X-Calibre Trilogy: Long Hard Road Out of Hell

Pennsylvania gave way to New York in time and the weather continued to grow more pleasant as Spring deepened and began to hint at Summer. Every once in a while as we traveled along things would come up that brought into focus how different my world was from Nightcrawler's. For instance, he was exceedingly awed by the natural beauty around us while I would normally have passed by the blooming flowers and rich green foliage of the trees and grasses and blue sky above us with only a few happy glances here and there. When he'd described his life as living in a constant demilitarized zone, he'd meant it. Nothing living grew ever, anywhere, except in Avalon -- a freak patch of Antarctica that was sub-tropical and supported a rich natural ecosystem. Most people didn't get to see it either because they'd cast their lot with the ruling class of Mutants, or because they couldn't afford the passage to Avalon, or because they didn't survive the passage once they undertook it. He told me as we stopped for a break one day that he himself had nearly died getting there. It was an impressive tale that involved an Indian church, a broken-down submarine, and a pirate ship before his mother showed up and took him the rest of the way. When he got to the part when the pirates murdered the lot of passengers I could tell it still affected him that he'd not beene toe to save any of them. I asked if he felt guilty about it. He'd said no, not guilty, but his heart ached when he thought of it. Each person had fought their personal demons of fear and security, had worked up the courage to go and leave all they knew behind, and dared to live for a dream. And they'd all died for it right before his eyes. It had brought home to him why he had to finish the trip to Avalon, why he had to do his part to prove or disprove the elusive Bishop's story of other worlds. Then he'd fallen silent and brooding once more; my oneplyeply was a gentle kiss on his cheek and a squeeze of his shoulder.

We grew closer during this time through conversation and comfortable silence, often flirting with one another in ways that were not too threatening to either of us. A peck on the cheek here, a brushing of fingers there, and the occasional respectful and almost shy request by one of us to sleep next to the other were typical of that. After a time I noticed that whenever something new was introduced into the range of acceptable activity, it was I who added it. Nightcrawler was very conscious of how he behaved after the fight we'd had; I read between the lines and surmised that his mom was probably the sort of woman who smacked people up for getting fresh. I decided I probably would have liked her and even would have looked up to her if I'd had the chance to meet her.

"You think so?" he smiled knowingly. "It would probably be mutual. The fact that you drew a gun on me in our first five minutes together would have meth hth her approval."

I got a good laugh out of that. We were in the middle of a practice fight again, and I was finally to the point where I could throw in some attacking. As before with blocking, he was now trying to build my speed. There were consequences for not being fast enough; most of them involved me hitting the ground.

"You're getting better," he blocked another of my punches, "but you're still too slow." He'd caught me by my extended arm, pulled me to him, and pushed me down and around towards the ground. Frustrated, I grabbed his shirt for leverage and kicked out at his feet. He was surprised enough to lose his balance and we fell to the ground together.

"Ow . . . oh, okay, that wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done." I shifted beneath him, for he'd landed directly on top of me.

"I wasn't going to say it," he grinned wide enough for his fangs to show. "Good try though."

"Thanks." I looked up at him for a moment before asking, "Are you going to let me up?"

"Now that you mention it," he held my wrists to the earth and laid his head on my stomach, "maybe I'll keep you here. You make a good pillow, you know."

"Nightcrawler!" I squirmed, but his grip was stronger than my attempts to get loose. His tail was moving in my peripheral vision and I figured that meant trouble.

"Ja, Miriam?" he kept grinning as he tickled me behind an ear.

"Let me up!" I managed between giggles.

"No, this is too much fun." His tail went down to my neck, then to my sides.

"No -- fair!" I gasped. "No fai-- ah!" I collapsed into peals of laughter when he reached the backs of my knees. He was laughing too, thoroughly enjoying the situation; I wiggled and jerked while pleading for him to stop.

"Oh, all right," he finally relented, his tail brushing against my thigh. "Spoil sport."

"You're not thinking of taking liberties while I'm this compromised, are you?" I teased, trying to catch my breath.

He leaned down so that our faces were mere centimeters apar"You"You shouldn't give me ideas," he purred, moving his tail against me again.

