by Brandon Dean
I nodded. “Riley has a plan, I think.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?” Emmett asked.
I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a clue, but he told me to trust him.”
“Trust him?” Emmett asked. “Look, kid, I know he’s your buddy and all, but he’s a Nazi now. You really wanna trust him with your life?”
“I would’ve trusted him with my life before this all happened. He gave me food and water today, and he didn’t have to. He’s still in there, somewhere under that uniform; he wants to help. I just don’t know if he’ll risk it,” I said.
Emmett lay on his back and stretched across the wooden floor. “I guess we ain’t got much of a choice anyway, huh?”
“No, not unless you think they’ll let us out if we ask nicely.”
Emmett laughed to himself as I lay down on my side a few feet away from him. “Riley said I’d need my rest for tomorrow,” I said.
“There’s a reason he said that,” Emmett replied. “Go ahead, keep me updated what happens tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes in nervous anticipation of the morning and went to sleep.
Chapter 17
Why won’t you tell me? A hint? Anything?” I said quietly to Riley as I followed close behind him toward the church.
“I would, but knowing you, you’d turn your campy little ass back and dig that hole until you die,” Riley said.
“Then why even lead me over here?” I asked.
“Because once you’re in those doors, your pride can’t get in the way. You ain’t got a choice once we’re in there. Richter won’t allow it,” he said.
“Who the hell is Richter?” I asked.
“He’s the ring leader here, a general for the SS. The guy you met inside the church when you got here. From what I hear, he used to be an artillery man in his youth, and I guess playing warden here is some kind of promotion.”
“So, your plan involves me having a nice chat over tea with this prick?” I asked with hostility.
“And there you go, that stupid pride. I swear, you got it from your father,” Riley replied.
“Watch your words,” I warned.
“I’ll put this gun on the ground and kick your little ass, Clint. I’ve always been able to kick your ass. Take it easy; I’m trying to help. And this is the only way I know how.”
“What exactly is the plan?” I asked as we closed in on the church.
“Everything they want to hear, everything you don’t want to say—say it, do it,” Riley replied shortly.
“And if I don’t?” I asked.
“You die. And I don’t think Hazel or your mom would want that.”
“I’m still not following you; what is it exactly that I’m doing besides playing nice?” I asked.
Riley shook his head slowly and stopped in his tracks for a brief moment. “Things you’ll lose a lot of sleep over,” he said.
I looked up to see that the guards watching over the camp were still patrolling the church rooftop, as well as the guards in each of the three towers and the few scattered around the campground itself, making sure all was in order. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. “I hope you don’t mean . . .”
“Yeah, you’re going to play Nazi for a while.”
We opened the side door into the church and walked into the same lobby Emmett and I had entered through when we’d arrived at the compound. Blood still faintly splattered the wall from when Richter had executed those two poor souls a couple of days ago. We approached the metal door leading to the nave; yet another armed soldier stood guard at the door on the right side.
Riley walked up to the soldier and spoke a single word in German—I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I wasn’t really interested in picking up the language. The soldier clearly understood, though, for he opened the door to the nave, and we walked in. Twelve wooden pews with blankets and pillows in the seats lined each side of the room beneath the vaulted ceilings; wooden crosses were engraved on the outer side of their frames. It was a large place of worship, complete with a sizeable platform at the farthest wall back. The pale walls were bathed in multicolored light that shone through panels of decorative stained glass, and I could read an oversized display of the Ten Commandments hand-painted on the wall to the right, just in front of the platform.
On the platform was a pulpit, towering high above everything else. Thick maroon curtains were pulled closed behind it. Without a doubt, though, the feature that stood out most was the large sculpture of Christ mounted just in front of the curtains. He hung on his cross, wearing his crown of thorns and pierced by nails through his hands and feet. The attention to detail was incredible. Thin, red streaks of paint flowed in a path from his arms to his shoulders to symbolize blood. His white loincloth had splotches of smeared brown paint to resemble dirt, and his entire torso had several paper-thin blackish-red marks to resemble the lacerations he’d received.
“What now?” I asked Riley as we approached the platform, walking up the steps as the sounds of our feet echoed through the vacant nave.
“Richter will be here in a moment,” Riley said. “Have a seat in front of the desk, and remember, don’t let your principles get in the way. And, especially, don’t let him sense your fear.”
“What makes you think I’m afraid?” I asked as I pulled a wooden chair from the writing desk that had been set up on the platform, its legs scraping noisily across the unpolished floor.
“I don’t think you are. I know you are,” Riley replied with a slight shake in his own voice.
I took a seat in front of the desk, scanning all that was scattered across it. An unevenly melted white candlestick sat inside a holder, the wilted wick looking spent and hopeless somehow. A dull metal cigarette lighter with a Nazi eagle insignia lay next to it on the desk, along with an ashtray laden with cigarette butts and a small mound of ashes sitting atop a stack of green folders that were overstuffed with documents and papers.
“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered as we waited for Richter to make his appearance.
