#2 JEREMIAH STONE AND THE QUANTUM CONUNDRUM: Chapter 3
Just looking for some honest critique that will help shape the characters and plot of my very first novel. Keep in mind that their could be some misspellings as this is a very rough draft.
Chapter 3: The Dream
NAZI GERMANY , 1939
The atmosphere of that place was absolutely horrific. I can still smell the fear that permeated the narrow cobblestone streets and a stench of death that seemed to pierce the skin. The buildings and terrain were as foreign as an alien planet, but yet I sensed a belonging.
The rain pattered on the dusty road as the cloudy sky framed the peeking sun. The sweat that beaded on my brow as I walked was quickly washed away by the cold stinging droplets; my textbooks felt abnormally heavy tucked under my arm. I don't remember being assigned this much homework, the thought seemed to echo through the thick air. I sloshed carelessly down the winding muddy road, trying to eyeball something that I recognized…anything that might tip me off as to where I might be headed. Nothing...so I continued moving in the direction that had been predestined, by something…or someone, even before I entered the dream.
I found him crying, tucked back behind a big tree on the edge of the road. His face was pouring blood and his clothes hung loose in shreds; the contents of his rucksack scattered and trampled in the mud.
"Ernst, what happened?" the concerned words spilled from my mouth. It was as if I knew him, though I had never laid eyes on the pathetic looking boy. He was sobbing uncontrollably and couldn't collect the breath to speak. My heart was heavy in my chest as I our blood mixing until it became one. The sensation was unexpected, but electrifying. I quickly pulled him to his feet. Together, we stumbled through puddles in the cold rain, picking up what was left of Ernst's things and stuffing them into his sack.
"So, where to?" I asked.
"Lets go home," he exhaled. He wiped the blood-soaked tears from his swollen eyes. As we walked home, the unfortunate familiar stranger began sobbing out his cruel story...
It was the day of the big school picnic and Ernst had meticulously prepared for the big day by putting on his best shirt and packing enough small cakes for all of his classmates.
That morning in class the teacher read off the names of all the pupils who had turned in permission slips, strangely omitting Ernst's name, Confused, Ernst raised his hand, politely asking the teacher to reread the list. The teacher again omitted his name. "I don't understand,"he hesitated, "I turned in my slip."
"Jews are not wanted at our picnic!" the teacher hissed.
Ernst's shoulders dropped in disappointment, his dignity deflated,by the teacher's sharp word, his head spinning in confusion.
"GET HIM!" the teacher ordered. "Show the little Jew what happens when they come to our school!" Several of the class rowdies immediately attacked with the fury of a pack of wild dogs, their faces distorted by evil. The two or three other Jewish students managed to escape in one piece; Ernst seemed to be the one they wanted to make an example out of. Soon they were kicking, scratching, and beating him as the teacher gleefully shouted words of encouragement.
We continued walking while Ernst mumbled out details of his escape and how he found refuge under that tree. Then we just walked, lumbering along saying nothing . . . finding comfort in the healing silence...finding ourselves perched atop a grassy hill, overlooking Hell.
"Abba!" Ernst's words sliced through the thick air. The entire little community below was being ransacked and set afire. Hate was plastered everywhere. The words PIG and SWINE was smeared across doors and walls in thick crimson paint. Everywhere there were revolting and bloodthirsty pictures of neighbors being beheaded, hanged, tortured, and maimed; obscene and racist inscriptions were scribbled across them. Loose glass hung in shattered display windows, and loot from the miserable little shops was littered all over the sidewalks...family photos floated in the sewers.
Completely ignoring his own broken condition and the danger below, Ernst barreled down towards his father's place. I followed in a sprint, desperately trying to keep pace. For the first time, my breathing was perfect. The freedom I felt, contradicted the seriousness of the moment" I easily caught up to Ernst, frozen on the front step, obviously terrified at what he might find inside; chaos juggled everything around us.
The large display window read: HABSBURG'S JEWELRY, but in a strange foreign tongue...yet, I understood it completely. How strange! A second later...the window exploded into millions of shiny pieces, raining down around us like imperfect diamonds. We just managed to duck through the front door as a gang of youngsters in uniforms stormed the shop.
