Christine Clemetson © 2008
All rights reserved, The Wild Rose Press
Serene’s heart pounded as she peered around the silent restaurant, alive hours earlier, but now masked with an eerie paleness. The room and her life would never again be the same. She whisked off the wetness around her eyes, sucked in a daunted breath, and remembered her purpose.
“Are you all right?” She hoped her English was still understandable.
No response from the American.
Leaning a little closer, she gently placed her hand beneath his, finding it warm and moist with life. “Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Serene checked behind her. She unbuttoned his coat, soaked in warm blood, and slid her hand inside, relieved to feel at least a slight rise and fall to his chest.
“I want to help you, but not now. I have to go, but-- I’ll be back. Can you hear me? I’ll be back.”
“Halten Sie.” Boots clicked toward her on the stone floor.
As she let go of the American’s hand, the slightest pressure passed her fingertips. He'd heard her.
With a jump backwards, she snatched the light brown knit hat from her pocket, and spun around on her platform shoes. Smiling through quivering lips, she waved the hat in the air and started to walk by the soldier. As she reached him, he blocked her with his arm, and slid the tip of the gun inside her blouse, resting it at the center of her breasts. Slowly, he moved it downward,her buttons popping rhythmically, one by one, dropping to the floor like pebbles.
His steel gray eyes probed every inch of her.
Serene opened her mouth to scream, but he slammed his hand over it and pushed her flat against a wall, pressing his thighs against her. Her body coiled in retaliation as the reek of whiskey sent quakes of fear running up her spine. With his heated eyes, he dared her not to move as he fumbled for his trouser zipper, using his other arm to hold her.
As he began to peel away her flesh-colored stockings, a shot startled the restaurant walls. The German tensed, his eyelids flickered for a moment before he fell, knocking her to the ground and drawing a smeary line of thick blood down the length of her beige coat. Serene shuddered, gasping for air and struggled to get free from beneath his body.
The sound of another pair of boots clicked toward them.
A second blast.
The other German dropped to the ground. Serene cupped her ears against the sound, turning her head toward the source of the shots. She met the American’s eyes, clear, blue, determined, as if they hadn’t seen her at all. He dropped back down, smoke still smoldering from his rifle.
“Serene!” Anna ran through the front door, followed closely by Franci.
“Help me get him -- off me.”
Franci rolled the heavy body partway off Serene and helped pull her legs free. She immediately crawled to the soldier, her shredded stockings dragging behind.
With his eyes closed, his hand still clutched the gun. She rubbed the side of his face, doing nothing to stop her sobs of gratefulness for this stranger.
“We have to take him with us,” she said, half to herself and half to the others.
Anna shook her head no. “We must go before more come.”
Serene’s gaze darted to the soldier, and then back to Anna. Fear and determination lodged in her belly, threatening to kill every ounce of logic she was holding onto.
“Then you have to go alone.”