CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amelia
Day 120 - April 1942
The turnover ratein my barrack had been more than fifty percent. Anyone over the age of sixty eventually passed away from starvation or pneumonia, and the others had been transitioned to a newlocation.
The loneliness had begun to take a toll on my mind as I stopped talking to the other women with whom I shared tight quarters with. Becoming close to someone meant heartache when they would die or be taken away. Therefore, many nights were spent lying awake, staring into the stained ceiling above my head as I pondered if death would be the same, better, or worse than the life I was living. I continued to feel jealousy of those who passed away, leaving me there to continue on with the hard labor my body was enduring on such littlesustenance.
With desperation at a high, an idea clouded my head. While it seemed to hit me out of nowhere, I knew the thoughts had been percolating, drip by drip, into the empty cavernous space my mind still had available. Being a puppet for the Nazis freed me of my own thoughts, leaving me capable of conjuring a way to free myself from thatlife.
April fourteenth would be the day I survived or died, or so I convinced myself. I couldn’t go on being a prisoner, living among disease and swill. It was only a matter of time before someone would notice I had not thinned out as the others had. It would be obvious that I was being helped by a person ofpower.
I set up my papers for the day, leaving the reports on Glauken’s desk. She had stopped watching me so closely after some time, evidently convinced I was doing as directed without a fight. I was easy to manage, and hoped her trust would work in myfavor.
With a line for the sick bay encompassing most of the camp, there was an opportunity for me—one set up by an attempted escapee who did not make his way out. Charlie said he was executed for trying. I told Charlie that execution sounded like the exit door. I was done being someone’s puppet. I was going torun.
The sun was rising slowly above the thin layer of clouds, casting a dim shadow over the russet-colored dirt. My eyes felt larger and my pulse faster, possibly because I hadn’t considered a plan for what would happen past my attempt of escape. I figured anything would be easy to navigate after surviving hell for six months. My first priority was to regain freedom. I knew my odds of surviving were slim to none, but if I managed to escape, I would figure the rest outlater.
As I got closer to the opening on the opposite side of the hospital block, I went over the plan in my head. It was a matter of going inside and climbing out of the second window, then shimmying along a ledge that would lead me to the open field between the prison and freedom. I didn't hesitate when the open door came intoview.
I looked around, meticulously inspecting every person in the area, noting there were no guards in sight. I moved with caution, inconspicuously bringing myself within feet of where my journey would begin. The sensation of fear was no longer present, as I had already lived in fear for far too long. In addition, death no longer scared me. Instead, the idea of winning that battle was feeding adrenaline through me like a powerful drug, offering me the strength tocontinue.
Less than a step away from the entrance, hands clamped around my shoulders. I was pulled away from my plan and dragged across the dead grass to the shower room where I was faced with anothergoodbye.
I learned not to fight when being pulled against my will because it would only cause more pain. Therefore, I waited for the hands to release me before I turned to find Charlie at the other end of what I thought to be threatening hands. My heart thudded against my fragile ribs, slowly, but hard enough to cause a ripple within mybreaths.
“What is this?” Charlie shouted. I didn't know if he was shouting at me or my friend, Leah, who stood before us naked, with a distended belly. She was clutching her stomach, and there were red marks from the pressure of her fingernails across her thin skin. Blood pooled at her feet as she began tohyperventilate.
“Amelia, you must help me,” she cried out. I turned back to Charlie, wondering what was going through his mind. He had to keep up the charade in front of Leah and everyone else in the vicinity, so understanding what he expected me to do, left me at a loss. “He's going to kill my baby andme.”
I knew Charlie would do no such thing, but I couldn't explain that to Leah. Charlie needed to put on a show of hatred for my people, or he would be noticed, expelled from his position, and likely murdered for not following regulations. Charlie hadn’t told me that, but I had no doubt it would be the outcome if either of us had let our guard down. He was my friend—my best friend, a comrade with a different view, a human who didn't hate humankind, a son, a brother, and a man who wanted a future in finance, notmurder.
“You take care of this situation and tell me when you are through. You are aware of protocol, yes?” Charlie gritted through his clenchedjaw.
“Yes, sir,” Ireplied.
“What’s happening?” Leahwhimpered.
Charlie turned on his heels, leaving the shower room as he closed us in by the metal door. “The shower has been locked for maintenance,” I heard him shouting. “Goelsewhere.”
I took Leah's hand, offering her all the compassion I could, knowing she was the only person who was there for me when Mama was murdered. “Everything is going to be okay,” I told her, hoping my words weren't alie.
“I'm so scared,” she said, shaking beneath the cold drizzling water drops. We weren't given the luxury of towels, but there was a dress left behind by another prisoner who likely died somewhere in that space. I took it from the wet floor and placed it down on the ground. “Come here and lie down,” I said. I helped Leah onto the ground, wondering how I would assist her further without any knowledge of delivering a baby. “Do you know how far along youare?”
“It has been more than nine months,” she said. “I'm overdue by aweek.”
I carefully separated her legs, staring down into the bloody mess. “I'm not sure if you’re ready to push,” I told herhonestly.
“I can’t stop myself,” she cried out inpain.
“How long have you been in pain?” Iasked.
“More than a day,” shegroaned.
Leah didn't look the same as she did the last few times we had run into each other. Her face was almost skeletal, as were her legs and arms, but her belly was swollen, just not as large as I thought it should be at the end of a pregnancy. The poor girl needed food to nourish her unborn baby, but instead, she was being systematically starved to death. A scream escaped Leah's throat as her pale face turned red. She clenched every muscle in her body, followed by a wave of exhales as the contraction subsided. I peered down between her legs again, that time seeing a fleshy-colored dome moving in and out along with her uneven breaths. “I think if you push once more the baby will come out,” I told her, unsure if what I was saying held any truth. I feared hurting her or the baby, but if I called for help, I knew what would happen tothem.
Leah held on tightly to everything within her reach. Her toes curled with each contraction, and sweat dripped down her face even though there was a chill aroundus.
