My lungs suck in a breath, and Ziegler drops his gun. He steps toward me, staggering, before falling to his knees, then facedown on the floor.

“Fen…Fen…” The voice seeps into my ears as if sieved through cotton.

I turn to the window, where Arie is calling to me, struggling to wave me out with his gun in hand.

Registering the urgency, the need to leave, my mind gains enough clarity to clamber out the window. Evelien is standing nearby, clinging to her doll. I pick her up and rush away with Arie. “It’ll be okay,” I tell her as we pass through the courtyard and back toward the church, away from a man now shouting—the guard, no doubt—and a woman screaming. Ziegler’s wife.

Through the shadows along the street, we travel as a knot. Carrying Evelien, I strive to support Arie, whose breathing grows heavier while navigating our path. Raindrops are thickening, coming faster.

Soon we arrive at a split in the road. We begin to veer right but stop.

Dutch police are gathered in the distance, perhaps just clearing the area for curfew. Though by now, authorities could be searching for Arie and Nel.

We change course and go left. We continue past homes and shops. Once again, there are police ahead. These ones are Germans.

We can’t go forward. We can’t go back.

A siren blares, an alert of the Gestapo coming for us.

But suddenly there are people. From every direction, they’re filing out of buildings and onto the streets.

The alarm is an air raid.

Arie looks at me and swallows. I squeeze his hand, a signal of hope. Folks are heading to shelters, seeking out safety. Unaware, they’ll serve as our personal stream of camouflage. If we hurry.

Chapter 75

The undulating siren, layered with the drone of passing planes, fades slightly when I heave the door closed. No indication of explosions—thus far. With a slide of the bolt, I secure the three of us inside the abandoned workshop. Dusky light through the windows creates a haunted aura.

Evelien stays at my side as Arie works his way to an adjacent wall. He settles on the floor with effort, half suppressing a groan, stoking my concerns.

The girl gives my hand a small tug. “Where are the animals?” Her Dutch words are taut. It’s the first I’ve heard her speak. I brush droplets from her hair and face, gathering an answer.

“We’ll be heading to the farm tomorrow.” I infuse far more certainty into my tone than I possess. With Arie hurt, our plan calls for adjustment; to what length, I need to determine. “We’re just going to rest before our travels. Okay?”

She chews on her bottom lip, her doll kept close, and nods.