Aleksandra

by Heidi Vanlandingham

  Later, after everyone had been forced into several of the storage rooms for the second night, he lay staring at the ceiling, thankful for the small safety lights near the doors; otherwise, the room would be pitch black. "Ephraim, are you awake?” His friend grunted but stayed silent. “Thank you for your help today. I would never have been able to take care of all four crematoriums.”

  “You give us hope, my friend,” Ephraim’s low voice whispered. “You make us believe we can change our future and survive this nightmare. Antoni will get you into the shower control room tomorrow morning.”

  “know the guards and others here. Where's the best place to hide these?" he whispered to the man lying nearby.

  He closed his eyes, his thoughts turning to the next day and what he still had to accomplish in the time he had left before the prisoner uprising began. Sabotaging the gas canisters and whatever else he could find was imperative. To stop the killing, at least in this area, he had to succeed.

  His eyes snapped opened. "Have you talked to Antoni?"

  "He is waiting for my signal and will get you upstairs to the control room before dawn."

  Jakob lay on the hard ground, wishing he was back in the cave with the others...with Aleksandra. At least there, he had a blanket to cover himself with. As deep as they were underground, the air was chilled and damp. Just before the guards had locked the door to their overnight prison, Ephraim had pointed out Antoni. The man was young and still had a full head of curly dark hair, so he hadn't been in the ghetto as long as the others. He wished he'd had a chance to talk to him, though. He didn't like going into battle with someone he hadn't vetted for himself.

  As it had done a thousand times throughout the day, Aleksandra's face appeared in his mind. He couldn't help but wonder what a life with her would be like after the war. Would she want to return to Russia or stay with him? Where would he go? After everything that had happened to him and his family back in Berlin, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to Germany. Maybe they could settle somewhere in between?

  Listening to the sounds of periodic coughing, he swallowed a humorless chuckle. Who was he kidding? Why would she be interested in someone like him? He had stopped feeling the day his parents had been arrested. His life revolved around anger and revenge. He wasn't even sure he remembered how to care properly for someone, much less settle down. From the moment he'd joined the Resistance, he had found his calling. He loved always being on the go and didn't object to camping or living in caves. What kind of life was that for a woman? Aleksandra may be courageous and a soldier, but she would always be soft and feminine. She would never fit into the life he had carved out for himself.

  Jakob?

  Her voice flowed into his mind like slow molasses, coating and soothing away the aggravation he'd felt moments before. As the tenseness eased from his stiff body, he smiled. Is everything okay?

  Of course, it is. We are finalizing plans for the uprising. We should be able to smuggle in a few more rifles and boxes of ammunition through the sewer tunnel. Abba and the others have helped quite a few of the prisoners escape into the forest to sabotage Nazi equipment along with the occasional attack. They are standing by, waiting for your signal. The fighting will begin in the early morning hours the day after tomorrow. Bernard wants to begin at first light, but Mikhail is insisting they start sooner, while it's still dark. He believes a surprise assault will work better.

  He felt a twinge of amusement at the mental image Aleksandra created as the two men argued. If it's any consolation, I agree with Mikhail.

  Her soft chuckle rippled through his mind. You don't want to know what Bernard just said but Mikhail sends his thanks. The attack will begin an hour before dawn. Jakob, are you well?

  I'm fine. When I didn't hear from you throughout the day, I figured communicating this way wouldn't work.

  Natalya is amplifying our connection. It's draining for her, so we can't talk very long.

  I'm inside a cement bunker with walls at least nine feet thick, so it's no wonder. Even with Natalya's help, I'm surprised we're able to. Ephraim and another man, Antoni, have helped me. I disabled two of the four ovens late this afternoon and have never seen anything like them. Their size alone is intimidating, but their power system is nothing like I have seen before and aren't fueled by coke like at the other camps. I overheard the guards talking about a new synthetic fuel the German scientists have perfected. I don't have to tell you how devastating this will be. The Nazis will have a virtually limitless fuel supply.

