Lydia grabbed her. “They’re gone. We have to move.”
They entered the slaughterhouse complex. Aubrey took Lazarus to a bench and sat him down. Lydia and Richard Fuchs and the others went to a window and scanned the field they’d just crossed.
Lydia said, “They might be searching the woods. Maybe they didn’t see us come this way. We can take one of those trucks.”
There was suddenly the roar of an airplane’s engine, and Aubrey saw the plane approaching again. Its guns started up and tongues of tracer fire came at them. The cab of one of the trucks exploded, sending everybody to the ground.
Aubrey recognized the plane; it was one of those Heinkels. If only she had a plane now, she would gladly take it and Lazarus and get out of here. If Lydia and Richard wanted to die for the revolution, let them. Lydia’s group of renegades, as a futile gesture, fired up at the plane as it passed overhead. The sound of the engine dropped as the warplane disappeared out of sight.
There was firing again, and rounds started plinking off the metal siding of the abattoir. Aubrey heard animal moans and screams from inside. The truck that had exploded sent belches of thick black smoke into the air, marking their location. Aubrey belly-crawled to Richard, who was lying on top of Lazarus. He’d thrown him to the ground when the plane attacked.
“We have to get him out of here,” Aubrey said.
Richard pushed himself up and looked at the scientist. His mouth was open, his eyes half shut. He checked his pulse.
“Was he hit?” Aubrey asked. She couldn’t see any blood.
“No, but he’s dead. Must have been his heart.” He scrambled to his feet.
“We have to make a run for it,” Aubrey told him. “They’re going to be on top of us any second.”
“Lydia!” Richard screamed across the sound of firing. “We have to go.”
“You go if you want,” she yelled back. “We’re staying. We’re going to take as many of the bastards with us we can.”
“You’ll all be killed,” Aubrey cried helplessly, knowing it was falling on deaf ears.
“We all have a cause worth fighting for. Worth dying for,” the young communist replied. “Maybe one day, you’ll find yours. Go!”
“Come on, I’m getting you out of here before they encircle us,” Richard said.
He grabbed Aubrey’s arm, and they ran for the far end of the abattoir. There was a large pile of bones, and mangy dogs were chewing on the remains of a cow. Aubrey felt a wave of nausea wash over her. The dogs bared their teeth at her as she and Richard slipped on the bloody ground and staggered across the refuse pile. The firing behind them was growing in intensity, peppered with explosions from hand grenades as the German soldiers prepared for their final assault.
Outside, a dusty track led to another stand of trees. Her lungs and legs burning like fire, Aubrey poured everything she had left in the run to the tree line. She could see tall aluminum cylinders, silos of some kind. Aubrey cast one last look back at the slaughterhouse. She saw Lydia and one of her group reach the refuse pile. They were hit; she could see blotches of red blooming on Lydia’s blouse. Lydia and her companion stopped and turned now, as the final assault came at them. There was a final burst from her submachine gun as the Nazis cut her down.
Aubrey let out a scream, and Richard held her head to his chest.
“We have to keep moving.”
They reached the silos. There were no vehicles to steal, but Aubrey spotted two bicycles. “We can get away on those.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Richard said.
“You have a better suggestion? We need to put some distance between us and them.”
They hopped onto the bikes and pedalled furiously out of the compound. There were one or two stray shots at them, but they fell short. Richard and Aubrey paused only when they reached the top of the hill. The troopers had stopped their pursuit, waiting as the trucks approached. It was only a matter of minutes, Aubrey knew, before their pursuers were following once again.
“Come on—we have to try,” she said.
They began pedalling again and flew down the other side of the hill.In the distance was a small village.
“We can get a car there,” Richard said.
They glided into the centre of the town, trying to keep their expressions as casual as they could. The streets were deserted. Much like the slaughterhouse workers, the townsfolk must have heard the battle and locked themselves inside their homes. Their normal curiosity had been supressed under the brutal Nazi regime.
There were only a few motorized vehicles, mostly tractors and a large truck filled with hay bales. Not exactly the discreet getaway car Aubrey had been hoping for.
She heard the roar of an engine overhead and looked up. The warplane was back. It flew over the town at a thousand feet, tilting its wings back and forth, but not in a friendly wave gesture. Aubrey knew what the pilot was doing: he was scanning the fields and roads for people fleeing. The trucks full of troops would be here any minute.
“They’ll expect us to leave,” she said to Richard. “Keep moving. We can hide here.”
“No one here will help us, Aubrey. We’re enemies of the state; they’ll smell it on us. We’ll find no refuge here.”
Just then, a gleaming black car came roaring into the village. Aubrey recognized it immediately. It was the Count von Villiez’s Mercedes. Her heart leapt at the sight. The rear door opened and the count stepped out.
“Helmut,” she cried, and ran into his arms. They embraced.
“Aubrey, my dear.”
“You have to help us. They’re after us.”
“Who is us, Aubrey?”
“My friend.”
“Ahh, yes. The journalist.” He looked over at Fuchs, who stood his ground, watching the two of them uneasily. “Who are you running from?” Helmut asked Aubrey.
“Soldiers. The SS,” Aubrey said. “They attacked us. I got
