Authors: C. Marie Bowen
Aubrielle's Call (26 page)
John kissed the top of Aubrielle’s head then looked at the sky. Last night’s rain clouds had cleared, and stars filled the heavens. To the east, a glimmer along the horizon hinted at dawn. “We should go.”
Aubrielle adjusted her clothes. “The marked man said there would be Germans behind us. He thought they would stop you from reaching me.”
“If there were Germans to the rear, I didn’t see them. But I was closer to you than Karl realized.” John lifted his chin and looked north
.
The Germans advance through Belgium.
His head turned to the south.
Hitler or Nescato. Her fate would be the same with either demon.
“He talked about a panzer unit coming through the Ardennes.” Aubrielle brushed her skirt, then captured her hair and twisted it to the side.
“The Ardennes Forest is directly east of where we are now. If German tanks are sweeping south, we won’t make it back to Paris. And if they come west…” his voice faded.
“They’ll come straight at us,” she finished his thought.
John met her gaze. “We’ll go north. There’s a small town not far from here. We can pick up supplies, food at least—maybe buy petrol and try to find out what’s happened.”
“Then where?” She rubbed her arms and John tucked her back beneath his coat.
“After that, we’ll go to the coast. We should be able to find a ship in Calais.”
She looked up at him. “Leave France?”
“Yes. I have resources in Great Britain. I can keep you safe there.”
He walked her to the passenger door, placed the small machine-gun on the backseat, and then circled the vehicle closing the doors. The Renault continued to idle as he sat behind the wheel and closed the door. The gauge showed half a tank of petrol.
That won’t be enough.
He offered Aubrielle a confident smile as he backed out of the dirt lane and returned to the pavement.
* * *
Aubrielle stared at the side John’s face in the soft red glow of dawn as they drove north.
I have to ask.
“Are you cold?” John laid his arm across the back of the seat. “Sit close. I’ll keep you warm.”
She didn’t move. “John, the man who took me, the one you called Karl, spoke of more than troop movements.”
John cast a brief glance at her. “Tell me.”
“Who’s Nescato? Karl planned to take me to her. He said…” She swallowed. “He said Nescato is your mate. That she would kill me, and she is two thousand years old.” She tried to scoff at the absurd notion, but her laugh stuck in her throat.
John didn’t smile. He drew his arm from the back of the seat and gripped the wheel with both hands. “You don’t have to worry about Nescato. She won’t get her hands on you.”
“She’s real?” Aubrielle’s voice rose in disbelief. “Are you married to her, John?”
“No,” he replied, his voice sharp. He gave her a brief look, and his voice softened. “I rejected Nescato, years ago. We never mated.”
They never mated?
She tapped her nail beneath the window
.
Another bizarre response.
The sky had lightened enough to see the pristine French countryside roll past. A peaceful illusion.
How do I balance the scales where John’s concerned?
She watched him from the corner of her eye. “How many years ago?”
He began to speak, then made a low growl in the back of his throat. Lips pressed, he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “There is nothing I can say. No explanation will ever convince you I speak the truth.”
“Why?” she whispered. Tremors shook her legs. She rubbed her hands up her arm to calm a sudden chill.
“Nescato is a witch.” He looked at Aubrielle. “An evil, vengeful woman who cast a dark and hate-filled spell.” His eyes returned to the road. “She cursed me—
cursed us
—because I didn’t love her. I could
never
love her. My heart already belonged to another.”
Aubrielle’s stomach clenched. “John—”
“My heart belonged to you. I love you. I always have. Loved. You.”
“John, we only met last fall.” She covered her mouth and choked back tears. Tears of terror, of relief at her rescue, and finally, tears of confusion. The world lost its balance. Reality shifted.
“No.” John’s voice held both regret and apology. “I met Aubrielle Cohen last fall. That’s true. But I have loved you, and every incarnation of your soul, for two millenniums.”
She turned away from him and stared out the window as the sun rose. “More magic.”
* * *
John drove in silence. With no way to prove his words, he had nothing to offer. He glanced at her.
She sat huddled against the door, staring out the window.
