Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (3 page)

“Oh, Ernst,” Luther heard his mother say. “God, please take care of him.”

“Ernst, what are those? Come here and see.”

Ernst looked over at Albert. Albert was Mr. Kleindeist’s oldest son. A little younger than Luther, and the reason Mr. Kleindeist had offered to pay Ernst to come and move all these boxes into the storage room. Albert was frail. There was no way he could have lifted even a single box on his own. “What are you talking about?”

“Come see. There are strange green lights coming down, all over the sky.”

Ernst walked out of the storage room. About twenty minutes ago they had heard the air raid sirens go off, but since nothing had ever come of them, Mr. Kleindeist said they could keep working. Ernst looked up into the sky. He’d never seen anything like this before. “I don’t know.”

People were coming out of buildings up and down the street, all of them looking up and pointing. The sky was becoming so bright.

“What is happening?” Albert asked.

Ernst had an idea, but he wasn’t sure. Before he could answer, he heard a sound he did recognize. Bombers off in the distance. Sounded like hundreds of them. Occasionally, they had flown near Dresden but always on their way someplace else. It almost sounded like they were getting closer. Between them and these strange green lights he became convinced—as hard as it was to believe—they
were
coming here!

The back door of the bakery swung open. Mr. Kleindeist appeared. “Bombers,” he screamed. “They’re coming.” He ran out and grabbed hold of Albert’s hand. “We have to go. Quickly. I can’t leave my family alone at the house.”

Ernst knew Mr. Kleindeist’s house was several blocks away. “What should I do?”

“You can come with us or take shelter in the bakery cellar. I don’t think you have time to make it home. The planes are getting louder. The bombs will start falling any moment.”

Ernst didn’t know which way to go. “I think I’ll stay here. It’s closer to my house. What should I do about the rest of the boxes?”

“Leave them,” Mr. Kleindeist said, as he turned toward the direction of his house. “Get in the cellar. If I can, I’ll come back after to check on you.” He ran down the street, dragging Albert behind him. Albert looked back just once, his face full of terror.

By now, everyone had begun to leave the street. Some ran back into the buildings they had come out of, others fled in different directions. No one ran toward bomb shelters. There were none in Dresden. No one imagined they’d ever need one. Ernst headed into the bakery and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t even sure where the cellar door was but quickly found it. After locating a small chain dangling from a lightbulb on the wall, he pulled it. It provided enough light to see the bottom of the stairs, but not much else. He had barely made it halfway down before he heard the first explosions. The whole building shook. He almost tripped.

Then more explosions, one right after the other. The ground rumbled beneath him. He couldn’t see much beyond the stairs, but he made it to the nearest wall and slid down.

The explosions were getting closer.

One went off right outside. He crunched into a ball, as dirt and dust fell from the floorboards above. The light went out.

It was pitch black.

For the last twenty minutes, Ernst sat curled up in the basement of the Kleindeist Bakery in that same position, eyes closed. Until moments ago, the ground had been shaking violently, nonstop like an earthquake. The explosions seemed to come from every direction. The noise was deafening. At any moment, he was certain the building above him would crumble and crush him to death.

Now it sounded like the planes had gone. He became aware of a new sensation. The chilly cellar walls began to feel hot. The air, too. Like breathing in front of a large fireplace. He had to get out of there.

He wondered what had become of Mr. Kleindeist. It sounded like a lot of bombs fell in his direction. What about his own house? Were Mother, Eva and Luther all right? Surely the bombs didn’t reach out that far from the town center. It had suddenly become even harder to breathe. He forced himself to stand.

Feeling his way up the wall, he climbed the cellar steps. The wall was much hotter than it had been just moments ago. Smoke began to seep through the crack of the cellar door. Was the bakery on fire? He began to cough. When he reached the top, he put both hands on the door. It didn’t feel too hot. He tapped the brass doorknob. It was warm, but it didn’t hurt to touch it.

