With her mind a jumble of questions, Zara headed home right after she washed the chalkboards, hoping a few hours on the farm would clear the mess in her head. She rounded the last bend to her house, eager to change out of her loafers and into her trusty boots, but she stopped stone-still at the sight of a Nazi SUV pulling out of her driveway.
Thoughts of Bastian and the Alliance fled from her mind. The Nazis had no reason to come to her home…. Unless they had found the knife she used to destroy the Führer’s portrait. But she had buried the blade in the fields last night, plunging it deep within the spring-warmed soil. Still, her heartbeat refused to slow. A visit from the Nazis was never a good thing.
The SUV turned onto the road and slowed to a stop once it neared Zara. The passenger side window rolled down to reveal Colonel Eckhart sitting inside. Zara almost stumbled back. First Bastian. Now his father.
“Heil Hitler,” he said pleasantly, like he had dropped by for a cup of tea.
“Heil Hitler,” Zara murmured with as much gusto as she could stomach. Her eyes darted toward the backseat, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, she didn’t see her uncle sitting there, his hands in cuffs.
“I stopped by to speak to your uncle,” Colonel Eckhart continued, his gaze drifting over her old blouse and fraying skirt. He sniffed. “We had a nice chat.”
Zara dared a glance into those cruel blue eyes of his. This was the first time she had seen him since Mrs. Talley’s execution. Hatred broke inside of her, spilling into her veins. She wanted to press her fingers against his neck, squeezing until he begged her to stop. Instead, she bowed her head to hide the scowl on her face.
“I hope you had a pleasant visit, mein Herr,” Zara managed to say. She tried to muster a smile but simply couldn’t.
“Isn’t it early for you to be home from work?”
“I walk quickly.”
“I walk quickly, mein Herr,” he corrected harshly.
“My apologies, mein Herr.”
The Colonel turned to his driver, who happened to be Sentinel Achen. Zara couldn’t seem to stop bumping into him or the Eckharts. “These Kleinbauern. How often they forget their manners.”
Sentinel Achen nodded. “They should be punished accordingly, mein Herr.” Then he winked at Zara when the Colonel looked down to check his watch. She suppressed the urge to run home and leap into the shower.
“Come closer, girl.” Colonel Eckhart crooked a finger at her, and Zara had no choice but to comply. She shuffled toward the window, her skin crawling under his watchful eyes, until his face was only a foot away from hers. “I understand you were close to that Alliance spy, Nell Talley.”
“She was a casual acquaintance.” Zara winced inside. She hated herself for what she had to say next — she hoped Mrs. Talley would understand. “My uncle and I were appalled by her actions.”
“Hmph. In the future, I’d take more precaution with whom you associate. Or there will be consequences.”
“Yes, mein Herr.”
He smiled again, such a bright smile, with white, even teeth, but his eyes were steely. “Tell your uncle that I’ll be in touch. And remember, the harvest isn’t a long way off. Be sure to fulfill your quota. I do enjoy fresh cabbage.”
The window rolled up and the truck continued down the road, burping a cloud of smoke into Zara’s eyes before it gunned toward Fort Goering. She watched it leave with clenched fists, wishing she could hurl a worm-rotted cabbage at the Colonel’s head.
Once the SUV was out of sight, she ran back to the farmhouse and thrust open the front door. A gasp flew out of her mouth. In the living room, chairs lay broken in jagged pieces and dozens of old magazines were tumbled over the floor, their pages mashed against the rug. The damage had spread into the kitchen, too: The cupboards hung open like gaping teeth while shattered plates splattered over the countertops. At the center of the mess, Uncle Red stood with a broom in his hand, his shoulders slumped at a tired angle.
He glanced at the door. “You’re home.”
“The Colonel did all of this?” Zara’s chest hurt as she surveyed the house — ruined china passed down from her great-grandmother, novels that her mother had cherished. The Nazis had never done this before. Sure, they had conducted interrogations and broken a piece of furniture or two, but they had never ransacked the house. Not like this.
