Ollie thought of Lucien. He imagined that the monk’s mask, no doubt hiding war wounds, was the target of the soldier’s comments. But over the next several hours, as they successfully navigated through two more roadblocks, he questioned if it was more than just the man’s mask that was helping them pass. Each time they were forced to stop, Ollie heard German voices. A pause. Then a jerk, as the mules plodded on. Only once did he hear a soldier inspecting the bed of the wagon. And from what sounded like a metal rod hitting wood, Ollie suspected the soldier had merely tapped the outside of the wagon with his rifle, rather than get his weapon, or his boots, covered in excrement.

After traveling for what Ollie believed to be most of the day, the wagon stopped. Instead of German commands, he heard Lucien climb into the back of the wagon. The panel popped open. Ollie rubbed his eyes, though the sun had already set, and crawled from his crevice. Although his shoulder had partially healed, it still ached. He suspected his ankle would also begin to hurt once circulation returned to his legs.

Ollie stepped down from the wagon and almost fell. His legs were wonky, as if numbed with procaine. He rubbed his thighs, trying to expedite the flow of blood, and noticed a large three-story stone building, which he presumed to be a monastery. To the rear, a small cemetery with crooked tombstones. Ollie, with nerves tingling in his legs, followed Lucien and Boar to the monastery.

Lucien approached the entrance, a large arched door of ancient boards, held together with bands of rusted iron. He knocked, then glanced toward the road.

Ollie turned. Bordering the road, a dusk sky outlined a row of trees, their branches bare of leaves. He noticed movement. A gust of wind carrying a putrid scent of decomposition, far more revolting than the smell of manure and rotted potatoes, brought his eyes into focus. Two men and a woman, their bodies bloated and mutilated, hung from the branches of a large oak. Nooses taut. Necks snapped.

“Oh no,” Ollie whispered.

A breeze caused the bodies to sway. The branches creaked.

Boar turned to Lucien. “Resistance?”

Lucien nodded. As he prepared to knock again, a metal slat in the center of the door slid open.

A spectacled man peered through the peephole. Ollie assumed the man recognized Lucien, no doubt by his copper mask, because the slat abruptly shut. A second later, the bolt clicked, and the door swung open.