  Jakob, you should know when Natalya and I were scouting south of Vilna, we came across another group of werewolves—

  What!

  Please don't shout. It sounds like your voice is amplified and hurts.

  He forced himself to calm down, but it wasn't easy. Are you and Natalya all right?

  We're fine. Natalya's ability to use fire is quite handy, and I had my rifle with me. We were able to take out all five of them without getting a scratch on either of us.

  Five? He pulled in several deep breaths, remembering the group they'd encountered near Kursk. These were monsters with unknown abilities and what seemed to be a great amount of strength. Aleksandra...What felt like fingers trailed down his cheek, and he jerked in surprise.

  I have to go now—oh, I received another poem—

  Her soft voice abruptly disappeared. Aleksandra! He sat up, willing her to answer him but only heard silence in his head and snores from the men sleeping around him. Dropping his face into his hands, he swallowed a moan, wishing he was anywhere but here. He needed to make sure she was all right.

  Fighting for an inner calm, he tried to concentrate on his own plan of action. Thoughts of his fellow prisoners—the lack of proper food and water, their skeletal bodies and ravaged features—filled him with the familiar anger. It gave him focus for what he needed to do. It gave him purpose.

  He forced himself to lay back down and rest, something he hadn't accomplished since the last day he'd seen his parents and made a new vow. He would finish his mission in this hellhole and escape back to the others—to Aleksandra. It was as necessary to him as breathing to be the one to protect her against the ravages of war and the monsters plaguing them all.

  Closing his eyes, he painted her portrait in his mind’s eye, using the blackness as a background. He tilted his head enough so that it lay at an angle and faced the dim, yellow light on the back wall above the outer door, illuminating the painting of her face and gave her a surreal glow. Her image faded as he slipped into an uneasy slumber.

  Jakob huddled next to Antoni and waited for the guards to leave the control room. Behind the heavy metal door were the shower room controls and the Nazis' cache of Zyklon B gas canisters. They had managed to stay one step ahead of the soldiers as they herded the prisoners back into their nightly cell. He now knew these men and needed to be thorough in his sabotage to save as many of their lives as he could. He refused to give the Nazis an easy fix and had to make the destruction as close to permanent as possible.

  The moment the door closed behind the last guard, Antoni grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a gray metal door with the words Zyklon B and giftgas painted on it along with a skull and crossbones between them. His new friend opened the door, and they slipped inside, closing the door behind them. The room was long and narrower than he expected. They hurried down an aisle between the many shelves filled with what seemed to be thousands of stacked gas canisters, heading toward the controls on the shared wall between this room and the shower chamber.

  Jakob stopped a few feet from the controls and studied the pipes going through the cement in front of him, the floor beneath them, and the ceiling above, which had to be the showers above and below this floor. He glanced at the nearest shelf and noticed something square sticking out from between the canisters, its lighter gray color standing out.

  "Yes!" he hissed and pulled out the toolbox. Snapping open the outside clasps, he found a flat-head screwdriver and small chisel. Taking the two tools
, he started at one side of the wall and worked his way down the line of tubing, unscrewing the connectors and letting them fall to the floor. Antoni followed behind him, picking up the screws and connectors to dispose of later.

  Jakob slashed the tubes, making them unusable, then turned his attention to the controls. The night was almost over, and the uprising would soon begin outside, but he couldn't stop now. Each on and off switch was labeled for a particular tube and floor. There was also a master switch for each floor. He was halfway done with removing the switches and grinding them under the heel of his boot when they heard the door to the control room squeak open then close. He motioned with one hand for Antoni to be quiet and move behind one of the far shelves.

  Turning the screwdriver around in his grip, he waited until his friend was hidden before creeping to the end of the nearest shelf and pressed his back against the cool metal. He held his breath, listening to the soft sound of boots drawing closer behind him until the slender SS guard he'd seen leaving earlier appeared beside him.

