Promised Land

by Brandon Dean

  “I know we will,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “Have . . . have you ever thought of having kids?” I asked nervously.

  Hazel looked caught off guard by the question. “Well, one day, maybe . . . Why?” she asked with an intrigued smile.

  “Nothing,” I said, laughing under my breath. “Your mamaw and my mom have been talking about us, is all.”

  “Oh, really? What have they been saying?” Hazel perked up with interest.

  “They’ve been talking about us having kids someday, about how much we care about each other. That kind of stuff. I guess they’re spying on us,” I said with a grin.

  “Spying, huh? I don’t think you need to be a great detective to see that we spend almost all of our time together.”

  I looked into her eyes. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “And you’re mine,” she replied, taking my hand.

  “I’d like to be something more permanent, once we get to where we need to be,” I said.

  Hazel cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she’d obviously formed a good idea of what I was going to say. She just wanted to hear the words.

  I reached into my back pocket to fish out the wedding ring and slipped it over the ring finger of her left hand, then took both of her hands into my own. I took a deep breath as I watched tears well up in Hazel’s eyes. “Will you marry me?” I asked.

  Hazel didn’t speak. Instead, she pulled me toward her and curled into my arms.

  “That a yes?” I asked.

  She nodded enthusiastically, wiping tears from her eyes.

  We spent the rest of our time together that day and night in our usual spot—the front porch. We sat on the steps with our hands locked, once again wishing upon the stars. Hazel asked if I thought Cincinnati had meatloaf and apple pie; I assured her it was there. She asked my opinion on which of us our children would resemble more, when we had them; I told her I hoped it would be her. She asked if I wanted to get married indoors or out; I told her it didn’t matter—whatever she wanted. We talked and talked. We were happy; we were excited. The anticipation was like fuel on a hungry fire that needed hope for the future.

  I hadn’t even noticed that Dad’s star wasn’t out in the sky that night.

  He must not have been able to watch what was going to happen.

  He must have known.

  Hazel spotted someone standing at the edge of the woods. I told her it had to be Willard, but something wasn’t right. Something was off.

  When I squinted to see into the darkness, I could make out something behind him. Several somethings.

  It was when Hazel asked what that was prowling behind him in the moonlight that I realized what they were. Those somethings were someones.

  In a voice so horrified it barely resembled my own, I said one word: “Nazis.”

  Chapter 14

  Get inside. Get everyone together and go! Run!” I urged.

  “I can’t leave you!” she protested.

  “I’m not asking you—I’m telling you! Go!” I said, more forcefully this time.

  Willard turned to face the figures in the woods. “Catch ’em out back!” he shouted as three armed German soldiers sprinted from the woods.

  I picked up a rifle that was leaning against the porch and aimed at one of them. Before I could shoot, I heard a crack of gunfire rip through the sky. My right leg was grazed by a bullet, and I fell to the floor of the porch, tumbling down the wooden steps. I yelled out in pain as I watched three more Germans emerge from the woods behind Willard.

  “Please! Don’t hurt them!” I pleaded with Willard as I lay on the ground.

  He inched his way toward me. “You should’ve went too far left. Should’ve listened to me. And most of all, you shouldn’t have killed my boys,” he replied.

  I heard Violet crying from the backyard, along with mixed screams of horror. Tears welled up in my eyes—tears of anger, sadness, and fear that overtook me as I heard Violet’s infant cries slowly fade out.

  I turned around and began crawling back up those steps, looking back to see trails of my own blood behind me, its crimson shade visible in the moonlight. “I have to find them. I have to keep them safe,” I muttered, gritting my teeth in pain.

  “Where do you think you’re going, boy?” Willard shouted, laughing in a sinister way.

  I heard his footsteps as they closed in on me, and felt his disgusting hand grab the back of my shirt as he pulled a pistol from his waistband, the elastic snapping back against his bony hips.

  Willard pointed the barrel to the back of my head. “An eye for an eye, boy,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and heard the sickening, mechanical click of the hammer being pulled back. “I tried . . . I tried,” I mumbled, awaiting my end.

  In the next moment, I was back at that drive-in again, bending over to pick up that weathered, old baseball from the shrubbery. I turned around to see Dad, and I pulled the mitt off my hand and sprinted as fast as I could toward him. He met me with open arms. “Dad! Dad! I’ve missed you so much!” I said through my tears.

  “I’ve missed you, too, son,” he said, hugging me tightly.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect them. I’m so sorry I let you down,” I said.

  Dad pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “You didn’t. I’m proud of you; I’ve always been proud of you,” he said with a smile.

  “It’s so good to hear you say that,” I replied.

  Dad turned to face the lines of cars eagerly awaiting the moving picture. And in the middle, I saw our old family sedan, the same one Dad would always sit in, tapping the steering wheel whenever he got impatient. In front of the car stood Hazel, Beverly, and Mom, with Violet in her arms. Dad lit one of his trusty Marlboros and took a drag. I could smell the burning tobacco as it wafted past my nose. They were approaching us.

  “Hurry it up, will ya!” Dad playfully shouted to them. “You married a good one, Clint.”