“I know. I guess you’re right. Sometimes you don’t have a choice,” I replied. I turned my head toward the statue of a crucified Christ. I had so much to say to him, so much to ask. Yet, instead of speaking them aloud, I spoke them in my heart. Even there, in that hellhole that had once been a real house of God, I was sure he could hear them.
Forgive me, Father, I prayed. Not just for what I’ve done—and I know I’ve done enough—but for what I’m about to do. These monsters that patrol this hell—I guess they’re your children, too. But what about your other kids? What about me? Hazel? Mom, Dad, Art, Gabe, Beverly, Emmett, and Riley? Do we not count? I know you have the power to end this, reverse this, and yet you don’t. I paused for a moment to rethink my next words. Father, I’m angry. I’m confused, and you know why. And I know it might be wrong, but I’m either going to kill these monsters or die trying. I have no choice.
I heard the door open, and I turned my head to see a figure approaching. My heart rate sped up, and sweat began to bead on my forehead. I looked to see Riley saluting Richter, who acknowledged him with a wave of his hand.
“Wipe that look off your face!” Riley instructed in a harsh but faint whisper, seeing the look of disgust and fear twisting my face.
Richter was at the bottom of the steps when I turned to face him again. I tried my best to grasp the gravity of the situation in front of me as I focused on appearing confident. I would need that if I were going to convince him that I could be turned. Richter’s feet dragged sluggishly up the steps, almost as if he didn’t even want to be there.
Richter pulled out his chair from behind the desk, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter as he sat. He squinted as he let out a drowsy yawn, then clamped his lips around his cigarette and lit it. We all stared at each other in silence for way too long; the discomfort of the encou
nter was intense.
“Name?” Richter finally asked me in a thick German drawl, yawning again and rubbing his temple.
“Clint Brodsky . . . sir,” I replied, reluctant to address him formally.
Richter raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair, its front legs almost rising off the floor. He looked away from me and over to Riley. “Brodsky . . . Is he a Jude?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Riley replied.
Richter fixed me with an evil grin. “Very good. Last thing we need is a Jewish pig among us,” he said, his sinister smile morphing into a hateful grimace. “So, this young man tells me you have experience.”
I didn’t know what the hell he meant by “experience,” but I wished Riley had been clearer about what I was there for.
“That’s correct . . . sir,” I replied nervously, hoping to God he wouldn’t question me further.
Richter nodded, sizing me up. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke carelessly; it wafted over my face. “Do you know the quickest and most effective way to control a nation?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Control its people! Break them down!” Richter shouted, slamming his fist on the desk for emphasis.
I nodded, a fake smile stretched across my face. “And having men like Willard to help find people?” I prompted.
“Willard,” Richter said, shaking his head. “He’s just an old man. An old man who has outlived his purpose. Getting less useful as the days go by. He sees himself as an honorary German.” He laughed hollowly. “How wonderful that you have volunteered to be his replacement.”
My eyes grew wide as I let Richter’s words soak in. Am I going to have to bring people here? Am I going to have to exterminate these poor souls like insects? I wondered, sick with regret at having followed Riley into the church. But there was a silver lining. Richter had said that Willard had outlived his purpose. I had to know what that meant.
“So, then, what’s going to happen to Willard?” I asked.
Richter looked almost annoyed. “He’s just another mouth to feed. Before he showed up with you, he hadn’t been of much use in nearly three weeks. Just a loose end. A waste. And Germans hate waste,” he said.
“So he’s going to be killed, then?” I asked.
“Naturally,” Richter said, waving his hand in the air as if the decision to take a man’s life was just casual small talk. “Do you object?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“No,” I answered hastily. “Actually, I want to be the one who does it.”
Richter leaned forward in his chair and looked me directly in the eyes, his lips stretched in a chill-inducing grin. “Wunderbar!” he boomed, looking over to Riley. “You get an extra ration today for a job well done!” he said. “And you!” Richter said, looking back to me. “Go with him. You both eat well today.” Then he yawned again, rose, and left without another word.
Riley and I headed back to the lobby, and Riley led me through the last door, revealing a stairwell leading to an upper floor used for storage.
“That went better than I expected,” I said, breaking the silence.
Riley sighed. “Did it?” he asked.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” I asked.
Riley stopped walking up the steps and turned to face me. “Do you even know what you said in there?”
“What are you talking about? I said exactly what you told me to say,” I replied defensively.
“Look,” Riley said, “if you don’t think I hate Willard, too, you’re dead wrong. But the way you looked in there, the look on your face? That scares me.”
“What look?” I asked.
“The same one Richter has when he kills. Clint. You smiled when you said it.”
“I’m nothing like him! And besides, that was all an act. Just like you said to do,” I said, unconvincing even to myself.
“Yeah, right,” Riley replied. “You seem to forget that I’ve known you like a brother since we were knee-high. You can’t trick me like you did Richter. This isn’t you, Clint. You’re better than they are.”
