| Subject: Chapter 309 - Part 2 (16 and above (end of chapter 309) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 29, 07:25:50am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Chapter 307 - Part 1 (16 and above)" on Monday, October 22, 07:10:11am
He wasn't certain how much later it was when he came to, but it was to find that his leg was being bandaged by the older man from the house, who was muttering under his breath, "Very bad! Leading him all this way with this . . ." But then the words faded into a sort of grudging murmur. The girl was standing beside him, holding her disgust at the details of this medical treatment back with a will--a bottle of alcohol in her hand. Bill sat on a nearby block of hay, his arms folded, watching them both with deep suspicion, his gun still on his hip. But the fact that Michael was alive to be conscious again made him too relieved to worry very much.
He tried to sit up but quickly discovered how bad an idea that was, falling back heavily. He was lying on the barn floor on what seemed to have once been a newly-washed bed sheet but was probably now only a rag. Fortunately, part of it had been rucked up under his head, so he didn't concuss himself falling back. Right then, little miracles were all he asked for.
His movement brought the old man up to him an instant later, his hand on his shoulder. His eyes were a light green, but they held nothing of the distant, dazed wanderings of some elderly people; the quiet insightfulness there could probably have given Adrian a rare challenge. "No, no. You've lost too much blood to move quickly. Lie still."
"What's he say?" Bill asked, showing no sign of sympathy or concern for his comrade. He just seemed glad to have his translator back.
"He says I'm doing better but need to rest," the hurt man purposely mistranslated. There would be no good gained in admitting how weak he really was.
The old man beside him frowned slightly at this. Apparently, he knew some English. Still, when Michael's eyes wandered, not wanting to explain, he let it go. He was obviously at least as canny as the actor.
His would-be doctor moved on a moment later, then, patting his patient's shoulder, trying to reassure him. "It's a very bad break. I've treated it, sewn you up." Michael was suddenly abidingly glad that he had been unconscious. He tried to move his leg, nearly fainted again from the pain--but also felt something solid there; the old man shrugged, noticing. "Part of a broom handle." The shrug returned, as he looked away. "War makes you creative."
It was his daughter--or whatever she might be--who finished for him. "Papa was an orderly during the Great War." She grimaced, clearly realizing how times change--the term seeming terribly archaic--shifting the subject. "You just need some rest."
Bill interrupted with what would soon become a standard comment, "What'd they say?"
Michael sighed. "He treated my wound," he condensed.
His comrade, who had clearly watched the whole procedure, rolled his eyes. "I never would've guessed."
"He also says I need rest."
Thankfully, this time, Bill didn't comment.
This opening allowed Michael to return to his helpers--but they didn't allow for any thanks. "I'm Stephan," the man said, before nodding toward the girl. "My daughter is Sophie." The girl smiled in a way which reminded him far too much of his Nikita. "We're the only ones on this farm. My wife died three years ago."
By this time, Michael had dragged his attention back to the man--thoughts of his own wife too great a torment, considering how desperately far he was from safety--appreciative not only for his help but for the information he knew they needed. "Thank you. We're sorry to intrude like this . . ."
Stephan didn't let him continue, shaking his head, as he rose. "Don't. Those damn Germans deserve anything they get."
This statement was true enough, to all of them, but Michael was left with one more small, lingering concern--the details of their immediate safety hopefully now assured; he looked back to Sophie apologetically, praying that any suspicions he had were only due to his caution. "Why were you out in the barn at this time of night?"
Sophie took no offense, smiling back at him, a sight which would remind him of his desperate need to return to his wife many times during the days to come. Her head nodded toward the back of the barn, guiding Michael's eyes. At the sight of the, incredibly pregnant, cow which was mooing there, Bill snorted--obviously picking up this much of their conversation. "She's got a few more hours before she drops it, I'd guess." Stephan nodded sagely--which the younger airman fortunately missed. They would all be better off if Ackerman found nothing to suspect.
It was with this strange beginning that the pair of fugitives were kept safe, for now--the simple relief of shelter and medical treatment enough to keep the fugitives' desperation at bay. There were still a million decisions yet to be made, too many dangers to be addressed. At least for the moment, their pursuers were elsewhere. That was all the pair would ask for, just now.
Extra note: Stephan and Sophie are not intended as alternate versions of old LFN characters, so forgive me if they reflect any of their names.
[End of Part 309]
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