Late morning found them near the town of Arras. As he turned onto the main route into town, a French lieutenant stepped from beside his vehicle and in front of their car. He waved his hands above his head for them to pull to the side of the road.
“He doesn’t look happy,” Aubrielle said.
“They’ve secured the town.” John caught her watery gaze and lowered his voice. “I’m going to tell him I’m British. There will be fewer questions. Don’t act surprised.”
The car rolled to a stop and John cranked down the window. “Good morning, Lieutenant. How may I help you?” he asked with a strong British accent. He cast a quick glance at Aubrielle.
She stared at him, eyes wide and brows raised.
The lieutenant looked across at Aubrielle then into the back seat. He sprang back, drew his revolver, and pointed the gun at John. “Exit the vehicle,
monsieur
. Hands in the air where I can see them.”
“Easy, Lieutenant.” John reached through the window and opened the door from the outside. “We’re not trying to hide anything.”
The French officer ignored John’s statement. “Turn around. Put your hands on the top of your automobile.” He patted down John’s sides with one hand, pulling the revolver from its holster. “Where did you obtain these weapons?”
“The hand-piece is mine. The Thompson—” John looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant, “isn’t mine. A friend with the
Sûreté nationale
left it in my care.”
“Where was this?” The officer lowered his gun but remained several feet away.
“In Paris.”
“You came from Paris this morning?”
“No. We left Paris last night.” John turned and faced the officer.
The lieutenant holstered his weapon and handed back the revolver. “Show me your papers.”
John pulled the identification for John Locke from his jacket. “John Locke of Essex.”
The officer shuffled through the paperwork and handed it back. “What are you doing in France at this time
Monsieur
Locke?” He looked again through the window at Aubrielle. “And who is your companion?”
“This is my fiancée, Aubrielle Cohen.” John smiled at Aubrielle. “We came across to administer her late father’s estate. It took longer than expected. We hoped to make it to the coast and depart for home, but I’m afraid we’re about out of petrol.”
“All the petrol in Arras is conscripted for military use. The nearest port is Calais, but the Boches are on the move.” The lieutenant lowered his voice. “They’ve broken through at Sedan bypassing the Maginot Line.” He shook his head as he took the machine-gun from the back seat. “This will stay with me.”
John nodded. “That’s quite all right.” He closed the back door while the French officer inspected the Thompson. “Are we free to go?”
“
Oui
.”
John slid behind the wheel. “Is there a place we can purchase supplies?”
“Down the
rue
is Jo’s Café. There is a small market next to Jo’s, although you may be disappointed. Most of the shelves are now empty.”
Allied vehicles and troop carriers choked the roadway as they pulled into town. John parked in a
ruelle
down from the café. As an afterthought, he tossed the keys onto the front seat.
“What are you doing?” Aubrielle asked over the top of the car. “Someone may steal it.”
“They won’t get two miles. It’s out of gas.” John took her arm, and they crossed the street making their way to the restaurant. “We’ll have to find another way to Calais.” He entered the crowded place while Aubrielle waited beside the door.
French and British officers filled the chairs. Enlisted men lined the wall, eating where they stood.
John stopped the harried waiter as he passed. “Are you serving civilians?”
“
Non
,” the waiter replied. “Displaced and
réfugié
s
eat next door.”
Refugees?
John glanced out the window at Aubrielle.
Is that what we’ve become?
She spoke with a French officer, her smile cautious.
The officer nodded to something she said while he waited in line to enter the café.
As John threaded his way to the door, a detonation in the distance rattled the dish display on the wall.
The waiter dropped his tray and uttered a short shriek.
Across the room, a British commander came to his feet. “You are safe. Allied forces are collapsing the bridges to slow the German advance.”
Aubrielle stared at John through the window, wide-eyed.
He hurried from the café and took her arm. “The explosions are from our troops. They’re destroying the bridges.”
“Where are we going?” She jumped in surprise as another detonation, closer this time, rattled windows along the walkway.
“Next door.”
The shelves inside the market held only non-edible items. Folded blankets and empty baskets.