Uncle Red’s fists knotted around the broom’s handle. “They’ve been on a rampage today, interrogating everyone about the Führer’s portrait. Obviously, they found nothing here, but …” His eyes hardened. “I’m only going to ask this once. Did you have anything to do with that painting?”
“Of course not.” Zara held his gaze, careful not to flinch or look away. Shame knotted in her stomach at the lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. Her voice quieted. “Did you see what they did to Mrs. Talley’s body?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking a decade older than he did a second before. “I heard about it this morning.”
“We can’t leave her up there.”
“We have no choice. Not now anyway. Eckhart’s breathing down our necks more than ever.” His hand swept over the kitchen. “You see what he’s done to our house.”
“But Mrs. Talley was like family. She was our family. We owe her a proper burial.”
Uncle Red’s forehead creased into a dozen wrinkles. “Don’t you think I want that, too? Do you think I like what the Nazis did to her?”
“No —”
“Nell would understand that I’m trying to protect you.”
“So we’ll leave her up in that cage?” Her uncle hadn’t been to the square; he hadn’t witnessed how cruel this act was.
“That’s enough.” He thrust the broom into her hands. “Get to work. I’ll start upstairs in the bedrooms.”
Uncle Red exited the kitchen, leaving Zara alone with the clutter at her feet. She watched him disappear up the staircase, wishing so desperately to have her old uncle back — the one before Mission Metzger, who would stop at nothing to fight the Nazis and who would never allow a friend’s body to hang in a cage. Zara knew that he loved Mrs. Talley — there was no doubt about their mutual respect for each other — but the Nazis had beaten every drop of resolve out of him. And he had let them do it.
She wouldn’t let the same thing happen to herself.
Shaking her head, Zara stooped down to collect the larger bits of porcelain. It would take them weeks to save up for new plates. Until then, they would have to use paper ones. With a burdened sigh, she reached for a sliver of glass underneath the kitchen table, but she yanked her hand back when it sliced into her finger. Blood streamed from the wound and onto the floor, bright red against the ivory tiles.
Zara muttered a curse and pressed a dish towel against the cut, waiting for the blood to clot before she surveyed the damage. But that strange needle-like stinging spread over the fresh wound, just like it had days before. So she lifted the cloth to find —
A flash of blue.
A spark, like the tiniest of searchlights.
Zara’s eyes grew as big as copper coins. She ran to the kitchen window to take a better look at it, but she only saw blood and jagged flesh on her hand. She ran a timid finger against the cut. Nothing.
I need more sleep, she thought, her pulse still thumping wildly. She must’ve been seeing things, although that didn’t explain the stinging in both of her cuts. Maybe she did need to see a doctor, but they could never afford a trip to the hospital. Mrs. Talley was the one who had treated their bumps and bruises, but she was gone now.
Three knocks thudded against the front door, and Zara jumped at the sound, startled. Wrapping the towel back around her hand, she hurried to the door with the memory of that spark still glued to her thoughts.
Zara swung open the door to find a young man with hazelnut skin standing on the porch. A dusty hat sat atop his head, and a brown trench coat, a few sizes too big, hung over his lean frame. Behind him, a blue truck sat in the driveway, its paint peeling
over most of its rusted body.
“Can I help you?” she said, holding the towel tight around her finger. The man appeared a few years older than her, perhaps in his early twenties. Zara wondered if he was a miner looking for extra work or a migrant laborer searching for a place to sleep the night, although he didn’t have that dead-weary look in his eyes that the laborers often wore.
The young man tipped his hat. “I’m looking for Redmond St. James, if you please.”
Uncle Red appeared behind Zara and nudged her aside. “Hello,” he said warily.
“Good evening. I’m traveling through town, looking for work. I heard that Mr. St. James might be hiring.”
“I’m afraid you’ve been mistaken. Best of luck to you.” Uncle Red went to close the door, but the man kept talking.
“That’s too bad. See, I’ve been traveling all the way from St. Louis.”
Zara shot a glance at her uncle. St. Louis? The city had been bombed to pieces by the Nazis years ago after its citizens had rioted for better pay in the car factories. This man had to be lying, but for some reason Uncle Red opened the door farther.
