The instant seemed to stretch out. Gretchen jumped up, her eyes fastening on Röhm’s hand as he raised the pistol again; she rocked onto the balls of her feet as Röhm rotated his arm in a wide arc toward her, torchlight gleaming off the weapon’s barrel, and her legs tensed as she sprang toward the nearest group of men—
“He has a gun!” someone shouted.
Everything started happening at once. The men unfroze and started running, scrambling to get away, shoving others out of the way in their haste to escape. The air filled with shouts and cries. Gretchen ran as hard as she could. There were so many people in such a small space, they all squeezed against one another as they struggled to flee. Men’s bodies pressed into hers, propelling her forward, their arms and legs knocking into her as she ran, but she didn’t even register the pain. Somewhere, behind her, she heard Röhm’s voice through the men’s cries, screaming her name, but she didn’t look back.
The men pushed and pulled against her, and it took all of her strength to remain upright. She tried to run, but so did everyone else, and they stumbled and fell into one another like blind people. The air was so heavy with screams she couldn’t hear her own breathing.
She tripped over a man’s foot and almost fell, but someone else’s arms pulled her up, and she stumbled forward, trying to regain her balance, but the men behind her were pushing so hard that she couldn’t.
“Gretchen Müller!” Röhm shouted. “Someone, stop her!”
Nobody grabbed her. No one was paying attention to her; they were all too eager to get away. She staggered on, tripping and swaying, and had nearly fallen headlong again when fingers fastened around her wrist and jerked up so hard that her shoulder nearly popped out of place. She had to bite her lips so she wouldn’t scream from the sudden, sharp pain.
“Sorry,” said a voice in her ear. “But you mustn’t fall or you’ll be trampled.”
She knew the voice and turned to see Daniel stumbling beside her, his face white and blood-streaked and his eyes dark and feverish with pain. He looked badly hurt. She cried out his name and grabbed his hand. Sweat nearly slid their fingers apart, but she held on as hard as she could.
They reached the edge of the square. The pressure from hundreds of straining bodies pushed them into the street that was rapidly filling with Communists and brownshirts, and Gretchen and Daniel popped like wine corks into the suddenly loosened air. They ran a few yards down the street, and then Daniel stopped. He bent at the waist, breathing hard and cradling his left arm tight against his chest.
“Go.” He gritted the words out between lips turning white. “I’m slowing you down. Go, Gretchen!”
She would never leave him. Instead of replying, she scanned the street. The Theatinerstrasse reminded her of a scene from Dante’s Inferno, the glimmering torchlight transforming the running men into shadows made of red and black. More and more men spilled into the street, the Communists and brownshirts still punching and kicking. Howls of pain sliced through the night. In the distance, police whistles tweeted, a silver sound that seemed pitifully weak against the hordes of men streaming into the street.
“The police are coming,” she said. She and Daniel shared a look making further words unnecessary—the police’s presence was no guarantee that help had arrived.
“We must get out of the city,” he said.
“Can you make it to the train station—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “Come on.”
Gretchen snatched up Daniel’s good hand, and together they half-walked, half-stumbled through the darkness toward the train station. At this late hour, the shops were closed, their fronts concealed by metal grilles, their awnings rolled up. Along the apartments in the upper stories, faces appeared at the windows, their expressions worried.
Gretchen and Daniel followed the narrow, twisting streets. They would take a few steps along one avenue before darting down a side street, zigzagging as frequently as they could to confuse anyone who might be following them. But the screams and running feet were fading away, softening like the night all around them. They were almost there.
Gretchen looked at Daniel. They had slowed to a walk, and each step seemed to require tremendous effort from him. The cords stuck out in his neck, tight as ropes. He walked with a shuffling gait, his injured arm dangling at his side. It hung at such an unnatural angle, she knew it must be broken, or seriously damaged. A thin sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin, and his fingers were so wet, they slipped from hers. The National Socialists must have beaten him with the truncheons she’d seen them carrying.
Daniel stopped to lean against a building. Fatigue had put dark smudges beneath his eyes. She doubted he could go on much longer, and her heart twisted. He had wanted so badly to become a reporter in Munich, and now his friendship with her had ripped that dream away.
“We can probably never come back to Munich,” she said, willing her voice to stay steady. He looked at her, blinking hard to force his eyes to focus, but they kept blurring. She knew he should be in a hospital, but surrendering to a doctor’s care would be only a temporary reprieve before the NSDAP found him and murdered him. If he wanted to live, he would have to keep running.
With his good hand, he gestured toward his broken, battered body and almost smiled. “I know.”
“And that means . . . you can either go home to Berlin or continue on with me.” She took a deep breath like a swimmer bracing herself before plunging into icy water. The only nearby sound was the purr of a car engine, and a sleek black automobile swung past, its headlights cutting across them for an instant.
