off as she turned to help Herr Holtzmann. The tires rolled, splattering mud. The crowd parted and the driver picked up speed. She screamed for them to stop.
Gisela’s stomach dropped to her feet, her heart taking its place, her entire body thrumming with each beat.
“Halt! Bitte halt!”
SEVEN
G isela held on to Herr Holtzmann’s hand, squeezing it, pulling him along. Her legs burned and she gasped for breath. “Halt, bitte halt.”
She ran behind the transport truck like a lion runs for its prey. With its heavy load of passengers and baggage, it moved forward at a crawl. The old man’s hand slipped from her grasp.
“God, help us!” If she shouted at the heavens, would He hear?
The truck lurched forward. It would leave and she and Herr Holtzmann would be stuck here, at the mercy of the Russian soldiers.
Her memory echoed with her aunt’s voice. “Run, girls, run.”
But she couldn’t run. To do so would leave the old man to face his fate. And she had promised she would leave no one behind. She grew light-headed and her ears buzzed. Every muscle in her body quivered.
“Halt! Halt!” The shrieks tore the inside of her throat raw.
With a sudden squeal of brakes, the truck stopped. From the corner of her eye, a dog darted from in front of the truck.
She clutched her neighbor’s hand once more and dragged him behind her.
“Leave me, Gisela, leave me.”
“Nein. Nein. Don’t talk like that.” God, get us all on this truck.
“I cannot continue. Take care of my sisters.”
“Ja, you can. You must.”
But two steps from the truck, he wrenched his hand free. She stumbled forward. Fingertips brushed hers and a strong hand gripped her wrist, pulling her into the truck. The bone in her shoulder joint shifted and her legs lifted off the ground. She swung her feet until she kicked the truck’s bumper.
Feeling a solid surface beneath her, she climbed over the tailgate. As she turned to help Herr Holtzmann, the truck jolted forward. “Nein. Nein. We can’t leave him.”
He made no attempt to catch the transport.
In the distance, explosions rocked the ground.
She leaned forward and banged against the gate.
Hands held her inside. She fought and wriggled but couldn’t free herself.
Herr Holtzmann waved with his right hand, his left over his heart.
A Russian plane zoomed from the heavens, spraying the ground around the truck with bullets. The rocks they kicked up clanged against the truck’s metal body. Without warning, the driver sped up.
Gisela bounced against a solid chest.
“Let me go. I have to help him. I have to get him.”
“You can’t. It is too late.” The deep voice in her ear was pure German. No British accent.
“Then let me off.” She kicked at the stranger’s shins.
Her blows proved futile. Herr Holtzmann grew smaller and smaller.
“Good-bye, Brother. Catch the next bus and meet us in Venice.” Bettina stood next to Gisela, now waving to Herr Holtzmann and blowing him a kiss.
Gisela fell backward.
The stranger wrapped his arm around her and steadied her.
She peered at her rescuer. A man in a German soldier’s uniform met her gaze, the picture of Aryan perfection with blond hair and eyes as blue as the Baltic itself.
The Russian pilot shot a few more rounds at the convoy of trucks. Screams erupted from those in the vehicles in front of them. Her stomach vaulted into her throat.
The tide of tears spilled over, down her cheeks. “Nein, not him. Not him. Dear Lord, not him too.” She clung to the stranger who still held her.
He let her cry for a good long time, until her tears turned into hiccups.
“Are you going to be all right, fräulein?” His voice was deep, lilting, almost hypnotizing.
“Gisela.” Mitch’s voice came from beside her, though the stranger continued to hold her.
“Oh.” She stopped short, almost calling him Mitch. “Josep, Herr Holtzmann didn’t make it on. He stopped running. I couldn’t . . .”
“I know.”
“Then this man
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