A blunt crack slices through the air. The song halts mid-word, choked by Luka’s sudden gut-wrenching howl of pain. Then there is only silence…
I can’t blink, breathe, or move. My body stiffens like ice as I wait for what comes next. Or is this…the end?
THIRTY-SEVEN
ELLA
The morning gong strikes as if a mallet smashes against the top of my head, bringing me back to a form of consciousness I’d rather not find. Luka’s unfinished word and cry of pain plays in my head like an echo. Everything in my body tells me the worst has happened.
By late morning, the sound of the repetitive scratches from pens against paper and the clinks and clanks from the typewriters are like nails being driven into my head. The guard’s boots thudding in their methodical pace adds to the relentless pain slicing through me.
I can’t keep my hands steady as I make entries into the report logs. Out of habit, I glance over my shoulder, finding a new woman sitting in Tatiana’s seat, doing her work. Anxiety gnaws at me, but Luka—wondering if he’s all right is all I can think about.
I can’t continue like this.
I shove my chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the terse floor, garnering several sharp stares from the other women. “What are you doing?” one of the typists asks.
“I—I can’t sit here. I can’t be here. I need to do something,” I say, my words running into each other.
“They’ll notice you’re gone,” she continues.
I look down at my desk, lift it up and shimmy a few footsteps to the right, adjusting my seat so it’s directly behind the woman who sits in the row before me and blocks the view of the doorway. I move the chair next, and gather the paperwork on my desk, before hurrying toward the corridor as my heart throbs against my rib cage. The guards aren’t in sight, but I know it won’t be long before they return. I just need to make it past the intersecting corridor to the front door before they return.
My pulse thrums in my ears as I poke my head out into the other corridor, checking for guards. Two of them are walking away from this direction, one on each side. I slip my clogs off and tiptoe to the door as quickly as I can. I open it just enough to squeeze through and hold the handle until it swishes closed. I drop my clogs, slip them back on and head toward the main gate.
The guard at the gate, his rifle locked in position, watches me as I approach with the stack of papers. Before he asks me what I’m doing and where I’m going, I say, “I’ve been assigned to deliver these papers to Block 10, it’s urgent, and I’ll be returning just as soon as I hand them off.” Block 10 is often requesting records from us for medical purposes, which doesn’t make much sense to me, but it’s not information I would be privy to.
For whatever reason, everyone shivers when they hear about Block 10, even the guards.
The guard clears his throat and nods. “Go on.” He drops one hand from his rifle, checking the time on his watch as he turns away from me.
I let out a slow breath of air, trying to regain my strength through the crippling fear rushing through me. I keep my head down as I continue down between the barracks, moving with purpose to avoid questioning, though knowing I have no true destination.
If I can just lay eyes on Luka and see he’s all right, it will be enough for me, for now.
I pass around the first building, out of sight from the gate, when a clash of music from two violinists and a cellist catches me off guard, shocking me into nearly tripping backward. Thankfully, I catch myself on the edge of the building. I wasn’t aware this is where the musicians sometimes played. I hear them, but didn’t realize it was just beyond the main gates. They aren’t playing when I go to the administration building or when I’m released at the end of the day.
The musicians might live in one area or block. The cellist is giving me a look from the corner of his eye, likely wondering why I’m standing here staring at him and holding a stack of papers.
I walk up behind him so I can ask him a question he’ll hear over the music. “Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me if all musicians live in a certain barrack or area?”
The man’s eyes shift from side to side. I don’t know if he had trouble hearing me, or if he’s wondering why I could be asking this question. Possibly both.
“I believe most of us are in block twenty-four,” he says before recentering his focus in front of him rather than peering over at me.
“Thank you.”
It doesn’t take me very long to make my way over to Block 24, since it’s close to where the orchestra was playing. Two kapos are standing outside the barrack having what appears to be a firm conversation. A shudder runs through me as I straighten my limbs to avoid looking nervous. “Pardon me, but I’ve been asked to deliver these papers,” I say, my voice strong and steady despite the panic driving through me.
Both male kapos narrow their eyes and knife me with their stares. “Who sent you?” the kapo on the right asks.
I can’t swallow against the strangling tightness encasing my neck. I can hardly breathe. “The—the SS Administration office,” I say, lying through my teeth. With sharp inhales through my nose, I try my best to steady my racing heart.
The kapo questioning me peers down at the stack of papers then shoots his glare back up at me. “No. You’re not allowed in there. Shoo.”
“Please,” I utter, my words sounding more like a cry for help. “I must get these?—”
“Leave, I said,” the kapo shouts, taking a menacing step toward me.
