Enemies of the State

Jerry couldfeel his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest. Blood gushed from his leftshoulder as he rounded the corner of what was once a bakery in the city of Bialystock,Poland.  Many times he had casuallywalked to the bakery with friends, purchased soft white bread and eaten itwhile it was still hot. But bread was the last thing on his mind as he fled forhis life like a wounded animal, from three vicious Nazi pursuers.    Minutes earlier, he and hisbeloved father had run from the back door as the soldiers burst through thefront of their home. Two shots rang out, one hitting his father and the otherstriking Jerry in the shoulder. His father dropped to his knees and with animpassioned cry, yelled,     "Run Jerry, run!"    As he rounded the corner,he remembered that the bakery had a narrow alley between it and a shoe store.At the end of the alley stood about two dozen old wooden boxes piled against asix‑foot fence. To one side of the boxes there was a 14‑inch gap into which heoften crawled. That led under the floor of the bakery, an ideal place to smokecigarettes with another teenage friend, something his father would have frownedupon . . . if he knew.    His eyes were wild withterror, not only because he had been shot and was being chased by Nazis, butfor fear of what had just happened to his father. As he crawled under thebakery floor he heard another two shots ring out. He stopped moving andwhispered,    "Dear God . . . what is happening?"     The ground was damp and cold and there was hardly room for himto lift his head. He looked down at his bleeding shoulder. It was just a fleshwound but it scared him. The bullet had entered at the back of his leftshoulder, missed the bone and passed through the other side, tearing the fleshas it went. It was burning as though it had been clamped in a red‑hot steelvise, causing uncontrollable groans to come from his mouth. His breathing wasdeep and fast and his chest heaved and burned as freezing air was drawn intohis lungs. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes to try and stop himself fromcrying, both from the pain of his shoulder and the dread that gripped hisheart. Even with his right hand held tightly over his wounds, the sleeve of hisshirt was crimson with blood right down to his wrist.    His eyes widened in fear,at the thought that entered his mind. What if his wound had left a trail ofblood? Suddenly he heard footsteps! Itwas the unmistakable sound of soldier's leather‑soled boots crunching thestones on the ground in the alley. Jerry held his blood-drenched hand over hismouth to stop his loud breathing. He could hear voices, and through the cracksof the wooden foundation he could see the legs of the three soldiers that hadso terrorized his family. His mother and sister! What would happen tohis mother and his sister back at the house? He prayed that the soldiers wouldleave them alone. As far as he knew, it was only the men that were being roundedup and shot.    From the German dialect hehad learned, he heard one of the soldiers say,     "He's just aboy!" Then he said something Jerry couldn't understand. After that therewas silence, then footsteps heading off into the distance. He slowly took hishand from his mouth, took a deep blood‑tasting breath, and gave a guarded sighof relief. It would be ten long hours before he dared to move, and in the darkof the night make his way back to his home.
To be continued.
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