Promised Land

by Brandon Dean

“Keep me updated,” Emmett whispered to us before he walked away, looking duly obedient.

  “So, what is it exactly that I should do?” I asked Riley as we made our rounds through the camp.

  “Just play it up and act like you’re one of them,” Riley replied. “Richter’s going to want to show you the other camp, too. He’s mighty proud of it.”

  “You mean the one where—”

  “Yeah,” Riley interrupted. “The one where they are.”

  “Will I get a chance to see her? To talk to her?” I asked, overcome with excitement.

  “If you don’t seem overly interested, yes. But you need to act like you want to see her for other reasons,” Riley said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing deep down the answer to my question.

  “You know what I mean,” Riley said grimly, pausing before he went on. “Hey, Clint?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “If you see my mom in there, let me know how she’s doing? All right?”

  “Sure, I can do that,” I agreed.

  “Thanks. It’d mean the world to me,” Riley said softly.

  “What the hell is this?” I heard a familiar raspy voice shout from behind us. Riley and I turned to see Willard. He was fuming at the sight of me in my new uniform. Riley and I approached him cautiously.

  “What does it look like, asshole?” I asked.

  “How fucking cute. You come in here and think you’re just going to make an idiot of me? After you killed my sons? After everything I’ve done to watch you suffer?”

  “Your sons had it coming, Willard. And so do you. The end is closer than you realize,” I said calmly.

  Willard turned to face Riley. “What the hell is he talking about?” he sneered.

  Riley shrugged, looking bored. “That General Richter decided to replace you.”

  “Bullshit!” Willard screamed. “You think you have what it takes to fill my shoes, boy? You really think you’re going to make it in here?”

  “I think I already have,” I replied. “Look at you. A pathetic old man. Shit, they didn’t even think enough of you to give you a uniform.”

  “Go to hell!” Willard shouted.

  “How ironic,” I replied. “That’s what your son said . . . right before I sliced his throat open and watched him bleed out like the miserable mutt he was.”

  “This isn’t over,” Willard threatened through clenched teeth, his face turning a violent shade of red.

  “For you, it is,” I replied with a sly smile.

  “Why don’t you go on, old man? You’ve said enough,” Riley said, intervening.

  “No. If you’re going to end me, don’t just talk about it like a coward. Act!” Willard said, reaching for the revolver in his waistband.

  “This is your last chance! Go! Don’t make us ask again!” Riley shouted.

  I saw Richter come through the church door, watching our altercation from a distance. His arms were crossed, and I could swear he was smiling. I locked eyes with him, and he gave me a nod to go ahead with the kill.

  “Give me your knife,” I said to Riley.

  “This isn’t you, Clint. Remember what I said,” Riley said under his breath.

  “He’s watching. Even if I didn’t want to kill this piece of shit—which I do—I can’t show weakness. Remember?”

  Riley reluctantly handed me his knife, his hand shaking at what was about to happen. He knew the demons I would have to fight all too well. Willard seemed to realize what I’d said about Richter watching, and he turned his head to look toward the doorway. In that split second, I had my chance.

  I reared back and plunged the knife into Willard’s side. I could feel his flesh being ripped apart from the blade’s impact as I drove it in all the way to the hilt and twisted the blade before pulling it back out. Willard screamed in pain and shock, realizing that he had lost. The look of fear and pain that filled his evil eyes was something I had been longing for since the moment he’d come back to the farmhouse with the Nazis in tow.

  Willard reached down to his waistband, fumbling for his pistol again in a last-ditch effort to take me out. But he was too slow. Before he could even react, I drove the knife into his side again, leaving the blade in as I reached down to grab his revolver.

  I cocked the hammer back and shot him in the right kneecap, sending a pink mist and fragments of flesh and muscle into the air.

  Willard fell to the ground and began dragging himself toward Richter. He seemed to think it was his only choice, but he was turning to the very man who had deemed him expendable. A trail of blood poured from his fresh bullet wound.

  I glanced up as I came level with Willard, catching the look Richter gave me. He approved—thrilled to it, even—if the look on his face was anything to go by. I wish I could say I didn’t share that thrill, but I did. Willard was as good as dead.

  I dug my foot in Willard’s back. “Didn’t I tell you how this was going to end? A bullet through your head?”

  Willard twisted his head to look up at me. “No mercy in there, huh?” he asked, his voice a strange mixture of hope and soullessness.

  I laughed harshly. “Mercy for you? What’s the matter? Don’t wanna be a vulture anymore? You think I went too far left?” I spat.

  “I forgive you for my boys . . . ,” he said weakly.

  “That’s how it could’ve been, how it should’ve been, from the beginning,” I replied. “It’s good to know you forgive me. But after Beverly, Hazel, my mom? I can’t say you’ve got forgiveness for any of that,” I replied.

  Willard shut his eyes tightly, knowing I had made my mind up. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

  “Rot in hell,” I said before bending down to shove the barrel against the back of his head. “Remember when you had this gun pointed at the back of my head at the house? Guess you should’ve done it,” I said before pulling the trigger.

