47 Days by Annette Oppenlander

Author:Annette Oppenlander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wwii, survival, war world 2, wwii history, teen suspense, teen boys, war and boys, teen 14 and up, wwii germany, wwii adventure
Publisher: Annette Oppenlander

Day Forty-Seven

“I want to visit home.” Helmut sat up from his makeshift bed underneath a hazelnut bush. It was too early to carry fruit, but the fresh green was thick. “I could really use a bed for a day or two.”

I jumped up. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Seven weeks had passed since we’d left for the woods. It seemed a lifetime ago. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t stand living this way another second—even if it meant only for a day.

We hiked cross-country until I recognized the hills of the Wupper valley.

“Did you see that?” Helmut pointed at a couple of houses in the tiny village of Wupperhof. “They have white sheets hanging out the window. You think somebody died?”

“Maybe.” I thought of the city bombing last November when white sheets had signaled dead bodies ready for pickup.

Pushing the thought of swirling flies and decomposition from my mind, I concentrated on the happy face Mother would have when she saw me. I couldn’t wait to see her.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Helmut sighed.

“It should be over soon. Remember what the soldiers said,” I said. How often had I repeated these words? Rolf Schlüter returned to my memory, showing off his medals in class, sneering and pointing his pistol at me. Deserter, he said. Arrest him.

I walked faster. Anything was better than to think about the consequences of my actions. I was blind to the fact that spring had finally arrived. Though the leaves from last winter rustled underfoot, the trees were bright green, bathing us in shadows.

“There’s another sheet,” Helmut said, panting and holding his sides. “Do you think they have some kind of disease? The house isn’t bombed.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be.”

“What about typhus—you get it from bad water.”

“Maybe they poisoned the lines.” I kept walking. “If the Americans and Russians are close...”

“What’re we going to drink?”

“We’ll have to get water from a stream and boil it.” What if Mother had gotten sick and died? I hadn’t been home in weeks. Lots of things could happen, sometimes within an hour or a split second. I quickened my pace.

“Slow down!” Helmut massaged his ribs, panting. “I’m tired.”

But I couldn’t stop, even if my legs burned and my throat had turned to sandpaper. I had to get home. Now. Never mind it was daytime. That we were in plain sight.

By the time we arrived in the neighborhood, my lungs ached, and I was wheezing.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up after dark.” I didn’t wait for an answer and sprinted up the street. On Weinsbergtalstraße I slowed down. The apartment houses still stood.

The street seemed strangely deserted, and I noticed more white sheets. There was my house. Finally. I scanned the windows of my family’s apartment. Nothing. But wait. There was a sheet on the side. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but something white hung on the side of the building, my parents’ bedroom.

Mother had died.

Dread crept up my spine like icy fingers, sending me to sprint the last bit.

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