Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 LATER THAT NIGHT EN ROUTE TO LODA FOREST, EASTERN POLAND. Lev led the way, taking them on a zigzagging route along the river, through fields of wheat and rye, and pastures filled with cows and sheep. Aunt Hannah walked between Max and Zena, her eyes narrowed and rifle aimed, her finger glued to the trigger. They stayed hidden, avoiding towns, ducking into bushes at the slightest sound — a dog barking, a baby crying, a wagon clattering down a distant road.

It was just past sunrise when they finally reached the edge of Loda Forest. They pushed their way through a wall of thick, thorny bushes, and suddenly they were in a completely new world. Enormous trees towered all around them, their branches forming a roof that blocked out all but a few beams of sunlight. Moss hung from branches, and giant, twisted roots rose up from the muddy ground. Max had heard horror stories about Loda when he was a child — about packs of wolves and bloodthirsty bandits. He looked nervously into the shadows, half expecting a hairy arm to reach out and snatch him. But Aunt Hannah, Martin, and Lev walked with sure steps, as though this tangled wilderness was their backyard. Soon Max's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he got used to the forest sounds — the buzzing and chirping and hooting, the rushing of the streams, the snapping of twigs under their feet.

He thought of Papa, and those games of hideand- when Max and Zena were sure they were lost forever. And then they'd hear Papa's voice calling to them. He could almost hear it now, from somewhere far away. "Max, Zena, where are you?" Max slowed his steps, turning his head, as though the whispering breeze were Papa's voice. He wanted to climb high into a tree and scream out, at the top of his lungs. "We're here, Papa!" The words seemed to ring out from his thoughts — We're here. He looked around, as though any second Papa's smiling face might appear through the leaves. "I knew I'd find you!" As they got deeper into the forest, the group walked more slowly, making doubly sure that

nobody was following them. Lately the Nazis were desperate to capture partisans, Aunt Hannah explained, to track them to their secret camps. They sent search planes buzzing over the forest, like giant birds hunting for prey. Many camps had been discovered and destroyed, their members all killed. "But they'll never find us," Martin said defiantly. Their camp was tucked away on an island that rose up in the middle of a great swamp, Lev told them. Their sleeping huts were dug into the ground, the rooftops covered with dirt and grass. They'd built a bridge of fallen trees that led across the swamp to the island. But they'd sunk the bridge down under a few inches of water so that nobody could see it. "It sounds like a movie," Max said, turning to smile at Zena. But Zena stared at the ground, and suddenly Max realized something was very wrong with her.

Her face was twisted in pain, her eyes brimming with tears. "What is it?" Max said, barely hiding his panic. Aunt Hannah stopped, too. Was Zena sick? Diseases were everywhere in the ghetto — coughs that turned people to skeletons, burning fevers that wiped out whole families in days. "It's my toe," Zena admitted finally. It had to be bad to make Zena cry. They found a fallen tree and sat Zena down. Everyone huddled around as Aunt Hannah knelt down and gently removed Zena's boot. Zena gritted her teeth as Aunt Hannah peeled away her blood-soaked sock. Max's stomach lurched at the sight of her big toe — the skin was torn away, the nail almost completely ripped off. Aunt Hannah didn't flinch. "It's just that your boot is too small," she said. "It's not bad at all."

Lev nodded in agreement. "I've seen way worse." Aunt Hannah stood up. "Look at this," she said, lifting her pant leg. "Barbed wire," she said, pointing at a purple, jagged scar. "We set fire to a bullet factory, and I got caught on our way out." Max cringed. "Mine's uglier," Martin said, pushing up his sleeve. His forearm looked as if it had been torn open and sewn back together by a three-year-old. "Grenade," he said proudly. "Went off a little too soon." "Show them your scar, Lev," Aunt Hannah said daringly.