by Brandon Dean
“Ah, yes!” Richter replied. “Come. This way!”
“Actually, sir,” I said, seeing Hazel now sitting in the middle of the room, her eyes focused directly on the ground and her legs tucked closely to her chest. I pointed to her as my words caught in my throat. “I’d like a turn with that one.”
“Ah!” he said with a wink. “Good choice. She’s very popular, if you know what I mean.”
I could barely contain my anger, but I managed to force another smile.
“Go inside! She will come in just a moment,” Richter instructed, nodding to the bathroom.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, walking into the men’s room in anticipation of the reunion I longed for. I stood against the wall farthest from the door. One urinal, one stall, and one sink lined one side of the room, while the other side was an open space. Despite all the horrible things that I knew had gone on in there, it was considerably cleaner than the rest of that shithole, though I doubted that the plumbing was functional.
Suddenly, the door creaked open and Hazel was shoved into the room. She hadn’t looked at me yet—she was far too busy yelling at the guard who had thrown her in.
“I’m not going to do it anymore! You hear me? You’ll regret this! I have people looking for me!” Hazel screamed at the top of her lungs, giving the door several punches and kicks to emphasize her words. Had it not been for her petite stature, she might have ripped the door off its hinges with her bare hands.
“He’s already found you,” I said quietly from behind her.
Recognizing my voice, she turned her head slowly to face me. She ran clumsily to me with open arms, nearly tripping on her own feet. “How did you find me?” she sobbed as she clung to me in a hug so tight that my arms were pinned to my sides. Her face was buried into my chest, and I could feel the warmth of her tears soaking through my clothes.
I leaned down and kissed her head gently, returning her embrace. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” I soothed.
“The things they’re doing to us, Clint,” Hazel said, her voice muffled by my chest. “I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”
“You won’t have to. Before you know it, it’ll all be over,” I replied, trying to sound confident.
“I’m so scared . . . so, so scared,” she said.
“I know, but I promise you’ll make it out. I’m coming for you,” I murmured.
“I’ve missed you so much—and I was so worried that you were gone,” Hazel said as she lifted her head from my chest to look into my eyes.
“You should know that I would never give up—especially not on you,” I replied.
Hazel smiled at me, and the sight of it made me tear up. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and it warmed me to my soul. In that instant, I felt safe, and even if it was for just a moment, it took the pain away.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Hazel asked suddenly, finally registering the uniform I was wearing.
“I’m doing whatever it takes to save you,” I said, hoping she would understand.
“You’re going to end up getting yourself killed, Clint! What are you thinking?” she asked incredulously. “Just go! Just go to safety and forget about me—doing this won’t work!”
“Forget about you? How in the hell do you expect me to do that?” I asked.
“You can’t save the world, Clint! It’s over. It was over as soon as Willard killed Mamaw,” Hazel said, sounding lost and resigned.
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Hazel asked, her eyes wide. “Did you . . . ?”
I nodded.
The look on Hazel’s face was one of both surprise and relief.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. I understand,” Hazel replied, sinking her head into my chest again.
“I’ll be back in a couple of days, okay? Hang in there,” I said.
“What did I just tell you?” she insisted. “Go on, you won’t do me any favors by getting yourself killed.”
I shook my head, dismissing her words. “It won’t be Promised Land without you. Nothing would ever be worth it without you,” I replied.
Hazel placed a hand gently on my face. “I’m saying this because I love you,” she said.
“And I’m ignoring it because I love you back.” I took a breath as I rested my hands upon Hazel’s shoulders, looking into her beautiful brown eyes. “One day—one day soon—I’ll be standing next to some preacher, seeing you in a long, white dress. My mom’ll be there, and little Violet can be the flower girl. That’s what I’m fighting for.”
Hazel turned her head away, wiping tears from her eyes. “That sounds fantastic,” she breathed.
“And one day,” I continued, “we’ll get a cozy house—big one, little one, who cares? It’ll be our place, a place of our own. Waking up every morning to the birds chirping, rabbits hopping around in the woods. Little rugrats who, I can only hope, favor their mother. A little dog or cat running around . . . It’ll be perfect. But it can only be perfect if I have you. Understand?”
Hazel nodded, sniffling. “But what if it doesn’t work? Whatever it is you have planned? What if you die trying to make that happen?”
“I won’t! I have to do this. I got us into this mess; I’m the reason Beverly isn’t here and why I don’t know where Mom and Violet are,” I said regretfully. “I have to make that right.”
“You don’t need to blame yourself, Clint. You did what most couldn’t do in your situation,” Hazel insisted.
I nodded, trying to believe her words, and gave her a small smile. “By the way, one day we’ll die, but not until we’re old and gray, and you’ll still be just as beautiful as ever. We’ve got a whole life ahead of us, and who knows what the future holds? I just need you to trust me.” I stopped to run my fingers through Hazel’s hair as I leaned in to give her another kiss. “You trust me, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course I do—and I always will,” she said. “But how will I know what to do when you come back? You can’t do all this yourself.”
