Camp X (19 page)

“I'm up. I just have to get my hands free.”

I moved over and rammed myself backward into the chimney again. The jolt registered throughout my entire body. I did it again and heard a crack. Again and again and again, and then two of the spindles dropped to the ground. I furiously wriggled my hands and the ropes got even looser as other pieces of the chair fell, until finally there was nothing
else. I walked over to Jack, my hands free of the chair but still tied behind my back.

“I can get the knife now, I'm pretty sure,” I said, towering over him.

I backed up to the counter and awkwardly jumped up onto it. It groaned and gave way slightly, and for a second I thought it was going to collapse under my weight. I looked backward to the knife and reached out until I could feel the blade against my fingers. I pushed it around slightly so I could grab it by the handle.

“I've got it, Jack! I've got it.”

“Can you bring it down here?”

“I'm not sure, but I figure it would be better if I just kept it here. I think I can cut myself free.”

Carefully I moved my fingers along the handle until I was holding it right where it met the blade. I shifted it more into the fingers of my right hand and pressed the blade forward until I was sure it was touching the rope. Then I started moving my hand, slowly, hoping the edge of the knife was cutting into the fibre of the rope.

“Is it working?” Jack asked.

“I can't see, but I think it is. It must be.”

I doubled my efforts. My hand was starting to hurt from the exertion and—

“Occhh!” I yelled as I dropped the knife to the counter.

“What happened?”

“I cut myself with the knife!”

“Are you okay?”

“I can't see . . . I can feel where it cut in.” I could also feel my hands getting wet . . . was that my blood? “If I turn around, can you look?”

“I can't see anything from here. Besides, we haven't got any time,” Jack said. “It's getting late. It looks like the sun is almost down.”

I looked across the kitchen and out the window. It was getting darker. The sun was just peeking out from between some trees. It wouldn't be long until it set. That had to make it after nine o'clock . . . maybe later. And if it was going to be hard finding help now, I could only imagine how much more difficult it would be in the dark, miles away from anything or anyone we knew.

I felt around with my fingers until I found the knife again. I grabbed it and carefully moved it forward until I had it where I wanted it. At least I'd already cut partway through the rope . . . assuming I could start cutting in the same place again. I transferred the knife to my left hand and felt around with the fingers of my right to try to find the cut. I moved my finger up until I discovered a spot that was frayed. Could I move the knife over to my right hand and still keep track of where it was? I tried to picture it all in my mind as I transferred it over. I started sawing away at the rope, this time pulling my left hand away to try to avoid cutting it again. I strained against the ropes and—my hands popped free!

“I did it, Jack! I did it!”

“Help me up . . . please, help me!”

I climbed off the counter and dropped to his side. I was just
going to start cutting when I glanced down at my left hand. There was a long, nasty-looking gash and blood flowed freely from it.

“Come on, George, what are you waiting for?”

“I'm . . . sorry, let me just get my legs free.”

Quickly I cut the ropes holding my legs to the remnants of the chair. I then grabbed Jack by the shoulders and lifted. He was heavy, and I wasn't sure if I could do it. I groaned as I heaved him upright, with the legs of the chair back on the floor.

“Cut the ropes.”

I reached back, grabbed the knife from the counter and slipped it into the loop of rope holding his wrists. The blade bit into the cord and sliced through it effortlessly. It snapped, and Jack pulled his hands free.

“That feels so good,” he said.

“Here, you can cut the others,” I said, offering him the knife.

“Can't,” he said shaking his head. “My wrist . . .”

Even in the last fading rays of light I could see that his right wrist was swollen to twice the size of the other.

“I hurt it when I fell. I think it might be broken,” Jack said. He cradled the injured wrist in the other hand. “Can you cut me free?”

I bent down and cut the two ropes holding him to the chair. Jack staggered to his feet unsteadily.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

“The sun sets about nine-thirty.”

“That gives us about an hour until the attacks take place. We have to get help.”

“But what about your wrist . . . and my hand?”

“We'll wrap something around your hand to stop the bleeding.”

“And your wrist?”

“Nothing . . . we'll do nothing. It'll have to wait. Let's just get out of here.”

“I never want to see this place again in my life,” I said.

“Can you get the door?” Jack asked.

I pulled it open and started to walk out.

“Wait a second.” Jack suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Take one more look back.”

I strained my eyes to see the outline of the features of the dingy little kitchen. What did he want me to see?

“That was almost the last thing either of us ever saw . . . just think about it for a second.” He paused and let his words sink in.

“Now, let's go.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE MOON WAS FULL
and peeking out between the trees as we stumbled up the farm lane back toward the highway. Jack stumbled and groaned in pain. I knew his arm had to hurt badly . . . at least just judging from how much the cut on my hand was stinging. Then there was his face—it looked worse than his arm. I tripped in a pothole and almost fell over myself.

“Be careful,” Jack warned as he reached out with his good hand and grabbed me before I tumbled.

“It's hard to walk . . . the road is in pretty bad shape.”

“We'll be at the highway soon.”

“And then what are we going to do?”

“We'll try and flag down a car,” Jack said, as confidently as he could.

“I can't wait to get home. Mom is going to be so worried.”

“There isn't time to go home.”

“But—?”

“Mom will just have to stay worried a little bit longer. We have to get to the camp. We have to tell them about the other attacks and warn them that they're the real target, or at least that somebody at the camp is.”

Up ahead a flash of light—a passing car—showed how much farther we had to go.

“Maybe we can speed up,” I suggested.

“My legs are still shaky and I don't want to risk falling . . . my wrist is really hurting. It throbs every time my heart beats. How's your hand?”

