Love of a Captive

The next three days passed by slowly. Malachi grew restless as his body healed from the damage it had been dealt, and he chafed at being restricted to this one single room. He yearned to try and escape on his own, to just leave Adrian and the commanders and the coming war behind. Because war was coming, he knew. Even Adrian had admitted as much; that it was only a matter of time before Germany, or one of its allies, grew too confident and attacked a country that had enough influence to fight back.

It was even rumored that Adolf Hitler himself was prepared to go into hiding if war broke out. Malachi hoped that he never got the chance, and that he and his proud Aryan nation were torn down before his eyes before he died staring down the barrels of the enemy’s guns.

Adrian came to visit him twice daily, as promised. He fed him, and sat with him for a short while, during which they would either talk, or argue, depending on Malachi’s mood. During those few days, Malachi started to see what he had seen the first time he had met Adrian, just over two weeks ago.

So much had happened that it seemed like they had known each other for much longer, and the fact that Adrian had conceded defeat and agreed to go with him out of the country still surprised him. Surely two weeks hadn’t been enough for Malachi to get a strong enough hold on him for him to be unable to resist? Of course, it’s not like Malachi had really given him a choice; Adrian could go with him, or watch him die trying to escape on his own.

Finally, in the early morning hours of the fourth day, Adrian came to him and tossed a pile of clothes on his bed. Upon a quick examination, Malachi realized that they were the clothes of a Nazi soldier. He wrinkled his nose at the uniform, but slipped them on without further complaint. His freedom was worth so much more than the tiny bit of pride he was swallowing.

Dressed and ready, Malachi quietly followed Adrian out the door. This was only the second time that he had seen the hallway, and the fact that he was on his way to freedom made him both elated and cautious. If he was caught now, or if Adrian betrayed him, then he was as good as dead. His body still ached, enough to slow him down if he was pursued.

Adrian led him straight to the front door, and Malachi followed closely, surprised and a little anxious. Why the front door? Surely a back door would be less patrolled? He had his answer as soon as he stepped outside; the camp was gone. No soldiers milled around the lawn, no tents stood dotting the grass, and only blackened fire circles and trampled grass showed that this place had once been entirely covered by Nazi soldiers.

Malachi looked up at Adrian, who was scanning the yard quickly. “When did they leave?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hear them.” It worried him that he had been so exhausted that he hadn’t heard an entire field of soldiers tearing down camp.

Adrian answered his distractedly. “I put some medicine in your drink last night to make you sleep. I didn’t want you to try and escape on your own after the soldiers left, and I needed you to get as much rest as possible, because this trip probably isn’t going to be easy. You get to ride in the back of that, again,” he finished, pointing to one of the covered trucks.

Deciding whether or not it was worth getting angry over Adrian drugging him, Malachi looked at the truck with trepidation. He remembered how much it had jostled his body after he had been captured, when he had been healthy and strong. He wasn’t strong now, and his body wasn’t exactly in the best of shape.

Straightening and moving towards the truck with purpose, Malachi said, “Let’s just get out of here, okay?” The pain wouldn’t matter, not in the face of such freedom as he had been promised. Behind him, Adrian just chuckled and followed. When they reached the truck, Adrian helped him up into it and handed him a rifle.

When Malachi just looked at him, he grinned. “You’re a soldier, are you not? In the shadows of the truck, they won’t be able to tell that you have dark hair as long as they don’t get too close. But all soldiers that ride in the trucks have guns, in case we should be attacked by rebels. Oh, and don’t worry. The gun’s not loaded,” he reassured Malachi.

The younger man just scowled at him. Pity. With another chuckle, his eyes bright with excitement and mirth, Adrian gave him a quick wave before moving around to the front of the truck. Seconds later, they were on their way down the road, heading for whatever country Adrian had decided would be safest for them to run to.

The next several hours dragged by, fraught with anxiety. Well, at least Malachi was anxious. He had no idea what Adrian was feeling. They had passed other trucks carrying German soldiers, and more than a few that he suspected were carrying prisoners. He was careful to keep his face out of view of anybody passing by or following the truck, allowing only the gun and one booted foot to cross the sunlight. After all, he was in a Nazi uniform.

They had been forced to stop a few times to refuel the truck, and to grab some quick food to eat on the way, but for the most part, they kept moving. Occasionally, they’d stop to relieve themselves somewhere off of any main roads, but even those short breaks were done in silence as they hurried to start moving again.