A young husband and wife with a tiny babe spoke in hushed tones to a tall, middle-aged woman wearing a white bib apron. She directed them to an area with several empty chairs, and then she looked at John.
“Puis-je vous aider?”
“Yes. We’ve been stranded in Arras on our way to Calais. The waiter next door directed us here.”
“An Englishman.” The woman grinned showing her crooked teeth. “My name is Joséphine.” She indicated the chairs in the corner as another explosion rattled the market. “Oh!” She blanched then chuckled, patting her chest. “If that keeps up my last nerve will surely give out. As I was saying, I have a vegetable soup ready. As for transport to Calais, the older gentleman in the corner mentioned Calais as well. Perhaps you could pool your resources.”
“
Merci.
” Aubrielle murmured. She held John’s arm, exhaustion darkening her face.
John helped her to a chair along the wall.
The young mother nursed her baby in the furthest chair as her husband spoke with the older man at the other end of the seating area.
“I’m going to ask about transportation to Calais.” John picked up her hand and kissed it. “You should try to get some sleep.”
Aubrielle nodded, relaxed her head on the table and closed her eyes.
The older man and the young husband were discussing payment.
“I wish I could take everyone, but space is limited. I have my family to consider as well.”
The young man’s head hung as he returned to the nursing mother.
“John Locke.” John held out his hand in greeting.
The balding man took his grip. “Gabe Lefèvre.” Curly white hair circled his bald head, and blue veins traced across his reddened nose.
“When do you leave for Calais?” John sat beside Gabe.
“In the morning.” He raised a bushy white brow. “Are you interested in joining us?
“Yes.” John lowered his voice. “I overheard you discussing payment. What’s your price?” His gaze strayed to Aubrielle.
Any cost.
“Anything that would help us. Blankets. Food. Lacking those things, silver or gold.”
John pulled the pouch from his pocket and withdrew the silver ring. Engraved on the inside were the words:
Today Tomorrow Forever—A&J
. The outside of the ring had tarnished to a dark gray. He rubbed the metal on his trousers, read the inscription he knew by heart one last time, then held the ring up for Gabe’s inspection. “Will this do?”
Gabe took the ring and studied it. “
Oui
.” He nodded “This is more than enough.” He glanced at the young couple, then back to John. “It would, in fact, pay for all five of you.”
“Thank you. I’ll let them know.”
They didn’t leave the next morning. Or the morning after. For three days they waited in Arras as the town filled with Allied forces and supplies dwindled.
“It’s time.” Gabe’s command woke the small group before dawn. “Bring your bags and blankets. Hurry.”
Aubrielle filed out of the market holding John’s hand, their blanket over her arm. A gift from Joséphine. The store owner had given a blanket to each family, along with a small cloth bag with bread and cheese.
In front of the market, Gabe’s elderly wife and adult son watched them through the truck window.
Caleb, Gabe’s brother, and a cousin shared the bed of the truck with the refugees from the market.
Aubrielle had met Gabe’s family over the course of the three-day wait as the brothers gathered supplies and traded for petrol.
No greetings were necessary as they climbed into the back of the truck. John stepped in last and settled beside Aubrielle.
Outside of town, the truck slowed behind a column of soldiers.
“Why are they leaving?” Aubrielle whispered to John.
“They may have been ordered to support the ports,” John replied. “There are three along the channel. Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkirk. They’ll fight hard to defend them.”
“And we’re going to Calais?” She glanced at John as the sun broke the horizon and bathed the passengers in a pink light.
John kissed the side of her head. “Anywhere along the coast where we can find a ship will do.”
Behind them, a woman walked alongside a mule cart filled with household goods.
In the afternoon, Aubrielle held the baby while Rhea, the new mother, slept beside her husband.
Aubrielle closed her eyes, resting her head against John’s shoulder, only to be jolted upright. She glanced at the young mother.
How can she sleep?
The ruts shook the truck again, and she sighed.
Their progress was slow. They could travel no faster than the families and soldiers walking ahead of them.
Caleb complained continuously about their pace, but there was no recourse. “We’ve gone less than thirty kilometers,” he exclaimed.
