Camp X (18 page)

Mr. Krum brought me the second glass. I drank the water greedily and it slid down my throat. It had a funny taste but it was still the best water I'd ever had in my life.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“It is the least I could do,” he said quietly. “You were wise to give them the information. These are not men to fool with.”

I nodded. I had told them most of what we knew . . . but not everything. I'd told them about Corbett's Creek, but not about the waterfall. I'd told them about the guards in the jeeps, but not about those men I'd seen walking around the grounds. And when they asked questions about the buildings,
I hadn't really been sure about where some of the things were.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Mr. Krum replied. “We will leave soon and get into position for the attacks.”

“And us?”

“You remain. A call will be made tomorrow. I will make it myself and let them know of your location. Your mother must already be concerned.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

He looked at his watch. “Almost eight o'clock.”

“She'll be really worried.”

“I wish there was some way I could let her know that you will be safe, but there is not.”

“And you?”

“And me what?” Mr. Krum asked.

“What happens to you?”

“I will be leaving with the agents. All of us will be leaving.”

“By submarine?” I asked.

He looked taken aback by my question. “That would be the way to leave.”

“Herr Krum!”
called out the leader.

He turned around.

“Lassen Sie allein!”
he barked.

“I have to leave,” Mr. Krum told us.

He walked over to the two men, and then all three of them exited the room, leaving Jack and me alone.

“Are you all right?” Jack whispered.

“I'm okay. You?”

“My jaw is sore, but I'm okay.”

It looked more than just sore. The whole side of his face was swollen. I'd never seen anything like that before.

“You didn't have any choice,” Jack whispered.

“What?” I asked.

“You didn't have any choice but to talk to them.”

“I guess not.”

“And you told them just enough,” he whispered, his voice just barely audible. “Let them go in Corbett's Creek and they'll be caught for sure.”

From the other room came loud voices, so loud that if I'd understood more German I'd have known what they were arguing about.

“Sounds like somebody isn't so happy,” I said.

“If I weren't in these ropes I'd try and make them all unhappy.”

The voices in the other room faded away and Mr. Krum reappeared in the doorway. He did look very unhappy . . . no, not unhappy . . . scared. He walked into the kitchen and from behind him I heard the sound of the front door opening up and then a few seconds later closing.

“We . . . we . . . are leaving now,” he said, his voice breaking over the last few words.

“Can you please call our mother tonight . . . just to tell her we're okay?” I pleaded.

“Not tonight,” he said shaking his head. “Not tomorrow.”

“But you promised!”
He shook his head again. He looked pale, and I was positive he was shaking.

“Why won't you call her?” Jack demanded.

“I cannot . . . I am not allowed.”

“But if you don't call, nobody will know to come and find us!”

“I am sorry . . . most sorry . . . I was told that I should not have brought you here. And since it was my mistake, I must correct it myself.”

“What do you mean, correct it?” I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I am most sorry, boys. Most sorry.”

He reached into his jacket and removed his pistol. He aimed it at Jack's head.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“
YOU CAN'T DO THIS
, Mr. Krum,” I gasped. “You can't!” I pressed myself against the back of the chair, as if somehow that would save or protect me.

“They fear what would happen . . . if . . . if you escaped or were discovered. I told them you would not be found here until it was too late. But . . . but they did not wish to take a chance.”

“We wouldn't tell anybody, even if they found us!”

He lowered the pistol. “Please do not make promises that you would not keep. I have no choice.”

In the background I heard the sound of an engine starting. They were leaving.

“Look away, please,” he said softly.

“No, I won't!” Jack snapped defiantly. “I'm going to look right at you.”

“It would be less difficult.”

“Less difficult for you!”
I started to bite the inside of my cheek, but stopped. I didn't want him to see that. I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

Mr. Krum raised the gun and walked another step closer to Jack. Jack thrashed about in his ropes, desperately trying to free himself. I couldn't bear to watch . . . I looked away and closed my eyes tightly. An explosion—a shot! And then there was a second and a third and a fourth. I opened my eyes, terrified. Mr. Krum was standing with the smoking gun in his hand. He had one finger held in front of his mouth and Jack was still there . . . still alive . . . staring, wide-eyed.

“Not a sound,” Mr. Krum whispered. “Not now and not until you are sure we are all gone. If they return to the house and they find you alive they will kill you both . . . and me as well.”

He turned and walked to the door. Suddenly he stopped and turned back around.

“I am a good German. We do not kill children or women.”

Before I could even think of answering he was gone. I heard his feet move quickly across the floor, the door opening and then closing. Within a few seconds I heard two car doors slam, another engine start and then the sound of tires against gravel as they left. Finally there was silence.

“I think they're gone,” I croaked.

Jack whimpered in response. Despite being tied into the chair he was still shaking violently.

“Are you all right?”

He didn't answer.

“Jack! Are you all right?”

He nodded his head ever so slightly and I could see the tears flowing down his cheeks. I couldn't remember ever seeing Jack cry.

“He . . . he had it pointed right at my face . . . I was looking down the barrel . . . and then he shot . . . there,” Jack said, motioning with his chin.

Just off to the side I could see four holes in the wall, the places where the bullets had hit.

“He made it sound like he'd killed us,” I said. “So they could hear the shots outside.”

“I could feel the bullets pass by . . . the heat and the smell . . . I thought I was dead,” he sobbed.

“But we're okay.”

Jack shook his head. “We're not okay.”

“Sure we are, they're gone and we just wait until somebody comes to get us.”

“Who will get us?” he hissed.

“Mom or the police or . . .”

I suddenly realized that they'd only come if they were called, and now Mr. Krum would not be free to call anybody. He couldn't very well excuse himself to make a call to free two people he'd killed.

