Page 89 of Beehive
“You’re right,” I said, lying for his sake. “We’ll get through this.”
He closed his eyes again, exhausted or in pain. Probably both.
I checked his bandage again, the four hundredth time that day. It was still tight, but I worried about infection. I’d have to find something else to clean it with soon or at least get some antibiotics. Berlin was picked clean, but maybe there was a hidden cache somewhere. Even a Soviet field medic’s kit would do, if I could get my hands on one without getting shot in the process.
Outside, a distant rumble rattled my confidence further.
A truck passing on the next street over, perhaps. The Soviets moved through the city like wraiths. If they found us with the statue and canister . . . I shuddered to think of what would happen.
Thomas needed rest, but we couldn’t risk staying in one place too long, especially not with all the secrets Visla shared with our pursuers. I wondered how much they knew. Probably everything.
The gravity of her betrayal finally sank in.
None of our safe houses were safe.
No drop site could be trusted.
None of our contacts were viable.
Ourhandlerhad turned on us. In our line of work, there could be no greater treachery. Until we contacted Manakin or someone we personally knew, no one was worthy of trust.
“I need to find a way out of the sector,” I said quietly, almost to myself. Thomas opened his eyes again, listening. “We have to get you to a doctor, and we need to get the film to the OSS. We’re running out of time. The longer we’re here, the greater the chance Uncle Joe’s boys will find us.” I looked down at him and tried to put resolve into my voice. “I’ll get you out. I swear it.”
He searched my face, and something in his gaze softened. “Don’t . . . do anything stupid.”
I huffed a laugh. “My dear, doing stupid isyourspecialty, not mine.”
He managed a ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was better than nothing.
I moved to the pile of items I’d gathered and took a quick inventory.
Along with the statue and canister, I had a half loaf of bread, a half-eaten tin of something like beans, and a flask of water. There was also Thomas’s gun and the gun I’d taken off one of the Soviets, along with my own pistol. Ammunition was short. I hadmaybe a dozen rounds total. Not enough for a firefight. I’d have to be careful. Pick my battles. Maybe find some help—if there was anyone left in this sector who wouldn’t turn on us.
Thomas watched me.
I felt his gaze even when I wasn’t looking at him. I tried to keep my motions calm and deliberate, not wanting to show the panic I felt knotting my gut. The last thing I wanted was for him to see how close I was to snapping. He needed to rest and heal. My job was to make that possible.
“You were unconscious for a long time,” I said, trying to fill the silence with gentle words. “I wasn’t sure you’d wake up. I tried talking to you, telling you stories, anything to keep you anchored. I’m sure most of it was nonsense.” I smiled weakly. “I’m just glad you’re back.”
Thomas’s throat bobbed again. He closed his eyes, taking slow breaths.
“Hurts,” he said after a beat, his voice ragged.
“I know.” I bent close, brushing his hair back again, feeling how hot his forehead was. My lips were cool against his skin. “I’ll find something to help with the pain.”
“I’ll be all right,” he croaked. “You do what you have to.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said, more sharply than I intended. His eyes snapped open, so I softened my tone. “Not yet, at least. Let’s wait a while, see if we can move you. Maybe we can find a doctor without splitting up.”
Thomas attempted a nod. Every movement looked like agony.
My fists clenched helplessly at my sides. I wanted to take his pain away, to shoulder it myself if I could, but life didn’t work that way. All I could do was be here, keep him safe, keep him warm, and hope my decisions led us somewhere better.
We fell into a heavy silence.
I heard dripping water somewhere in the building, probably from a broken pipe.
The wind moaned against the broken window frame.
