Authors: K.C. Finn
Tags: #young adult, #historical, #wwii, #historical romance, #ww2, #ya, #europe, #telepathic, #clean teen publishing, #kc finn
The Mind's Eye (30 page)
Everything
went wrong so quickly that I didn’t have time to register it all at
once. A scuffle started with one of our boys at the edge of the
huddle, he managed to break out and kick the nearest Iti in the
gut, sending him flying into the tent where he became tangled in
the crumpled mess of canvas. Shooting broke out and the cluster of
men began to scatter. Henri struggled against his captor until they
both fell over the body of the unconscious guard that the poor dead
captain had knocked out, but Henri got out of it first and
scrambled to grab hold of the Italian’s gun before he could get it
back.
voice carried over the din of the guns. He grabbed Henri by the
elbow and pulled him down against a steep dune where the Italians
couldn’t aim, then they streaked out in the valley until it rose
back onto the steady plane that would take them back to base.
time even for fear; the two men were at the forefront of the other
Desert Rats as they all bolted back towards the distant promise of
safety on the dark horizon. Half the Italians were giving chase
when Henri glanced back; the others with the larger guns were
taking up positions to fire from farther away. Every thump Henri’s
boots made into the sand sent a jarring pain into each rattling
bone of his body; I ached as he carried us on through the random
deadly bullets that were being fired wildly by the pursuers.
A huge boom
broke the sound of heavy breaths and tiny bullets and someone cried
out not far behind Henri. He stopped running and turned, other men
flying past him as one of the Desert Rats lay bleeding on the
ground. The clouds had cleared to shed more moonlight on the scene:
his foot was bloodied and he lay in shock where something much
larger than a bullet had hit him. Henri looked up to see the pack
of Iti’s catching him up, then raced forward to help yanking the
shocked fellow to his feet.
the injured man on until he came to his senses and though his foot
was leaving a trail of blood, eventually they were all running
again. Except now they were at the back of the pack. Another boom
hit out, firing a shell that thankfully didn’t find them, but when
its echo died out I could hear the grunts and foreign shouts of the
Italians closing in behind them. Then it happened, the horror, the
thing I was wishing against with every bit of strength I had.
A hand
grabbed the back of Henri’s uniform. He struggled to break free but
he was pulled to the ground, a mighty hand gripped hard over his
mouth so he couldn’t even cry out for help. The man with the
crippled foot went charging on ahead of him, the rest of the
escapees were already lost to the dark night. But Bickerstaff was
looking back. He hauled himself around and started running back
towards danger, towards Henri. He had no gun, no way to tackle the
man now pulling Henri back up to his feet, just a grimace like a
bulldog and a will like steel in his eyes.
Another boom
deafened us all; a wind flew past where Henri and his new captor
stood. The moonlight caught Bickerstaff’s outline as the shell
whizzed straight towards him. Everything was strangely slow as
Henri’s wide; disbelieving stare let me take in the whole gory
scene. Bickerstaff tried to leap away from the shell, but the blur
of speeding metal was faster than he was. Thanks to his leap it
found its mark not in his chest, but in his shin. His leg came away
from his body like some great invisible child had snapped the limb
off at the knee. I watched in silent horror as what had been his
calf and foot flew out into the darkness. He screamed out in agony,
dropping to the ground, reaching out towards Henri
desperately.
Henri was
trying to shout, biting into the hand that blocked his mouth, but
the man who held him now wore thick leather gloves. He pulled
Henri’s body securely against his, but both of them looked up
sharply as a set of shining lights suddenly flashed into life in
the dark night. A truck. And then another. British Army vehicles,
driving towards the Iti’s at full pelt. The one who had Henri threw
him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, finally releasing
Henri’s mouth for him to cry out for aid. The Italians took off
running as the trucks got closer to where Bickerstaff lay, but he
was out of focus with the way Henri was banging back and forth
against his captor’s back.
shouted, but he could do little more. One of the trucks had stopped
beside him but the other was still pursuing the pack of Italians.
