The guards' footsteps were rhythmic. Left, right, left, right, they marched Rhea through the concrete yard. They grazed by barbed wire gates, round the back of buildings, which reeked of rotting food. Another SS squad had joined them. They were armed with automatic rifles.
Rhea knew the worst was coming.
The Germans had no use for her anymore.
But it was favourable. Over the torture, the labour, of dying of disease, starving to death – Rhea wanted it all to be over.
They changed direction. She was being greeted by the sight of several officials, one holding a stack of files in his hands. They were out of sight of the main camp, but some detainees had craned their necks to stare from the labour sections. The whole place smelled like death. The men surveyed her with no sympathy.
The perimeter was secured by an ugly jagged fence. Rhea stared hopelessly into the distance.
The camp appeared isolated from any other form of civilisation. The dense woods told stories of impending doom, and she imagined desperate Jews and war criminals, evading capture. Hiding in the dykes and dips of the terrain, the darkness of the woods had probably seen more deaths than the most harmful grenade.
Suddenly, another group came around the corner. They were half-dragging what she initially thought was a corpse; but it loosely struggled in protest, dropping to the ground. Only when the guard pulled him up, his face was revealed. Rhea felt her heart skip a beat.
The imposing silence had been broken.
"Victor?"
Victor's face was far gone from the pleasant gentlemen she remembered. His haggard features betrayed no evidence of his usual warm grin; it was gashed and discoloured. Rhea decided her own face must be just as unrecognisable – for his faded blue eyes widened momentarily.
Rhea was overtaken by a wave of emotions. Upon catching fight of her former friend, her veins suddenly felt like they were red-hot.
Hatred, rage, depression, pity; the feelings washed over her like a destructive force. A new found strength was building inside of her. The injustice had become too much to bear. Brought here for execution, she and Victor were about to die – in the hands of murderous monsters who had the potential to overthrow Europe.
They started to force her forwards.
"No!" Now she had set eyes on Victor, Rhea no longer welcomed death. She struggled with all her might. Her arm broke free from one of the guards; launching at the nearest Nazi, the papers went flying everywhere as the stack dropped from his hands. Entangled in limbs, they grabbed her back by her clothes – and someone's knuckles made a sickening crunching nose as they made contact with her cheek.
The SS were restraining her once more. Rhea was breathing as if she had just completed a 100-mile run.
"Addison, it's alright," Victor was pleading softly. His efforts to speak earned him a club on the back of the head. Grimacing, he continued; "Face it. It's over."
The Germans had collected the file from the ground. Trodden in muddy footprints, the papers were bent and crushed. The man was shaking his head. Straightening his uniform, Rhea clearly heard him drop a vile curse word.
The concrete skinned Rhea as the guard forced her to her knees.
Beside her, Victor looked straight into her eyes.
But she couldn't let him know that in her clasped fist, she had got the paper clip.
Her hands were sweaty. Behind her back, Rhea had been handcuffed. No one would have guessed that upon arrival, she had spied her opportunity. Now it was just a matter of calculating how she could free both herself and Victor from treachery.
YOU ARE READING
Addison
Historical Fiction[COMPLETED] During World War II, the world is suffering. Her husband is a Nazi, and she's a war spy - living under a fake identity in Occupied France. For Rhea Brandt, this may prove to be the death of her. No one is safe. And no one can be trusted.