The smallest boy of the mob slithered through the window and started flinging everything he could grab into the streets. The other boys kicked in the glass counters, hurling cuff links, silver, and crystal into the hands of their buddies waiting outside. A tiny shrimp of a boy crouched in the corner, hastily putting dozens of golden rings on his fingers and stuffing his pockets full of shiny wristwatches. His uniform bulging with what he thought he had come for, he tumed and hocked up a good one...and spat squarely into the shopkeeper's face. The gang laughed as they scrambled out and on to their next stop.
The man wiped his face and reached for Ernst in reassurance. It was then that l realized, that I was no longer apart of the story. It wasn't about me at all; there was something far deeper and more important happening. It was though I had been yanked back behind a steamy glass wall...like I was watching a badly out of focus movie. The shopkeeper pulled something from underneath a loose floorboard and forced it tight into his son's hand. "I am only glad that your mother passed a month ago. God spared her this ordeal," the ache in his heart reflected in his expressions. "Listen to me Ernst!" his pained expression instantly morphed into that of a seasoned general. "As long as the shop continues to bring in money, they'll keep me alive. You understand me, Son?"
Ernst wiped his tears as he nodded an affirmative.
"I'm trapped here Ernst, until they decide to kill me. I cannot escape...but you can!"
"What about Inga and Bella," Ernst cried. "Where are my sisters?”
"They're gone, Son. I put them on a train this morning. They'll be safe... don't worry. There's another one leaving tonight and I want you on it...understand?"
"Yes Father, but..."
"No buts," he interrupted, "dry those tears, okay? Listen to me Son. . . I need you to be strong! I need you to protect the contents of that case with your life. Do not let it fall into the enemy's hands. When you get to where you're going, find your sisters...they'll be there waiting!
“Now go! Get outta here! Go!"
"Y-Yes sir," Ernst shuttered, gripping the case tight. He pulled his bag up over his shoulder, fought back the tears, and disappeared into the hills.
I felt impossibly more insignificant at that moment than I had ever felt in my life. I had become a distant viewer of some grand event that outranked my importance by a long shot. I felt as if I was witnessing a history, and though it was a history concocted by my overactive subconscious mind, I still struggled to minimize its scale. Then suddenly I felt a tug on the back collar of my vintage shirt. I could feel my heavy feet becoming weightless and slowly loosing contact with the earth below them. I was yanked swiftly into the air, being detached from Ernst's alien world. In an instant his whole existence had been condensed into a small point of light and then into nothing.
I hung motionless, engulfed by the black emptiness; strange sounds seemed to fill the void. Muffled voices with their modern tones and familiar slang seemed strangely out of place.
"He's been like that sense he got home...home...home," the voice echoed. I tried to make sense of it.
"The school called and said he had an attack," the voice spoke with an angelic resonance. It sounded sort of like Mom, but what was she doing in my dream in such a horrible place. She didn't belong in the emptiness.
I felt invisible warm hands brush my cheek and forehead, then, my entire body caught fire, as if a quilt of hell-flames were being pulled over to comfort me. The comfort didn't come. Strong, deep emotion consumed me like the fire should have, and fear straightened the hair on the back of my neck. The small point of light appeared for only an instant before I was thrown in its direction. This time I stopped, or it did, and it took the shape of large circular screen just inches from my face.
It was dusk and I could see Ernst hiding behind an exchange cabin, watching in horror as a group of belligerent soldiers over ran his train...the train he had promised his father he would take to meet his expecting sisters. Children of all ages were being forcefully pulled by their hair out of the boxcars and on to the rocky ground. The younger children went fairly easily, but the older children put up a fight and were beaten to submission when they refused. The demons were working overtime and they labored relentlessly for their cause.
I couldn't believe the cold cruelness that had possessed them...I could see the same look of disbelief frozen across Ernst's watchful eyes.
The image of those cruel events suddenly stopped. Mouths locked open in petrified screams while open luggage painted the air just above ground. Plumes of dust lingered for an eternity and children froze in mid stride; raindrops hung in the air, their splashes never coming. It was as if someone had hung a beautiful but horrific circular painting in the middle of space, and I was the only one in the cold dark museum.
Suddenly, the painting stretched to encompass the dark space. The images of trains and suffering children began sliding past me as if I were traveling at the speed of light...as if my incredible speed was bending the world itself, stretching it...until it snapped. When the recoil settled, I was again watching from a distance, Ernst's crazy world.
