Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

second chance.
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    We were among the first to cross. The expanse of ice looked enormous. “Fifty meters between each group,” instructed the soldiers. “We must not stress the ice all at once. Hurry.”
    How could we hurry? The walk was kilometers long and the ice was slippery.
    â€œLet me go first,” said Ingrid, her eyes still bandaged. “Alone.”
    â€œAbsolutely not,” I told her. “We’ll go together.”
    â€œI’ll go with Ingrid,” said the shoe poet. “My walking stick can test more than soles.”
    â€œNo,” insisted Ingrid. “If I’m alone, I’ll truly feel the ice. I’ll let you know if it’s sound. Then you can bring the cart along with the others.”
    Ingrid walked several meters out onto the ice, eyes bandaged, hands in front of her. She took a step and stopped, listening.
    She took another step.
    The sun made its first appearance, throwing light ontothe lagoon. The ice in front of Ingrid was red, frozen with blood. She advanced, then snapped her foot back, as if sensing the stain. She stood perfectly still and breathed, alone on the frozen water. She took a careful step forward, over the icy blood. She took a few more steps, leaving at least twenty meters between us. I could not bear to see her, bandaged and by herself. I walked out to join her.
    â€œI’m coming, Ingrid.”
    â€œYes, the ice is strong,” she called. “Come along.”
    I stepped toward her. The rest of our group advanced slowly, carefully, yet desperate to move quickly across the jaws of ice.
    Ingrid’s body suddenly stiffened. Her back arched. “
No!
” she screamed. “Go back!”
    Our group retreated. I was too far out to return quickly. And then I heard them: Russian planes strafing overhead. Desperate refugees on the bank erupted in terror. Soldiers dove into snowbanks. I dropped facedown onto the frozen surface. The sun brightened, shining through the ice to reveal the horror below. A dead horse and a child’s mitten glared at me from beneath the frozen glaze. I closed my eyes, choking on the gruesome images.
    High-pitched whizzings flew by my head, cracking and popping. Bullets tore through the ice. Frozen shards peppered my coat as screams filled my ears.
    The firing ceased. I opened my eyes. Streaks of blood surrounded a solitary hole in the center of the ice.
    â€œIngrid!” I screamed.
    Ingrid was gone.
    Her gloved hand suddenly appeared, reaching out of the black water.
    I crawled toward her.
    Her hand bobbed and grasped frantically at the edge of the ice.
    â€œIngrid!” I wailed.
    The ice broke.
    The hole in the ice spread farther, sending a deep crack running directly toward me. Ingrid’s hand flapped desperately.
    A pair of hands tightened around my ankles. I began sliding backward along my belly to the frozen bank.
    â€œLet me go!”
    The gap in the ice widened. Water rolled toward me. Panicked screams roared from behind. “It’s all cracking!”
    Someone pulled me away. I tried to free myself, to fight my way back across to Ingrid.
    â€œ
No!
” I pleaded. “Ingrid!”
    I looked out toward the dark watery hole. Ingrid’s frantic hand suddenly went slack. Her fingers softened, slowly curled, and disappeared beneath the ice.

florian
    I followed secretly behind.
    When the planes appeared, the Polish girl dropped from the cart and tried to scramble to the women on the ice. I pushed her away, then ran to the nurse, pulling her back toward me. The little boy grabbed my leg, trying to yank me to safety. He had the weight of a dry twig yet heaved with the ferocity of a bull. I dragged the nurse onto the bank, restraining her, fighting her.
    â€œLet me go!” She kicked and screamed, desperate to save her blind friend. We fell in a heap. I pulled her onto my lap. She reached out to the ice.
    â€œIngrid,” she whispered,