“No place in Germany is safe for me anymore,” she went on. “Wherever I go, the Party will find me. I know we haven’t made any plans to leave, but I see now I must go. I have a friend in England”—her voice cracked, but she went on—“the psychoanalyst I told you about, and he’s a good man, Daniel, who sees the truth about Hitler. He said he would help me, and I’m sure he would extend the offer to you as well. Getting there will be difficult—we haven’t any money or proper identification papers with us, but I know we could find a way. You needn’t come with me. If you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”
He reached out with his good hand, cupping her chin. “Gretchen, don’t you realize by now I would give up everything to be with you?”
The sound of screeching tires ripped through the air. The car they had just seen had circled around and skidded to a stop. A man peered at them through the open window.
“It’s them!” the man shouted. “Alert Röhm and spread the word to the others! It’s the Müller girl and the Jew!”
They ran.
The central train station was a few minutes away. Gretchen glanced at Daniel, but the moment’s rest seemed to have done him good, for he kept pace beside her, running hard. They rounded a corner and the Munich Hauptbahnhof rose before them.
“Stop, stop!” cried a man behind them. His footsteps thudded on the pavement, and suddenly the sound multiplied and Gretchen glanced over her shoulder. Several men had joined their pursuer and more were flooding in from the pockets of darkness spread along the street. About twenty brownshirts followed them now.
The train station grew nearer, a pile of stone and glass that even from a distance seemed deserted. Perhaps during the bustle of midday they could have blended into the crowds, but there would be few people in the station now, a businessman heading to one of the neighboring towns, a family on holiday, but no commuters, no throngs of Müncheners clogging the platforms. There would be few witnesses to watch whatever the brownshirts would do to them.
Gretchen and Daniel flung themselves at the entrance. She caught a glimpse of the lobby—a flat stretch of floor spreading out in all directions to the various platforms—
“This way!” Daniel shouted, and they ran to the right. This was the city’s main train station, with lines to places like Landshut, Nuremberg, and Rosenheim. But both Nuremberg and Landshut were National Socialist strongholds. Wherever they went, there would be Party men
waiting for them.
A train’s whistle blasted. Gretchen whirled, trying to locate the sound. There it was, the only train in the station, slowing to a stop two platforms away.
“Go.” Daniel nodded toward the train.
Adrenaline surged through her veins so fiercely that she felt as though all of her cells were jumping beneath her skin. The only way to reach the train was to go back the way they had come. They would head straight into the men who were rushing toward them now. The brownshirts now numbered nearly thirty and more streamed through the station’s entrance. They pounded across the lobby, calling her name, telling her to stop.
Indecision locked her in place. How could they possibly escape? There was no place to go.
Röhm stepped through the front doors. He didn’t bother to run, as though confident his men would easily retrieve her and Daniel, but he moved quickly, one hand resting on the knife at his belt.
“There’s no escape,” she cried, and Daniel tugged her around to face the train platforms.
“Yes, there is.”
And then she saw it. The only way to reach the other platform was to jump into the little well where the railway lines ran, clamber over the tracks, and then pull themselves up onto the adjacent platform.
Daniel ran across the platform and flung himself off. She raced to the edge and watched him land about four feet below. He winced, but didn’t stop to absorb the momentary pain; immediately, he started scrambling across the thick metal rails, toward the opposite side.
Gretchen dropped down after him. She landed between the rails just as a loud, metallic scream rent the air. A single halo of light appeared far off in the railway tunnel; in the space of a second, it sharpened into a headlamp. It was a train, hurtling down the track toward them.
“Gretchen!” Daniel shouted. She looked up. He had reached the opposite platform and was reaching toward her with his good arm, his face pale and shiny with sweat. “Take my hand!”
A rush of wind whooshed over her. The train was slowing, but still shooting closer, its brakes squealing. She saw the engineer’s surprised face through the window, saw him jerking on the controls, but she already knew it was no use; he wouldn’t be able to stop soon enough. There was no time to step carefully over the tracks and pull herself up onto the platform. She would have to jump.
She sprang as hard as she could. For an instant, she was suspended in the air, the wind pushed by the oncoming train dragging at her clothes, and then Daniel’s arms closed around her.
Her feet knocked hard against the well’s lip, and she and Daniel fell onto the platform, Daniel landing on his back, she on top of him. The air slammed out of her lungs.
“Come on,” Daniel panted.
They scrambled to their feet. Behind them, the brownshirts’ frustrated shouts mingled with the train’s screeching brakes, a wave of sound washing over them. The other train’s doors started to close.
“Go!”
They raced across the platform, throwing themselves onto the train. The doors shut with a hiss. The train lurched forward, and Daniel nearly fell. Gretchen swung her arm around his waist, supporting him as they limped to the nearest compartment. She eased Daniel onto a seat, hearing his low moan of pain as he touched his injured arm. Suddenly, her legs turned to water, and she sank down beside him, shaking all over.
The train gathered speed. They hurtled around a curve, emerging into the city. Through the window, Gretchen saw the street, now swarming with brownshirts. Superimposed on them were her and Daniel’s own reflections, their faces pale as milk, their eyes ringed with exhaustion. The images lasted for a second before the train pulled away, dragging them deeper into the dark night.
She turned to Daniel. He sat back in the seat, breathing hard. Sweat slicked his hair back from his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked, even though she knew he wasn’t, and he managed a weak grin.
