The Devil's Blessing by Tony Hernandez Page B

rifle.
    He looked at Brigitte, the mother, whose mouth was ajar in shock. Her skin had become so pale that it almost seemed as if she were emitting light herself.
    The tears quickly came to Knef's eyes, looking at Brigitte, pleading with her. She stepped back, not wanting to be touched by the man who had just killed her only son. She looked ready to scream to all the heavens so that they might hear and witness the evil that had been loosed on earth. She was ready to scream to let the men know exactly where they were, so that every man down there could get the death they so richly deserved. She was ready to scream, so that the men above could rape her, time and again, and then kill her, since that was the fate she deserved, for allowing what had just happened to Jens to happen.
    But as she inhaled to scream, a bloodied hand came over her mouth and another slit her throat from one side of her neck to the other. The cut was so deep that it penetrated her windpipe; she gargled on her own blood as she fell to the ground to join her son in a bloody pool of death on the floor. From the shadow behind her came Wernher, who was barely able to stand.
    The rest of the day was spent listening to the voices from above, in particular a frustrated coughing man, tearing the house apart, trying to find them, and staring at the dead mother and child on the ground.
    There was a hell, and it was both above and below them.

Chapter Fifteen

    There was a stunned silence inside the room. The blood had finally stopped coming from the mother and child, but they were far from safe. The footsteps could be heard above, accompanied by intensive yelling. The Soviets knew they were near something, near someone, who had a crying baby, and they were intent on finding them.
    The men downstairs knew how animalistic these Red Army types could be, and they'd even seen it in the prison camps—how they acted more like dogs than anything else. But even now, up above them, they could hear how truly vicious they were.
    The sounds of furniture being thrown and appliances being moved echoed from every corner inside the room. It sounded as if the banging was coming from around them instead of above. Other times, the trapdoor would bend and give, showing the smallest sliver of light.
    And then there was Otto. He had moved to the farthest corner he could find and curled up with his knees to his face, crying. It was a gentle sob, since he didn't want to make any noise. He still wanted to live, and that was disheartening to him. Part of him knew that he should want to die. It was the only honorable thing. After what he had done, he should turn himself over, face his fate there on earth and his eternal judgment in the afterlife. But he was a coward, who only wanted to live. His fear was what had made him do something he had never thought himself capable of doing: murdering a child. Because he wanted to live. He hated himself.
    After a while the voices from above became more and more distant, although their frustration could still be heard. They knew that at least two men, one of whom was shot, and a baby, were somewhere in that town, hiding. They had no idea, however, that there was no more baby to look for anymore.
    And that's what had bought the men downstairs time. Although it was impossible to tell the time without sunlight downstairs, it was easy to tell when night fell, since the voices became quieter and the temperature dropped just ever so slightly. Morning came through the sound of pots clanging and the smell of food boiling.
    The men started talking—in close whispers, but they started talking nevertheless. Their plan was the only one they had: wait. They had to wait out the Red Army and hope they'd leave. If they didn't, their hunger would force them out.
    Luckily for them, there was the wine. It gave the men a welcome respite from the horrors they had created the past few days. It was a strange drunkenness. It wasn't a joyous one, nor was it a sad one. It was a