“We have to get away or we'll starve to death, or die of thirst.”

“Somebody will come.”

“Out here, way off the highway, miles out of town?” Jack demanded.

“Then . . . then we have to get out of these ropes ourselves.”

“I could have slipped out of the ropes you tied, but then Krum tightened them so much that I can't move at all.”

“Then we have to use something to cut them.” I looked around. “The back window is broken. How about a piece of glass from that?”

“That wouldn't work. What we need is a knife or . . . hey, where is the knife he used to cut the rope?” Jack asked.

We both turned to the counter. There it was, still sitting there, the sharp blade shining brightly.

“If I can just get close to it, maybe I can knock it off somehow,” Jack said.

He started to use the very tips of his toes to inch the chair forward. I watched as he made painfully slow progress across the kitchen, bit by bit. He finally clunked his legs right up against the counter.

“What do you do now?” I asked.

“I've got to somehow rock myself so I can lean up on the counter . . . maybe I can reach it with my head and knock it closer, or even onto the floor.”

“But even if you can do that, what good would it do?” I asked.

“I don't know. Maybe we can use it somehow to cut the ropes on our feet.”

“That still wouldn't get our hands free,” I pointed out.

“But if our feet were free we could walk out to the highway.”

“I don't know . . .”

“You got any better ideas?” Jack demanded. “We can't just do nothing and wait here to die!”

I shook my head. “I can't think of anything.”

“Then just sit there and let me take care of things.”

Jack pushed up on his toes and the front legs of the chair rose off the ground. He flattened his feet and the chair rocked forward. He did the same again, rising a little bit more, and it rocked even farther forward. Again and again he bucked and rocked, and each time he seemed to get higher.

“Just a little bit more,” he grunted.

He rocked backwards and—

“Aaaaahhhh!” Jack yelled as he fell over, landing on the floor with a thundering crash!

“Jack, are you okay?” I yelled.

“I'm okay . . . I smashed up my hands, but I'm okay . . . I think . . . but there's no way I can get up.”

He rolled back and forth, rocking on his back, and then tipped onto his side.

“If you can knock the knife down here I think I can get it now . . . it might even be better that I fell down . . . if you can get the knife.”

“But if you couldn't get it, how can I do it?”

“I don't know. You're lighter. Maybe it'll be easier. In any case, you have to try.”

“But what if I tip over too, like you?”

“Just don't.”

“But if I do?” I asked.

“Then we'll be in even deeper than we are now. We'll be as dead as if he'd shot us.”

I took a big breath. Jack was right, there was no choice. I used my toes the same way I'd seen Jack do it. I was surprised by how easily I could move. Maybe there was more play in the ropes looped around my feet. As I inched forward the chair creaked noisily. I crossed over to the counter, just beside Jack. He looked up.

“You can do it, George.”

I wasn't as confident as he sounded. Slowly I raised myself up on my toes and rocked backwards. My stomach rolled forward as I went back. I could perfectly picture in my mind toppling over like Jack. I let go and rocked forward.

“Do it again!” Jack ordered.

I pushed up on my toes and then let go and I rocked forward . . . and onto my feet. I was all bent over and the chair was on my back in the air.

“That's great!” Jack exclaimed. “Can you throw yourself up onto the counter?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. The chair creaked and twisted under me. It sounded as if the whole thing might just fall apart. Maybe there was another way.

“I'm going to try something else,” I announced.

“What? What are you going to try?”

“Watch.”

I shuffled around so that I was facing away from the counter. Carefully I took a little hop, moving forward on both feet at the same time. This was definitely a faster way of moving.

“What are you doing?” Jack demanded. “You have to get the knife!”

I looked back. He was arching his neck, trying desperately to watch me.

“I'm not going to try to cut the ropes. I think I can smash the chair that's holding the ropes instead.”

I hopped again and again and again, until I was right in front of the stove's stone chimney. It was rough-hewn rock and it stuck out from the wall. Slowly I turned around so that I was facing completely away from it. Then I shuffled backwards until I could feel the bottom spindle of the chair pressed up against it.

“What are you doing?” Jack yelled.

I took a little hop forward, away from the chimney.

Here goes,
I said to myself, and then hopped backwards with all my strength.

The chair thudded up against the brick. I wiggled all over. Was it any looser at all? I couldn't tell. I moved forward again and then threw myself backwards, and the bottom spindle hit against the stone.

“Is it working?” Jack asked anxiously.

“I'm not sure.”

I flexed my leg muscles trying to force them farther apart. I could feel the chair giving ever so slightly, the legs bowing out a little. One more try. I moved farther out from the wall and then hopped twice backwards and there was a tremendous crack! I looked over my shoulder and down—one of the spindles had broken in two!

“It's through! I've broken the bottom spindle!” I yelled. “Great, keep going!”

If I could break the side spindles as well, then maybe all the legs would just fall off. I turned to the side. Hopping sideways and throwing myself into the chimney would be harder, but I thought I could do it. I tried to turn when I felt myself going backwards. My whole weight fell onto the back legs of the chair and they shot sideways. I felt myself tumbling over. I braced myself for the fall . . . and—

“Uggggg!” I screamed as I landed with a tremendous crash.

“George! George!”

“I'm okay. I fell over . . . but my feet are free!” I yelled.

The parts from the bottom of the chair—legs and spindles and seat—were scattered around me. My feet were in loops of rope still tied to the legs but they were completely free to move. Unfortunately my hands were still tied behind me to the upper spindles.

“Can you get up?” Jack asked.

“I'll try.” I rolled onto my side and pushed off so I was on my knees, and then I struggled to my feet, the legs of the chair jutting into me.