For a moment, they were all silent. Phillip didn’t know where to look. Up in the trees for more monsters? Across the field for more Nazis? The American staggered forward, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“You gotta . . . send them back through the barrier,” he said.

Then he dropped to his knees.

Simone tossed a sharp look toward Phillip as she leveled her rifle at the boy. She was asking his opinion, he realized, once the shock wore off. As to whether they could trust him. Well, there was a first time for everything.

“You a Nazi?” Phillip asked, shuffling toward him.

The boy grimaced as he shook his head. “American. Same as you, I’m guessing.”

“What’s the capital of Idaho?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’m from New York!”

Well, that much checked out. “Name the Andrews Sisters.”

“Patty, Maxene, and . . . Shit, I don’t remember. Maxene’s the cute one anyway.”

“The blonde?” Phillip challenged.

“No way. The dark-haired one.”

Phillip couldn’t argue with that. He jerked his chin at Simone, and grudgingly, she lowered her rifle.

The girl who’d plowed into Phillip was sitting in the dead leaves, arms wrapped tight around her chest. God, she was so thin, frail as a bird. The ferocity in her glare, though, was enough to warn off someone three times her size. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he realized he was staring.

“Don’t suppose you know the capital of Idaho?” Phillip asked her.

She huffed and turned to Simone. “Are there more of them coming?” Her English accent sounded sturdy and husky, though her voice was worn out, like a threadbare towel.

“Not that I can see.” Simone’s thumb flicked the cocking mechanism of her rifle, louder than was strictly necessary. “But if you don’t start explaining yourselves . . . What those things are, and how you were able to get rid of them—”

“Liam. Liam Doyle.” The blond boy moved to extend his right hand to Phillip, then thought better of it, wincing and readjusting his grip on his shoulder. “I can explain, but you’ve gotta give us something, too. We need help. We need . . .”

“Free French. Libération-Nord,” Phillip said, to an annoyed groan from Simone. “Well, she is. I can’t really go into details as to what I’m doing here, or why, but—I’m with her.”

The dark-haired boy shuffled over to the girl who’d plowed into Phillip, and they murmured in German. Finally she lifted her head. “Rebeka. And my brother is Daniel.” Her glassy brown eyes met Simone’s, challenging.

“Listen,” Liam said, “if you’ve got a safe house we can go to, or—somewhere secure—”

“If you’ve set a military compound on fire, nowhere will be safe for you,” Simone said, her tone flat.

Liam gritted his teeth. “There’s gotta be something we can trade you. Tell me what you want to know.”