Chapter 10

Yuna only had to see the look on his face to know that something was wrong. She felt her blood quicken as he spoke, reading his lips and hardly hearing his voice. Maechan stiffened at her side and then promptly started forward.

"Come," was all he said, and she followed him mutely. Out the window, she peripherally made out the red and blue flash of cop cars pulling up to the house, and flashlights scrutinizing in the dark. Her companion quickly moved to her back, following them without a word.

Maechan moved surprisingly fast for a man of his age. He led them down to the root cellar and lifted up a heavy brown carpet, revealing a trap door in the dirt floor, tucked away in the far corner. Appearing quite calm, he gave them a little shrug as the young man stooped to push aside the wooden door covered in mud and clay.

"It fooled the Nazis," he stated simply, glancing up as there was a resounding knock at the front door upstairs. "Perhaps it will fool these pigs. There should be enough oxygen in there to last twenty minutes. I'll try and have them out of here before then."

Yuna felt an almost overwhelming rush of panic as she stared into the gaping hole in the floor. Claustrophobia. It was her one irrational fear, and the reason why she never set foot in elevators or walked into a closet without making sure the doors wouldn't close behind her. The idea of climbing into that cramped, dark, narrow space made the bile rise in her throat.

Once, when she was ten, she was at a friend's birthday party. They were playing truth or dare while the adults were in the other room, and she had been dared to hide in the crawlspace for the rest of the afternoon. Not wanting to be labeled a coward, she heroically accepted the challenge and wedged herself into the tight, dark space between the walls. It was hot, and she was in such a comfortable position that she fell asleep soon after, and the other children thought it would be a great joke to pretend that she had disappeared entirely. They ran to tell their parents that little Yuna had gone missing. Being asleep, she did not hear them call her name or hear their footsteps pounding up and down the stairs throughout the house.

When she woke up, there were rats darting back and forward over her legs, and there was a monstrous spider crawling on her arm. Her screams led the adults right to her. The police had been called by that time. Her father had not stopped scolding her for hours.

"I can't," she whispered, feeling herself rooted to the spot. "Not there. Please."

"Yuna," her friend said quietly. "We don't have a choice. There's nothing else we can do. Everything will be all right."

She was grateful to hear his obvious attempt at keeping the impatient edge out of his voice. What could she say, or do? Before she could summon the words, he hopped down into the compartment and turned to lift her down after him. She was shaking so hard that she nearly slid out of his grasp.

Maechan closed the door above them and dropped the mat over it , enveloping them in complete darkness. The stench of soil, dust, and rotting wood filled her nostrils and nearly made her gag. As she lay down, she felt the telltale crunch of dead insect shells underneath her. There was no room to spread out; they had to curl up on their sides with their legs tucked up and their heads bent forward at an uncomfortable angle. Behind her, his breath hot on the back of her neck, he was completely still. She closed her eyes, but it made no difference. All around her was pitch black, the deepest dark she had ever experienced. It felt as though they had stumbled into another dimension. She prayed there were no rats or spiders in their with them, but had a strong suspicion that there might be at least one of the two present.

Deep breaths would have helped, but she was afraid of using up all their air. She fought to still her racing heart and sought any and all inner strength she had to keep her from completely losing it. The commotion happening in the house above them offered a surprisingly effective distraction.

Upstairs she could only hear muffled voices, sounding miles away. She heard Maechan speaking, and was apparently interrupted harshly by someone else, most likely an officer. Footsteps started tromping around the house. It would only be a matter of time before they would make their way down to the cellar.

"If they find us," he whispered suddenly, his voice sounding remarkably close in her ears, "I'll have to kill them."

She released a slow, shaky breath. There had to be at least a dozen men up there, but she doubted that number could stand in his way. Not after what she'd seen him do. "I was afraid of that."

His hand came up and lightly squeezed her shoulder. "I told you there was no going back."

"I know."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way." The entire wooden box seemed to vibrate with his words.

"I know," she said again, trying fervently not to cry. She reached up and her fingers found his in the dark. He held on. Suddenly she wondered what it would have been like to meet him in a café, or at the beach. Perhaps at a club, or in a park somewhere. Normalcy. She doubted she would ever truly recapture the meaning of that word in the end. At that moment she felt a remarkable sadness descended on her.

For a long time, it seemed rather quiet. Aside from the sounds of marching in and out of rooms, and the slamming of doors, they heard very little. Eventually, though, the door to the root cellar banged open and heavily booted feet tromped down the wooden steps to the compact dirt floor. Yuna inhaled sharply and tensed every muscle in her body, hardly daring to breathe.

Behind her she felt her friend's hand moved to pull out the silenced handgun he had taken from one of the assassins on the train. The cold metal brushed against the skin on her lower back and she nearly gasped out loud. Her sudden flinch at the sensation made him pause, and he gave her a moment to quiet herself before he moved the gun up to aim towards the trapdoor, ready to fire at the slightest sign of danger.

"This is bullshit," one of the policemen muttered fiercely. He was standing right above them. "We've already searched this house, and all the other houses near the tracks. We won't find them here."

