grabbed some of the debris strewn about the floor and then threw it back down again just as angrily.
"I can't say I think much of your cleaning technique Lebeau," Baker tried to joke. "Looks like one of Carter's explosions blasted through here!"
"I did not do this!" Lebeau cried out. He strode up to Baker and glared at him. "Why would I do this? Do you think I like cleaning so much I wanted to do it again?"
"Calm down, calm down. I didn't mean it! Of course I don't think you did it!" Baker protested.
With effort, Lebeau got himself under control. He turned towards his other friend. "Who would do this Kinch? I had everything tidy. Who would play a trick like this?"
"I think the question is: who could do this?"
"You mean who had the opportunity?" Baker questioned.
"No, I mean who could do this in the five minutes we were talking to Lebeau, without us hearing them?"
The bunk room door suddenly slammed shut with a bang so loud Kinch would have sworn the Krauts up top would have been able to hear it through the ground. Together the three men leaped for the door and tried to pull it open. For all it budged, they could have been trying to pull open part of a rock wall.
"This is ridiculous! There's no lock on this door and it can't be this stuck!" Kinch exclaimed. "You two stand back. I'm going to try and break it down." When they were out of the way he flung himself at the door, his full weight behind his shoulder. Instead of the splintering crack they expected, Kinch hit with a thick, fleshy thud, stumbled back a few steps and fell to the ground. Lebeau rushed to help him up and Baker examined the door.
"Well?"
"Nothing! Not a break, not a crack, nothing. The thing didn't shift an inch!"
"That's impossible! It's just a wooden door for God's sake!" Kinch was on his feet but rubbing the top of his arm. Man, that's going to bruise.
"See for yourself," Baker waved at the troublesome door.
Kinch swore as he examined the completely unmarked door. He placed his ear against it.
"Anything?" Lebeau asked.
"Nothing. I don't get it. Somebody should have heard that. There's enough of us down here today. Why isn't anyone coming to check it out?"
"Oh man! What's that smell?" Baker cried, wrinkling his nose in disgust. At the same time Lebeau snorted, "Paugh!" and shook his head as if trying to shake the offending scent out of his nose. Kinch felt his gorge rise as he too caught a whiff of the sickly sweet smell in the air. Almost simultaneously, all three gasped and started to gag as the tainted air was suddenly forced down their throats and absorbed into their lungs. The room was unchanged, there was no smoke or mist in the air, no one was around them - but all three felt themselves held in an iron grip, a hard pressure hitting the lower part of their faces, as if something was being held against their mouths. They clawed at their faces in a futile attempt to pull away the unseen presence. Writhing and twisting to free themselves, lungs burning to breathe, their only thought was to get away from that stomach-roiling smell. Kinch heard Lebeau cry out, saw Baker's eyes widen. His own panic began to grow beyond his control as the lack of oxygen caused a stabbing pain to shoot through both his temples, and he thrashed about frantically.
Around them the temperature plunged; the unexpected cold so intense that the muscles in the back of Kinch's neck hunched painfully. The room suddenly rang with high-pitched laughter, breaking through their panic. Mocking and cruel, the laughter of many voices grew louder and louder as the struggling men were now assaulted by objects hurled at them from all directions. Unable to yell, Kinch kicked and struck out in pure, frustrated rage as the corner of a book hit him right on the sore spot on his arm. Helpless, he saw a whipped flashlight smash Lebeau against his left temple and heard a muffled curse as Baker took a direct hit in the face by a tin cup thrown from God knows where.
Amazingly, just as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. Books, cups, flashlights and a forgotten straight razor, dropped from mid air to land scattered all over the ground, all in the same instant that they were released to fall to the floor, too weak to stand.
The three men lay there, coughing and panting harshly, lungs bursting. Kinch saw Lebeau and weakly crawled over to the other man. He tried to say Lebeau's name but he was wheezing and couldn't get the words out. Letting out a hacking cough, he tried again. "L…Louie? Louie, you…" Another cough rattled through his chest. "Louie, you alright?" he rasped.
When he didn't get an answer, he took the Frenchman by the shoulder and gently turned him over to see how badly the flashlight had hit him. Lebeau's eyes were dazed but they finally turned to look at Kinch after a little more prodding. Kinch rubbed his hand up and down Lebeau's upper arm in an attempt to stop the man's trembling. Beside them Baker was pulling himself up to a sitting position; his breathing as ragged as Kinch's own. Kinch looked over and saw a thin trickle of blood flowing down Baker's face from a small gash right between his eyes. He reached a hand over to the other man.
"Dave, you alright?"
"What…alright? Uh…yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Baker asked in a hushed voice, "Damn, Kinch! What just happened to us?"
"Does it hurt?"
"Huh?"
"That gash on your forehead, does it hurt? Can you see straight?"
Baker raised a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, yeah, it's alright I think." He gave one last shudder and then Kinch watched him take a deep, gulping breath. After a moment he found his voice, "Kinch? Man, Kinch, what was that? What in the hell was that?"
"I don't know Dave."
"Is Lebeau alright?"
"Yes," Lebeau himself replied. The two Americans glanced down at him.
"You sure Louie? You took a real knock to the head. Do you feel sick at all?"
"No," Lebeau said, but his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he made no attempt to sit up.
Without warning the door banged open again, causing the three men to flinch and Lebeau to cry out. Baker made a desperate lunge for it and held it open while Kinch hauled Lebeau to his feet and together the three men dashed out of the room. They scrambled down towards the radio room as fast and as far as they could before collapsing against the tunnel wall. Huddled together, they sat there gasping for breath and then looked up to come face to face with a completely agog Foster. At the sight of the open-mouthed Englishman, Kinch began to chuckle. Then he started to laugh. It was a frayed and unsteady laugh, but he couldn't stop. Shocked, the other two victims stared at him. Then reaction hit and, slightly hysterically, they too began to giggle.
"I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do I do I do believe in spooks," Kinch laughed, doing a passable imitation of the Cowardly Lion in "The Wizard of Oz". Baker and Lebeau positively howled at this, even though Lebeau had never even seen the film.
Foster continued to gape at the three men who, bruised and bloodied, were nevertheless convulsing with hilarity. What in heaven's name? he wondered.
He ran off to find Colonel Hogan.