“St. Louis?” said Uncle Red. “You’re from St. Louis?”
“Yes, sir. I’m from Lafayette Park. You might’ve heard of it?”
“I have.” Uncle Red chose his next words carefully, as if he was reading lines from a play. “Wasn’t it named for the Marquis de Lafayette?”
Zara blinked at him. Why would her uncle ask this worker about an obscure historical figure like the Marquis? She had read about Lafayette a few years ago in one of Mrs. Talley’s contraband books, before her uncle had convinced her to get rid of them. The Marquis had been a general in the American Revolutionary War, but hardly anyone knew about him now, much less talked about him.
The man on the porch took this all in stride. “Indeed, it was named for him.” His smile lit up his face. “Like I was saying, do you know where I can find Redmond St. James?”
“I’m Redmond St. James,” said Uncle Red. “And you are?”
“Garrison Strayer.” The man stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Redmond. The Alliance sends its greetings.”
Zara’s mouth went dry. For a moment, she thought the man was lying, but Uncle Red reached out and shook his hand. That was when Zara realized their visitor really was Garrison — her ever-so-cautious uncle never would have let the man in if he had any doubts about him.
“Come in,” said Uncle Red. “This is my niece, Zara.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Garrison said, sticking out his hand.
Zara shook it, slowly blinking. She had spent years yearning to meet the leaders of the Alliance — but she never imagined that they could be so young. She had always thought they would be middle-aged men who spent hours hunched over their desks, mumbling about new recruits and military strategy. Yet here was Garrison, only a few years older than she was.
“It’s so nice to meet you, too,” Zara said finally. She flushed when she remembered the state of their house, in shambles after Colonel Eckhart’s visit. She hastily overturned the fallen chairs and kicked away the debris. “Sorry about the mess. The Nazis were just here.”
Garrison’s whole body tensed. “Any chance they’ll come back?”
“I don’t think so. They conducted a thorough search,” said Uncle Red. “But we’ll keep an eye out on the road.”
Garrison’s gaze darted to the window for half a minute before he finally relaxed. He took off his hat and propped it on the back of a chair. “Did the Nazis hurt you two?” He waited for them to shake their heads before he continued. “I’m really sorry for showing up unannounced, but there are a few things we need to discuss.”
“What sort of things?” Zara blurted. If Garrison had traveled all the way here, this must be important.
“Let the man take a seat. I’m sure he’s tired and wouldn’t mind some water.” Uncle Red ushered Garrison to the tattered sofa while Zara grabbed a cup of water and a bowl of leftover cabbage stew that Garrison took with a grateful nod. She wondered how long he had been on the road. The trip from the Alliance bunker in West Virginia would have taken hours, considering that the bunker was located a hundred miles from Neuberlin and was built underneath an abandoned hotel to curb suspicion.
“Are there any other members of your chapter that you need to contact? I’d like to speak with them, too, if possible,” Garrison said between bites.
“The Nazis executed one of our members only recently. Nell Talley,” Uncle Red said. His tone softened when he mentioned her name. “I sent a message to the Alliance after the execution. The Nazis discovered her radio, and I didn’t want any of our codes to get compromised.”
“I’m sure my colleagues are looking into that while I’ve been gone. My condolences, by the way, about Nell. It’s always hard when we lose any of our recruits.” He waited a few seconds before he said, “The Greenfield chapter is just the two of you, then?”
“Just me, actually. Zara’s only sixteen.”
Garrison set his bowl onto the wobbly-legged coffee table that had been upended during the Colonel’s visit. “We have members as young as fourteen in some chapters. If the girl wants to join, you should let her join.”
The muscles around Uncle Red’s jaw pulled taut. “When she’s older, perhaps.”
“Fair enough, but you should work on boosting recruitment, as we’ve discussed before. Farragut is eager to see this chapter restored to what it used to be. We both are.” He sounded very much like a politician — polite, warm, and with a hint of expectation.
Uncle Red, however, wouldn’t take the bait. “The Nazis in this area are breathing down our necks.” He gestured to the mess in the house. “As you can see, it’s not exactly the right time.”