Henri bashed hard against the back of the one carrying him, trying
to reach anywhere he could to batter him, weaken him somehow so
that he would be let go. The Italian shouted something in his own
language and after a few seconds Henri’s eyes showed me someone
else coming into view. The wicked leader with the dark beard had
jogged back to the rear of his men, and with a hard thump on the
back of Henri’s head; I lost sight of everything going on.
When I
returned to my bed, sweating and panting, I knew there was no point
going back yet. They had knocked him unconscious, but perhaps the
army truck would catch up with them yet. All the images of the
carnage in the night flooded my mind, I held my head tightly to try
and push them away. The cold dead eyes of the captain and his
crumpled body. The trail of blood from the soldier’s foot as he ran
on through the sand. Bickerstaff. The way his leg had come away
like a loose part. His deafening scream. Henri’s fear. The
aggressor’s iron grip, the leather gloved hands he had bitten into
in desperation. The cruel, smiling face of the Iti leader as he
brought down his fist to make everything black.
I was crying,
screaming, tearing off my splints and throwing myself out of the
bed to be sick. The sight of it all burned into the back of my
eyes, my body shivered with the strain of racing unaided to the
basin, everything was too much. I collapsed onto the ground with a
hard crack to my back, crying out and sobbing loudly as my limbs
bent under me. My fears for Henri’s safety made me shake all over,
and now I wished I didn’t know what I knew. Until he came to I
would be haunted, not knowing if he’d been recovered or thrown into
the hands of the enemy for good.
The whole
household was alerted to my terrified sobs, but nobody could help
me to calm down. I shook uncontrollably as Idrys and Mam got me
back into my bed, Leighton and Ness watched with terrified faces at
the door. Most fearful of all was Blod, who sat beside me clinging
to my hand. I had news, terrible news, and she knew it all too
well. But Mam was fussing far too much to get rid of her; I
couldn’t explain anything until she was gone. I wasn’t sure I could
even make my mouth form the words yet.
down as I shook and cried. Idrys and Blod left and returned almost
instantly with a large bottle of something. Idrys poured a measure
of yellow liquid into Blod’s shaking hands as she held the glass.
She brought it to my lips, forcing the drink into my mouth. It was
beastly, sour like glue and it burned my mouth all over. I tried to
resist it but Blod pushed my head up and tipped the whole thing
into my mouth. I had no choice but to gulp it down before it burned
a hole through my head. As it settled in my stomach I gave a great
lurch and after a moment my head flushed with dizziness.
The ceiling
melted like water above me and my eyes flickered shut, trying to
contend with whatever that dose of liquid was doing to me. Every
limb felt heavy, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. I tried to
speak but my mouth was a limp, slurring mess. I needed to stay
awake; I needed to get calm, to tell Blod and Idrys what had
happened. I needed to be there when Henri woke up.
But now, like
him, my world was fading into inescapable blackness. Pain surged
though me like a knife had cleaved my heart open and slowly, but
gratefully, I gave in to the urge to fade away.
I had a pounding headache. Someone had put a cold cloth on my brow
that flopped down into my lap when I managed to haul myself up.
Though my head was raging like a brass band conducted by the Devil
himself, I started to push off the tight covers where I’d been
tucked in, looking around for my crutches and clothes. It was time
to find Blod; she had to know what had happened to Bickerstaff. At
first I was relieved that the Army truck had picked him up,
thinking that meant that he’d be fine, but slowly the thought of
Cooper dying a painful death from infection had crept into my
thoughts. The doctor himself had said it would’ve been better to
leave him for the Iti’s to shoot. I coughed with a horrible
bitterness in my throat, clutching it as I shuffled gradually
towards the edge of the bed.
Where do you
think you’re going, young lady?
Instinctively
I looked around, but I already knew the voice was not in the
room.
your bed this instant.
