Page 1 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

HALINA

O?wi?cim, Poland

The baby’s desperate cry travels on a gust of wind, whipping around me as I forge through the darkness along the narrow path, running as fast as I dare.

The thicket of trees presses in on me, their low-hanging branches like clawed arms with gnarly fingers catching on the fabric of my uniform.

The ground is warped with bowing roots, threatening to trip me with every step, and the night tightens around me as I press on, only focusing on moving forward.

For a moment I stop, just to catch my breath, bending forward, hands on my knees, ears straining for the baby’s next cry. Except, the next gust of wind travels alone. I gasp for air, my lungs burning, my pulse thrumming. I can’t afford to stop.

My legs grow heavier as I trudge on, the trees thinning until a sliver of moonlight spills across the ground, exaggerating every shadow, but guiding me toward our meeting spot. Broken twigs and damp matted leaves litter the dirt, and the air clings to the scent of late summer rain.

A whimper ripples through the air and my breath stutters as a piercing cry follows, drawing me to the next tree where Gavriel waits, shrouded in his loose-fitted clothing, gently rocking the sweet, innocent baby girl in his arms.

“Shh,” I whisper through my panting, touching her chest, trying to calm her down. When she hears my voice up close, her cries falter as she grasps onto a strand of my hair between her tiny fingers. Her tired giggle bounces between the trees, but her delight will be short-lived.

“We have to go,” Gavriel says, his scratchy whisper catching in his throat.

“Here, I’ll take her,” I say, reaching my arms out.

“Not yet. I’ve already had a minute to catch my breath. You haven’t.”

Behind us, raging shouts fire out in the distance and dogs are barking. They know.

I follow Gavriel through the clearing and onto another uneven dirt path as the little baby in his arms starts up a relentless wailing. Is she hungry? Hurt? Tired? Or does she sense the danger we’ll face if we don’t make it out of the woods quickly?

The trees end abruptly, spitting us out onto the road, our breaths heavy with exertion and fear. My foot presses into the gravel, and I hesitate…just for a second. Gavriel doesn’t. He pushes forward into the sweep of spotlights.

Just beyond the trees to our right, the barbed wire surrounding Auschwitz hums with electricity, a sound I’m familiar with. The existence is a warning of the grave consequences we’ll face if we’re caught.

“Stay under the branches to the side of the road,” Gavriel says, still charging forward.

To our right, the barbed-wire fence enclosing Auschwitz cuts across the horizon like a jagged scar.

We’re not inside the death camp itself, but we’re close enough to make out the faint cries from within.

Still, we’re trapped within German seized land, an SS-controlled zone that clings to the camp’s edge.

The checkpoint ahead isn’t an exit from Auschwitz proper, but from the so-called “Area of Interest,” a tightly patrolled forty-square-kilometer restricted zone meant to protect the secrets of SS homes, camp-run factories, and the regime’s lethal order.

Beyond it, where I come from, Polish civilians still scurry about.

If we can just make it past this checkpoint, we might find somewhere safer than here.

This was the first gate I crossed when I was brought here, where I let go of the hope of ever seeing the Vistula River again.

Nothing says “the end” like an SS guard with a rifle slung under his arm.

Gavriel slows then stops. I nearly bump into him before he turns to face me, his gaze catching mine in the dark.

“Here,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “It’s best if you take her now.”

As I take the sweet baby girl into my arms, her cries turn into more of a weak whimper, and as we walk, she finally takes a deep breath and sighs, falling quiet. I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding the deep, jagged holes, making sure I don’t trip. There’s too much to fear all at once.

“What if this doesn’t work?” I don’t expect him to answer. The question is weighing heavily on us both.

But he stares into my eyes. “We can’t think that way. It’s our only option—it will work.”

Each step closer to the freedom lying beyond this last blockade is endless, especially now that the guard’s flashlight is gliding our way.

The damp rubble beneath my feet crackles and pops, and the fog hanging in the air begins to suffocate me. My heart pounds painfully. “Papers,” the guard demands. “Where are you coming from and what is your destination?”

We stop just in front of him, his eyes concealed by the rim of his cap.

“We’ve been on the compound visiting family, the Sch?fers—you must know them.

We were to attend their dinner party tonight, but our baby’s illness has taken a turn for the worse.

She needs a doctor. She’s very sick. If we don’t get her there?—”

“Papers,” he snaps, interrupting me.

My throat tightens and my focus falls to the rusty gate, framed by sandbags and stacked wooden crates. A smeared red streak near the latch…is that paint or blood?

“There’s no time for papers,” Gavriel says, his German accent impeccable. “Our daughter…she won’t survive another hour. She needs help right away.”

No one comes and goes easily from the occupied villages surrounding Auschwitz. The entire area is heavily barricaded by guards, even though the only people who live within this “restricted zone” are working members of the Reich, domestic servants, and beyond them, the prisoners.

This little girl so obviously senses every emotion surrounding her, explaining the returning of her piercing cry. I hold her tighter but don’t rock her in my arms like I normally would. I don’t hush her either. It’s important that she continues to cry now.

“What is the baby ill with?” the guard asks with haste, shining his flashlight onto her sensitive eyes, lingering on her flushed skin. He stumbles back a step. “Typhus,” he utters, as if the word itself is infectious.

All the guards are afraid of this disease. As they should be.

“There’s a rash—on her belly. The fever…spiked just an hour ago. She’s already had one seizure. We’re sure it’s typhus,” Gavriel explains.

I gasp a stuttered breath as a sob relents. “You must understand,” I cry out. “Feel her head—how hot she is…” I hold her out toward him, my arms shaking.

He won’t touch her. The risk of typhus isn’t worth it to him. Please God, keep us safe right now.

The guard takes another step backward. “Go on,” he snaps, tearing a handkerchief from his pocket to press against his nose. “If you return without a doctor’s note…” He doesn’t finish his statement, but the implication is clear.

His grip tightens on the gate lever. He’s letting us go. But then his jaw clenches, and as if someone has whispered a warning in his ear, he appears to reconsider. The flashlight angles toward our faces, blinding us. “Show me your forearms.”

“Wh—what do you mean?” I ask. “Why must you see our arms?” My acting isn’t believable—nor is my naivete.

He’s looking for tattooed numbers from Auschwitz. The tattooed numbers all the prisoners within the barbed-wire fences have…The tattooed numbers we shouldn’t have if we’re truly just visiting family here on the compound.

“Show me, or you don’t pass.” The ground disappears beneath my feet and my vision blurs.

It’s over.

This is the end for all of us.