Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (4 page)

She stopped and turned. “What are you doing here?” She was angry.

“I followed you. I wanted to make sure Ernst was okay.”

“You shouldn’t have. It was too dangerous. You could have been hurt by falling debris or lost in that crowd, and we would never have found you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” She hugged him tight. “Let me do the talking with Mother.”

They walked together the rest of the way home. Every so often Luther looked back. The entire Old Town area was on fire, from one end to the other, the sky glowed orange-red.

When they got home, they didn’t see Mother outside. It was quite late, almost eleven. But Luther couldn’t imagine how she could be sleeping.

She wasn’t. Eva opened the front door, she was standing by the sofa. “Oh thank God, you got him.”

“What?” Eva said. “No mother, I didn’t.” She stepped aside revealing who stood behind her. “I found Ernst, and he’s fine. But some of the firemen are working with the Hitler Youth and Ernst insisted he be allowed to stay and work with them.”

“What?” Mother saw Luther step out of the shadows. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was too worried about Ernst, so I followed Eva.”

“I didn’t know he did this,” Eva said. “I never saw him until we were almost home.”

“Come here,” his mother commanded.

Luther braced for a spanking. Instead, she almost smothered him with hugs. After, she scolded him and repeated the same things Eva had said outside. She led him to the sofa and sat, pulling him down beside her. “Sit,” she said to Eva, “and tell me…are you sure Ernst will be all right?”

“I hope so.” Eva sat in the upholstered chair.

“I hope so? You don’t know for sure?”

“How can I be? He wouldn’t come home with me.” Eva sighed and buried her head in her hands. “It was so awful, Mother. The whole downtown area, all of Dresden’s beautiful buildings…they’re all gone. Either blown up or burned up in the fires. And the fires are still raging. You can’t even imagine the sight. It was so hot across the river, I could barely breathe. It’s pointless, what Ernst and his group are trying to do. There’s no way to stop fires like these.” She looked up. “I only hope those in charge will realize this and let him come home.”

“What do you think will happen if they don’t?” Mother asked.

Eva looked at her but didn’t answer.

The look on her face was answer enough.

A few hours had passed since Eva and Luther had returned home. After being given some cookies and milk, Luther was sent to bed. But he couldn’t sleep. How could he after the things he’d seen? Even more so, with Ernst not lying in his bed? They had shared the same room every night. With his father gone so long, Ernst was the one Luther turned to whenever he had a bad dream.

He sat up and looked at the far wall. Another reason he couldn’t sleep. It was glowing a bright orange. Every other night the wall was either dark or reflected the soft white light of the moon. He quietly stood and walked to the window. The buildings across the street were right where they belonged. It was the sky that was all wrong. That’s where the orange glow came from. Luther knew why. Everything on the other side of the river was still burning.

Where Ernst was.

But surely they couldn’t be working all night. Ernst was just a boy, only two years older than him. He needed to sleep. In his bed. Next to Luther.

Luther decided to sneak out once more, to go find Ernst and bring him back home. That was the only way he would ever get any sleep on a night like this. He quickly dressed and opened his bedroom door a crack. The rest of the house was dark. He listened a few moments. Not a sound. His mother and Eva must’ve gone to bed. But sometimes his mother waited up in the living room, in the dark, if Eva had ever come home late on a date. That hadn’t happened in a long time. But Luther couldn’t take a chance that she might be waiting up for Ernst.

He decided to sneak out the back door and went the opposite direction down the hallway.

Outside, a wave of fear stopped him. Could he really do this? He’d walked this same path to the river then over the bridge, even around the Old Town area many times. But never at night, and always with Ernst. He knew the way. And with these fires, it really wasn’t all that dark out. And there was no way he could ever get to sleep without Ernst.

He started walking. Quickly, before he talked himself out of it.