“I have a plan, and I have someone to run to Cincinnati and let the army know where you are. I’ve got help, but when you see me again, stay out of the way and keep yourself safe until it’s over. How many people are here, do you know?” I asked.
“Thirteen women and five children,” Hazel said.
I looked around at the room. “This should do,” I said, trying to estimate how many people the space could hold. “Tell everyone to hide in here, but under no circumstances do you risk yourself. Okay?”
Hazel nodded.
The sound of knocking on the door echoed through the bathroom. “Having fun in there?” I heard Richter ask.
I gave Hazel one last hug. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you too, wise guy,” she said back, giving me a smile laced with hope.
I let Hazel leave the restroom first, then followed through the door to see Richter giving me a wink. Hazel scurried back to the middle of the room. “Making the most of it, ja?” Richter said with a grin.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
Two Germans walked over to the center of the room, slinging their rifles behind their backs as they pulled the corpse of a dead woman from the middle of the huddle. They spoke in German, but I could hear notes of disappointment as one of the men threw her over his shoulder and began to walk outside, leaving the second man behind to reclaim his post.
“What a pity—she was a favorite among the men, too,” Richter tut-tutted. “Such is life, ja?”
I looked into the lifeless face of the woman as she was being carried out of the building. Her facial structure, her raven-black hair, the small mole to the right of her upper lip—I knew her all too well. Priscilla Jennings.
I knew Riley would ask about her when I got back
to camp. But how was I going to break the news? The only thing I could do now was give him the truth. I just hoped Riley could think straight when I told him his mom was dead.
Chapter 20
Impressive, isn’t it?” Richter asked on our drive back to the church.
“Yes, sir,” I said simply, then falling into silence.
“That’s it? No questions?” Richter asked, curious. “You must be tired from too much fun.”
I smiled despite feeling sick to my stomach. “Why a grocery store?” I asked, playing along.
“Why not?” Richter asked back. “Do you know how many times those American pigs have likely passed by without noticing? Without wondering what is inside?”
I nodded.
“You can’t spread the German line, you can’t perfect the genes of the youth if you have an army of swine getting in the way,” Richter explained. “Work in plain sight. It’s genius.”
“True,” I replied, watching the landscape go by as we drove.
I was silent the rest of the way back, dreading what I would have to tell Riley when I saw him. Thankfully, Richter seemed satisfied to let me sit quietly. He drove on, whistling something I didn’t recognize. I had hopes that soon enough that whistle would be silenced.
That brings me to where I am now, sitting in one of the pews in the very back of this church that I can’t wait to leave. I toss my empty dinner plate to the side after a filling meal of sauerkraut and bratwurst. I’ve never cared for the stuff, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I look over to Riley as he stands from the pew next to mine, walks toward me, and takes a seat. “Glad you’re back, finally,” he whispers. “So, did you see my mom in there?”
I take a deep breath before replying. “Yeah,” I say, knowing I have no choice but to tell him.
“Well?” he presses, his voice barely a whisper.
I look at him, shaking my head. “I’m so sorry.”
Riley leans back into the cushions of the pew. “My entire family . . . gone.” Riley pauses. “You know what, though?”
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t think I have it in me to be sad anymore. I mean, what she was going through . . . could it really have been any better than death? That anger you had, that rage you took out on Willard—I understand now,” he says.
I nod. “You still have family left, Riley,” I reply.
He faces me and raises an eyebrow in question.
“We’ve known each other for eleven years. A lot of memories, am I right?”
Riley snickers. “Yeah, too many to count. And looking back on it, I think you’re the reason I was grounded all the time, all that wacky bullshit you had us do.”
“Me? Whose idea was it to skip school when we were twelve and hang out at the drive-in burger place all day?”
Riley smiles. “Okay, so that one was me. Still can’t believe my old man stopped by and caught us.”
“Yeah. But at least he didn’t make us ride our bikes back home,” I say.
“Hell, I don’t think I could’ve if I’d wanted to—not with the ass-whooping he gave me right in front of everyone,” he replies.
“And remember that time we put the fish we’d caught in the lake in Mr. Buchanan’s desk?” I ask.
“Hey, that one was your idea, pal!” Riley says, his smile and eyes both wide.
“Sure, but I didn’t expect you to actually do it!”
“That’s your own fault, then, for underestimating me,” Riley replies. “And let’s not forget the time you—yes, you, goody-two-shoes Clint—wanted to build some janky-ass treehouse with all the boards your dad spent a good ten dollars on the day before. Whose ass got beat then?”
I laugh. “You got me,” I say. “My point is, we aren’t just friends anymore—we’re brothers. We’re family.” I pause for a moment before looking at Riley again. “I love you, man.”
Riley nods, one side of his mouth forming a smile. “Likewise, brother,” he replies.
I look at the backs of the German heads sitting several rows in front of me. “Ready?” I ask Riley, my voice hushed now.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says with a nod.
