Camp X (2 page)

“Shut up, Jack . . . or else!”

“Or else what?”

“Or else . . . or else I'll tell Mom.”

“You're such a baby, running to your mommy. You act more like a two-year-old than a twelve-year-old.”

“I'm not a twelve-year-old . . . yet.” My birthday was in two weeks.

“Don't give me a hard time or you may not make it to your birthday.” He paused. “Come on.”

“Home is the other way!” I said, grabbing him by the arm as he started to walk away.

“Don't worry, Georgie, I'll protect you from any big bad bunny rabbits that might jump out and try to hurt you.”

“I'm not afraid of any animal. I just think we should get home. What if Mom calls on her break and we're not there?” I asked.

She was on the swing shift today, from four in the afternoon until midnight, and my brother was “watching” me. She was on three different shifts: two weeks on days, two weeks on the evening swing shift and then two weeks working from midnight until eight in the morning. Once September came, at least the day shift wouldn't be so bad because we'd be in school.

“What time is it?” my brother asked.

I tried to look at my watch. There wasn't enough light to see it clearly, but it had to be close to nine. Mom had her dinner break between seven-forty-five and eight-fifteen, and if she had tried to call us she wouldn't have got an answer. She'd be calling back on her next break . . . that was just before ten.

“I'm not sure. It has to be nine . . . maybe even nine-ten,” I said, deliberately making it sound later so we could leave. “You'll be in big trouble if she calls and we're not back.”

“All right, let's go that way,” he said, pointing in the direction he'd originally proposed.

“But we have to get home.”

“We are going home. A shortcut.”

“How can heading in the wrong direction be a shortcut?” I asked.

“Trust me,” he said, and he started walking.

Helplessly I trailed behind him. “How can this be faster?”

“It will be. Instead of cutting through the bush we're going to take a straight line,” Jack explained.

“What straight line?”

“That one,” he said, pointing up ahead.

I didn't see anything, just the dark outline of a hill or a bank of some kind.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“The railroad tracks. We'll climb up the embankment and walk along the tracks until we hit a road, and then we'll follow the road.”

“Wouldn't it be faster to just go back the way we came?” I asked.

“Too dark.”

“Are
you
afraid of the dark?” I chided him.

“Nope. You go that way if you want. I'll meet you at home. We could make it like a race and see who gets there first, okay?”

I knew what he was doing. I also knew he was doing it well.

“I'll go with you,” I said quietly.

Even in the thin light I could see a smug look creep over his face.

I trailed behind Jack. The ground was pretty rough and we had to move around dense bush and trees. Up ahead the railroad embankment loomed larger and larger until finally we stood right before it.

It was a massive pile of dirt and gravel and stones and cinders that had to be at least twenty feet high. Jack started up the slope. I hesitated at the bottom.

“What if a train comes?” I asked.

“Get out of its way,” he called over his shoulder as he kept on climbing. “Don't worry, we're only going to take it until we find a road.”

I looked along the embankment as far as I could see in the limited light. There was no road visible to the right. I turned the other way and—

“Jack! I see a road!”

He stopped and turned around. “You do? Where?”

“Just down that way,” I said, pointing toward it.

There was a pause. “I don't see . . . wait, I think I do see something. It looks like it goes
under
the tracks.”

He scrambled down the slope, rocks and gravel showering down in front of him. We walked along the base of the steep bank toward the road. As we closed in I could see that it was more of a dirt trail. Maybe it didn't lead anywhere.

We stopped and looked. There was an underpass. The dirt track led right to a culvert that ran beneath the tracks. It was made of curved metal. It wasn't big . . . maybe large enough for a tractor or one car to pass through, but not much more.

“Which way do we go?”

“The highway is that way,” Jack said, pointing away from the culvert.

“Good, then let's—”

“But I think we should go the other way,” he said cutting me off. “Aren't you curious to know what's in that direction?”

“Well . . .”

“Don't be scared.”

“I'm
not
scared!”

“Then come on,” he said.

Before I could say another word he started walking toward the culvert, and I scrambled after him.

Inside it was even darker, and there was a damp mustiness. I caught up to Jack as he stopped in the very middle of the tunnel.

“There's really an echo in here,” he said.

“There is,” I agreed, and my voice bounced back at me.

I practically jumped into the air when Jack yelled“ Heeellllloooo!” and his voice boomed back a second time. “ECCCHHHO!” he screamed, and then he laughed as his voice bounced around us.

“Why don't you try saying some—?”

He stopped mid sentence as we both heard the same thing—an engine. There was a car or a tractor coming! I turned to say something just as the whole end of the tunnel exploded in light! There was a car coming straight for us!

“Come on!” Jack yelled, and we started running in the other direction.

“Identify yourself!” yelled out a voice.

The way out was blocked by two men—men carrying rifles—illuminated in the lights of the car closing in from behind. Their guns were trained on us!

“Drop your weapons or we'll shoot!” one of them bellowed.

CHAPTER TWO

“
DROP YOUR GUNS
!” one of the men screamed.

“Our guns . . . they're just toys,” I stammered. “Just toys!”

“Now!” screamed the second man.

I dropped my toy rifle to the ground, as did Jack. I looked at my brother and his face reflected the terror I was feeling. Who were these men and what did they want with us?

The two men rushed forward, and when I turned to run I was smashed from behind. The air rushed out of my lungs as I landed heavily on the ground and my face dug into the dirt.

“They're just kids,” a voice called out.

Suddenly I was pulled to my feet by powerful hands. One man was holding on to the back of my shirt, practically hanging me from the scruff of my neck, while a second held onto Jack. I was helpless and terrified. My mind was numb and I was fighting hard not to cry. Two more soldiers stood right in front of us, their rifles at the ready.