It’s never the right time, Zara almost said but bit her tongue. If she wanted to impress Garrison, she couldn’t act like a pouty child.
Garrison downed his water and decided to switch topics. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here. The Alliance has recently come across some very classified information. If it fell into the wrong hands … Well, Farragut thought it best if I spoke with you in person.”
Zara perked up. “Is the Alliance planning something? A national mission?”
“Let him talk, Zara,” Uncle Red said gruffly.
“No, it’s good to hear her enthusiasm.” Garrison gave Zara an approving nod before he explained further. “We’ve gathered a few trusted sources in Berlin over the years — members of the Widerstand and a couple of servants at the Führer’s palace, that sort of thing. They’ve passed along information here and there, but nothing of this caliber.”
Uncle Red leaned forward. Zara did the same, not wanting to miss one syllable.
“The Führer is very ill,” Garrison went on, relishing each word like a prime cut of steak.
“What does he have?” said Uncle Red. “Pneumonia?”
“It’s far worse than that. He has a very aggressive form of cancer.”
Zara blinked once. Twice. “Cancer?” she whispered. Dieter’s father had died of cancer, too, cutting his reign short at the age of fifty-two. Perhaps Dieter had inherited the same disease. “Could this mean … ?”
Garrison nodded. “The Führer is dying.”
The room fell silent. Zara’s jaw dangled at this new revelation, hanging open like the broken cupboards in the kitchen. She wondered if she had heard Garrison correctly — because Dieter’s untimely death could wreck havoc in the Empire. His only son, Johann, was nine years old, far too young to assume power.
“It’s lung cancer. Stage four,” Garrison went on. “The Führer’s doctors have tried everything in their repertoire, but they’ve only been able to slow the spreading. It’s the same thing that happened to his father, Anselm.”
Even Uncle Red couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes. “What about his Medic in the Corps of Four? Can’t he do something?”
“Anomaly healers can only fix wounds that woul
d heal on their own. Fractures. Gashes. Even concussions. But a terminal illness like cancer is beyond their ability.”
Perhaps the Führer isn’t so invincible after all, Zara thought. She teetered on the edge of her chair. “How long does he have?”
“They estimate two months at most. From what we’ve learned, he was diagnosed last November and has been deteriorating ever since. That’s why he hasn’t made many appearances in the last few months.”
“What about the recent announcement?” said Uncle Red. “There was a live broadcast of him in our town square.”
“They used a double. The Nazis created a very convincing double who has undergone a lot of surgeries to take on Dieter’s likeness. Even we were fooled by it.”
Zara could hardly keep up with the steady stream of information. “How long have they been using the double?”
“Probably since Christmas. The Führer obviously wants to keep up the façade that he’s as strong as ever. With Johann too young to rule, Dieter knows that his death would cause chaos among his generals.” Garrison’s hands gestured faster as he spoke. “He hasn’t kept a tight rein on them like his father did. Look what happened with Reichsmarschall Faust, getting into bed with the Soviets. Once Dieter dies, his generals will probably jostle for power, and that’ll weaken the entire Empire.”
“For a time, maybe,” said Uncle Red, dissecting Garrison’s explanation like it was one of Zara’s theories. “Although the generals will eventually finish their squabbling and choose a successor. I doubt the Empire will crack because of that.”
“Perhaps, but there’s also the Soviets to think about,” Garrison said. So far, he had matched every one of Uncle Red’s points, and Zara wished he could teach her some of those tactics. “The Reds aren’t stupid. They know how sick Dieter has gotten, thanks to the information they were fed by Faust. Premier Volkov has already moved troops into the borderlands.”
“When?” Uncle Red asked, his face paling. “What countries?”
“Latvia and Estonia so far. Lithuania will likely go next. They’ve all become sympathetic to the communist cause and have welcomed the Reds with open arms. Granted, the Soviets have only moved in troops so far. They haven’t fired a shot. But Volkov’s actions look like the first step toward breaking the nonaggression pact.”
The Only Thing to Fear Page 9
