“And Catrin?” I’d asked. “Has she been seen?”
“She was spotted two weeks ago. I have no information past that.”
I tried to picture my younger sister. When we were children, people had said we looked alike, but any similarities were mostly due to our coloring. The pale hair and eyes, the slender build. We were our parents’ children through and through, though she’d favored our father’s classic good looks, while my features were a combination of my mother and aunt’s more lush attributes.
It was hard to imagine Catrin as a young woman. She’d been so spirited as a girl. Always giggling and getting admonished by our parents. Creative, bright... What had life been like for her? What had life been like living with another family? Had she been kept away from the worst of the war? I had so many questions and ached to see her, hear her, and learn everything that had happened in my absence.
We’d always been so close. I was frightened she’d be angry with me. That she wouldn’t believe our aunt and uncle had tried to get her out too. That I hadn’t left her behind on purpose.
Would she forgive me for leaving? Would she forgive me for the lie that was my death and for taking so long to come back?
The plan, per Max, was that while he tended to some business nearby, I would go to my parents’ home in hopes of seeing Catrin and convincing her to leave with me. If she was there and agreed, both of us would then go to a safe house. The woman who lived there would get word to Max.
“The safe house is there,” he said, pointing discreetly as we turned down another street. “Three doors down. Number four. The blue door.”
I nodded.
He reached forward and knocked three times on the dashboard, paused, and knocked once more.
“That’s the knock,” he said. “Do anything other than that and she won’t answer the door and you’ll be out in the cold, exposed.”
The house was at least twelve blocks from where my parents’ home was, the streets between becoming more and more treacherous as we drove farther into the city.
I stared in quiet awe as we bumped over potholes and stones, looking at buildings and shops and parks that had once been filled with families, friends out for an afternoon, and businessmen hurrying to and from meetings. They now stood empty, devoid of life, doors closed, windows dark or boarded over, sprawling lawns unmarked by the footfall of children running across them.
The car slowed and stopped and the two of us leaned forward, frowning at the sight ahead of us. The road was blocked by wooden partitions. Beyond them a tank sat off to one side, its metal body charred and covered in ash. Behind that was a scene I couldn’t quite comprehend.
“What is that?” I asked, looking past Max out his window.
“I believe that was a building,” he said of the cascade of rubble covering most of the street.
He turned then and looked out the passenger-side window where a large hole obstructed anything or anyone from getting through. My parents’ home was still several blocks away, but to get to it...
“I can try and go around,” he said. “Otherwise, you’ll have to go on foot.”
An older woman appeared to the right of us and hurried across the street, her body bundled against the cold, her face worn, eyes wary as she watched us. She didn’t look familiar to me. I wondered if there was anyone still in town I’d recognize—and who might recognize me.
“I can walk from here,” I said, my voice low.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. It’s not far.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“You remember where the safe house is?”
“I do.”
“The knock?”
“I remember.”
“Go there as soon as you’re done,” he said and I nodded. “With or without her. If you don’t see her, we’ll talk tonight about next steps.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And don’t take longer than necessary,” he said.