  The guard turned, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to shout. Without hesitation, Jakob slammed the screwdriver into the man's throat, and the sound of choking gurgles filled his ears. Grabbing at him, he tried to keep the body from falling but because of the dead weight, he couldn't keep a solid grip and the man fell to the floor with a thud. His head hit the shelf behind him, loudly knocking over three or four rows of canisters.

  Stepping back, his gaze darted down the row of shelves and back, waiting for another guard to appear and hoping there wasn't one. In the silence, he heard the scrape of material followed by a sniffing sound, which confused him. He hadn't seen any dogs in the ghetto, nor with the soldiers since his arrival, so was there another soldier in the room? Why was he sniffing? An uneasy feeling settled over him.

  He waited. Hearing nothing more, he moved away from the end of the shelf. A very large man stepped from between two of the shelves and settled into a wide-legged stance in front of him. Before Jakob could make a move or try to defend himself, the soldier advanced. Almost a head taller and sporting shoulders twice the width, the German pulled back his arm and landed a solid punch. Jakob heard a crack and felt the skin on his cheek split open as a sharp stabbing pain filled his head.

  The soldier inched closer, the soles of his boots sliding over the cement. If Jakob didn't move out of the way, he wouldn't last against this man's fist. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Forcing his feet to move sideways toward the wall where the ruined tubing hung, the man swung again, but this time Jakob was a bit more prepared and ducked, letting the large fist dent the cement wall just above his head. Powder and small chunks trickled to the floor.

  The soldier grabbed his bloody hand and let out a low growl. Chills coursed through Jakob, the eerie sound vaguely familiar and not at all comforting. Like a bad dream, he remembered exactly where he'd heard it before. The soldier's eyes narrowed, spearing his as Jakob backed away. He could have sworn they glowed a fiery red.

  "You will pay for this," the brute pointed to his fallen partner, "for him." He stepped closer. "And most of all, for being born." The man's voice dropped lower on the last few words, sounding raspier and definitely more nasally.

  Jakob shook his head, trying to convince himself it was fatigue causing him to imagine the soldier's skin darkening. The material around the buttons on his stained shirt separated then pulled apart, each disc becoming a missile as it popped off. His chest swelled to barrel-like proportions. Jakob's gaze rose as the man grew several more inches. His nose, mouth, and chin elongated, the teeth becoming longer and sharper.

  The screwdriver gripped in one hand wasn't going to be enough against this monster. Jakob knew what he was seeing, but part of his mind refused to accept it as the man's body contorted, changing in front of him. This soldier was one of the werewolves, which meant there would be more. How many? The prisoners and those partisans helping on the outside would have no idea the danger they were in. He shuffled backward, trying desperately to think of a successful plan to defeat the beast and came up with nothing.

  He was going to die here.

  The man-wolf let out a howl and charged. The only thing that saved Jakob from immediate death was the beast's paw slipping on the pool of blood from the dead soldier.

  Jakob dropped into a crouch and slid to one side, trying to get out of the way of the long claws aiming for his stomach. The beast's paw slashed through air, but it recovered and turned, catching Jakob's side with the other paw. Pain seared through him as the knife-like claws sliced through skin and muscles.

  Hearing a noise behind him, he realized he'd forgotten Antoni was still in the room. "Get out of here," he hollered, not wanting to say his friend's name. He didn't want to die knowing he'd caused another man's death because he was careless. He also didn't want the monster in front of him going after Antoni—and he knew he would.

  Edging between two shelves, permitting the beast only limited movement, he searched for a weapon—any kind of weapon. What he wouldn't give for his rifle...even the knife he had to leave behind. Not having a gun was one thing, but the knife had been given to him by his father when Jakob turned ten. Other than bathing, it had never left his body. He almost felt naked without it.

  Out of habit, his hand dropped to where the blade was normally strapped to his belt, his fingertips brushing over the worn material of his pants. A quick flash caught his gaze, and he glanced at the shelf next to his head. His eyes widened when he saw his knife lying in front of the stacked gas canisters.