He was crouched behind a bed in a simple looking bedroom; the sound of falling furniture and breaking glass was coming from downstairs. All of a sudden, a man in full uniform entered the room and proceeded to yell, "WHERE IS IT?" Ernst's face winced at the smell of bad alcohol that rolled thick from the soldier's mouth. "What's wrong with you? Do I scare you little boy?" he toyed, before destroying everything within reach. The entire apartment was annihilated in less than ten minutes. Piles of valuable glass, expensive furniture, linens-in short, everything that innocent family had ever worked for was gone; nothing left untouched.
"Don't leave or we'll kill you! We'll be back in the morning for the census!” The over-boozed soldiers commanded, laughing as they stumbled drunk through the rubble and out where the front door used to hang.
Ernst waited until the squeal of tires faded into the distance before rushing back to the bedroom window. He surveyed the land below, looking for something. I could see a flat black shiny volcanic rock that seemed strangely out of place at the base of a dead tree. It reflected purple and green as the sun plummeted towards the horizon, the color shifting as the angle changed. Instantly it was morning.
I woke disoriented, lying in the bed where Ernst should have been sleeping; fully dressed in the clothes he had been wearing. My memories lingered in the back, making room for those memories that belonged to Ernst. I was no longer myself...I was Ernst...I had become the lead role in this crippling nightmare.
I raced over to the window; rays of rising sunshine pierced my half-shut eyes. STUPID!I thought to myself. Ernst had planned on leaving in the cover of night and tried desperately to stay conscious as he lay there planning my escape. But, the last two debilitating days had taken their toll on Ernst's body. He had crashed out with an entire army on his heels, and now I--playing his character-seemed to be stuck with the consequences.
"EVERYONE OUT OF YOUR HOMES!" the voice magnified through the bullhorn.
"INTO THE STREETS FOR ROLL CALL!" The house emptied quickly, except for me, who ducked into the closet, hoping to be forgotten.
"OUT OF THE HOUSE!" then men ordered. "EVERYONE OUT!" No way was I about to just give myself up especially without Ernst's strange package. “They'll have to come and wrestle me out”, I thought, “or set the place on fire or something.”
The smell of gas and smoke suddenly filled the house. The apartment’s wooden frame cracked and popped under the intense blaze. I fought the heavy smoke as long as I could take, trying to tell myself that it was just a dream. That I wouldn't die. That I was in control. But, I wasn't.
I had been able to take control of a dream before, rewriting scenes when I disagreed with my subconscious' creation; even shutting down production all together when I didn't like where the outcome was headed. But, this time I couldn't force myself awake-I couldn't change a thing. I was stuck, about to be roasted in my dreams...about to kill the character I had become...about to let Ernst suffocate in the hot black smoke. But, Ernst wasn't going down that easy.
I navigated my way through the blinding heat and the clutter of the once beautiful home, stumbling down the stairs and out into the streets of the burning village. Trucks were jammed with terrified families, others were packed into smelly livestock trailers that reeked of slaughter, and the less fortunate were ordered to run behind. I was one of those less fortunate ones. There were mothers who held two and sometimes three children in their arms as their blistered feet struggled to keep pace. There were those who tripped and weren't allowed to be helped...they were shot where they fell. I wanted to cry, but the words of Ernst's father gripped my heart. "Dry those tears," he had said.
When we reached our destination, some three kilometers from the village, people were already being stripped naked. "Shoes in one pile, jewelry in another!" they demanded. Lines of terrified villagers stood petrified at the edge of a small dusty hill, awaiting their fate. I saw the woman who had taken me into her home...she refused to get naked. The soldier ripped her clothes off and shot her on the spot. Her husband collapsed...they shot him, too. The couple's oldest daughter cussed the soulless assassin, and then fell to her knees in a silent, hysteric prayer. They shot her...her two babies in her arms.
I clinched my teeth and closed my eyes, forcing back any signs of emotion...holding on to the promise. It was my turn to die. Shots rang out, but I remained standing. "Look at them!" the young sounding soldier demanded. "I said open your eyes!" I debated internally on whether to follow his commands. The smoking hot barrel of his revolver against my head, jarred open my bloodshot eyes just as another soldier shot a lineup of small pleading confused children.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" the anger poured out of me before I could stop it. POP! The stinging blast echoed through my skull, but the expected pain of such a point blank shot was surprisingly absent. The blood began to saturate my hair, spilling over my dirty brow into my waning eyes. I collapsed to the ground and was kicked into the pit of hundreds of lifeless bodies. I felt weightless. Am I dead? I internalized. 1s this the feeling that comes after death? More shots rang out and I prayed for another bullet to end my hell...but none found me.
