The Run

I ran through the streets with my head down. There was not another soul to be seen, but the sounds of guns and tanks said otherwise. My heart pounded, head spun, legs shook, hands dripped in sweat, and my long, red hair was only kept out my face by the wind of my speed. I had to get to the general store. I just had to. People would die if I didn’t… If I didn’t make it before 4 PM this day.

Cars were scarce. Anything with a motor would get blasted in two seconds. Bikes were warped from the debris of toppled buildings. Even if I could find one, it wouldn’t be shifty enough for me. I needed to be able to hide in the shadows and keep from being an easy target. My feet were the only trustworthy vehicle I could use. I just prayed the rest of my body could keep up, or that my shoes wouldn’t disintegrate and hinder my flight.

It was hard to recognize this street. Just a few months ago, people in bright clothes roamed the sidewalks; children without a care and glowing cheeks kicked balls across the grass; cars honked about the intersections; and merchants rang the bells of their cash drawers. These were the images that filled my mind. Not the dust that covered any glimmer of hope, not the bricks blocking the windows and doors of the buildings now abandoned. These were the days of great reckoning. This was the time we all feared, all hoped would never come, even if we consciously never realized it.

But I needed to focus. This was not the time nor the place to think about such things. The dust and bricks were my reality now. If I didn’t watch with the utmost scrutiny every shadow and sound, I would be dead, my memories would be lost, and my message destroyed with me. Hundreds, if not thousands of people would perish because I failed. I must not let that happen.

What was that? My eye caught the glimmer of metal from the salon window. I ducked behind an abandoned car and waited.

As if my heart couldn’t beat any faster.

I could see in the window in front of me the reflection of the soldier in the salon. But the color and uniform were indistinguishable.

I looked to my right, the direction in which I needed to continue. Openness. Not a place to hide. I turned my eyes to the left. A few large chunks of the building lie there, but it was no different than hiding behind the car. If I dashed for the building, the soldier would surely see me. I had to wait.

I closed my eyes, praying the soldier would pass by, and soon. I still had five miles to go. I looked at my watch. It was the one my father had given me just before he went missing, a few days after the war started. It was 2:30 PM now. Any normal day the time was plenty. But only the Lord knew how many more times I would need to hide before I got there.

I fixed my eyes to the window. I had to discern if this soldier was truly a threat. A gray suit would have meant absolute danger, but a brown or green one would mean an ally. They looked the same on the soot-covered window. I lowered my body slowly to the ground and peeked under the car’s chassis. All I could see were black shoes. My only relief was that they were pointed to the open right. The man was not looking at me. Perhaps he never saw me. But the fact remained, the soldier would see me were I to move.

I began to reason within myself whether a German, Norwegian, or Britain now stood in my way. Any of them would have been stationed to watch for the others. But, why would he be stationed here? He couldn’t be a sniper. They usually took to the high grounds. Perhaps this man was watching for people like me, volunteers against the Axis powers. If that were the case, perhaps it could be a Norwegian. But was I willing to take that chance? Certainly not. A German could easily be looking to stop a civilian messenger. If he caught me, the message would never be delivered.

Aaah! If only I could go through the building fast enough!

But, what was on the other side of this building, I knew not. Perhaps twenty Germans. That would be worse than the predicament in which I now found myself.

The soldier turned around and slowly walked back to the shelter of the salon. I knew now was my chance. Twenty Germans or not, I was going through that building.

In half a moment I scanned the rubble and planted my feet firmly on solid ground, so as not to make a sound. In the next half, I was at the door. It was locked. Forcing back the tears of panic, I glanced back at the soldier. I could only see his back, but he was definitely wearing gray. My eyes frantically searched for another option. The next door over was open, and the window was cloaked in drab drapery.

Without hesitation, I dashed into the building and ducked behind some boxes under the window.

I could barely feel my chest. My heart pumped so fast I wondered if my breath would ever return. My ears were filled with static; they could hear nothing. I closed my eyes and buried my head in my knees, trying to calm myself. I knew I needed to be able to hear if any footsteps were coming my way.

It felt like an eternity before I was calm enough to hear the silence. The German had not seen me. I was safe, for now. I opened my eyes and looked at my surroundings. Broken glass lay at the door, yet I hadn’t made a sound. Surely the Lord was watching out for me.

The room looked as though it had not been touched in years. Everything appeared to be covered in three inches of dust and soot. Boxes were scattered, and discolored hats were spilling from them. I could see a hand on the floor, the body of which was hidden by the counter and boxes. The smell was one I would never forget.