"You saw the blood leading away from the train. One of them is wounded," the other replied in a calmer tone. "There are only so many places they can hide."

"Do you think the old man has anything to do with this? He's acting strangely."

"Who knows? That CIA agent is probably just making him nervous. He certainly scares me."

Yuna felt her friend shift almost imperceptibly at her back, and she strained her ears to listen more. CIA?

"You're telling me. Who is he, anyway?" the first cop asked. Yuna heard the click of a lighter, and the telltale sounds of someone lighting up a cigarette.

"The sergeant called him Kelk. He came into the precinct today and said that catching this American boy is a level four priority," the other man commented, sounding slightly incredulous.

"Level four? Vous être confondu," his partner scoffed. "For an American and some woman? I hardly believe that."

"Remember those bodies we found?" the other man reminded him. "They were obviously hired men. The guy we're dealing with is a professional – anyone who can do that to trained assassins has got to be our main concern."

Yuna silently willed them to keep talking about the agent Kelk. She had a feeling – and could tell that her friend did as well – that he was connected to the people that were hunting them. But the cops merely finished their smoke before heading back upstairs.

She turned to look over her shoulder as much as possible, wondering if she would be able to see, even in such darkness, the look on his face. All she could hear was how his breath had quickened ever so slightly.

"Kelk," he murmured.

"Do you recognize that name?" Yuna asked softly.

He shook his head. "No. But if he's from the CIA, that could mean a lot of different things, depending on who he answers to."

"Then what does 'level four priority' mean?"

The sudden strain in his voice frightened her. "It means that every cop and special agent in France is going to be on high alert, searching for our faces."

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of Wakka and Lulu, and Auron. Her father.

He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the back of her neck. As he closed his eyes she nearly shivered when his eyelashes brushed across her skin. "We're leaving for Zurich tonight. I don't care if I have to drive for three whole days. I'm gonna put a stop to this."

She nodded, but couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Their fingers were still laced together.

000

Lying with her in the dark felt strangely safe. Cut off from the world. Until the policemen came down into the cellar, it had been hard for him to imagine any harm getting to them. They seemed so distant, invisible. He wondered how willing he was to leave that black, stifling haven. And yet he knew with steadfast certainty that he could without hesitation kill his way through an entire team of cops in order to get himself and Yuna out of there. He could envision in his mind the steps he'd take, the number of bullets he need, how quickly and quietly to move in every shadow provided. The hardest part would be dispatching those first men above him quietly. Everything after that would be simple.

Even so, he was undeniably relieved when they left shortly after.

Now he was starting to get dizzy as every breath they took sucked away more and more oxygen. His eyes began to droop shut when Maechan suddenly threw aside the mat and yanked open the trapdoor, his dark eyes scanning them anxiously.

"Désolé," he apologized, helping Yuna climb out of the compartment. She looked more than a little grateful. "They took their time in leaving. That agent Kelk was asking a lot of questions."

"What did he look like?" the young man asked, brushing off dust and dead bugs. "The policemen down here mentioned him."

"Tall," Maechan replied, indicating with his hand. "Big man, powerfully built. Short greying hair, pale brown eyes. Black moustache. He spoke with an American accent, like yourself."

He exchanged glances with Yuna. "And the French are okay taking orders from an American?"

Maechan shrugged. "He must be someone important."

"Perhaps," he mused.

"Monsieur," Yuna said suddenly to the old man, lightly touching his arm, "I know you have done so much for us tonight – more than we could have hoped for – but is there any chance we could ask one last favour from you?"

"Only a man carved from stone could resist such a face, cherie," Maechan replied graciously, patting her hand. "What do you need?"

"A vehicle," the younger man cut in. "Anything that can run for at least a few days. We need to get to Zurich, and public transport seems to be out of the question now."

Maechan winked and led them back upstairs. "I have just the thing for you. She doesn't look like much, but it would take the hand of the Lord Himself to stop her from running."

Back in the kitchen, he fished around in a drawer overflowing with papers and miscellaneous trinkets before pulling out a set of old keys. He tossed them to the blond man with ease.

"The brown Chevy next to the barn. I use it to carry heavy loads in and out of town, so there should still be some gas in it," he told them, handing Yuna the little med kit. "And take this as well. You both might need it later."

Yuna wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a swift kiss on each cheek. "Merci," she thanked him. "I will never forget your kindness."

"One day, I'll find a way to repay you," her companion said earnestly, shaking Maechan's hand. He seemed to be making all kinds of promises lately; promises he didn't know he would be able to keep in the future.

Maechan waved him away. "Please, do not trouble yourself – I was happy to do it! I am no friend of the French police. Just be careful, both of you."

They both gave him a smile, which he returned warmly before nudging them towards the side door. "Go now. Get as far away as you can."

After saying goodbye, the two of them headed outside. They were able to move in the dark without fear of being spotted; the police were long gone. The only evidence of their presence were the tire tracks in the mud all around the house.

He fired up the truck as Yuna slid into the seat next to him. It smelled like cigarettes and old leather, but it could have been a golden chariot for all he cared when the engine roared to life.