  I stood with bone-deep satisfaction, feeling the corners of my mouth stretched to what felt like their limits. When I turned to see Riley, the look on his face was a clear display of fear. Disgust. Horror.

  “Who are you?” he mouthed.

  My smile dissolved as I came to understand what I had just done. I looked down at what was left of Willard. He was nothing more than a mangled pile of meat. I stared at the pistol I held in my hand and dropped it to the ground as I realized how far I had fallen, what I’d just become. I fell to my knees, the bloody palms of my hands pressed against my forehead. I turned to face Riley. “I don’t know,” I moaned. “I don’t know who I am.”

  I had killed this man like an animal, and it had been my choice. My own selfish desires had taken priority as I’d made the decision to execute him like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Had I lost my grasp on the person I’d thought I was—the person I’d been raised to be?

  This wasn’t like our escape plan, quick and silent.

  I’d tortured him.

  Part of me died then; part of my humanity was gone. It was at that very moment I understood what Richter had meant about breaking people down. He wasn’t speaking about enslaving innocent people. He’d been referring to claiming souls, to bringing people into evil and stripping them of their morals. He’d known about my desire to kill Willard, and he had exploited it. That was what this was—a test to break me. And I had failed. I had failed myself, my parents. My Hazel. I was just as evil as them now. And it was all because I’d let my desire for revenge get in the way of who I really was.

  A shadow came over me as I stared, unseeing, at the ground, and a gloved hand reached down to help me up. Richter. I took hold of his hand and rose to my feet.

  “Excellent! I hope you do just as well later tonight!” he said. His eyes widened as he took a closer look at Willard.

  “What do you mean, sir?” I asked, confused. He smiled at me without speaking, almost
as if he were debating how much he wanted me to know. But I could see now that he’d wanted to see me in action, had wanted to give me the push to exact my revenge. His movements, facial expressions, the emptiness of his eyes . . . Richter was insane. But he was also a genius, and I knew that insanity and intelligence were a dangerous combination. Willard had been the scum of the earth, but he was still just a thug. Richter, on the other hand, was bred for evil.

  “Sir?” I asked again.

  He snickered. “A bloodthirsty young man like you! An ice-cold machine! You will join me in tonight’s execution.”

  My heart sank as I looked at Riley. He turned away, unwilling to look me in the eyes. That was what he’d been talking about; that was what he’d known would make me lose sleep, what I couldn’t live with.

  “Who are we executing?” I asked with a shaky voice.

  “The weak!” Richter replied like a giddy child. “The ones about to go anyway. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for such an honor,” I replied, trying to talk my way out of it.

  “Nonsense!” he shouted back. “Look around you.”

  I looked around the camp to see weakened men peeking out of shacks, others frozen in motion with their attention on me in obvious fear.

  “See?” Richter boomed. “You’ve struck terror! And the best way to keep that is to prove that you are in charge, that you have control!”

  I didn’t know what else to say besides “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me show you what else can be yours!” Richter went on.

  I followed him back inside the church, then out the front door. Three German personnel vehicles were parked out front, the same type I’d been thrown into the back of when I’d first arrived in camp. Richter opened the driver’s door of the vehicle farthest from the church entrance, gesturing for me to sit beside him, and I complied.

  Richter pointed to the glove box. “Keys!”

  When I opened the compartment, a pistol tumbled out and fell to the floor at my feet. I picked it up from the floorboard, and Richter took notice.

  “German weaponry! The finest, ja?” he said.

  “It is, sir,” I replied with a nod.

  “It is yours now. No good soldier is complete without a weapon!” Richter said.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said as the thought of putting a bullet through his head skittered through my mind. All I would have to do was shoot that sick son of a bitch and go find Hazel and make my way to Cincinnati. But I wasn’t sure where the other camp even was. I also hadn’t a clue about how I’d get Hazel out of there. I couldn’t exactly fight my way out—not alone, at least. And what if that weapon wasn’t loaded? I couldn’t give Richter the opportunity to end me now. Besides, I couldn’t leave Riley and Emmett behind; they wouldn’t be able to make it out without me. I gave Richter a fake grin as I replaced the gun back in the glove box compartment and handed him the keys to the truck.

  “I’ll get it later,” I explained as he started the engine.

  The drive lasted all of ten minutes, mainly limited to Richter’s chatter about his accomplishments. But my attention was largely focused on the sights outside of the truck window, which were unlike anything I had ever seen before, once we were past the guarded gate.

  That seemed to be a trend: just when I thought I had seen it all, I saw something new. Our surroundings—despite being devoid of all signs of human life—were in pristine condition, and it was nice to see a place evacuated rather than demolished for once. We were in a small town, and other than quaint old houses, there was hardly anything there. A pizza parlor attached to a single gas station, a firehouse, a few storefronts. I did finally recognize where I was, however, with the help of some billboards and signs—a small place known as Lucasville, about a hundred miles from Cincinnati. It was a considerable distance, but it could’ve been much worse. If Emmett hauled ass, then he might be able to make it with enough time to inform the Americans before Riley and I had to take matters into our own hands.