Being on the
receiving end of psychic words was not something I’d ever thought
about experiencing. I knew of course that most teenagers had their
mothers’ voices in the back of their minds telling them what to do,
but this was taking the concept a bit far. I sat back against the
headboard of the bed, letting my head fall against the wall above
it with a dull thump. Pain surged from the point of impact.
exactly what I’d done, so I bit my lip and ignored her
question.
fast asleep last night, minding my own business, when suddenly I
was in the head of a crying, screaming sixteen year old who
wouldn’t stop raving about the war. Can you guess who that might
have been Kit?
Mum’s voice
started out in the same angry boom, but gradually I could hear it
breaking down into sobs. I had done exactly what she didn’t want me
to do, seen things that would burn themselves permanently into the
back of my mind for the rest of my life. But though those horrid
sights were making my insides squirm even as I sat listening to her
words, I knew already that I wouldn’t regret them. Now that the
shock had passed, I was all the more intent on doing what I could
to end the senseless carnage I had seen.
silence for quite a while, but I knew by the growing heat across my
forehead that Mum was still with me. I put the cold cloth back on
my brow to try and fend her off.
weak hand to adjust the cloth, only to find that my old pink rash
had formed in the crook of my elbow. I watched as it spread,
starting to pant as my mouth ran dry.
went wrong so quickly that I didn’t have time to register it all at
once. A scuffle started with one of our boys at the edge of the
huddle, he managed to break out and kick the nearest Iti in the
gut, sending him flying into the tent where he became tangled in
the crumpled mess of canvas. Shooting broke out and the cluster of
men began to scatter. Henri struggled against his captor until they
both fell over the body of the unconscious guard that the poor dead
captain had knocked out, but Henri got out of it first and
scrambled to grab hold of the Italian’s gun before he could get it
back.
“
Run man, run!”
voice carried over the din of the guns. He grabbed Henri by the
elbow and pulled him down against a steep dune where the Italians
couldn’t aim, then they streaked out in the valley until it rose
back onto the steady plane that would take them back to base.
Keep running,
I pressed deep into
Henri’s mind,
don’t think, just keep
running.
time even for fear; the two men were at the forefront of the other
Desert Rats as they all bolted back towards the distant promise of
safety on the dark horizon. Half the Italians were giving chase
when Henri glanced back; the others with the larger guns were
taking up positions to fire from farther away. Every thump Henri’s
boots made into the sand sent a jarring pain into each rattling
bone of his body; I ached as he carried us on through the random
deadly bullets that were being fired wildly by the pursuers.
A huge boom
broke the sound of heavy breaths and tiny bullets and someone cried
out not far behind Henri. He stopped running and turned, other men
flying past him as one of the Desert Rats lay bleeding on the
ground. The clouds had cleared to shed more moonlight on the scene:
his foot was bloodied and he lay in shock where something much
larger than a bullet had hit him. Henri looked up to see the pack
of Iti’s catching him up, then raced forward to help yanking the
shocked fellow to his feet.
“
You’re an idiot Haugen!” Bickerstaff shouted as he came to
take the man’s other side. He too had turned back at the injured
chap’s cry.
“
What does that make you?” Henri replied, his usually rich
voice wild and terrified.
the injured man on until he came to his senses and though his foot
was leaving a trail of blood, eventually they were all running
again. Except now they were at the back of the pack. Another boom
hit out, firing a shell that thankfully didn’t find them, but when
its echo died out I could hear the grunts and foreign shouts of the
Italians closing in behind them. Then it happened, the horror, the
thing I was wishing against with every bit of strength I had.
A hand
grabbed the back of Henri’s uniform. He struggled to break free but
he was pulled to the ground, a mighty hand gripped hard over his
mouth so he couldn’t even cry out for help. The man with the
crippled foot went charging on ahead of him, the rest of the
escapees were already lost to the dark night. But Bickerstaff was
looking back. He hauled himself around and started running back
towards danger, towards Henri. He had no gun, no way to tackle the
man now pulling Henri back up to his feet, just a grimace like a
bulldog and a will like steel in his eyes.