I held his golden eyes as he caressed me under my skirt and realized I was shaking.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his touch becoming very intimate.

"Stop that," I whispered as my body reacted.

"Stop what?" his breath was hot on my neck.

"Touching me," I whimpered even as he touched me just right. I closed my eyes and silently admitted defeat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . You're doing a poor job convincing me of your objection." Soft fur brushed my cheek; lips and teeth found my ear. I surrendered to his treatment of me, surprised at how enticing it was to be at his mercy. Nightcrawler seemed to be enjoying himself too; his breathing had become deeper and heavier, and I occasionally felt the evidence of his arousal as he pressed against me. At long last he pushed me over the edge. The soft noises I'd made became louder; he silenced my cries by covering my mouth with his. His hands released my wrists, moving to my hair as he deepened the kiss. I slid my own hands along his back, up his neck and into his hair. He pressed himself into me, moaning as he did so. It was the most passionate experience of my young life and I didn't want it to stop . . . Unfortunately, we don't always get what we want.

"Es tut mir leid [I’m sorry]," he gasped after breaking the kiss, his eyes troubled. "I didn't mean--"

"What's wrong?" I reached for him as he pushed himself up but it was too late; as soon as we were separated he'd teleported away. I laid in the grass, catching my breath as I replayed what had just happened. I was sure he'd be back soon – he’d just gone off to cool down. He did that occasionally when things became too intimate for him. I smiled as I considered his concern and self-control. When he was ready, it would be something to remember.

I got to my feet after a while and brushed the dirt off my clothes thenetchetched towards the sky. I was more limber now and didn't get sore as easily; for that I was thankful. I was thirsty though, so I headed towards camp for one of the canteens. Now, you know the phrase "too good to last"? That described my general sentiments when I was in sight of the camp. After leaving Charleston, Nightcrawler and I had been remarkably lucky. We'd managed to completely avoid the police and other assorted officialur our only brushes with humanity being at worst the sort of short-lived encounters similar to that with the shop owners outside of New Berlin. As my eyes took in the civilian farmer and the cadre of armed Nazi soldiers talking together as they picked through our belongings, I realized our luck had run out in spades.

"I figger there's just the two of them," the farmer was going on as my clothes were dumped into the dirt. "It was a girl, right pretty if you like 'em dark."

Oh! It's called a tan, you Aryan Asshole! I ducked behind one of the glacial boulders dotting the landscape and continued listening.

"And the other?" one of the officers asked.

"Pretty sure he was a nigger. Real dark, y'know? But weird. He didn't look like no darkie I've ever seen."

My stomach lurched as he went on to describe Nightcrawler in what little detail he had. He got the two main points -- tail and eyes. At least he didn't mention his powers; that meant he still had a big advantage.

"They can't be too far away," the officer addressed the rest of the group. "We've got enough here to get a scent on them both. Round them up and put them in with the rest."

My eyes widened. Scent?? I bit my lip and looked around, trying to stay calm. They'd not seen me yet. It was a half mile to the small creek I'd seen earlier, and water should dampen my smell. With any luck I'd see Nightcrawler along the way. If not, well . . . well, I hoped I'd learned enough to beat up a German Shepherd.

I moved with as much stealth as I could, ducking behind boulders and trees for cover each time I could. After what felt like eternity I reached the shore of the creek, the sand and pebbles crunching under my shoes. I was about to step in when my feet were pulled orom rom under me.

"Good show," the soldier smiled at me, the other end of the whip in his hands. "I've got to say, it's been a while since I've had that kind of a chase."

I tried frantically to unwrap the leather from my ankles. I didn't have an easy time of it, so I pretended defeat and put my hands palm down beside me.

"Let me get that for you, cutie." He kept smiling as he got nearer. I let him undo the whip and lift me before I tossed my handful of sand at his eyes. He lashed out blindly for my face; I blocked and ran.

"Enough screwing around!"

CRACK!

Ow . . . that was my face . . . the ground was coming up to meet me, and it was very blurry.

"Put her in the truck," the same voice commanded. I felt rope going around my limbs, then everything went dark.

