Read Online Death in Twilight by Jason Fields - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Fields
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machine guns spit he felt no urge to do so. He stood where he’d been told and witnessed the flowers of evil bloom.
He watched bodies fall, heads explode in blood, heard the cries, pleas and screams. He felt something other than human.
He turned to watch the killers at their work, curious when the barrels would shift to take his life, too. The machine gunners’ faces held no expression. They were concentrating on their work, focused on stamping out a clear threat to National Socialism.
The commander — the academic — had a small smile of satisfaction as he watched a job well done. The other Gestapo officer, Clausewitz, looked close to sexual climax. It must have been all he could do to stop himself from grabbing a burp gun out of one of the soldier’s hands and joining in the fun.
The final shot was fired. The work was done. Gray, cold death spattered with red blood, burst brains, children’s dolls and tortured faces was all around. The last echoes fled the confines of the killing ground.
And Aaron realized that he’d been spared.
The next sound came from the schoolmaster’s boots as he stepped in front of the living to give a eulogy for the corpses.
“We can no longer afford to carry the weak,” he said. “This is war and sacrifices must be made if the strong are to remain that way. To survive, we must all work to our capacity. We can no longer afford parasites.”
He nodded once and walked to a black car. Clausewitz opened the door for him and they drove away. The other vehicles fell in behind, leaving only a few soldiers to keep an eye on the survivors.
The orderlies and doctors among the living made their way over to the dead, fruitlessly hoping they would be able do some good. Aaron joined them, not looking to help, but for a single face. It wasn’t long before he found it.
Gersh, Jaruzelski — whatever his true name had been — was dead.
Aaron stepped back as hand-drawn and horse-drawn carts pulled onto Breslaw Street. There were wagons from the three Jewish mortuaries that ran an ever-growing business within the walls of the ghetto, as well as others manned by conscript labor.
The laborers had been drawn from every walk of Jewish life. Former yeshiva students mixed with men who had worked with bricks and brooms in the days before the ongoing apocalypse. The blunt point of a gun now united men who would only have come together at worship, if at all.
Aaron watched as the bodies were awkwardly lifted. Soon the impromptu morticians looked like butchers after a hard day’s slaughter. If those who had died had possessed dignity in life, it had gone with their souls. Gravity made fools of them as their limbs flopped about under the ungentle ministrations. Wet, squelching sounds came from the pile. Workers stepped on one body to reach for the next. Hands and whole arms came away at a tug, bullets having cut through tendon and bone. The remains were laid on wheeled beds of rough wood.
The dead wouldn’t mind a few splinters Aaron guessed, as he stood rooted to the horror. He knew he should move. The Germans had packed up their big machine guns, but the remaining soldiers looked ill at ease, even jumpy.
“Who will visit our unmarked graves when the last of us is gone?” a voice muttered.
Aaron turned to look, but couldn’t be sure who had spoken.
The words freed him from his trance. He turned and quickly retreated the way he’d come. German eyes followed him, watching for any sign of resistance or even emotion.
Once he was well out of view, he began to shake. Aaron’s numbed fingers clawed at his coat, seeking the cigarettes he knew were in some pocket. When he couldn’t immediately come up with them, he sought out his flask instead. That was easier to find because of its weight.
His fingers weren’t any more nimble with the cap than they’d been with his pockets. When he finally got the flask open, the cap spun away. He heard it fall but couldn’t see where it landed.
Fuck it. Just
He watched bodies fall, heads explode in blood, heard the cries, pleas and screams. He felt something other than human.
He turned to watch the killers at their work, curious when the barrels would shift to take his life, too. The machine gunners’ faces held no expression. They were concentrating on their work, focused on stamping out a clear threat to National Socialism.
The commander — the academic — had a small smile of satisfaction as he watched a job well done. The other Gestapo officer, Clausewitz, looked close to sexual climax. It must have been all he could do to stop himself from grabbing a burp gun out of one of the soldier’s hands and joining in the fun.
The final shot was fired. The work was done. Gray, cold death spattered with red blood, burst brains, children’s dolls and tortured faces was all around. The last echoes fled the confines of the killing ground.
And Aaron realized that he’d been spared.
The next sound came from the schoolmaster’s boots as he stepped in front of the living to give a eulogy for the corpses.
“We can no longer afford to carry the weak,” he said. “This is war and sacrifices must be made if the strong are to remain that way. To survive, we must all work to our capacity. We can no longer afford parasites.”
He nodded once and walked to a black car. Clausewitz opened the door for him and they drove away. The other vehicles fell in behind, leaving only a few soldiers to keep an eye on the survivors.
The orderlies and doctors among the living made their way over to the dead, fruitlessly hoping they would be able do some good. Aaron joined them, not looking to help, but for a single face. It wasn’t long before he found it.
Gersh, Jaruzelski — whatever his true name had been — was dead.
Aaron stepped back as hand-drawn and horse-drawn carts pulled onto Breslaw Street. There were wagons from the three Jewish mortuaries that ran an ever-growing business within the walls of the ghetto, as well as others manned by conscript labor.
The laborers had been drawn from every walk of Jewish life. Former yeshiva students mixed with men who had worked with bricks and brooms in the days before the ongoing apocalypse. The blunt point of a gun now united men who would only have come together at worship, if at all.
Aaron watched as the bodies were awkwardly lifted. Soon the impromptu morticians looked like butchers after a hard day’s slaughter. If those who had died had possessed dignity in life, it had gone with their souls. Gravity made fools of them as their limbs flopped about under the ungentle ministrations. Wet, squelching sounds came from the pile. Workers stepped on one body to reach for the next. Hands and whole arms came away at a tug, bullets having cut through tendon and bone. The remains were laid on wheeled beds of rough wood.
The dead wouldn’t mind a few splinters Aaron guessed, as he stood rooted to the horror. He knew he should move. The Germans had packed up their big machine guns, but the remaining soldiers looked ill at ease, even jumpy.
“Who will visit our unmarked graves when the last of us is gone?” a voice muttered.
Aaron turned to look, but couldn’t be sure who had spoken.
The words freed him from his trance. He turned and quickly retreated the way he’d come. German eyes followed him, watching for any sign of resistance or even emotion.
Once he was well out of view, he began to shake. Aaron’s numbed fingers clawed at his coat, seeking the cigarettes he knew were in some pocket. When he couldn’t immediately come up with them, he sought out his flask instead. That was easier to find because of its weight.
His fingers weren’t any more nimble with the cap than they’d been with his pockets. When he finally got the flask open, the cap spun away. He heard it fall but couldn’t see where it landed.
Fuck it. Just
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