The chilling whisper of the wind was our only companion as we ran, our breath ragged and hearts pounding like drums against our ribs. Every rustle in the trees, every distant sound, sent a fresh jolt of terror through us.
We didn't dare look back, fueled only by the desperate hope of finding safety. Finally, the dense woods thinned, and we stumbled out onto a deserted street, bathed in the faint glow of a crescent moon.
"Walk slowly," I panted to Susan, my voice barely a whisper. "And if anyone asks if we're Jewish, say we're German." My own words felt like a betrayal, a bitter pill to swallow, but necessity gnawed at us.
Susan and I, both with our fair hair – mine a blend of blonde and brown, hers a similar shade with a glint of gold – and eyes that hinted at blue, could perhaps pass. It was a slim hope, but it was all we had.
Susan, usually so boisterous, simply nodded, her small face etched with a fear that mirrored my own. "Okay, I will."
We began to walk, each step a careful dance between caution and desperation.
The night enveloped us, a fragile cloak of invisibility. Shadows stretched long and distorted from the silent buildings that lined the street, their darkened windows like vacant eyes.
No one stirred, no one seemed to notice the two young girls hurrying through the oppressive quiet. We were ghosts in a ghost town, or so it felt. The air grew colder, and a shiver, unrelated to the chill, ran down my spine.
Every distant dog bark or creak of a branch made me jump, my hand instinctively reaching for Susan's.
Just as a sliver of hope began to unfurl in my chest, we rounded a corner. Three figures, stark against the muted backdrop of the streetlights, stood before us. Soldiers. My blood ran cold.
"What do we have here," one of them drawled, his voice a gravelly rasp that sent a shiver down my spine. "What are you doing out so late?"
My mind raced, a jumbled mess of fear and forgotten words.
"Um, we… I… uh… me and my sister are…" I stammered, my voice trailing off into an incoherent mumble. I couldn't form a single sensible sentence. My tongue felt thick and useless.
Another soldier, his hand resting casually on the stock of his rifle, stepped forward. "Tell us now, girl, or we'll have to question you."
His tone was flat, devoid of warmth, and the implied threat hung heavy in the air.
It was Susan, my brave, quick-witted sister, who broke the terrifying silence.
"We're on our way to give coats to the army," she piped up, her voice surprisingly steady, and gestured vaguely to the small canvas bag slung over her shoulder.
The soldier with the gun narrowed his eyes, a glint of suspicion in their depths. "Let me look in that bag of yours."
My heart plummeted. Oh no, I thought, a wave of despair washing over me. Susan, in her hurried packing, had put all our precious, smuggled food at the very top. If he saw it, if he realized…
The soldier reached out, his fingers fumbling with the drawstring of the bag. He peered inside, his gaze sweeping over the contents for what felt like an eternity.
Then, with a grunt of disinterest, he tossed the bag back to Susan.
"On your way," he grunted, already turning to walk past us, his companions following suit.
We stood frozen for a moment, unable to believe our luck.
Then, as if a spell had been broken, we scurried past them, our pace quickening with every step until we were running again, our breath coming in ragged gasps, but this time, the fear was mingled with a desperate, exhilarating relief.