“Hush, Caleb,” his brother told him. “You don’t have to walk. Be grateful.”
“I’ll be grateful when we’re on a ship.”
The next day they advanced less than the day before. Two vehicles ahead of them broke down, one after another. John and Caleb pushed the cars from the road, amidst the owners’ angry threats. They wanted Gabe to siphon some of their precious petrol into the dry tanks. The argument had lasted well into the night.
Before dawn, explosions followed by gunfire jarred the group awake. Flame-colored clouds reflected the fires below, shadowed by dark smoke. Occasional tracer rounds streaked across the sky.
“
Mon Dieu!
” Aubrielle whispered. “
Is that A
rras?” Her chest tightened as her heart rate spiked.
Is this real?
Despite the Allied troops in Arras and the sound of detonations as they collapsed the bridges, the war had seemed distant. Not an immediate threat to their lives.
Not until now.
“The other side of Arras. They’re defending the city.” John stood in the bed of the truck and watched the battle rage for several moments before he picked up their small bag of supplies and vaulted over the side. “We need to get off the road.” He reached up for Aubrielle.
“You’re leaving?” Gabe got out of the cab and stared at the firefight near Arras.
“We move slower than the soldiers.” John motioned for Aubrielle to hurry and glanced over at Gabe. “And there’s no cover along the road. We’re an easy target.”
Aubrielle tossed John their blanket, then swung her leg over the side of the truck.
The blanket over his shoulder, John helped her to the ground.
“We’ll take our chances with the truck,” Gabe said. He dug in his pocket and held his hand out to John. “Take this back. You may need it if you find a ship.”
“Merci.”
John slipped the item into his pocket, then gripped Gabe’s han
d. “
Bonne chance.
”
“
À vous également,
John.”
“What did he give you?” Aubrielle carried the small satchel as they walked away from the road.
“I had given him a ring to pay for our passage.” John took the bag from her and clasped her hand. “He returned it.”
“I’ve never seen you wear jewelry.” Aubrielle looked back at the truck as they passed the last group of travelers who had camped to the side of the road. “Do you think we’ll see them in Calais?”
“I don’t know.” John lifted branches out of her way as they passed beneath the trees. “I hope so.”
They walked through the woods until the sound of battle faded behind them.
John spread their blanket on a thick bed of leaves.
Aubrielle cuddled beside him, wrapping the quilt around them both.
“Leaving the road was the best choice,” John said.
Her head tucked beneath his chin, she spoke into his chest. “I know.”
Over the next days, they encountered other people fleeing north and west. The displaced civilians grew in number as they traveled closer to the coast, as did the aircraft.
The drone of airplane engines overhead had been with them all afternoon as they wound their way, single file, beneath the shelter of the trees. Their small group had grown in number to nearly a dozen. No one had food. No one spoke.
As they reached the edge of the copse, John held her back. “Wait.”
She followed him to the side as the men behind continued across a fallow field. “Why do we wait?”
“The planes. I don’t know if they are British or German. I don’t want to take the chance—”
They both looked up as the sound above grew louder.
“Which is it?” Aubrielle asked. “Can you see?”
The steady hum of the engine changed, and a high-pitched whine grew sharp as the aircraft dove toward the field. Soil erupted across the clearing just before the sound reached them. A sharp rat-tat-tat, followed by cries of terror from the people beside them.
John pulled her behind him. “Get down.” His body sheltered hers, his back to the enemy guns. Strafing fire shredded the leaves around them as the gunner took aim at their cover in the trees.
After what seemed an eternity, the aircraft flew south, the sound of their engines faded.
John checked Aubrielle for injury, but the deadly rounds had missed them.
Sightless eyes stared up at her from the man who had walked behind them on the path. Of their dozen companions, five lay dead in the field, three men and two women. Within the shelter of the trees, there had been one death and three injuries.
With no means to bury the dead, they could do nothing except continue and hope rescue awaited along the coast.
As they walked in the night, Aubrielle caught her first scent of the sea tainted with smoke.
Out of the trees and across a dirt field was the sea road. Burned and broken vehicles clogged the roadway in both directions.