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I began to come to while laying against someone. That meant it had been a bad dream. But why did my head feel like it was splitting open? I slowly opened my eyes, taking in alternating strips of light and dark falling over the shadowed forms of many other people. I closed my eyes and opened them again. The same sight met me. Where was I?

"Oh, good. She's waking up."

"God be praised."

"Hey, how are you feeling, Miriam?" someone directly abov ask asked in a gentle voice.

I looked up and saw Esther. I looked around and paid attention to the other people around me. They were dirty, thin, and had fear in their eyes. Like tumblers in a lock, the pieces fell into place and I realized exactly where I was.

"Nightcrawler . . .?" I felt a stab of panic and tried to find him somewhere in the cattlr wer we were packed into.

"Not with us. They only brought you," Esther brushed some hair off my forehead.

No! We'd come so far . . . I closed my eyes to hold back the tears.

The ride was very uncomfortable and very long. About an hour after I woke up a group in one of the corners started weeping – someone in their party had just died. When the mourner's khaddish began to be recited throughout the car I knew I wasn't the only one who was reciting it in advance for those who'd die later with no one present to acknowledge their passing.

Esther and I talked as we waited for the inevitable end of the line. She'd kept conducting others through the Underground and was caught at it in New York City; those who'd not been killed were bound for camps as we were now. I told her of how Nightcrawler and I had traveled and how I guessed we'd been seen coming onto the farmer's property, and how that led to my being here.

"Yeah, I saw him flagging us down as we passed by," she sighed. "It's terrible."

We eventually were taken off the train, corralled into a large group by armed soldiers who were adept at doing this. I deeply inhaled the night air as much to get the smell of that many people out of my lungs as to try to calm myself down again. As we were shuffled along we passed by the dreaded gates with the famous false promise "Arbeit Macht Frei" – Work Makes Freedom. None of us had any illusions that the only freedom offered here was the freedom of the grave. They separated us by sex, sending us to different halves of the camp. Then they separated us by age and health. My heart cracked as I saw the very old and very young being taken from us -- they'd never be seen by the living again past tonight.

I lost sight of Esther after they stripped us of our clothes and sent us in for physical inspection, then disinfection. I came out and was issued a standard prison shift, which I put on hastily. It's odd, but I wasn't as self-conscious about being seen y cay captors as I was by the other prisoners. I felt a twinge of guilt at having more meat on my bones than they did, and didn't want them looking at me. Then it was standing in line for the other infamous aspect of life in the camps: the numbers. They held down my left arm and tattooed a string of digits above my star, going almost all the way up to my elbow. I was assigned a building and a bunk. I was given a pitiful ration of something that had once passed for food. I sat outside in the dirt, nibbling at the crust of bread and looking up at the stars. I wondered where Nightcrawler was right now and if he was in good health.

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As it turns out, Esther convinced someone to switch bunks with her so that she was in the same building as me; because of that I got to see her briefly the next day as we took our afternoon breaks from work. She'd been assigned to the kitchens; I wut tut to work as a seamstress. They drove us hard from the beginning and we struggled to figure out how the politics of the camp worked. I got a crash course in Nazi-prisoner relationships later that night. I was exhausted when they let me go for the evening, so it caught me by surprise when two off-duty soldiers sidled up to me in one of the side streets, one on each side of me. They looked me over in a way that made me very nervous.

"Peter here says you just came in yesterday, little lady. That true?" the one to my right asked me.

"Y—Yes sir. That's true." I tried to smile at him.

"Oh, well welcome to Westchester. What's your name, honey?" Peter slid his arm around my waist.

"Miriam," I answered as he squeezed my hip.

"Pretty name," the first soldier commented. "What happened to your face, Miriam?"

"Something hit me, I'm not sure what."

"Tsk, that's too bad. It looks like it hurts."

"Yes, sir, it does." I ed wed with them into an alley because I didn't have much choice in the matter. An eerie feeling of deja vu came over me.

"Alex has some aspirin for you if you want it," Peter squeezed my hip again.

I licked my lips nervously. "That's very kind of you."

"You have to show us you want it, though." Alex grinned as he pulled the bottle out of his pocket and rattled it.

"I—I’m not sure what you mean," I played dumb to stall for time.

