What If Anne Frank Survived?

Chapter 9: Home Front

Chapter 9: Home Front

Anne's POV

The news has been the same for the past week - survivors of the Jewish extermination have been sent to the States. I haven't heard about anything about my family or the van Pels, and it's killing me.

"Anne?" Peter said.

He waved his hand in front of my face. I blinked back into reality.

"Are you okay?" He said.

"Yeah. I'm just worried about our families."

He sat down next to me and nudged me with his elbow.

"I'm sure they're fine."

"How would you know that? What if they're dead?" I snapped.

He swallowed hard and sat there quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

"It's fine."

I elbowed him and smiled. He grinned back.

"Let's go into town," he suggested.

"For what?"

He pulled me up off my feet.

"I'm sure America has something more fun to do than sitting around here and waiting for something to happen," he said.

We left the stale refugee complex and walked down towards the conglomeration of buildings.

The city was bubbling with life of people chatting away, car engines rumbling, and the smell of street corner food.

"Doesn't that look good?" Peter asked me, pointing to the strange sausages and bread.

"I'll take one of those please," Peter said in German.

The man was confused for a moment, but then realized who we were.

The man said something in English, but I couldn't understand.

He handed Peter the strange sausage in a bun and shooed us away with a smile.

"I forgot we were in America for a second," Peter laughed.

"Peter, where do you think our families are?" I asked.

"I don't know. We can't do anything about it, so let's not worry too much."

He offered me a bite of his sausage in a bun.

"Try it. It's rather greasy, but I guess that's America for you."

I bit into it. The red sauce dripped down my face, but gosh was this sausage in a bun good! Peter laughed and took a bite. My face started to feel hot when I realized he had taken a bite where I had bit off already.

The rest of the day, we walked around town until the sun went down. The street lights switched on, illuminating the beautiful city. We were sitting on a bench with another sausage in a bun.

"This is a lot better than sitting around in that refugee building," I stated.

Peter nodded.

"I'm glad I spent today with you," I said. Why did I say that?

"Yeah, me too." He smiled looking down.

It was confusing trying to tell how he felt about me or anyone for that matter.

"We should head back," he said.

"I hope we can find our way back."

About an hour or so later, we found ourselves walking in a darker part of town.

"Are you sure we came from this way?" I asked.

"I think so," Peter said looking around.

As we turned a corner, I bumped into something hard and tall.

A tall built man was standing there with two other men that were about the same stature and build. They reeked of alcohol and smoke. The one I bumped into said something in English. I shook my head and started to back away with Peter. He stepped forward, pushed Peter and grabbed my arm. I screamed and escaped from his grasp. Peter and I started running away from the three men. I heard them following after us.

"In here!" Peter said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into a side alley. There was an opened door on the side of the building. We went inside and shut the door and propped nearby crates against it.

I heard banging against the door. One of the men chasing us yelled something in English and left.

We were panting like dogs.

"Oh my god," I said.

"At least they're gone," he reassured.

The moment hit me that there was no one here to protect us from the criminals in the States. We were all alone in a foreign country. I started worrying and with that, I started crying.

"Anne, it's okay," Peter put his hand on my back.

"I just want my family back. It's not like we can fend for ourselves here," I sobbed.

Peter said nothing. He knew I was right.

We sat there quietly in the dark for sometime.

"Anne, do you smell something? Like smoke?"

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