“What are you kids doing here?” the one soldier demanded angrily.

“We were just—”

“This is a restricted area!” he yelled, cutting off my brother. “Didn't you see the signs?”

“Signs? We didn't see any—”

“They say ‘Restricted Area—Keep Out.' They're posted all along the road.”

“We didn't come along the road! We came in through . . . through the field . . . over there,” Jack stammered, pointing back the way we'd come.

“And why were you carrying these?” one of the other soldiers questioned as he held our toy rifles in his hands.

“We were just playing,” Jack said.

“Playing?”

“Playing war. We were hunting down Nazis . . . like our dad,” I said.

“Your dad's in the army?”

“He's in the St. Patrick's Regiment . . . he's in Africa,” Jack answered.

There was a pause while the one man—the one who was obviously in charge—seemed to be studying us. His face slowly softened.

“Put them down,” he said, and we were released.

“Thanks . . . thanks a lot,” I stammered as my feet settled back to earth.

“What are your names?”

“I'm Jack and this is George. We're brothers.”

“Where do you two live?”

“Just over there,” Jack said, pointing in the general direction of the bright lights of the plant.

“We live with our mother,” I added.

“And she let the two of you wander around by yourselves at this time of night?”

“She doesn't know we're here. She's working tonight, at the D.I.L. plant, so my brother is watching me.”

“Hah! He almost watched the two of you get shot.” The soldier laughed. “Running around waving those toys, by all rights you should both be dead.”

“Dead?” I gulped.

He held up the two toy guns. “In the dark, at a distance, these look real.”

“What are we going to do with them now, sir?” one of the other soldiers asked.

He called him “sir”—that meant he was an officer.

“Should we bring them up to the L.C.?” another suggested.

I didn't know who that was, but I didn't like the sound of being brought anywhere. I just wanted them to let me go home.

“No,” the officer said. “They'll get no farther tonight. Maybe we should have somebody drive them back to their home and have a talk with their mother.”

“Our mother?” I gulped. “Couldn't we see the L.C. guy instead?”

All of the soldiers started to laugh, and although I didn't really understand why, it was a lot better than being yelled at.

“Put them in the jeep,” the officer said.

What did that mean? Where were they taking us? A hand was placed on my arm and Jack and I were walked to the jeep.

“In the back with you,” the man said as he boosted me over the side and into the back seat and then climbed in beside me. Jack was put into the front seat.

The officer walked over, leaned in close to the driver and said something that I couldn't hear. The driver then nodded his head and the two of them changed places so that the officer was sitting behind the wheel.

“The two of you stay here and guard the tunnel entrance. We'll be back soon,” he said.

He started the engine. It roared and rumbled and the seats shook. The jeep jumped forward, forcing my head back.

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Where are you taking us?”

“You'll see soon enough,” the soldier sitting beside me said. “Enjoy the ride while you can.”

The jeep's headlights formed a column of light up and along the road. The vehicle picked up speed, and I bounced up and down over the unseen bumps and ruts.

“Hold on,” the soldier ordered, and I grabbed onto the seat with both hands just as we hit a particularly big bump and I became airborne.

“I told you to hold on!” he laughed.

I tightened my grip on the seat as we continued to bounce along the track. Just how far were they taking us? As if in answer the jeep's engine groaned and whined as it changed gears and started to slow down. I scanned the surrounding
darkness. There didn't seem to be anything there. The jeep came to a full stop.

“Get out,” the soldier ordered, and I climbed awkwardly over the side and scrambled over to stand beside Jack. The two soldiers climbed out as well.

“The highway is that way,” the officer said, pointing in the direction we'd been travelling.

“We can just leave?” I asked.

“Get going. And I don't want to see either of you back here again, do you understand?”

“Yes . . . yes . . . we understand,” I stammered.

“You're lucky you're both not dead. Now go!”

Jack grabbed me by the arm and we started walking away.

“Wait!” the officer called out before we'd taken even a half dozen steps.

Oh God, it was all supposed to be over, and now what? We stopped and turned around to face them once again.

“I need to know your last name,” the officer called out.

“Braun,” my brother said.

“Did you say Brown?” he asked.

“No . . . Braun.”

“Braun. That sounds German,” the soldier said.

“Our grandfather was German,” Jack told him.

“So just which side is your father fighting for in Africa?” He laughed.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. What was Jack going to say? Surely even Jack wouldn't dare to say anything to a couple of soldiers who were—

“You're lucky my father
is
in Africa,” Jack snapped. “Because if he was here he'd beat the
snot
out of you two zombies!”

“We aren't zombies!” the soldier exclaimed.

Zombies were soldiers who had been forced to join the army instead of volunteering, like our father. Usually they kept them at home and away from the action.

“If you're not zombies, then why aren't you fighting against the Nazis?” Jack demanded.

“We're here because—”

“Enough!” yelled the officer. “Don't push your luck, kid! Now both of you get going before I change my mind about the whole thing . . . and I don't ever want to see either of you again!”

I grabbed Jack by the arm. For a split second he resisted, standing there, glaring at the two soldiers. But I pulled harder and he turned and started to come with me. I stumbled forward and practically tripped over a small rut in the road. My legs felt heavy and stiff. I looked back over my shoulder. All I could see were the two headlights of the jeep. The two men were silhouetted in the lights. I turned back around. We kept moving, farther and farther, until the road became dark.

“What were you trying to do back there?” I hissed at my brother.

“Nobody insults our family,” he snapped.

“They were soldiers . . . with guns!”

“I don't care if it was Hitler himself!”