Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 The soldier marched Max along the dusty road leading away from the ghetto. He jabbed him in the spine with the sharp tip of his rifle, barking out German commands Max couldn't understand. They were heading toward town — to the police station, Max was sure. Nobody who was taken there had ever come back. A Nazi flag flew above the building now, angry red with a black swastika — the twisted Nazi cross. Max could see it in the distance, a bloodstain on the blue sky.

Max's head throbbed from where the soldier had smacked him. But the pain was nothing compared to the fear that churned inside him. What would the Nazis do to him? And what would happen to Zena, alone in the ghetto? The thought made him so weak he could barely walk. The soldier gave him a hard shove to keep him moving. The road snaked along the river, and from the banks below Max heard laughter and splashing. The sound felt like a cold slap — he could not think of the last time he'd heard such happy noises. But he could remember so clearly those days before the war, when it had been Max and Zena splashing in the cool, clear river, with not one worry in their minds. When they were younger, they'd play hide-andseek with Papa. But sometimes they'd venture too far, and get themselves lost. They'd wander around, scared the forest would swallow them forever.

But then they'd hear Papa's voice, calling to them. "Max, Zena, where are you?" And Max and Zena would cry out, "Papa! We're here!" And soon enough, Papa would appear, a smile on his face. And he always said the same thing. "I knew I'd find you!" The best times were when Aunt Hannah came along. She was Papa's sister, just nineteen years old. She'd always been more like a friend to Max than a fussy old aunt. She'd take Max and Zena on hikes, jumping with them from rock to rock, singing their favorite songs. People in town gossiped about Hannah — that she was wild, that she cared more about books than finding a husband. Of course Max knew that Hannah didn't want to get married, not now. She was saving her money to go to America. "We'll all go to America together," Aunt Hannah would say. "It will be an adventure!"

And Max would picture himself with Zena and Papa and Hannah, standing at the railing of a grand ship, looking out over the bright blue ocean. But like everything else in Max's world, the Nazis had shattered that dream. And where was Aunt Hannah now? Max had no idea if she was even alive. The last time he knew she was safe was just one day before they had to move into the ghetto. It was late at night, and Hannah had come to their house. Max was almost asleep when he heard her voice. He'd almost leaped out of bed to see her. But she and Papa were fighting, so Max stayed put. "I'm going tonight," Hannah was saying. "We all must go!" "Keep your voice down," Papa scolded. Where was Aunt Hannah going? Max strained his ears, but heard no more.

Finally he crept downstairs, hoping to talk to Aunt Hannah himself. But she was gone. And when Max went to her house the next day, there was no trace of her. "Where did she go?" Max asked Papa. Papa just shook his head, and he looked so sad Max decided not to ask again. And then Max figured it out: Aunt Hannah had managed to catch her ship to America. She had left them behind, without even saying good-bye. Thinking of Aunt Hannah made Max's head throb even more as he trudged along the dusty road. He barely heard the rustling sound coming from the bushes. But the soldier whirled around, his piglike eyes squinting into the thicket on the side of the road. Max's blood froze when he saw a curly blonde head poking up through the bushes. Zena! She was crazy to come after him!

But of course he would have done the exact same crazy thing for her. "Achtung!" the soldier barked. He aimed his rifle at Zena, pulled back the bolt, and got ready to fire.