Mrs. Schmied knelt next to Manfred. They had locked the front door, and Thomas was on the phone, giving someone on the other end the address. He had taken off his coat, and sweat stains showed under his arms.
“Where does he keep his tools?” Benno asked.
The widow pointed in the direction of the garden. “In the shed.”
Benno ran out into the snow, opened the squeaky doors of the old, wooden structure. There was no light, and his eyes could barely make out saws and screwdrivers attached to the walls. He tore rakes off the wall, hedge clippers, and finally his hands clasped the wooden handle of a hammer. Then he found a second, larger one, with a short handle and a heavy, broad head.
Carolin was still standing where he had left her. She had her hands pressed against the wall, sobbing and shaking.
He had never fought as a child, had been too inexperienced and too frightened. He remembered how it felt to lie helpless like a beetle on its back and to kick and scream and yet achieve nothing. After the first blow against the bare stone he felt his arms turn to mush. How foolish it was to fight against the truth. How foolish it was to hit with a hammer against this wall. But still he kept going. He brought the hammer down on the wall, over and over again. Carolin stood behind him, her eyes glued to what had once been a door.
And then they could smell it. They smelled it before Thomas came running into the basement. The old school was on fire, they had to flee. Benno barely listened to Thomas, he mustn’t stop, mustn’t stop for a single second, otherwise he would run away and try to save himself.
His arms roared in pain, and he knew that his strength was nearly exhausted. He needed air, he had to catch his breath, he no longer wanted to fight. And when he struck the wall once again, the stone gave. So he continued, continued to fight, and perhaps the cement was still fresh, maybe Heintz had finished his work only today, and the opening grew larger and chunks fell into the room behind it.
He paused. The smell of the fire was already very strong. Thomas stood in the middle of the basement room. He called for Carolin, demanded that she get to safety, but she didn’t listen, squeezed her head and shoulders through the opening. The boy didn’t answer to their shouting, Benno had to forcibly pull back his wife in order to keep going.
After two or three more minutes, he climbed into the space behind the wall. It smelled of earth, the cold hit him, and he could hardly breathe. It was just a dark hole, dug quickly, supported by slats and covered with plywood. Heintz had chosen this hole as Tim’s grave.
In the far corner a bundle lay on the ground, and Benno picked it up. The boy felt nearly weightless in his arms. He carried Tim to the opening and handed him to Carolin, then climbed back into Heintz’ basement. He leaned over his son, put an ear to his mouth.
Tim’s hands were bleeding and full of dirt. He must have tried to dig himself out, but had no longer been able to breathe. His face was grimy.
Thomas urged them to follow him. “The whole roof is already in flames.”
Together they ran as fast as they could toward the stairs, Tim’s lifeless body in Benno’s arms. Heintz ‘apartment was full of smoke, and Manfred and Mrs. Schmied were gone. Thomas raced frantically to the front door and threw it open. But there he stopped so abruptly that Carolin ran into him.
The front yard was brightly lit by the flames. The light flickered on the faces of the men who stared fixedly at the small group at the entrance. Witte was there, Johannsen, Bruno Maier, whom Benno had not seen since the autumn ball. Heintz stood in his stained undershirt among them.
“Get back inside!” Two of the men raised their rifles. There were ten or fifteen of them. Rasmus growled, his fur stood on end. Thomas raised his arms as though he were standing in the pulpit and blessing the congregation. Maybe he just wanted to show that he was unarmed.
The first shot stopped him, the second made him wince. After the next he went down on his knees.
“I have the king,” Benno screamed like a madman. He hoisted Tim onto his shoulders.
“He’s dead,” cried one of the men, and a few laughed. Their cars stood parked behind them, almost like a corral.
Behind Benno and Carolin something burst and clattered to the floor. Rasmus jumped, ran to the left and off into the dark. Two shots rang out. Carolin stood motionless beside Benno. They had left Heintz’s rifle in Irina’s prison. They couldn’t remain here forever; behind them, the wooden figurines had caught fire and hung like torches on the walls. Benno’s back was boiling hot.
A white van appeared on the road and pulled into the yard of the old school. The men barely noticed it. Only when the driver did not slow and steered directly into the small group did they scatter. With a jerk, the van came to a stop in front of the house. In the light of the flames, Benno could only dimly see the driver’s face, but he believed he recognized Günther’s cap. The passenger door was pushed open, and a man fell out and then lay lifeless on the ground. The engine howled again, the van turned, broke through the sandbox and made for the road.
The armed attackers approached the lifeless body, turned the man on his back. Benno couldn’t see who he was, but the sight of him made the group scatter once again. They hurried to their cars as if the burning school suddenly frightened them.
Benno ran out into the garden, stared after the disappearing rear lights. Carolin bent over the slumped Thomas.
“Get the car,” she said.
He stopped at the dark shape that had so scared the men. Not much of the face remained recognizable. It was swollen and full of blood. Harald would never be king.
After they had exited the village, Benno looked for the first time in the rearview mirror. The old school was still burning, turning the night sky red. Before him, beyond the reach of his headlights, blackness spread. Only the snow brightened trees and fields around them.
The fan ran at the highest level. Carolin sat in the back seat, Tim’s head in her lap, the down jacket wrapped around his body. Rasmus was crouched on the floor in front of her. Thomas sat next to Benno. Two of the bullets had hit him in the stomach. His breath rattled.
Benno tried not to think of Tim. He was still alive, Carolin claimed. He had survived, but he had to be half frozen. How long since he had last received food and water? When had Heintz walled him in?
What had become of Manfred, he didn’t know. Maybe he had escaped with his mother. Maybe the village would take pity on them. Had Harald killed Friedrich before getting killed himself? Or was the car dealer still alive? Had he and Günther paid him back? But he mustn’t think about that either. He had to drive, he mustn’t lose his way in the snowstorm. He stared at the road ahead, at the flakes, which shone like thousands of little stars before him.
In the emergency room, they waited in silence. A doctor tended to Benno’s face, bandaged his hands, gave him an injection.
In the early morning hours they were taken to Tim’s room. His fingers looked crooked and deformed, and under the skin of his bare arms crept new beetles, new snakes. But it was their boy who had been hooked up to an IV, who raised his eyelids and couldn’t keep them open. They remained in his room until a nurse asked them to leave.
“I’ll check on Thomas,” Carolin said in the hallway. Gray daylight filtered through snow-covered windows.
Benno nodded. For the first time he felt how heavily the weariness weighed on him. He could barely lift his shoulders, could barely stand straight. He had to get to the car and feed Rasmus. He had to call Hanne immediately, had to go to the Lübeck police.
“Should I wait for you?” he asked.
He couldn’t read the expression of her face. Her chapped lips parted. “And then what?”
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Knives, Forks, Scissors, Flames Page 25