I looked down. Even in the dim light I could see that the whole back of my hand was covered in sticky, drying blood.

“It's almost stopped bleeding,” I said.

“I wish we had something to wrap around it,” Jack said.

“I wish we had a sling for your arm,” I answered.

The highway was getting closer and closer. We'd soon be there and—I was struck by a thought.

“Jack, do you think somebody could be waiting for us out there?”

“You mean like they left a guard or something?”

“Yeah.”

“You don't guard dead men. They think we're dead. They're all getting in position for their attack.”

“Not them,” I said. “Somebody else. Mr. Krum said there were lots of people like him.”

“Krum was just talking, either to scare us or maybe so he wouldn't feel so much like a rat and a traitor,” Jack said.

We stopped at the highway. There were no cars visible in either direction. It was dark and quiet.

“Which way do we go?”

“The plant is to the right, and the town and the entrance to the camp are to the left.”

“Which is closer?”

“I'm not completely sure, but I think the plant. It was hard to tell from the floor of the car.”

“Maybe we should go there and ask Mr. Granger to call the camp.”

“That might work . . . but what if we run into somebody?”

“I thought we
wanted
to run into somebody.”

“I meant some of the Nazis. They're going there to attack the plant. What if they see us coming?”

“You're right.” I paused. “But they're also going to attack the camp. Either way there's a chance.”

“The attack on the camp is later. Maybe we can get there before they move into position. We should just try to flag down anything that comes in either direction.”

We started down the road, travelling right down the centre line. It wasn't as if there was a danger of anything sneaking up on us.

“Something's coming,” Jack called out.

I stopped and listened. In the dark I could hear the distant sound of something moving. Then two headlights appeared around a curve in the road behind us. It got louder and louder as it closed in. It was a truck—a truck headed toward the camp.

“Hey!” Jack yelled. He tried to jump up and down, but he grimaced in pain and grabbed his injured hand.

“Stop!” I yelled, waving my hands in the air.

The truck barrelled down on us. It got bigger and bigger and bigger and—

“Get out of the way!” Jack screamed.

We both scrambled as the truck swooshed by between us, sending a burst of hot air and gravel into our faces. It hadn't even slowed down, and the red taillights soon receded into the distance.

“It was like he didn't even see us!” I exclaimed.

“I think that truck was from the D.I.L. plant. Even if he saw us he's not allowed to stop, for security reasons,” Jack said. “Remember?”

“Maybe we should walk on the shoulder,” I suggested.

“We're okay to walk on the road . . . just don't stand there when something's coming. What time do you think it is?”

“I'm not sure, but it's got to be close to ten by now.”

“We have to hurry . . . do you think you could go faster without me?”

“I guess I could, but . . . I'm not going anywhere without you!” I protested. “We're sticking together.”

At least part of the reason for that was because there was no way I was going to be out there by myself.

“Then we may have to try a shortcut,” Jack said.

“Where do you see a shortcut?”

“That way.” Jack pointed off to the forest.

“Through the woods?”

“I think we're almost right on top of the camp.”

“Are you sure?”

“We left the town and headed west. I didn't hear the sound
of us crossing over any bridges, so I think we're still east of Corbett's Creek. And if we are—”

“Then the camp is just to the south of us. Do you think we can find our way in the dark?”

“We might bumble and stumble around a bit . . . I just hope I don't fall on my wrist.”

“I'm more worried that we'll get turned around and end up going in a big circle.”

“So, we'll just keep the moon to our left and we'll be okay.”

“No matter what, we won't be able to move very quietly.”

“But we don't
want
to move quietly.”

“We don't?”

“We're not trying to sneak into the camp. We want to warn them. So the faster we find a guard, the faster we'll be able to tell them about what's happening.”

That made perfect sense. It also made it seem so much more possible. All we had to do was stumble in the general direction of the camp and make enough noise that the guards would find us. Judging from how hard it was to sneak in, that couldn't be too difficult at all. Still, I didn't want to head into the forest at night.

“Something's coming!” Jack shouted.

Up ahead lights appeared. The vehicle was coming from the direction we wanted to go, but that didn't matter. If we could flag it down we could still avoid a trip through the dark woods.

The lights got brighter as it got nearer. Judging from their size, it was a car.

“Let's make sure this one at least sees us,” Jack said.

He walked off the shoulder and into the lane of the on coming car. Reluctantly I followed, remembering how the big truck had just missed us.

“Wave your hands!” Jack yelled.

I started to jump up and down and wave my arms in the air. The lights were coming closer and I had to fight the urge to run off the road and back onto the shoulder. But this was our last chance before we had to head into the bush. Jack began to yell, and I yelled too.

The car seemed to be slowing down . . . or was I just hoping it was? Yes, it was! It was definitely slowing down! I heard the rumble of gravel as it pulled over on to the shoulder.

“It's stopping! It's stopping!” I yelled.

It pulled completely off the road, came to a stop right in front of us and—it was a police car! The door opened and out popped Chief Smith!

I was stunned. Why was he here?

“I've been looking for you boys!” he exclaimed.

My mind raced in different directions. He was the chief of police, so of course he knew we were missing and would be out to find us. But how did he happen along right here…? Unless he was coming to the deserted farmhouse because he
knew
. . . he knew we were in the farmhouse because he was one of
them
.

“You're in big trouble!” he exclaimed. “Into the car, right now!”

I looked over at Jack, searching for some sign to tell me
what to do. His eyes were wide open—at least the one not starting to swell shut.

“Jack?” I asked softly.

He turned to me.

“What do we do?”

He looked back at the Chief, who was now walking toward us, and then to me. “Run,” he hissed.