  “Married?” I asked, looking down to see a wedding band on my own finger.

  “I was thinking we could go over to your place this year for Thanksgiving. That sound good?” Dad asked.

  “It sounds great! It’s perfect!” I replied with a giddy laugh.

  Beverly and Hazel were standing in front of me now.

  I smiled, then grew serious. “Are . . . are we dead? Is this heaven?” I asked.

  “This is whatever you want it to be, young man,” Beverly replied.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want any of this,” I insisted.

  “It’s okay,” she said, gently rubbing a hand over my back. “Besides! They have apple pie and meatloaf here,” she said with a laugh.

  Mom walked over to me. “Look, Clint. Little Violet’s cutting her first tooth!” she exclaimed. I took a closer look at my baby sister. Peeking just above the surface of her bottom gums was the tiniest pearly-white tooth I’d ever seen.

  “At this rate, she’ll be eating real food in no time!” Dad added. “Maybe we can go to Vicky’s again. I haven’t had a burger that good since Lord knows when!”

  Mom scoffed. “I made you a burger last week!”

  “Oh, lighten up. I’m just pulling your leg,” Dad responded.

  Mom grinned. He got under her skin—he always had—but she loved it.

  “Hey! Bev!” I heard a loud male voice shout from a distance and turned to see Art in all of his husky glory, carrying back various snacks from the concession stand. “Cost me almost two dollars for all of this. You all owe me!” he said as he handed out various boxes of candy to everyone. He gave me a box of Good & Plenty. I didn’t think I’d ever liked those, but it was fine. All things must taste better in heaven—I was sure of it.

  “Now, don’t tell me you lost Gabe again!” Beverly scolded.

&n
bsp; “Oh, no, dear. Look! He’s right over there, playing catch with a little girl he met.” Art pointed a few feet off into the distance.

  And there was Gabe, being a little boy like all little boys deserved to be, having the merriest time of his little life. That little girl, though—I wasn’t sure who it could be, but she seemed familiar. After staring at her a little longer, I knew. It was the little girl I had seen when we’d been running from the bombs, the one frantically beating on her father’s chest.

  We watched the same film as we had the first time around. This time, though, we were able to finish it. As much as I hadn’t cared for the film the first time, it had become my new favorite. I didn’t even notice Marsha Hunt on the screen anymore. Sure, she was there on the screen, but with Hazel at my side, what did Marsha Hunt matter?

  Mom and Dad were sitting in the front seat again, and Mom’s head was on Dad’s shoulder. Violet was fast asleep in Dad’s arms. I was so happy he’d gotten to meet his daughter, the one that was a spitting image of him. I could tell he loved her immensely, and I think he loved Hazel like one of his own, too. I’d known from the start that he’d have approved of her.

  Beverly and Art were sitting next to each other in the pickup truck beside us. I guessed it was getting a little late; Beverly had fallen asleep on Art’s shoulder, and he began to yawn. Watching them nod off was sweet; it was as if they were there just to be around everyone else. They were happy to be there, though; I could sense it. And that was all that mattered.

  Gabe was still running around with that little girl, collecting fireflies and trapping them in their empty candy boxes. They were too young to realize they’d just fly out whenever they wanted to take a peek at their collections, but they were laughing so loudly and intensely that I was afraid they’d suffocate on their own cackles. I had to have a chuckle at it, too. It was all perfect; everything was better in heaven.

  And then, in an instant, the world froze around me.

  I shook Hazel, but she sat immovably frozen. “Hazel! Hazel, talk to me!” I shouted. Mom and Dad were still. “Mom! Dad! What’s going on?” I screamed. They sat there, motionless, their eyes still wide open.

  Everything had gone silent. I panicked as I tried to scream; I couldn’t even hear myself. The silence was impenetrable. My throat started to feel hoarse as I yelled out, trying to get someone’s attention. I tried to reach the door handle of the car to let myself out, but I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I focused or how hard I strained. It was as if I were bound to something, keeping me in place.

  I started to hear something—sobbing. Not the baby’s cries I had grown accustomed to in recent days, but they were still familiar somehow. The sobs were coming from Hazel and Beverly.

  I could hear them intensify as an unpleasantly familiar voice said, “Knock, knock. Anyone home?” The words were followed by a stinging smack to the side of my face.

  I came back to earth. It was all in my head; I must have been knocked out, and my mind had gone somewhere else. We were at the kitchen table, surrounded by armed German soldiers. Their pristine gray uniforms, perfectly shined boots, and sewn-on swastikas overshadowed us with their menacing presence.

  I looked at the faces around me. Hazel and Beverly sat silently in front of me, staring directly in my eyes. The horrified expressions painted on their bruised and scratched faces told me everything I needed to know. It took me a moment to realize that Mom and Violet weren’t there.

  “Where?” I asked Hazel pathetically.

  Hazel shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whimpered.

  I looked down at the chair I was sitting in, the same chair I’d sat in every day to eat my meals. My arms and legs were bound with several layers of thick tape.

  I looked up to see Willard glowering down at me. “Let them go, please,” I begged.

