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“If we can get across the tracks to the forest, there’s a back road I know of. We’re not too far from a friend who can help.”
Sam eyed the tree line on the other side. They’d be exposed on the hill leading up to the woods, which was a lot farther from the track than he liked. Not that they had much choice. Behind them was a wide-open field. He waved Remi and Sergei over. “We need to get across before that train clears the curve. Otherwise, if they’re anywhere in the area, they’ll see us.”
After the last car rumbled past, they raced across, up into the trees. Sam found a thick stand of shrubs and directed everyone behind it.
The squealing of the train brakes faded as it finally slowed to a stop. Above them, birds chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze. In the distance, Sam heard a high whistle. Human. And then another.
“The Guard,” Gustaw said. “One of the ways they communicate. No doubt they’re checking the train.”
From the sound of the whistles, Sam estimated that they were at least a quarter of a mile away. He crawled out, catching sight of the last train car on the tracks up ahead, before turning back to the others. “No sign of patrols. Stay low, we’ll have a better chance. They’ve got a lot of cars to search.”
“This way,” Gustaw said, and they followed him up the hill into the woods, breaking every so often to listen. The whistles between the patrols grew fainter the farther they traveled. After a half hour, the trees grew thick enough to provide decent cover. Now all they needed was distance.
40
Rays of sunlight broke through the treetops, lighting up the forest floor, as Sam, Remi, and Sergei followed Gustaw. An hour after that, they came to a cabin in the woods. “There it is,” Gustaw said, pointing.
It was slightly bigger than the one he lived in. No smoke from the chimney. A bad sign, Sam thought.
“Wait here,” Gustaw told them. “I’ll see if he’s home.”
They watched as he broke cover and walked up the dirt drive to the cabin. He knocked on the door, the sound carrying down to them. After a moment or two, he walked around to the side, then disappeared around the back. Five minutes later, he returned.
“He’s not there.”
“What about a car?” Sam asked.
“I checked. Nothing. It’s possible he’ll return.”
The faint whistle of the train drifted up to them. It was moving again. Which meant the Guard was done searching.
“They’ve got to know we’re in the woods. Let’s keep going. The more distance between us and the train, the better.”
Gu
staw nodded. “Our only option at this point is to head higher into the woods or try to get to one of the towns between here and Wroclaw. They’ll set up checkpoints, so we’ll have to find a way past them. Once we do, there are plenty of people who are against the Guard who will help.”
They continued on. After fifteen minutes, they heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle—a large one, by the sound of it.
Sam motioned everyone to the ground. He peered through the bushes, seeing a red World War II Opel Blitz truck bouncing down the road. Used for cargo or soldiers, this truck had been refurbished, the once-open cargo bed completely enclosed with hard siding. White lettering on the door read CC’s Antykwariat.
“Antique dealer,” Remi said.
“I’ve seen the shop in town,” Gustaw added. “The man who owns it as well. I think he’ll help.”
The truck pulled into the drive of a nearby cabin, backing in. The driver, a tall white-haired man with a gray, neatly trimmed beard, got out of the truck.
“Worth a try,” Sam said, watching as the man unlocked the back of the truck, rolling up the door. If they didn’t do something soon, the Guard would catch up to them. “Ask if he can give us a lift.”
Gustaw called out.
The man turned, his green eyes regarding them with curiosity as they approached.
Gustaw spoke rapidly. The only word Sam understood was American.
The man eyed each of them, rattled off a response to Gustaw, then settled his gaze on Sam, asking, “Got yourself into some trouble?”
“You’re American?” Sam said, surprised. “Running antiques in Poland?”