Fortunately, Adrian was careful to take lesser used side roads whenever the opportunity to do so arrived. It left Malachi aching and exhausted to be bounced around so much, jolted every time the truck wheels hit a pothole, but he was afraid to allow himself to relax enough to fall asleep. What would happen if they were stopped, or if he were jolted out of his seat, or even if he leaned too far forward?

What they were doing was risky, and their only saving grace was that they were fleeing in plain sight down roads that dozens of similar trucks were travelling. Even with only one driver and a passenger, it wasn’t suspicious – they had probably just dropped off some prisoners, after all, and were headed back home.

Now and again, Malachi would catch a glimpse of road and try to get his bearings. It appeared that they were heading north and east. So, Adrian was most likely taking them into the Netherlands. When he thought it over, it seemed to be the most practical solution. After all, the Netherlands weren’t Germany’s allies, and they were a small country with a coastline. If it came to the worst situation, they could always flee by boat across the North Sea to the United Kingdom, where they would probably be safe.

He wondered idly why they weren’t headed south for France, but then realized that doing so would require them to remain in Germany for several more hours, which would increase their chances of being caught. Malachi would no doubt die, or be sent straight to a concentration camp, and Adrian would be tried and executed for treason.

As darkness fell once more, the truck rolled to a stop off a dirt path. Adrian hopped out of the truck and came around to the back. “We’re stopping here for the night,” he explained, gesturing under the bench Malachi was sitting on. The younger man looked where he was pointing and found a crate that contained blankets and pillows. There was a tent as well, but Malachi knew that the tent was only to be used if it was raining or something when they stopped for the night.

Dragging out the blankets, Malachi set up the bedding quickly while Adrian pulled out some cold rations for them to wolf down before bed. Their conversation remained neutral, talking only about the weather and the time remaining until they were out of Germany. They spoke in muted tones, afraid to let their voices carry, even in such an isolated area.

Finished eating, and having never even started a fire, Malachi used a small canister of water to clean himself off a little, trying to get rid of some of the road dust that had settled on his skin and in his hair. He vowed to himself that as soon as they were out of Germany, he’d find a place where he could take a hot shower and wash this entire misadventure down the drain.

Finished, he moved over the bedding and snuggled between the two layers, burrowing down into the covers and closing his eyes. He debated silently with himself while he waited for Adrian to finish cleaning himself up as well, but he already knew the outcome. After all, he had been the one to set up the bedding, hadn’t he?

A few moments later, Adrian shuffled up behind him before pausing, hesitant. Malachi sighed; the soldier wasn’t certain if he had just been booted to the truck without blankets or not, since Malachi had taken every last one of them. Without turning around, Malachi mumbled, “Come on, Adrian. It’s chilly out, and there aren’t that many blankets, so we’ll have to share.”

Another moment of considering silence, and then Adrian slipped off his boots and socks, kneeling down for a moment before lifting the covers just enough to slip underneath, the long line of his body an instant heat source. Malachi sighed at the odd sensations sliding through him; part of him was grateful for the heat, and for Adrian’s concession, but the other part was still tense and frightened. After all, Adrian had hurt him once before, though it had been by his request. But more than that, he had allowed the commander to hurt him, even knowing what the man was capable of. Then again, perhaps he hadn’t, Malachi mused.

Unable to keep his back turned, Malachi turned over so that he was facing Adrian, who was staring at him guardedly, those cobalt blue eyes shuttered as they watched him, waiting. “The other…playthings,” Malachi murmured tentatively, not entirely certain anymore that he wanted an answer, “did the commanders do to them what they did to me?”

Adrian sighed, closing his eyes as shame and regret flashed across his expression. Opening them again, the Nazi soldier stared at him steadily, an old pain in the shadows of his eyes as he spoke. “No, never before had that particular commander come to my home, or to any camp at which I was present. I had heard that there were those who preferred to cause pain and see how quickly they could break a victim, but I had never met one in person.”

“But more than that,” Adrian murmured, “I didn’t care. Other than knowing that none of the others were as torn up as you were when I returned after that man had left, I knew nothing about what happened to them. Eventually, they either died at the hands of a Nazi soldier, or they took their own life. You’re the only one who has ever survived long enough to try and escape,” he admitted, his voice sounding vaguely wondering.

Malachi snorted. “I wouldn’t have been able to escape without your help, and you know it,” he retorted, but there was no real heat in his tone. He was too tired and wrung out to be angry at the man who was trying to save both their lives. “I just had to know, even if I didn’t want to.” With that, he determinedly closed his eyes to go to sleep. A few moments later, Adrian chuckled, but didn’t reply. Instead, a warm hand came to rest lightly on his waist, and Malachi found himself relaxing further, as he drifted off to sleep, warm and safe.