"It's really simple." Peter turned to face me, positioning me between them and the wall of one of the bunk houses. "You do us a favor, we do you a favor. A pretty girl like you can have a good life here if you're nice."

"And if I decide to not be nice?" I asked quietly.

"Then we'd have our fun with you and make it so you're not pretty anymore." Alex caressed my wounded cheek. "I don't think you want that."

Oh boy, not a good decision to be presented with. At least they were offering me a choice in how they took advantage of me. "What do I need to do for some aspirin?" I glanced at them in turn.

The silver-cappnd ond of a polished walking stick came down next to Peter's cheek, catching both of the soldier's attentions. "All you need to do," the stranger answered for them, "is say, 'May I please have some aspirin, Herr Soldat?' And Herr Soldat will gladly give you as much aspirin as you need because he is an upstanding gentleman in the service of the Reich."

Peter and Alex turned to face the man, who was well-dressed and very clean-cut. He ignored me for the moment in order to stare them down. The younger men dropped their eyes and shuffled nervously.

"Now that we've got that straight, boys," he spoke again with the same official courtesy, "I think you should go play a hand of poker with the other lads."

"Yes, sir."

"Ja, mein Herr."

They ran off as quickly as was respectful, leaving me alone with the man.

"Are you all right, young lady?" he asked me, offering me his arm.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, too took his arm – what else was I supposed to do? – and let him walk me around the complex as though we were strolling a city's streets. Considering the circumstances, he talked with me about the oddest things. Could I type? Did I know how to dance? What were my favorite books and why did I like them? I humored him politely and occasionally asked him similar questions, which he answered eagerly.

"Ah, it's wonderful to have an intelligent conversation with a lovely ladch ach as yourself," he sighed, looking up at the night sky. "It's a shame, but the cliché about all beauty and no brains is too often true."

I blushed at his compliment and plucked up some courage. "Please don't think me ungrateful, sir, but why are we having this conversation?"

He smiled at me and patted my handich ich was still curled around his arm. "Because, pretty Miriam, I'm deciding if I enjoy your company. You see, I am looking for a young woman who can take dictation for me during the morning and accompany me later that evening to the society functions that my position require

"I didn't realize the camps are usually sources for such employees." I looked over and up at him.

"They're not," he smiled. "But when I heard your exchange with those boys, I was impressed with they way in which you kept your head. I simply had to find out more about you." He took a step back from me and sized me up. "And I like what I see in you. You'll clean up very nicely, and with a bit of polishing you'll fit nicely into high society, I think."

I felt like I was going to faint. He wanted to take me out of here after talking to me for twenty minutes? Where did he want me to go?

"Berlin," he smiled when I asked, just as he was dropping me off outside the shack that housed my bunk. "Sie sprechen Deutsches, nicht Sie [You speak German, don’t you]?"

"Selbstverstaendlich, mein Herr [Of course, sir]," I smiled demurely. "Was Art der Frage ist die [What kind of question is that]?"

"Fantastisch [Fantastic]." He was obviously delighted. "I will come for you in the morning, Fraulein."

I went inside and fell onto my mattress, shaking with the disbelief that was washing over me.

"Oh, this is wonderful, Miriam!" Esther was bouncing in place as though she were a child on the eighth night of Chanukah. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you even know who he is?"

"Fill me in," I kicked off moes oes and slid under my meager covers.

"His name is Erich Heidelmann. He's one of the Reich's head code-breakers – the others in the kitchen have been talking about him all day – and he's here on some sort of business with other officials. The rumor is that he's known for having a beautiful woman on his arm at all the big social events in Berlin. I hear he treats his baubles very well, too."

"Great. I'm about to become a high-end prostitute, then?"

"It's all in the perspective," Esther shrugged. "You could look at it that way, or you could see it as God watching out for you."

"If God were watching out for us, we wouldn't be here in the first place." I rolled over to signal that our conversation was over. Esther tried to keep me in the discussion but my thoughts had already turned to someone else. I could refuse Herr Heidelmann's request and hope he'd find me and rescue me . . . but if that didn't work out'd s'd surely die here. Nightcrawler would understand, I tried to convince myself as I fell asleep. He knew about hard choices, after all . . .