It had taken an extra ten minutes to get here, but Luther was now on the last street before reaching the bridge. The darkness hadn’t slowed him down; it was the bomb damage. Apparently, some bombs had fallen on this side of the bridge, knocking a few buildings down right in the middle of the street. This had forced him to find another route. But at least he’d never felt lost. The ever-present glow of the night sky had kept him on track.

He turned the corner. The once-familiar Augustus-Brucke was across the street. Nothing else looked even remotely familiar. From left to right, everything was still on fire. One massive wall of flame. And the intense heat he‘d felt on the other side of the river hours ago had reached this side. The hot wind he‘d felt before was also much stronger now. It was actually pushing him forward, toward the bridge.

Small groups of people huddled together along the riverbank on either side of the bridge. As he got closer, he saw all of them had blankets or towels wrapped around their heads. The bridge was still crowded with people, though not as many as before. Most of them coming this way.

He walked up to a few of these groups near the riverbank, hoping to find Ernst among them. He didn’t. Then he realized, if Ernst wasn’t with the Hitler Youth anymore he wouldn’t stay down here; he’d go home. Luther certainly hadn’t seen him on his way here. Ernst had to still be on the other side.

Luther decided to try and make it across the bridge. Since so many people had left the Old Town area, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to find Ernst’s group. He could just ask people if they had seen any Hitler Youth fighting the fires. How many of them could there be?

He squinted his eyes against the heated wind and began walking toward the bridge. At the base, he bumped into a woman with her arms around two children.

“Where are you going, little boy?” she said. “You can’t go back there. The fires are too hot, and they’re coming this way.”

“I’ve got to find my brother. He’s over there with the Hitler Youth trying to put them out.”

“No one is trying to put out fires anymore. It’s no use. We were told to get over the bridge right away. There’s nothing to stop the fires from burning all the way to the river now. But I did see some young boys a little older than you working with some old men. They were carrying the wounded on stretchers toward the riverbank. Maybe he’s with them.”

“Okay, thank you.” That had to be Ernst’s group. He started pushing his way through the crowd. When he had almost reached the far side of the bridge, everyone suddenly stopped walking. An eerie silence swept through the crowd. The only noise he heard came from the wind and the roar of the flames.

Every eye instantly looked up.

“Listen,” someone yelled. “Hear it?”

Luther did now. So did everyone else. The low droning sound of bombers coming from the west. Just like before. Another wave was coming. Pandemonium broke out. People started screaming and shoving. Two people instantly went over the stone rail and plunged into the river. The mob around him instantly turned and headed back in the other direction, the same direction Luther had been going. No one wanted to be stuck on the bridge. The sound grew louder. The planes weren’t just getting closer, there were more of them. Many more.

Luther noticed a man carrying a child in his arms with a woman right beside him. She held another child by the hand. He followed them. The man got off the bridge and turned left, then down the riverbank. Luther was right behind him. The man ran away from the bridge.

“We’ve got to get to that open area,” the man said. “See it? They didn’t bomb the open areas or by the river last time. Maybe we’ll be safe there.”

Luther tried to keep up, but he tripped. When he got up, the family was too far ahead. But he could still see them, so he started running again.

The plane noise was so loud now. All along the riverbank people were looking up and pointing. Luther stopped a moment to look. The first few squadrons of bombers were just reaching the city. You could see them perfectly outlined by the reflection of the fire on the wings and fuselage.

Then the bombs started falling again. He could actually see them falling from the bottom of the planes.

Everyone started screaming.

The first explosions were the loudest sounds Luther had ever heard. The ground beneath him rumbled and shook with each one. He began to scream but couldn’t hear a thing coming out of his mouth. He glanced back toward the Old Town area as three huge explosions went off, one after the other. Three fiery mushroom clouds followed, rising high in the sky. Luther buried his face again into the riverbank.

More explosions came, this time on his right and much closer. He lifted his head. It was the railway station, already on fire from the first raid.