Another boom
deafened us all; a wind flew past where Henri and his new captor
stood. The moonlight caught Bickerstaff’s outline as the shell
whizzed straight towards him. Everything was strangely slow as
Henri’s wide; disbelieving stare let me take in the whole gory
scene. Bickerstaff tried to leap away from the shell, but the blur
of speeding metal was faster than he was. Thanks to his leap it
found its mark not in his chest, but in his shin. His leg came away
from his body like some great invisible child had snapped the limb
off at the knee. I watched in silent horror as what had been his
calf and foot flew out into the darkness. He screamed out in agony,
dropping to the ground, reaching out towards Henri
desperately.
Henri was
trying to shout, biting into the hand that blocked his mouth, but
the man who held him now wore thick leather gloves. He pulled
Henri’s body securely against his, but both of them looked up
sharply as a set of shining lights suddenly flashed into life in
the dark night. A truck. And then another. British Army vehicles,
driving towards the Iti’s at full pelt. The one who had Henri threw
him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, finally releasing
Henri’s mouth for him to cry out for aid. The Italians took off
running as the trucks got closer to where Bickerstaff lay, but he
was out of focus with the way Henri was banging back and forth
against his captor’s back.
“
Henri!”
shouted, but he could do little more. One of the trucks had stopped
beside him but the other was still pursuing the pack of Italians.
Henri bashed hard against the back of the one carrying him, trying
to reach anywhere he could to batter him, weaken him somehow so
that he would be let go. The Italian shouted something in his own
language and after a few seconds Henri’s eyes showed me someone
else coming into view. The wicked leader with the dark beard had
jogged back to the rear of his men, and with a hard thump on the
back of Henri’s head; I lost sight of everything going on.
When I
returned to my bed, sweating and panting, I knew there was no point
going back yet. They had knocked him unconscious, but perhaps the
army truck would catch up with them yet. All the images of the
carnage in the night flooded my mind, I held my head tightly to try
and push them away. The cold dead eyes of the captain and his
crumpled body. The trail of blood from the soldier’s foot as he ran
on through the sand. Bickerstaff. The way his leg had come away
like a loose part. His deafening scream. Henri’s fear. The
aggressor’s iron grip, the leather gloved hands he had bitten into
in desperation. The cruel, smiling face of the Iti leader as he
brought down his fist to make everything black.
I was crying,
screaming, tearing off my splints and throwing myself out of the
bed to be sick. The sight of it all burned into the back of my
eyes, my body shivered with the strain of racing unaided to the
basin, everything was too much. I collapsed onto the ground with a
hard crack to my back, crying out and sobbing loudly as my limbs
bent under me. My fears for Henri’s safety made me shake all over,
and now I wished I didn’t know what I knew. Until he came to I
would be haunted, not knowing if he’d been recovered or thrown into
the hands of the enemy for good.
The whole
household was alerted to my terrified sobs, but nobody could help
me to calm down. I shook uncontrollably as Idrys and Mam got me
back into my bed, Leighton and Ness watched with terrified faces at
the door. Most fearful of all was Blod, who sat beside me clinging
to my hand. I had news, terrible news, and she knew it all too
well. But Mam was fussing far too much to get rid of her; I
couldn’t explain anything until she was gone. I wasn’t sure I could
even make my mouth form the words yet.
“
It’s a night terror,” Idrys insisted, though his blue eyes
gleaming with concern told me he was lying.
down as I shook and cried. Idrys and Blod left and returned almost
instantly with a large bottle of something. Idrys poured a measure
of yellow liquid into Blod’s shaking hands as she held the glass.
She brought it to my lips, forcing the drink into my mouth. It was
beastly, sour like glue and it burned my mouth all over. I tried to
resist it but Blod pushed my head up and tipped the whole thing
into my mouth. I had no choice but to gulp it down before it burned
a hole through my head. As it settled in my stomach I gave a great
lurch and after a moment my head flushed with dizziness.
