“It isn’t much,” she says.
“What isn’t?”
“The guards kept a stash of food taken from the one of the buildings in Kanada. I’m not sure if any of this is edible since it was taken from personal belongings, but it’s something.”
Tatiana has gone from staring out into a void all day to possibly finding us food in an SS warehouse. I’m not sure how we’ll manage to bring whatever she’s carrying back to the barracks without being spotted, but she seems confident despite the number of guards still here.
A thud startles me, but it’s followed by a light scratching noise. “Are you all right?”
“Come down to your hands and knees,” she says. “Follow my voice.” A panel of wood flooring creaks and shakes the ground. What is she doing? “Hurry.”
My knees swell upon dropping to the ground—agony throbs through each stretch, scratch and pull while searching by touchfor Tatiana in the dark. Another wooden panel creaks. “What is this?” I ask.
“A place to hide. Help me lift these floor planks up and to the side.” I scoot around until my hands catch on the wobbling plank she’s tugging away from the floor. I help her move it and then four more panels to the side. “That should be good. We can fit now. I’m climbing in.”
I keep my hand on her back as she lowers herself into the opening. Then, I slip down next, finding the depth to be just the right amount of space for us to sit upright. There’s concrete below us. It’s cold, frozen maybe, but it’s not dirt or water.Water. How long does she think we can hide in here?Whyare we hiding? What are we hoping for?
I want to believe she’s thought this all through, but neither of us are in our right minds. She reaches up to slide the floor panels back in place over our heads. I follow her lead until we’re completely concealed beneath the floor of this small warehouse.
There’s no telling when they’ll burn this structure down. We’ve been watching them decimate everything around us. We won’t be able to escape once it’s up in flames.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I tell her. “There may not be a warning before this building goes up in flames, too.”
“Let’s just pick through the food first and maybe have a meal before we decide where to go next,” she says, already plundering through loose items into what sounds like a canvas bag. “Sausage. It’s sausage, Ella,” she cries out. “And biscuits.” The thought of sausage draws a groan from my stomach. I hear her tearing at a paper wrapper, struggling through quiet grunts. “I’ve got it.”
She’s quiet for a minute then slaps her hand against my chest. “He-re,” she says, her mouth full. I find a thin sausage in her hand and bite down on it gently, wondering how stale it might be. I haven’t chewed on anything harder than a potato inyears. It’s firm, and a bit tough, and my teeth ache, but I manage to tear off a bite and hold it in my mouth, savoring the mild spices mixed with fat. Drool pools at the corners of my lips and I chew the bite as many times as I can before swallowing. It hits the bottom of my hollow stomach and a frenzy of violent hunger ravages through me.
“Here,” I say, handing the sausage back to her, knowing she’s just as hungry.
“We’ll split it, don’t worry. You can open the packet of biscuits. We can share those, too.” The moment I tear open the paper around the biscuits, I question if we should be saving what we can. There’s no telling how long we’ll be stranded here with whatever is left of the piles of rotting potatoes. We’ve barely received a full slice of bread in the past week.
But the justification of preserving food is forgotten with each bite I take, reveling in the sweet and smoky spices swelling against my tongue and dancing down my throat.
We finish the sausage and eat most of the biscuits before leaning back against the short cement wall and resting our heads against each other’s. If we burn inside of this building, at least we got one last taste of flavored food.
I didn’t think we would fall asleep, but the sunlight filtering in between the floorboards yanks me awake. My neck is stiff from not moving all night and my behind is numb from the cold floor. Why is light leaking through the wooden floorboards above our heads? There aren’t any windows in this warehouse.
I shake Tatiana and place my hand over her mouth before whispering in her ear, “Don’t say a word.”
The wooden planks above our head groan, following heavy footsteps. I’m breathing so hard I might faint. There’s no telling who is in here or what they’re looking for, but if it’s a guard, they won’t hesitate to bury us with this building.
The metal closet whines and groans as someone swings the doors around. “It’s empty,” a man says.
“I doubt that,” a second man says, following another set of footsteps above our heads. “This one is loose.”
The floorboard right above us creaks and more light spills into the crawlspace as the wood begins to lift. I hold my breath as if it will save me, and wrap my arms around Tatiana.
“Are you Poles?” a man asks, his Russian accent thick and surprising.
“Yes. Yes, we are. What’s happening?” I cry out, shoving my feet against the dirt, pushing away from the men.
The man standing closest to the hole we’re in holds his palms up. “Let us help you.”
Tatiana grabs my arm and shakes her head. “No, no. The Germans—they’ll kill us. Don’t tell them we’re under here, please. We beg of you.”
The Russian man crouches and reaches his hand in again. “They can’t hurt you now.” I look over at Tatiana. She’s shaking, as am I. How do we trust anyone in a war? But what other option do we have now?
With hesitation, I glance up at the man, noticing his Soviet military uniform. Vehicles are rumbling in the near distance, but I don’t hear gunshots. I don’t hear combat.