“This is for my dad, for Beverly . . .” I take another look at Riley. “For your mom . . . It all ends tonight, when they least expect it.”
Riley directs his attention past the German troops ahead of us and focuses on the statue of Christ watching over the nave. “Think we should say a prayer or something? You know . . . just in case?” Riley asks.
I chuckle. “There is no ‘just in case,’ pal. The good guys always win, right? It isn’t us who need to say a prayer right now.”
“Damn right,” Riley replies.
I take a look at Richter sitting at his desk up on the platform, his pen moving quickly over paperwork.
“Leave him for me,” Riley mutters under his breath, sounding determined as he follows my gaze.
I nod. “You got it, man.” I can almost hear my own bones shaking from the nervousness of what’s about to happen, and I can see that Riley is feeling it, too.
Richter rises from his desk, and all activity in the room comes to a halt, blanketing everyone in silence thick with anticipation. He doesn’t have to say a word, for everyone knows what is going to happen. Everyone inside follows Richter from the church and into the yard, some looking overcome with excitement, while others look bored.
Riley leans in to whisper in my ear, a whisper so quiet that it’s almost inaudible. “Whatever he makes you do, whatever you see, whatever you feel—don’t let it break you.”
I nod as we both rise from our pew and join the line of soldiers streaming out of the church. Once we’re outside, all the guards—Riley and I included—stand with our backs against the wall as we face the shacks, and prisoners scatter about. Richter looks back at me with a wink and a sly grin, then walks over to hand me the pistol he gave me earlier in the day. Making his way back to the front of this long snake of assembled soldiers, Richter pulls his own gun from his holster and fires a shot into the air.
The attention of all the prisoners is captured; they stare at us in horror, knowing what will probably happen next. Richter points to three prisoners, each of whom look weakened past their breaking point. Two are older men, the third much younger—though their ages are hard to gauge, all of them being so frail and brittle. The youngest of the three men has a ghostly white cast to his skin that indicates some type of severe illness. Richter turns and cocks his head at the first few soldiers in line, sending them to do a roundup.
The pleas, the cries, the looks of hopelessness—that shit’s getting to me. I glance over at Riley; I can see it bothers him, too. I guess there are some things you never get used to, even if you have to.
“Don’t . . . break,” Riley mutters quietly from the corner of his mouth.
The first two prisoners give up easily without much of a fight; they know there isn’t any hope in resisting or trying to delay the inevitable. The third is trying to squirm and fight back through his bloody coughs. He’s weak, though, and a couple of swift punches to the stomach are all that’s needed for him to submit.
The three men kneel, with their backs facing us, while the soldiers who rounded them up cover their eyes with handkerchiefs. The yard is loud with the sound of sobbing as the three men await their deaths, and I watch Richter point his pistol at the back of the head of the first man and pull the trigger. The second man lets out a horrible scream of terror and begs to be spared, but he is next. One by one, the three men are shot, and as their bodies fall to the ground, blood pours from their open skulls. Their cries cease, and there is nothing but sickening, deathly silence.
Richter turns his attention to me. “Now it is your turn,” he says with an evil smile before glancing at the soldiers who had rounded up the first three prisoners. “Get the Negro!” Richte
r demands.
“Oh, shit! What now?” Riley whispers frantically to me.
“What happened to not breaking?” I whisper back, nervous.
I watch as the two men run inside Emmett’s shack.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I hear Emmett scream as he’s dragged out, resisting as much as he can. Emmett breaks one arm free and punches the guard on his left, catching him square in the face. He stumbles to the ground, blood trickling from his nose as he gapes at Emmett in surprise and confusion. The one on his right seems to have it worse, though. Emmett breaks free from his grasp and throws him to the ground, getting on top of him, punching his face relentlessly until it looks like raw hamburger meat.
The soldiers in line all raise their weapons, but Richter waves them off. “No!” Richter says. “We could use some entertainment.”
We all continue to watch as Emmett wraps his legs around the soldier from behind, locking him in a chokehold. Screaming in rage, Emmett places his hand on the side of the German’s face as the soldier desperately tries to break free, and with one swift yank, Emmett breaks the other man’s neck. I can hear the snap from where I stand.
The second soldier reclaims his composure and fires a shot into Emmett’s leg using his rifle, and Emmett howls in pain as he fruitlessly attempts to stand. Riley and I look at each other, not saying a word, but both of our faces communicate our lack of knowing what to do. The German slams the butt of his rifle into Emmett’s head three times, splitting his forehead open and covering his face with blood. Emmett finally succumbs, and another soldier joins to help drag him to a spot next to the other victims, making him kneel directly in front of me.
“Go on,” Richter says to me. “Finish him!”
I pause for a moment, desperately looking for any way out of this. The man in front of me is one of the only two people in this place I can trust, and now it’s I who has to end him.
“I said kill him!” Richter screams, his face reddened with impatience.
Taking a deep breath, I walk reluctantly up to Emmett and position my pistol at the back of his head. My hand is shaking uncontrollably, and I know I will never forgive myself for what I am going to do.
