Schatzi

28

Throughout the day, more working groups were taken to the grave Peter's group had dug earlier and the same massacre took place. It happened at least three more times before night fell and finally the bodies stopped falling in on top of Peter.

He'd played dead for the whole day, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to flinch even in the slightest when he felt someone land on him, heavy on his chest, warm blood soaking through to his skin. It was disgusting and every time it happened he had to resist the urge to throw up.

As the camp slowly began to wind down, he opened his eyes, staring up at the sky, helpless to do anything else.

He didn't know what he was going to do.

Even if he was able to get out of the mass grave, he'd probably be shot before he could reach the barracks. And if he didn't get out of the pit by morning, he'd be buried alive.

Neither option was ideal.

At least one option wielded the possibility of survival and would at least be a quicker way to die.

He slowly stretched out his arm, muscles cramping after so long of lying completely still. Then he tried to roll the pile of bodies off of him, groaning in the effort. He kept pushing as he tried to shuffle to the side, trying as hard as he could to be gentle while still wanting desperately to get free.

Finally, he wasn't trapped anymore, and he would have been able to almost breathe normally if it wasn't for the crippling fear coursing through his veins. That and the smell.

Carefully, he got to his feet, struggling to see. But his eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could make out the shapes on the ground and was able to slowly step over them until he reached the end of the pit.

He reached his hand out and touched the soft dirt, feeling how far up it went. Deeper than his height by a few inches. Too high for him to climb out of easily.

But he was determined to try.

He carefully pushed the bodies nearest him away so he wouldn't step on anyone when he was trying to get out, and then he tried to climb it.

Like the kid who'd tried and been shot earlier, he slipped and scrambled until he had no choice but to drop back down to the floor, defeated.

He kept at it though, trying again and again and again until he got somewhere.

"Fuck," he groaned, finally able to dig his fingers into the slight dip in the earth where they'd climbed out before, scrambling up the muddy walls of the pit. He tried to lodge his foot against a rock sticking out but it was too small and the rain from earlier in the day made everything far too slippy. He lost his footing and slid into the wall, accidentally kicking one of the bodies as he lost control. He managed to keep his grip on the level ground though, so he was half standing on his tiptoes, half hanging by the tips of his fingers.

Peter panted heavily, leaning his head against the dirt, exhaustion coursing through his limbs, deep and aching. Somewhere in the distance, there was a loud clap of thunder and then a flash of lightning that lit up the cloudy dark sky. Peter didn't move, using all his energy to just not let go. Tears trickled down his cheeks as the heavens opened up and it began to pour with rain, more thunder echoing around the area.

'This is hopeless' he thought as he stood there, surrounded by the bodies of his friends, blind in the almost complete darkness, knowing even if he did get out of the pit he still risked being shot. And now that it was raining again, even doing that was going to be almost impossible.

But not impossible. There was still hope. Even though it was small and dwindling. He had to at least try.

So he tilted his head to the side so he could wipe his tears on his shirt without having to let go of the ground which was getting increasingly wetter and muddier by the second. He dug one foot as high into the dirt wall as he could and put the other on anything that would boost him up. In his surroundings, that happened to be a dead body. He said a silent prayer and kept going, ignoring the dreadful guilt that immediately threatened to consume him.