Further into the room was a door leading to the back of the shop. Surely there was a back door that lead to the alley. This was not necessarily a good place to go. The idea of twenty Germans danced in my head once again. Still, it would put me back on the move.

I glanced at my watch once again: 2:53 PM. I had to move.

I slowly stood to my feet. My legs shook, but I was safely hidden from the sight of the German behind the draperies. I trod lightly, making sure nothing was touched or broken. I was thankful I found a pair of pants, as my original skirt would have caught on everything.

It was dark in this part of the building. No windows, no lights. I only prayed that no one, either dead or alive, was hidden in this dark hall. I reached the door and put my ear against it. All I could hear was the wind whistling between the buildings. I slowly opened the door, grateful it was neither stuck nor screechy.

Not a body to be seen. I stepped out of the building and walked down the alley towards my destination.

Why didn't I go down the alley sooner?

I was able to walk for a long time. But my good fortune came to an end with the alley. A smaller building had been thoroughly smashed and was now blocking the rest of my path. I took a deep breath and decided to enter another building and return to the main street.

I had not heard a gun or tank in ages, but I proceeded with caution, nonetheless. I repeated my earlier precautions with no indication of danger. I entered the building, satisfied with my discernment.

This place looked to once be a restaurant, for I had entered the kitchen. I made my way to the dining area. The window was all busted out, tables were turned on their sides, and chairs were stacked in a peculiar way, possibly an attempt at making a shield from them. I dove behind a table and peeked to the side of it to see if any soldiers were around. I listened intently for any indication of possible danger. Nothing.

I slowly proceeded to the window and looked through the bigger view. The street contained dead bodies on both sides, fresh ones. The battle had passed through here not long ago, and all had moved on.

Upon seeing this I began to doubt myself. Was I too late? I turned to my watch. 3:38 PM. I looked for street signs, shop signs, anything that told me where I was. I looked behind me at the menu, a smudged chalkboard on the floor. I knew this place. My family and I used to come and eat hear every Saturday evening. I could still see the ghosts of my brother, sister, parents, the regulars who dined here, the waitress who was quickly becoming my best friend, the chef, a jolly, plump man who knew us well, they were all fresh in my mind, alive really, right now. I knew not what happened to most of them. The waitress I truly worried about the most. She was a Jew, and I only hoped she was still alive.

An explosion about twenty yards off brought me back to the present. All the smiling faces vanished, the smell turned rancid, and the light turned dark. I didn’t know where exactly the fighting was, but it was close enough. All I knew was that there was not a person alive on this street. I had less than a mile to go. It was time to run.

I dashed as fast as I could. I knew time was running out. I only hoped another soldier wasn’t staking out in the shops, or that there weren’t any snipers around, too high to see. But I could see it, the general store! It was just a few yards away. I knew I could make it. I just needed to run faster.

In an instant, my left leg failed me. My knee buckled, and I fell to the ground. A sharp pain then raced through my shin. I drug myself close to a building, behind a rusty car, and looked down at where the pain originated. Blood puddled my pants leg. I had been shot. I looked around for the sniper. Why they didn’t get my head, I don’t know. I would have been dead in an instant.

As I searched the sky, I heard a gunshot. My body uncontrollably flinched. I felt around myself for a new hole. Nothing. Suddenly a gray-suited body fell from the highest window to the ground not far from me. I stared in disbelief.

“Paula!” I heard a man’s voice call.

I turned my eyes to the general store. Two soldiers were coming to my aid. One lifted me up, and the other watched our backs.

I was taken into the inner part of the building and placed on a table. Many soldiers and a radio were hiding here.

“Paula,” said a plump man I could not see the face of. My eyes were blurring from the pain in my leg. But I knew that voice anywhere. It was Kristoffer, the chef of the restaurant I had just left.

“Kristoffer,” I muttered, my voice weak from the pain. “I have a message.”

“I know. Is it written?”

“No… It’s…” I winced, “It’s oral.”

At this, I felt the sting of a needle in my arm. All other feelings were lost. But I knew they had wrapped my leg and were attending to my wound, for people were all around me, busily working at the lower half of my body.

“Can you tell it to me?” Kristoffer asked, placing his hand on my head.

My mind was as blurry as my eyes at this point. Kristoffer squeezed my hand in his. “You will live, my dear. Please, remember the message, or others may not.”

I squeezed my eyes, opening them again to a glass of water. I drank as best I could while lying down. Then the message came to me and I spoke fast. Whether the speech was coherent I knew not. It must have been because Kristoffer jumped for the radio and relayed the message via Morse Code.

I knew I had filled my task, and I allowed myself to give in to the weariness that hung over my body. I closed my eyes and slept.