“This is justice, Riley,” I replied.
“So I can quit worrying about it now, huh?” Riley said sarcastically. “Justice my ass. This is revenge for you. Admit it, you’re hungry for this.”
“You can think what you want. But if this is the worst I have to do in order to bust outta here, then I don’t see the big deal,” I shot back.
Riley laughed mirthlessly. “So naïve. Thinking you’re running the home stretch when, really, your lanky ass ain’t even seen the first pitch.” He scoffed at me and turned around to walk up the steps.
We both remained silent the rest of the way, the tension between us growing thicker as we neared our destination.
Riley opened the door at the top of the stairwell. The room was wide open and resembled a miniature warehouse more than it did the storage room of a church. Boxes upon boxes of food-and-drink rations, rifles, machine guns, and pistols were stockpiled in a corner, with a German soldier watching over them, his back toward the arsenal. At the opposite end of the room was Emmett, a clipboard in hand, counting out the ammunition individually.
“General Richter needs you to patrol outside. I’ll take it from here,” Riley said to the other soldier keeping watch, who walked hastily outside.
The door slammed shut behind the German as Emmett stood up to address us. “So? What’s the deal here?” he asked.
“I wish I knew,” I responded, turning to Riley.
“You—what you need to do is pull your head out of your ass for a minute and forget this obsession you have with killing Willard,” Riley said to me.
“You don’t understand,” I said.
“I understand, Clint,” Riley said. “I’m trying to get us out of here, all of us. But we need to be on the same page, so forget your vendetta. Put on the uniform and do as you’re told!”
“What’s he talking about?” Emmett asked.
“I’m going to be one of them . . . till we get out of here, at least,” I said.
“Okay, so you play dress-up. Then what?” Emmett asked.
I shrugged, turning to Riley for some clarification.
Riley walked over to the weapons stash, unlocked the latches of a gray metal storage container, pulled out a German-issued combat knife, and handed it to me. “I got one just like it. We should be out of here before they notice it’s gone. You’ll be sleeping with me and the rest of the Germans downstairs. We’ll wait for the right moment and strike.” Riley turned to Emmett. “And you. I overheard Willard say something about your military experience.”
Emmett nodded. “That’s right. Why?”
“After we take care of things here, we’re going to pay the other camp a visit and break my mom out of there,” Riley said before looking at me. “Hazel, too.” He looked back to Emmett, whose arms were crossed, an interested look on his face as he considered the plan Riley was proposing. “I’d be willing to bet you can handle yourself better than we can if you run into trouble. Your job is to haul ass to Cincinnati and alert the Americans about what’s happening here.”
“What about the guards on the roof and in the towers?” I asked.
“We’ve only got one manned at nighttime. The plan, as crazy as it sounds, is to get to the rooftop, take care of the guys up there, and then focus on the tower. We need to make as little noise as possible.”
Emmett sighed. “Sounds like suicide.”
“It just might be, but what else can we do?” I asked.
Riley shrugged. “Nothing. I stayed up and thought about every little detail before I went to sleep last night, and this seems to be the only way we even have a shot,” he said. “Don’t let them see you with that knife, Clint. I doubt they trust you enough yet.”
&nb
sp; Emmett and I agreed to Riley’s plan, knowing it was the only chance we had. Time was wearing thin, and the last thing we needed was for Emmett to wither away from starvation to the point that he couldn’t fight.
“Here, put this on,” Riley said as he handed me a Nazi uniform.
I stuffed the gray shirt into matching pants, cringing at the sight of the swastika on my shoulder. I slipped on a pair of polished black boots and concealed my knife inside one of them, then walked over to a window that lit the dusty old storage room and gave me a vantage point of the camp. I could see Willard parading around like a hotshot, clearly puffed up with delusions of grandeur. But most disturbing to me was what I saw reflected back at me in the window glass, my morals and mental health barely hanging on by a brittle thread. I didn’t like the way I looked. I hated it, actually. And that uniform . . . It wasn’t some kind of honor to wear the same clothes as those monsters. It was a curse.
But I didn’t fear it; I couldn’t. So I embraced it, because the only thing I knew for sure was that I was going to fight. All three of us were, even if it meant not playing fair. Killers were quiet, like the night itself. And even though I’d promised Riley I would put my rage behind me, I still knew that Willard would die by my hand. We were going to make them all pay, and I wasn’t going to live the rest of my life without Hazel, Mom, or Violet with me.
Riley looked at me one last time. “So, what do you think?”
I turned to face him and said, “That they’re going to regret messing with the kids from Mayfield.”
Chapter 18
Gonna be the talk of the town, aren’t I?” I asked Riley as the three of us left the church.
I saw blank stares locked onto me, beady eyes sunken into pale sockets whose gazes projected fear, disappointment, and disgust.
“That answer your question?” Emmett asked, noticing the reaction I was receiving.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” I replied.
“Better get on back to your shack now!” Riley shouted at Emmett, taking up his role.