Ernst again took control and began to fight for his life. His desire to live became my will...and I climbed. The dying bodies pulled in desperation at my legs while others bit at my flesh. I could literally hear weeping and gnashing of teeth as I pulled myself through the wretched sea of dying spirits.
When I came above the mass grave, I didn't recognize the place. Bodies were piled haphazardly. I desperately tried to see an end to the stretch of corpses, but couldn’t. There was no end. People were suffering. Dying children cried out aimlessly for their mothers and fathers.
Death crept its way through the survivors, one soul at a time.
I was naked, covered in my own blood, filthy from the other bodies, and barely alive. I lay there in the mud and filth...hoping...praying for death to notice me.
Ernst's soul had escaped prematurely, leaving mine in complete control of his dying body. Ernst and his father's package became afterthoughts...they were no longer my concern. I feared death...I feared taking my last breath through someone else's failing lungs, while staring helplessly into someone else's dreadful sky. I wanted more than anything to wake up right then in Tesla Valley, in my own bed, in my own body. Pain gripped me. Please God take me home! Please God...My heart skipped a beat, my breath jumped-I closed my eyes...
"Hey Kid! You alive?" the calm voice tugged at my spirit, yanking me awake and pulling me from Ernst's dying body. I was again a distant viewer, watching his tragic story from some sort of cosmic armchair,
"Wake up buddy...we're here to help!" the soft words seemed to speak life back into the empty shell. Ernst forced open his aching eyes, yearning to catch a glimpse of the heavenly angel that called out to him. The young woman had already managed to fill his wounds with gauze, saving what little blood remained trickling through his veins; buying precious time.
"You're gonna make it," she reassured. Ernst did his best to speak, but his weak trembling lips struggled to form words. His body shivered from the inside out.
"It's getting dark and they'll be making their final pass through the camp any minute now. Get him in the truck!” The voice commanded respect.
Almost dark? I thought. How long had we...how long had Ernst been out there?
They loaded Ernst onto a makeshift stretcher and lifted him into the rear of an old rusty delivery truck. He looked hopeless; his blood-splattered transparent skin and sunken eyes masked him in death. His breaths quickened. He choked on his fluid-filled lungs, spitting blood everywhere. He had given up...he wanted to speak, but couldn't...so, he let his heavy eyes have their way.
"Eighty-eight to Clocktower, come in Clocktower," the driver repeated the call over the radio in a somewhat familiar voice as he whipped the van around the final turn. "Do you read me Clocktower?"
"Clocktower here, go ahead."
"Target in transport. Do you copy? I repeat, target in transport, over!"
"Yeah, yeah, I copy...just hurry will ya?"
"Roger that, Clocktower...we're right outside!" the tires locked and dust sprayed into the smelly air as the boxy van slid long into a stop.
"He don't look too good," the young woman said. "I don't think he's gonna make it!"
"We have a few minutes sis, just relax. Everything's gonna be okay."
"Why can't we help?" she begged for an explanation.
“We are...you know that," her brother reassured.
"You know what I mean. It just doesn't feel right letting the poor little guy croak like this."
"Just get him inside already!" their leader interrupted as he reached for the storm cellar door. "We're sort of on a tight schedule here." Just then the heavy steel door swung open and slammed against the solid ground.
"Jeezluweez bro, you scared the heck out of me!" the leader jumped.
"Sorry lil' brother...my bad. Did you guys get'em?"
"Just barely...but yeah. You?"
"Not yet...but he'll be here."
The brother and sister team carefully navigated the steep stairs, doing their best to steer the stretcher to safety.
"Right over here," the oldest of the group pointed to a clearing in the messy cellar.
"Keep him conscious...don't let him..."
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! The alarm interrupted, stiffening the group where they stood. The rest of their watches followed their leader's in unison, obviously behind his a half second or so.
"Eight! Where is this guy?" she worried. Ernst eyes sprung open in shock and he began grasping for his last breath. They were shallow and quick; his hollow eyes glazed with doom.
"Dude, he can tell us! Just let him tell us!" the oldest said.
"NO!" the adamant leader intruded. "He'll be here! Don't mess this up!"