In the darkness, they threaded through the abandoned cars and stood on the sand. Her first sight of the ocean filled her with emptiness, as though they stood on the edge of the world. The empty blackness of the sea and sky extended to infinity. The froth on the waves reflected in the firelight as they rolled, pink and gray, onto the shore. To their north, a city burned.
“What town is that?” Aubrielle wiped tears from her face. The wind had changed and blew smoke across the beach fouling the air and stinging her eyes.
“I don’t know,” John said.
“That would be the oil tanks at Dunkirk burning.” A short heavy-set man with mud caked to the side of his face pointed toward the billowed smoke. “They’ll burn for days.”
People passed around them in the light from the massive fire. Displaced civilians like themselves. Some walked north toward the flames. Others traveled south.
There must be a hundred lost souls, like us.
Aubrielle clung to John’s side.
“We’ve come up from Gravelines.” A thin woman approached them from the road. “The army came through the town. They told us to leave. German tanks were approaching up the coast from Calais. You’d best keep going.” She pointed toward the flames.
Aubrielle looked up at John.
His arm tightened around her shoulder. A line had wedged itself between his brows over the last days. It grew deeper as he peered west, across the sea, toward Britain. “We’re too late.” He swallowed and shifted his gaze to hers. “I’ve failed you.”
They took shelter with a small group of people along the canal, east of the sea road. A few people talked in the dark, exchanging tales of what they knew, or what they’d heard, or what they guessed. The British were in full retreat. The Germans had cut France in two, trapping the army between the panzer units to the south and the Belgium forces along the northern border.
Aubrielle fell asleep listening to the voices of the lost.
Near dawn, John shook her awake. “Troops are moving down the main road toward Dunkirk.”
“Whose troops?” Alarm tinged her voice.
“British, I think. Thousands of men.”
“Should we go?” Aubrielle slipped on her shoes. The sole of her left shoe had come unstitched and flapped when she walked, scooping up dirt beneath her toes. An annoyance compared to the blisters on the heel of her right foot. They’d burst and bled yesterday.
“We can’t stay here.” His voice had lost the defeat it held last night. He helped her stand, then gripped her hands as she limped. “Let me see.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
He slipped off her shoe and inspected the bloody heel. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday, but I’m fine.”
He tore a strip of cloth from the tail of his shirt and wrapped her foot then slipped her shoe back on over the fabric. “Tell me if you can’t walk. I’ll carry you.”
“Of course.”
He’s exhausted.
She touched his face as he knelt before her. “I love you, John.”
He kissed the palm of her hand and helped her to her feet.
She took a step, then hopped and uttered an exclamation as the hard leather bit down on her raw flesh.
John scooped her up in his arms, cradled against his chest. “I can’t watch you walk in such pain.”
When they reached the road, Aubrielle caught her breath. For as far as she could see, men marched toward Dunkirk. “My God!”
Several civilians gathered beside her and John at the road’s edge.
“Will they make a stand?”
“Where are the German tanks? Have they stopped?”
The questions continued, but there were no answers.
At a break between groups of soldiers, John carried her across the road. “There won’t be room for us at the harbor,” he said.
Aubrielle stared over John’s shoulder. East of the sea road, the oil tanks in town still burned, billowing black smoke into the morning sky. To the west, the port of Dunkirk had also sustained heavy damage from the German bombs.
Endless lines of British and French troops marched toward the damaged port and pressed forward into the water.
“There are ships in the channel,” John told her. He looked back along the lines of men still moving toward Dunkirk. “We’ll never reach the ships. There are too many men waiting along the mole and wading into the water.” He turned around, searching for another solution.
“Where will we go?”
“East, along the coastline.” John made a decision and turned his back on the lines of men entering Dunkirk. He followed a group of men and French troops along the water’s edge.
Châteaux
dotted the beach between them and the sea road as black smoke blew across the sand.
“Where are they going?”
“From what I overheard, there’s a landing point up the beach. Bray-Dunes.” John’s breath had grown labored, and he walked some distance before he spoke again. “They say small boats can land there.”