  Willard laughed. “Didn’t I tell you that I was going to make you suffer?” he sneered.

  “Make me suffer. Make me suffer all you want. Don’t bring them into this,” I implored him.

  “You know, I tried to warn you. See these fine young men?” He indicated the German soldiers in the room. “I’ve been working with these guys for a few weeks now.”

  “You what?” I asked. “You betrayed your own people?”

  Willard pulled his pistol from his waistband. “Never were my people. This country was corrupt! This country needed cleansing!” he insisted. “For all we know, this place would’ve let the fags get married and the coons in our schools. You really want to live in that backward bullshit?” Willard asked.

  “You’re scum,” I replied in disgust.

  “I’m not scum. It’s my job, finding people like you all and leading my friends here to ’em.”

  “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” I asked, livid.

  “You bet your ass, boy. You just made it more personal for me,” Willard said. He loaded a single bullet into the revolver. “Like I said: an eye for an eye. Only two of you will leave this room alive, but trust me, that ain’t such a good thing. Let’s just say you’ll wish you were dead.” He paced around the room for what seemed to be hours, though I’m sure it was only a matter of minutes. “Despite that shot-up leg of yours, boy, I think you’d do just fine working for us.”

  “Whatever you want. Just please, please let them go,” I pleaded.

  Willard ignored me, grabbing a lock of Hazel’s hair in his hand. “And her, she’ll do very well for herself where she’s going.” He looked at me one more time. “We’ll find that mom of yours and that baby. Don’t you worry.” He shifted his attention to Beverly. “Too old to bear kids or work. What a useless waste.”

  Beverly looked at Hazel, knowing that Willard had made his decision. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  Hazel wept uncontrollably, begging Willard to spare Beverly’s life.

  Beverly looked at me. “Remember, Clint. Hope. Always keep hope. Goodbye,” she said as Willard pressed the end of the barrel to the back of her head.

  “Goodbye, Mamaw . . . I’m so sorry.”

  Beverly gave me one last smile as Willard pulled the trigger.

  Hazel screamed as the side of her face was covered in her grandmother’s blood.

  “You son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” I shrieked at Willard, so loudly that even a dead man would have been startled, so angrily that I could feel my blood boil from within me.

  Willard rolled his eyes, dismissing my threats as hollow. Hazel was senseless with horrified screams and cries. “Oh, shut them up already!” Willard demanded.

  I watched as a German soldier knocked Hazel out from behind, using the stock of his rifle. Before I could react—if I even could have reacted—I felt the same force slam down on the back of my own head.

  I woke up, unsure of how much time had passed. My arms and legs were bound behind my back, and it was dark wherever I was, but I could’ve sworn I was moving. Those bastards had kidnapped me. “Hazel!” I screamed.

  A deep voice finally responded. “She ain’t in here, pal.”

  “Who said that?” I asked.

  The voice replied, “My name is Emmett Carver. And you?”

  “Clint Brodsky . . . What’s going on? Do you know?” I asked, my voice shrill.

  “Yeah.” Emmett paused momentarily. “We’re going to camp.”

  I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what to expect, but one thing was for certain.

  Hold on, Hazel, wherever you are, I thought. I’m coming for you. I promise. And, Mom, hold that little girl close. No matter what, don’t quit running.

  Chapter 15

  Camp? What do you mean, ‘camp’?” I asked in the darkness.

  “What I mean is that those Nazi bastards are gonna work our fingers to the bone, and as soon as we can’t work no more, we’re killed,” Emmett said.

  “Work? Why do they need us
to work for them?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s an easy one,” Emmett replied. “These animals want to win the war as much as the Americans do. They want to do that, they’ll need help. And what kind of labor is cheaper than forced labor?”

  “And if we refuse?” I asked.

  “Beats me, pal. But for Hazel’s sake—whoever she is—I don’t think I’d test it if I was you.”

  “Where’d they take her?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Can’t be good, though,” Emmett replied.

  The vehicle we were locked inside of came to jarring halt as the brakes were slammed, likely on purpose. Emmett and I slid across the floor of the truck as our bodies hit the walls.

  “You’re gonna wanna fight ’em,” Emmett said. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t? What do you suggest we do?” I asked.

  “I wanna get outta this spot as bad as you do. Ain’t gonna happen if you get yourself killed, ya hear?” Emmett replied.

  I could hear soldiers talking to each other in German.

  “Showtime, pal. Keep your head down, and do whatever they say—for everyone’s sake,” Emmett said.

  I could hear the handle of the back door rattle as it opened, letting in a ray of sunlight that made my eyes burn. A German soldier stepped up onto the running board of the truck as he climbed inside. I could get a good view of Emmett now, as we were face-to-face on the floor. He was a black man, probably in his early forties, with hair that was lightly peppered with gray and a face covered in stubble. “Remember what I said, pal,” he mumbled as a German soldier unbound his legs with a knife and pushed him roughly out of the vehicle.

  The German was coming toward me now; one of his hands had a tight grip on one of my feet as his other hand cut them apart. He did the same to me as he’d done to Emmett, grabbing me by the back of the shirt with both arms and shoving me out of the truck.