Page 64 of The Lost Husband

Christoph follows behind me as wet rubble and snow scrape against my palms while my knees bear piles of abrasive rocks. Elias’s hands reach out from the dark and guide me through hollow snow berm connected to the railcar.

There’s little space for movement, just enough for four bodies to fit together beneath the angled railcar, facing the arc of snow. Christoph pulls something out of the bag, it’s loud within the enclosed space. “Don’t move,” he says. “It’ll hold in some heat and keep you and Avi dry.” It isn’t large enough to fit over the two of us completely, so I make sure she’s covered and rest my chest against her back to lock in the warmth on both accounts.

Christoph’s back is taking the brunt at the opening of the tunnel he dug. “We’ll stay like this until there’s light,” Christoph whispers.

As exhausted as I am, my heart is still pounding, and my mind is racing. All I can do is wonder how we thought we experienced liberation when we’re still running from the world closing in on us.

Snow slides down the side of the railcar into a puddle forming around my heel.

Teeth chatter, but I’m not sure whose. The thermal foil shifts, crinkling in my ear.

“Hold on tight, Mama,” Avi mumbles.

Heavy breaths fill the tunnel. I think everyone is asleep. Except me. I should keep alert for Avi, anyway. I tighten my arm around her, wishing I had more body heat to offer.

When my heart grows louder than the breaths around me, a crunch in the snow—a footstep, a heavy boot—stabs the quiet, the frozen air of a gasp cuts through my lungs. A flicker of light shimmers beyond Christoph’s body and slurred whispers weave through the vacant space between our bodies.

The railcar moans, the undercarriage we’re leaning into vibrates. Christoph reaches over Elias and presses his index finger to my lips. I know not to make a sound. I just don’t know if that will matter in a moment.

The only difference between being beneath the railcar and inside of it is that silence might save us. Whoever is out there is scavenging, the toes of their boots thudding against the car walls. We could be crushed beneath if they shift the weight of the car somehow.

“There’s nothing here,” a man says, his German accent distinct. “The rats probably already came through, which means they can’t be far.”

My stomach drops. I’m shaking so hard the foil shifts, and Christoph moves his hand to my shoulder. He squeezes—both a warning and a way to soothe.

A body jumps out of the railcar.

“We’ll find them. Shoot, and take whatever they’ve found. No problem,” another man says.

The word “shoot” hits me harder than the rifle clattering against his hip. The sound rattles through my ribs.

That’s how they speak. Without a care for the living.

Noah would never talk like that.

My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid the sound will carry through the snow, straight to their ears.

Noah wouldn’t blend in like this.

Everyone knows the German soldiers are only good at one thing—carving paths toward their goal.

If Noah had pulled me from the rubble, if those hands had really been his, he didn’t know what was coming for him—the Soviets.

A boot strikes the side of the railcar wall. Metal groans above us.

Avi shifts, the foil crinkling. She sighs and a cough works through her lungs. I cup my hand over her mouth to suppress the sound. “Shh,” I hush. But my blood runs cold when I consider what might happen to us.

“We could stay here for the night,” one of the men says.

I go still, trying to slow my breaths.Please, God. No. Please, no.

“Not here,” the other says. “There’s somewhere better.”

Christoph still has a grip on me, and I don’t think it’s for my benefit. He’s pinching hard. He’s terrified too.

I can’t see if Elias is awake. If he’s aware that he shouldn’t make a sound.

As my head grows heavier from the lack of oxygen, footsteps crunch in the snow, the sound softening as distance grows between us and them.