  Forcing himself to look at the monster, he reached out, as if to steady himself. His fingers curled around the familiar handle, which his father had carved from the deer antler of Jakob's first kill. With a quick mental thank you to whoever was watching over him, his knife clutched in his hand, he stood his ground.

  "You may kill me, beast, but I am going to die knowing I've inflicted a lot of pain as well."

  "I heal fast, traitor," the beast's gravelly voice boomed. "I hear the accent with each word you speak. You are German, yet you fight against us?"

  "I fight on the side of humanity and for the justice these people deserve. Hitler has made Germany into something horrible, so yes, I will continue fighting against you."

  The beast’s mouth opened in what looked like the parody of a smile, but Jakob couldn't be sure. To him, the man-wolf's expression was evil. "It matters not because your life is at an end. You are going to die." The beast lunged. His paw glanced off the metal shelf but still made contact with Jakob's head.

  Jakob's vision blurred, but he dropped into a crouch and raced between the monster's body and the shelf, his knife slicing through flesh and muscle as he went. Switching hands, he twisted around and stabbed, the blade easily penetrating the softer tissue under the beast's raised arm.

  The werewolf howled in pain and fury but couldn't turn around fast enough in the tight space. Jakob took advantage, plunging the blade into the werewolf's side and aiming for the kidneys. Jakob turned, and with both hands wrapped around the handle, hacked through the thick forearm. Seeing its bloody limb twitching on the floor, the beast went into a frenzy and pushed against the constricting shelves, ignoring the blood flying from what was left of its arm. Like dominoes, they tipped over but didn't fall all the way. The last one lay at a slant against the far wall where Antoni had hidden. Jakob prayed the man had left when he told him to.

  Now able to turn, the beast's outstretched claw swung around and caught Jakob, but he refused to give in to the pain as the four claws scored deep gashes in his other side. Bleeding, he knew he didn't have much time before he got too weak to fight. If he was going to do something, he had to do it now.

  Praying the beast's skull would be thin enough for his blade to penetrate, he took a steadying breath, his focus solely on one hatred-filled red eye. He threw the knife with all the strength he had and hoped it was enough. The long blade sank to the hilt, and the werewolf's rising growl cut short. It swayed on unstead
y legs then crumpled to the floor.

  Jakob's own legs trembled, and his pain-filled body slithered to the floor. In the distance, he heard a man's voice call his name, but he ignored it. He telepathically called out to Aleksandra. Her beautiful face appeared before him, and a flash of what they might have had together flashed through his mind. His vision blurred, and she began to fade. He tried reaching out to her, but his arm wouldn't rise. The room darkened, and with his last conscious thought, he called out her name.

  16

  The Poet

  He stared out the window, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his bare arms crossed over his chest. His unblinking gaze never left the dark evergreens growing so thick, he almost couldn't make out one tree's branch from another. His eyesight, though, was perfect—better than perfect actually—and without trying, made out the individual needles in their varying hues of green.

  He loved forests and missed his back home. This place was also too hot; he’d discarded his wool jacket the moment the bedroom door closed behind him. He detested the uniform and wished he had his own clothing to wear. The cool fabric and flowing design allowed for better movement, and in this war, he desperately needed that. He didn't like being hindered in any way.

  Hearing a sound behind him, he turned in time to see his brother, who was almost his exact image, appear in front of the closed door in a splash of color. His only sibling always liked making a grand entrance. He raised one brow and slightly tilted his head before returning his gaze to the trees. "You've returned earlier than I expected. Did you deliver the poem?"

  His brother's almost silent steps drew closer until they both stood like matching statues, the only difference was their clothing. He felt the slight twinge of envy at the sight of his brother's outfit—the flowing garb of their people. He immediately squashed it. This job had come to him, and he would do his best to make it look as if he were doing it.