The ceiling
melted like water above me and my eyes flickered shut, trying to
contend with whatever that dose of liquid was doing to me. Every
limb felt heavy, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. I tried to
speak but my mouth was a limp, slurring mess. I needed to stay
awake; I needed to get calm, to tell Blod and Idrys what had
happened. I needed to be there when Henri woke up.
But now, like
him, my world was fading into inescapable blackness. Pain surged
though me like a knife had cleaved my heart open and slowly, but
gratefully, I gave in to the urge to fade away.
I had a pounding headache. Someone had put a cold cloth on my brow
that flopped down into my lap when I managed to haul myself up.
Though my head was raging like a brass band conducted by the Devil
himself, I started to push off the tight covers where I’d been
tucked in, looking around for my crutches and clothes. It was time
to find Blod; she had to know what had happened to Bickerstaff. At
first I was relieved that the Army truck had picked him up,
thinking that meant that he’d be fine, but slowly the thought of
Cooper dying a painful death from infection had crept into my
thoughts. The doctor himself had said it would’ve been better to
leave him for the Iti’s to shoot. I coughed with a horrible
bitterness in my throat, clutching it as I shuffled gradually
towards the edge of the bed.
Where do you
think you’re going, young lady?
Instinctively
I looked around, but I already knew the voice was not in the
room.
“
Mum?”
your bed this instant.
Being on the
receiving end of psychic words was not something I’d ever thought
about experiencing. I knew of course that most teenagers had their
mothers’ voices in the back of their minds telling them what to do,
but this was taking the concept a bit far. I sat back against the
headboard of the bed, letting my head fall against the wall above
it with a dull thump. Pain surged from the point of impact.
“
Aren’t you worried you’ll give me a fever?” I asked, checking
my hands quickly for any signs of the salmon pink rash. I loosened
the collar of my nightie, feeling slightly warm.
I’d do a damn sight more than that if I was there with you
right now!
Mum was fuming; every frantic
intonation in her voice came through loud and clear.
I told you to stay away and what did you
do?
exactly what I’d done, so I bit my lip and ignored her
question.
“
How do you even know I’ve been using my powers?” I
demanded.
fast asleep last night, minding my own business, when suddenly I
was in the head of a crying, screaming sixteen year old who
wouldn’t stop raving about the war. Can you guess who that might
have been Kit?
Mum’s voice
started out in the same angry boom, but gradually I could hear it
breaking down into sobs. I had done exactly what she didn’t want me
to do, seen things that would burn themselves permanently into the
back of my mind for the rest of my life. But though those horrid
sights were making my insides squirm even as I sat listening to her
words, I knew already that I wouldn’t regret them. Now that the
shock had passed, I was all the more intent on doing what I could
to end the senseless carnage I had seen.
“
Henri told me once that there are two kinds of people in
war,” I said, looking down at my hands as they balled into weak
fists, “People who run away from the truth of what’s happening and
people who want to make a stand and make things stop.” I steeled
myself against the heat rising up the back of my neck. “I know
which one I am now.”
I don’t care what you think you know,
my mother replied,
I care about
keeping you safe.
“
What I
think
I know?” I answered, enraged. Tiny beads of sweat collected
at my hairline. “What I thought I knew was that my mother and
father were normal people who didn’t lie to their
children!”
silence for quite a while, but I knew by the growing heat across my
forehead that Mum was still with me. I put the cold cloth back on
my brow to try and fend her off.
“
Look Mum, people I care about are in real trouble right now,”
I snapped, “There’s no way I’m not going help them.”
I’m afraid you’re wrong there, sweetheart,
Mum answered sadly.
weak hand to adjust the cloth, only to find that my old pink rash
had formed in the crook of my elbow. I watched as it spread,
starting to pant as my mouth ran dry.
“
No please!” I cried, “Please don’t! It’s not fair. You’re
making me ill, Mum!”
I’m sorry darling,
she whispered,
and it actually sounded like she was, which made what she was doing
all the worse.
I’ll try to help Henri for
you if I can, but I have to keep you out of the way for
now.
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