As he opened the door, the intense heat in the hall almost forced him back a few steps. But he couldn’t stay in the cellar. He’d die there if he did. He remembered a pile of towels in a laundry basket by the bottom of the stairs. Hurrying down, he grabbed one. Right outside the cellar door was a bucket filled with dirty mop water. That’s what Mr. Kleindeist had been doing just before he left. Ernst dipped the towel in the bucket and wrapped it around his head and shoulders then took a few steps toward the front of the store.

Everything was all wrong.

He realized why. The ceiling had caved in, crushing all the displays. The Kleindeist Bakery had occupied the ground floor of a four-story building. He looked through a huge hole and could see at least three floors up. Suddenly, a flaming black object came hurtling down through the whole. Ernst backed out of the way, barely in time, as it thumped to the ground.

He backed out further toward the rear doorway, in horror at the sight. It was the body of a woman, charred and smoldering. Out through the back door, he was soon standing on the sidewalk near the street. He almost stumbled over a heap of bricks and stones now piled up in front of the bakery. Half the buildings across the street were gone. He could actually see into the next block. Those buildings were on fire. In fact, most of the buildings were on fire. Everywhere he looked.

He ran toward the end of the street and gazed out toward the Old Town area. The panorama before him shocked his senses. It was like a scene from Dante’s inferno, an image of hell itself. Flames leapt high into the sky from every direction, as if every building in the downtown area had been hit and was on fire. The air felt hotter than the cellar and seemed to grow even hotter by the second. Hundreds of sparks, like devilish snowflakes, swirled through the air all around him.

Where had this sudden wind come from?

He had to get home. Running toward the bridge, he stayed as close to the center of the street as possible. Still, he constantly dodged flaming debris falling from buildings. Everywhere he looked people were screaming and running in every direction.

He turned at the last corner before the bridge and came to a three-story building totally engulfed in flames. The central beams of the structure burned through. The remnants of the roof fell onto the floor below; their combined weight crashed down upon the remaining two floors. An eruption of sparks and flames shot out through the openings that had once been windows. Horrific screams came from beneath the blazing mass. Ernst realized, people had taken refuge in the cellar below. There was no way to help them.

Seconds later, the screams died out.

Ernst turned and continued running toward the bridge. The wind grew more intense. Now he could tell it was coming from across the river moving directly toward the center of town. He became aware of a dull roaring sound behind him. It was getting louder. He was about to turn and look when suddenly, out of the corner of his right eye, he saw a ball of flame come out the front door of a bombed-out building. As he stepped out of the way, he could make out three figures holding hands, fully engulfed in flames. Was it a mother and two children? He gasped as the realization took hold. After a few more steps, the mother collapsed in the street, face first. The two flaming children fell on top of her.

Ernst took the towel off and ran to them. Another man with a blanket helped him try to put out the flames. The three blackened figures didn’t move or make a sound. Ernst and the man, both coughing, stopped and looked at each other. “They’re dead,” the man said. “They are better off than we are.” He ran off.

Ernst decided against putting the towel back on his head. Besides being filthy, it was completely dry. He continued his trek toward the bridge. The heated wind had picked up speed. He had to lean forward as he ran to push against it. When he arrived at the bridge, it was mobbed. Hundreds were trying to cross it.

He fell in line behind a thin bald man, his head blackened and sooty. The man turned when Ernst bumped him. Ernst gasped. It wasn’t an old man, not even a man. It was a young woman. Her hair had burned off. Ernst apologized quickly; the woman turned around without reply. Ernst wasn’t sure even she understood.

They had barely made a few yards’ progress when Ernst saw a small group of men pushing through, going the opposite way, toward the fire. As they got closer, Ernst realized many of them were boys his age, some from another chapter of Hitler Youth. He wished he still had that towel around his head, so he could hide.

An older man in the back of the group recognized him. “Ernst, is that you? It is you. Where are you going?”

“I’m heading home to look in on my family.”

“If they’re behind us, they’re probably fine. Most of the bombs didn’t reach across the river. Come with us. You can look in on them later.”

Ernst nodded. The man made room for Ernst to get in line. He turned around and began to go with them.

