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SEVENTEEN

ELLA

The streets are quiet as usual, no increase in soldier activity from what I’ve seen thus far, and I’m just a block from the sewer entrance.

Luka must be worried that I’m not already there.

I hate making him wait and I’m rarely late.

Arte is in his usual place, offering me a bit of relief to see everything is how it always is at this hour.

I rush to his side beneath the trees, out of sight from the main area of the street.

“I’m here,” I say, handing him the parcel of legumes he requested last night.

He pushes my hand away.

“Not tonight. You should get home.”

“What? Why? I’m late—I’m sorry. I was held up, but the sewer is already open. No one is around,” I say, panic laced around my words.

“I only need a few minutes and I’ll be out at the usual time still.”

“Ella, I need you to go home,” he says, his statement unwavering as he stares at me with a firm look of concern.

“It’s Miko, isn’t it? He was here,” I ask.

“No.”

I shove the parcel of legumes against his chest and push by him towards the entrance to the sewer tunnel.

“Halt! You’re under arrest for resisting German law,” a man barks.

My heart stops. Everything inside of me is frozen as a flashlight blinds me.

“Please, I—I’ll go home. I didn’t break any laws. I’m not resisting your laws. I wasn’t?—”

“Shut your mouth. Curfew began two hours ago, and here you are at the not so infamous entrance to the sewer tunnels. Looks like your old friend Daniel was right about you being a sewer resistance rat. You shouldn’t have been so rude to him when he was kind enough to invite you to a nice outing,” the man clucks his tongue several times.

“Shame, shame.” His thick German accent sends a painful chill up my spine.

Daniel . I should have assumed he’s still incapable of handling rejection, but this—this is beyond something I could imagine him taking part in.

The light grows brighter against my face and then someone grabs my wrists before patting my body down, stripping me of my bundled goods and discarding them to the side.

As if the fear of what’s happening isn’t enough, the sight of the bag lying on the ground, knowing Luka won’t receive it, is tearing my heart into shreds.

Arte is detained at the same moment, and side by side we’re pushed forward down the road and around the corner, finding a line of other Polish citizens standing in a row, all with their hands tied behind their backs.

Are they part of the resistance?

Without warning, my hands are roped behind my back just before I’m tossed to the end of the row.

Arte soon joins me at my side, restrained as well.

It’s been well over an hour of waiting here between a line of others as the German soldiers decide what to do with us.

My pulse continues racing, making me dizzy and weaker by the moment.

They want to terrorize us.

It’s clearly their only objective.

I don’t know where the others even came from, but I assume they fell into the same trap as I did.

Luka must be thinking I abandoned him and his grandmother after not showing up tonight like I promised I would.

I’ve let him down in every possible way.

A truck rolls up to our side and a slew of German shouts and demands are whizzing overhead as we’re shoved forward to the truck.

Everyone is thrown inside, me included, as if I’m nothing more than a bag of rubbish.

My body smashes into others, knocking them around as I search for an empty spot on the metal bottom.

There were ten of us scattered around the exterior walls of Warsaw, waiting to descend through the sewer entrance.

The gestapo, on the prowl for anyone involved with the resistance, must have been tipped off about our nightly activity.

I peer through the opening between the tarp and metal bed of the truck as the gestapo police scream in the faces of the others, including Arte.

Each of them are searched, hands clawing at their bodies and stripping them of weapons before shoving them into the vehicle, too.

No one told us where we’re going or what they plan to do with us, but anyone affiliated with the resistance in any way knows how few options exist. Interrogation then execution or transport to a labor camp.

My body is numb, soaked in sweat, pinned between others on every side of me.

I didn’t fight the Germans, not like some of the others.

Yet, we’re all here just the same.

I knew the danger and risk involved in helping Luka every night but, if anything, I’ve gained more confidence as time crept along without getting caught.

I thought maybe they didn’t care to waste their time on the people trudging through sewers.

“We attack when given the chance. I’ll signal to everyone when it’s time. It’s our only hope,” a man whispers between us.

“Do we all agree?”

We have no weapons, only our hands.

The gestapo police are armed.

We won’t stand a chance against them.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to raise my hand and volunteer to be executed.

Everything I’ve done until this point has been to help Luka and his family.

What information could they want from me?

Would they even believe me?

Maybe this man is right.

Our only chance at survival could be to fight them off.

I’m not sure I know how to punch anyone properly.

I’ve never laid a hand on another being.

Arte is in the truck somewhere, but I can’t see him.

I wonder what he’s thinking.

I’m not sure he heard the comments about me rejecting Daniel.

If so, is he blaming him like I am?

Or, is he blaming me for telling him I could handle Daniel?

Would any of this have even mattered either way?

Luka is most certainly wondering where I am and thinking the worst. Mama and Tata won’t realize I’m gone until tomorrow at some point.

Everything I’ve been fighting for has brought me to this—a dead end, with no hope. I’ve failed.