Soon explosions came from every direction. He curled into a ball and clamped his palms around both ears, but it made no difference. Images of his mother and Eva flashed into his mind. Why had he come out here? He could be safe at home with them. And what about Ernst? If he was anywhere else but right here near the riverbank, how could he survive?

How could anyone?

Luther was certain any moment a bomb would fall right on top of them. What did it feel like to die that way? Did it hurt? Anything would be better than burning to death.

Luther continued to lay there on the riverbank for the next twenty or thirty minutes, along with a mass of strangers. The bombs continued to fall, almost nonstop. Only a few came close. Luther became more aware of two other things besides the terrifying explosions. The wind and the heat. Both had gotten much worse since the second round of bombs began. In the last few minutes, the wind had gotten so strong, Luther had to dig his heels and claw his fingers into the mud to keep from being pulled away.

But it did seem like the explosions were finally starting to cease. The hot wind made the greatest noise now, followed by the roaring sound of flames. The heat was so bad, Luther found it hard to breathe. Suddenly, a towel had blown from somewhere right into his face. He clung to it, then crawled carefully toward the edge of the river. Dipping the towel into the water, he wrapped it around his head. It offered only a tiny bit of relief.

When the explosions finally did stop, some of the people around him stood. Luther saw the father and mother with two small children coming this way. Everyone standing had to lean forward into the wind.

“We have to get out of here,” the father yelled, not just to his family but to anyone who would listen. “Get back across the bridge to the other side. The fires will be here soon and this wind—the fire is causing it. Can’t you see? It’s sucking the air all around it into itself. If we stay here, we’ll be sucked into the flames.”

What a horrible thought. Luther got up. He had to crouch to fight against the wind. He glanced over his shoulder at the wall of flame, now only a few hundred yards away. The father was right. Closer to the edge of the flames, Luther saw all kinds of objects being lifted off the ground and sucked into the fire. They had to get away.

The father started leaving, heading toward the foot of the bridge. Luther followed but noticed over half the people stayed put, unwilling or unable to move. Those who did leave walked quickly but each step filled Luther with fear. To get to the foot of the bridge they had to backtrack a bit and actually move toward the flames. The wind was so strong, Luther was afraid it would suck him right in. He moved to the middle of the small crowd to shield himself.

Finally, they made it to the bridge and began to cross. The wind picked up speed with each step. A third of the way there, Luther heard screaming over the stone rail. He looked and saw a large number of people fleeing from the buildings closest to the river. Some were already on fire. When they tried to cross the road that ran along the river, something terrible happened.

It took a few moments for Luther to realize what he was seeing. The people only got so far across the street, screaming in agony the whole while. One by one they stopped, as if their feet could not take another step. Luther realized why. The asphalt on the street had melted from the heat. Their shoes were becoming stuck in the liquid tar. Seconds later, they’d fall right into it and their bodies would catch fire.

He couldn’t watch any longer.

The wind had become even worse halfway across the river. Luther had to hold tight to the railing with each step. Their group was met by another group going the other way, toward the flames. For a brief moment, Luther got excited, because it looked like another combination of firemen and Hitler Youth. But Ernst was not among them.

The father who led their group yelled to their leader, a middle-aged man. “You have to stop, or you’ll all die. The fires are almost to the riverbank, and this wind. It’s because of the fire. It’s sucking all the oxygen into itself.”

“We have our orders,” the older man said. “There are people over there who need our help. Step aside.”

“Please,” the father pleaded. “Turn back. It’s too late to help.”

The fireman ignored him and continued leading his group toward the fire. As they crossed paths, Luther looked at the faces of some of the youth. Their eyes looked straight ahead, terrified by the sight. It made him shudder to think Ernst would have been led by someone just as foolish. And that Ernst might already be….

Luther couldn’t finish the thought. He kept walking, one foot after the other, against the hot, violent wind. Soon it became too hard. His legs started feeling weak. An extra strong gust knocked him on his behind. He started to roll down the bridge, the wrong way. He couldn’t stop or get up. “Ernst!” he screamed, not knowing why.