The wind was now at his back. Hot and howling. He couldn’t believe he was heading back into this horrible nightmare.

It was hard to stay close to Eva, especially moving against the crowd and especially since Eva didn’t know Luther was following her. The bombing had stopped ten minutes ago. Thankfully, their neighborhood was untouched, but it was the scariest experience of Luther’s life. Eva had left the house against their mother’s wishes, insisting she had to find Ernst and make sure he was all right. She’d thought by now he would have certainly left the circus for the bakery.

That’s where she was headed now.

When his mother wasn’t watching, Luther had snuck out. He and Eva were making their way across the bridge, toward the fires. Almost everyone else was going the other way, fleeing the center of town. When they had made it across, it became a little easier to move, and to keep his eye on Eva. But he was so distracted by the terrible sight before him. It looked like the whole town was on fire. It was hard to even recognize any of the buildings. And the heat was so much worse this side of the bridge. He found it hard to breathe. The hot wind he’d begun to feel as they neared the river was much more intense.

Eva stopped for a moment, so he stopped too, trying to keep the same distance between them. She was looking at a collection of boys, teenagers, and old men carrying shovels and pick axes. They stood together staring at the blaze. She waved and called out Ernst’s name. Luther looked more closely at the group. There was Ernst! He turned and saw Eva.

She waved at him again and started walking closer.

“Stay there,” Ernst yelled. “I’ll come to you.”

When he reached her, they embraced, which wasn’t normal, but Luther wasn’t surprised.

“I thought for sure you were dead,” she said.

“For a while, I almost was. Eva, you can’t believe it. It was so horrible. The bakery is destroyed and so were most of the homes and buildings around it. You can’t believe the things I’ve seen just getting from there to here.” He started to cry.

She hugged him again. “Is Mr. Kleindeist okay?”

“I don’t know. He and Albert ran off as soon as the bombers came. He wanted to be with his family. I don’t know if they’re okay, though. It sounded like so many bombs landed in that direction.”

She kept her arm around his shoulder. “Come, Ernst. Let’s go home.”

He pulled back, looked up at her. “I can’t, Eva. I have a duty.”

“No, Ernst. There’s no putting out fires like these. Surely you can see that. There are far too many.”

“But Eva—”

“Ernst!” She grabbed both shoulders. “Look at me. These fires are completely out of control. And you are just a boy. There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m not a boy.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You were very brave to come out here like this. But please, Ernst. Now is not the time to listen to the Hitler Youth voices in your head.”

An older man dressed in fireman’s gear walked up. “Ernst,” he called. “Let’s go.”

“Shut up, old man,” Eva shouted, over the sound of the wind. His face registered shock.

Luther was surprised by it, too. He had never heard her talk disrespectfully to her elders.

“We have to help,” he said. “It’s our duty.”

“If it’s your duty,” Eva shouted back, “you go help. Ernst’s duty is to look after his family. He’s the man in our house now.”

It seemed to work. The old man looked back at the fires. They had spread to even more buildings in the few minutes they had stopped. And the wind continued to grow more intense. Where was it coming from? Luther wondered. There were no storms in the sky. Only smoke.

“She’s right, Ernst,” the man finally said. “Go take care of your family. We’ll be—”

“No,” Ernst said. “It
is
my duty. Our neighborhood was spared. You go home, Eva. I will come soon.”

“Ernst, please.” She stared at him for several moments. His eyes never flinched.

Luther knew he wasn’t coming.

“Be careful,” she finally said. “Don’t stay a moment more than you have to.” They hugged once more and she turned to go.

Luther quickly hid behind an older couple until she passed. He watched until she disappeared into the crowd flowing across the bridge toward their home.

Who should he follow now, Eva or Ernst?

They were almost home now. For obvious reasons, Luther chose to follow Eva. It was just too hot on that side of the river. And way too scary. Eva was just about to turn down the street that led to their house. It was time to catch up. Things would go much better with their mother if he came home with her. “Eva, wait up.” She didn’t seem to hear, so he yelled louder.