A backhanded slap comes out of nowhere, so fast that I choke on air. My cheek burns, hot and sharp, but I hold back my tears. I won’t give him that.
“You think we’re fools, idiots, yes?” he snaps at me. His German accent tears through me like a knife.
“No, no, I don’t think that at all!” I clench my eyes, but nothing follows except a weightless flutter as specks of light freckle my vision. The soldier’s voice is more distant now, but shouting.
“Liar! You were caught at the entrance of the sewer where the resistance gathers.”
“I was visiting with a friend who lived nearby,” I mutter, telling myself that isn’t the right answer as it will still be considered resistance since I was out after curfew.
My vision takes a moment to clear, but the blurriness lingers, making me question whether I’m seeing one soldier or two now.“It appears she might need more convincing,” the second soldier with a different voice says.
I don’t see it coming, but a heavy strike to my ribs tosses me off the side of the chair and onto the ground. Still unable to move my bound hands, I draw my knees into my chest to press against the throbbing pain, but it’s relentless, searing through every nerve in my body.
“Who is Miko?” the second soldier asks, his voice softer than it was a moment ago as if this question is more sensitive and I should be more forthcoming. How does he know Miko? “You mentioned his name at the sewer entrance.”
“No one,” I choke out. “I don’t know a Miko.” I’ll die before I give up information on my brother.
“Such allegiance, wasted on something that lives and will die in a sewer,” he says.
But Miko isn’t the one in the sewer. It’s Luka.Please don’t hurt him.
The room spins around me as another thrust strikes my head. The flicker of light above me burns out into a stark blackness. The image of Luka swishes through my mind, his touch, his hold, his voice and words…“If I ever get the chance to keep you, I hope you’ll be mine forever.”
It’s hard to imagine we’ll make it there now.
I’m so sorry, Luka.
TWENTY
ELLA
October 1941
Oswiecim, Poland
The cold floor stings against my back, stealing the little warmth left in my body. The cell is dark, the only form of light comes from a window with bars at the top of the wall where the ceiling joins. I’ve lost track of time, the hours and days spilling into the next since I arrived here.
The interrogations are less frequent now, but the silence is never ending. I think they’re waiting for me to break. They must think I have more information than I do. I’m not worth their time otherwise. Though it doesn’t explain why they haven’t killed me like they did with half of the others. I witnessed each instance, was covered in their blood, then sent into this cage of metal bars—where I’ve slept night after night.
There’s more movement down here today, but it’s hard to tell where the sound is coming from until my cell door opens. An unfamiliar soldier grabs me by the arm and drags me out the door and out to the courtyard, dropping me like a sack of potatoes onto my knees in front of a running truck. A dozenothers are on either side of me, all of us bruised, lined with purple and red welts, swollen, and deformed.
The bumpy drive jolts us in every direction, forcing us to endure more pain against the contusions we’re already suffering with. However, at the next stop, we’re tossed from the truck at the foot of a steaming train. Without long to wonder where we’re going, we’re herded into one of the overcrowded cattle cars and sealed into darkness. Fingers poking into every wound—the grinding, squeezing, and pulsating, relentless. People are falling on top of me and at first, I think they’re trying to torture me, but then I realize their eyes are closed, unconscious.
For mindless and endless hours, the people within this car sway in only four directions, front, back, side, or side, and as one unit together. It’s as if the air has been sucked out of the train, holding us in a stale space.
I squeeze my eyes closed as the thought of what I’ve caused everyone I love flashes before me like a horror film reel. I wanted to help. Luka’s grandmother—she’s probably gone now, and he might think the worst of me. Mama and Tata, they tried so hard to keep me sheltered and I wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t sit back and let the world fall apart. Now, they’re the ones enduring the consequence for my actions. And Miko, we’ve bickered and poked at each other for as long as I remember, but he was trying to keep me safe. Always trying to protect me despite me never wanting that protection.
A screech rips through the car as the pile of us lean sharply to the left, then quickly to the right, before using one another to try and push ourselves upright. Screams and shouts bellow from outside the train, coming from every direction. The people closest to the door try to lift the latch, but it’s locked. My body is as weak as a rag doll and I doubt I’ll make it off the train to wherever we are now.
The sound of people walking back and forth past our closed car door as if they don’t realize anyone is alive in here goes on and on. Then the door slides open with a crash of metal against metal, a gust of cold wind blasts us before the shouts and screams grow louder, echoing between the walls we’re still stuck between.
It takes minutes before people find a way out. My knees won’t lock, and I can’t hold myself up no matter what I grab onto. Hands wrench around my body and toss me off the train, dropping me against stone rubble. A woman around my age pulls me up to my feet. “You poor thing.” She weaves her arm around mine and holds up more of my weight than I’m holding myself. “I think we’re at Auschwitz. You must look healthy and alive. A distant uncle of mine heard from a reliable source all about the makings of this place. You either work or die. There is no in-between. He scared us all terribly, but I suppose I’d rather know how to act competent than not.” I’m taking in everything this woman is saying but struggling to comprehend it all.
“Work or die?” I repeat.
“Yes. That’s right. So, pull yourself together before the SS spot you look like you’re about to collapse right here.”
Why does she care enough to help me? If I’ve learned anything since my arrest, no one has much compassion left to help anyone when they can barely help themselves. We’re all fighting for our own survival now.