  We made a stop at a supermarket called Scioto County Grocery just outside of town. The market, of course, was vacant—though that vacancy seemed not to be the result of recent events. It looked to have sat empty for years. Thick vines grew up the sides of the building’s structure, and FOR LEASE signs and boarded-up windows left no doubt that it had long been abandoned. Perhaps the oversized store had been too much for such a small town to sustain.

  There were no fences, no guards. It was as if this were an underground operation that desperately relied on being nondescript.

  Richter pulled to a stop and hopped from the driver’s seat, leaving me to scramble behind. It was quiet.

  “Are we here, sir?” I asked.

  He turned to face me. “Ja,” he said. “What do you think?”

  “It doesn’t look like much of a camp,” I said, confused as I looked around.

  Richter let out a cackle, as if he had just been told a great joke. “Camp? Who told you this was a camp?” Richter asked.

  “Riley did, sir,” I replied.

  Richter shook his head in silent amusement.

  “Come this way!” he said at last, walking around to the back of the supermarket. There was a large bay door, no doubt used to allow trucks to flow freely in and out and drop off shipments. Next to it was a black metal door with peeling paint. Richter reached into his pocket to fish for a key to unlock the back door as we approached it.

  “If this isn’t a camp, then what is it, sir?” I asked nervously.

  Richter turned to face me again, this time looking more serious. “For the weak, this place is a grave. For the youth, this place is a research facility. And for the women, in order to spread the German bloodline, this place is a brothel.”

  I stared daggers into Richter’s back as he turned around again to focus his attention on the door. It opened, and we were in a large, spacious stockroom. Wooden pallets and various expired goods were neatly stacked and shelved around us, with a single German army truck parked inside the space, as well. Two German soldiers on the other end of the room slept with rifles at the ready atop makeshift mattresses consisting of stacked bags of dog food, with sleeping bags covering them.

  Coming from behind the stockroom doors, I could hear cries, screams, and shouts that bled together in one looping, unintelligible noise. I couldn’t define any of it, but I knew Hazel was in there.

  I knew I wasn’t going to like what I saw on the other side of those walls.

  I knew that those walls were built for evil.

  Chapter 19

  I closed my eyes tightly and braced myself for whatever might lie ahead as Richter unlocked the door to the sales floor. Then I heard the heavy door squeak open as a wave of gut-wrenching noise washed over me.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw about a dozen women sitting in a tightly packed circle at the center of the store, like sardines in a tin can. Their faces were caked in filth layered over bruises. My eyes scanned the mass of hopeless souls, looking for the one who mattered to me most, and on the far left side, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair.

  Hazel! I wanted to scream out for her; I wanted her to notice me, but I was wearing the Nazi uniform now, and I wasn’t sure if Richter knew of my connection to Hazel. Until I figured out a way to get through this, I’d have to act like I didn’t know anyone or anything.

  “This way,” Richter said to me as he began to walk the perimeter. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, gesturing to our surroundings as we made our rounds.

  I was caught in an emotional battle during the entire tour, keeping my facial expressions in check, forcing smiles and frowns and furrowed eyebrows. Richter watched me carefully all the while.

  “It’s astounding!” I said.

  He nodded and looked around again, marveling at his own creation.

  My back was toward a men’s restroom door as
I followed his gaze. The store was lit by only three fluorescent lights across the ceiling. The other four were either dead or flickered as if they were nearly spent. Apart from Richter, I counted six other armed German soldiers inside the market—one in each corner of the store and the two sleeping in storage. If Riley, Emmett, and I executed our plan with absolute perfection, then this should be a walk in the park—especially with the help Emmett was going to find for us.

  I took in every detail I could—the features of the building, the layout, who was where and what they were doing. I needed the most vivid mental image I could form in case Emmett couldn’t return with help in time. The layout was simple, with a wide-open, rectangular floor plan. Unfortunately, that meant there weren’t many places for Riley and me to take cover, but it also meant that there were just as few places for the Nazis to hide. Apart from the three concrete pillars that provided structural support, it looked to be an open field of play.

  Wall dividers and stained white bedsheets separated the rest of the space from the farthest corner of the room. To my eyes, it looked like a makeshift medical clinic. I could only assume that was where they experimented on the children.

  “Come, I will show you the rest!” Richter said.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but I was suddenly hit from behind by the force of the bathroom door being slung open. I regained my balance as I watched a girl of about my age rushing past to take a position with the other women seated in the middle of the room. She was clearly distraught, her tears making visible tracks in the filth caked on her skin as they streamed down her cheeks. She was soon followed into the room by a German soldier, who nodded to me in wordless greeting, his fingers working his pants zipper and belt back into place. It was obvious what he’d been doing in there to that poor girl.

  Nazi bastard number seven, I thought silently.

  Richter chuckled to himself. “Boys will be boys, eh?”

  I grinned back, nodding in affirmation.

  “So, where were we?” Richter asked.

  “You were just showing me around some more,” I replied with false interest.