No later than the words spilled from the leader mouth, the cellar door slung open, almost coming off the hinges. Cold wind and rain rushed in, mixing with the dry, stale air. Thunder shook the ground and lightening flashed dangerously close, lighting up the dark sky outside. The crew could just sit and stare into the night, waiting patiently for the moment. Suddenly, a dark figure, silhouetted against the flashing night sky, leapt across the rectangular opening, startling the spectators below.
"'Was that...?"
"I--think so," the leader surmised.
"'Where did he..." she stopped speaking, her hair slowly pulling away from her static filled scalp. CRASH! The lightening was close enough to send electricity through their bodies.
Ernst gasped at the electrified air.
"Whoa-that was close!" the oldest said.
CRASH! It struck again-this time closer. The smell of burning wood filled the air. CRASH...CRACK!
SMASH! The large tree limb jarred against the cellar opening, shaking loose its smoking passenger. He tumbled down the steep concrete steps, coming to a rest on the now damp floor. He was shaken but not hurt. His tattered uniform still smoked from the surge of voltage that had passed through him. He stumbled to his feet and froze in shock.
"Who are you?" he muttered in slightly broken English.
"That's not important," the leader said. "We were just leaving."
"It matters to me," the smoldering soldier snapped. I desert my duty and barely escape za punishment, zen za lightning!" his words skewed by his German accent. "Vut is this?" he asked, pointing to Ernst.
Ernst lips were trembling and whispers escaped his quick, short breaths. He reached at the air for someone to come near...the crew didn't move. The young tattered soldier looked confused.
"What do we do?" the oldest asked.
"We get outta here, that's what we do," the leader smiled, knowing that is mission was complete.
The young group of mercenaries or freedom fighter or whatever they were, disappeared just as quickly as they had arrived. The young German soldier and the dying Jew had a date with destiny, and for that, they had to be left alone...nothing allowed to alter the moment.
Ernst's eyes had emptied of life, and his gray catatonic stare seemed magnetized, drawing the curious soldier near. Though death had marked Ernst's body in almost every way, it had yet to claim him, and Ernst wasn't going to go without a fight. He needed an ear-someone to hear his dying words-someone to help him fulfill a promise. As the soldier drew near, Ernst clamped his grip around the German's arm. The young soldier shrugged, attempting to break free. He surprisingly couldn't; his face drained of color as if he was staring at a zombie. Ernst mustered all of his remaining strength to maintain his hold on the soldier, and on life-this was his last chance. He began to speak. The broken airy words trickled over his trembling blue lips; the young soldier leaned in. Moments later the whispers ceased. Ernst released his grip on the soldier…then on life.
Young Otto sat motionless, trying to absorb the dying boy's incredible story, but not losing focus on the fact that his angry superiors were still hunting him. He contemplated his next move.
Otto was part of a small group of young Nazi soldiers, recruited by the SS to be what they termed "the sweepers". Their orders were fairly straightforward. It was their job to go through the unthinkable death camps, after the 'real' soldiers had left, and put a bullet in the head of anyone who may have survived the initial massacre. This was Otto's first night as a recruit and it was far worse than he ever possibly imagined. The smell of decaying flesh turned his gut. The look of relief and reprieve on the victim's faces as they looked into the eyes of their executioners sickened him. He had managed to not be the triggerman for most of the night, until the other sweepers decided that it was time to initiate him into the fraternity. The next one found alive would be his first kill. That's when he ran!
Otto had become the prey, hunted by his fellow soldiers, chased down by life-long friends, ordered to die by friendly fire. But, fate was on his side; destined to wind up in a small cramped cellar with a freshly decomposing Jewish kid, desperately trying to talk himself out of the fact that he might be going bonkers.
Otto had been through Hell and back, escaping the chains of inhumanity, only now to be bound by the heavy yoke of life-changing responsibility. Not wanting Ernst to die disappointed, Otto had foolishly agreed to help fulfill the pledge with no intention of ever following through with it. But, Otto was better than that. His honesty and goodness was a burden that he would have to live with. He was a man of his word…and now he was bound by undying honor to fulfill a dying stranger's last request...a promise he vowed to keep.
To go back and read chapters 1 & 2 follow the link below:
https://steemit.com/writing/@stxhoops/jeremiah-stone-and-the-quantum-conundrum-chapter-1-and-2