“Not bad when I think how furious Röhm must be that we got away from him.” He grimaced. “The worst of it’s my arm. I can move it, so I don’t think it’s broken, but it feels like it’s on fire.”
He glanced at Gretchen. “We need to figure out where this train is going. I’m sure Röhm and your brother are already racing to intercept us at the next stop.”
Pain arrowed through her chest, so swift and sharp she had to close her eyes for an instant. “Then you didn’t see what happened, back in the square.” She plowed on before he could reply. “Röhm shot Reinhard. He’s dead.”
There was a beat of silence. With his good hand, Daniel took hers, turning it over so he could lace their dirty, blood-stained fingers together. “I’m sorry.”
Her dry eyes ached. She was still too numb to know how she felt. There was only this blank emptiness in her heart for the brother she had feared and had wanted so badly to love.
They had entered a third-class compartment, so the seats were crowded closely together, but it didn’t matter because they were alone and there was no one to hear them. It was so dark outside that she couldn’t tell what direction they were headed in, and she had no idea what their destination might be.
A conductor stepped into their car and peered at them disapprovingly. “Tickets?” he asked dubiously, as if two filthy and battered-looking teenagers couldn’t possibly have tickets.
Which, of course, they didn’t. Daniel paid for them with the last of his pocket change. At some point, Gretchen had lost her pocketbook, so they had no possessions at all. As the conductor turned to leave, Gretchen asked him where their train was going.
“Dachau,” he sniffed, and retreated to another car.
She almost laughed. It was their second piece of luck tonight. Dachau was a scant thirty minutes’ train ride from Munich—not very much time for Daniel to recover his strength or to form a plan, but the short trip could work in their favor as it didn’t give the brownshirts much time to catch up to them.
“We have about fifteen more minutes until we reach Dachau,” Gretchen said. “I doubt Röhm and his men could have beaten us there, but . . .”
“We mustn’t take the chance,” Daniel finished. He touched Gretchen’s face. “I’ll be all right,” he said, and she realized he must have guessed her idea. “I can make the jump. Sitting here has given me a decent rest. But Dachau is a small village—we can’t possibly hope to conceal ourselves among the locals.”
“We won’t need to. My grandparents live there. Mama will be with them, since Röhm persuaded her to leave Munich. They’ll help us. By the time the SA guess where we’ve gone, we’ll have left long ago.”
“But will your family assist a Jew—” He cut himself off. “There’s no time to argue. The train’s starting to slow down.”
Together, they made their way along the narrow corridor. Through the windows, the trees and countryside whipped past, little more than blurred shadows.
She wrenched the door open. For an instant, she stood in the doorway, the wind tearing at her clothes and flinging her hair like a curtain over her eyes. The train was still moving so fast she had to hold on to the door frame so she didn’t lose her balance.
She shook her hair out of her eyes. There, farther along the rail line, she saw a faint glimmer in the darkness—the station’s lighted windows, and beyond them, the steeply pitched roofs of the little village.
Now, she thought, and flung herself into the darkness.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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44
SHE LANDED HARD, WITH A SICKENING CRUNCH of bone. The instant her feet touched the ground, she tucked herself into a ball and rolled, again and again, down the hill. She tasted grass and dirt and wildflowers.
Somewhere nearby she heard Daniel rolling through the tall grasses, the hard sound of a body slamming against dirt over and over. When she stopped, the world tilted drunkenly on its axis for an instant, the stars spinning overhead, and she
staggered to her feet, throwing out her arms for balance. A few feet away, Daniel sat up, bracing his good hand on his knee. He spat out a clump of earth and cursed.
“Are you all right?” she asked. The stars stopped wheeling in the sky, but her stomach still pitched.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
He got up. “How far is your grandparents’ home from here?”
They stood in the midst of a field, its tall grasses rippling in the wind. Here, the stars hung low in the sky and looked like nail heads that had been hammered through black velvet, so immense and so bright that they stained the field silver. She hadn’t taken the train to Dachau in two years, so she couldn’t immediately picture their location on a map.
Through the tall pine trees, she saw the cluster of red-roofed buildings that made up the town square. In the darkness, their stone facades looked ghostly white. The dozens of buildings looked like children’s toys. To the right, the river Wurm gleamed like a silver ribbon.
On the eastern side of Dachau, she knew, stood a massive concrete wall encircling an abandoned munitions factory.
Gretchen pointed. “West of the old powder factory. My grandparents have a farmhouse near the church.”
“They’re not in the village proper, then.” Daniel exhaled sharply. “That’s a small point for us.”
“There’s another one,” she told him as they began walking, the long grasses slapping against their legs. “My grandfather keeps a car.”
They had walked for several minutes when Gretchen noticed a change coming over Daniel. Gradually, his steps had grown faster, his footing surer, his breathing deeper. He held his injured arm in his good one and the sweat had dried on his face. He didn’t look as exhausted.
The whispery sound of grasses bending and then rubbing against something interrupted her thoughts. She stopped. They had drawn closer to the old factory, and it was difficult to see anything now because the immense wall seemed to blot out the stars, extinguishing what little light there was.
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