base of the hill.
He was there. It was there.
The fence.
Yet he could not touch it. But, perhaps….
He picked up a dry stick from the ground and lobbed it into the wire.
Sparks and crackling static. To touch the fence meant death.
He,looked up at the trees. The sweat from his scalp and forehead stung his
eyes, blurring his already blurred vision. There had to be a tree.
A tree. The right tree.
He couldn’t be sure. The darkness played tricks on the leaves, the limbs.
There were shadows in the moonlight where
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substance should be.
There were no limbs I No limbs hanging over the fence whose touch meant
oblivion. Rhinernann had severed – on both sides -whatever growths
approached the high, linked steel wires I
He ran as best he could to his left -north. The liver was Perhaps a mile
away. Perhaps.
Perhaps the water.
But the river, if he could reach it down the steep inclines barred to
horses, would slow him up, would rob him of the time he needed desperately.
And Rhinemann would have patrols on the river banks.
Then he saw it.
Perhaps.
A sheared limb several feet above the taut wires, coming to within a few
feet of the fence I It was thick, widening into suddenly greater thickness
as it joined the trunk. A laborer had taken the means of least resistance
and had angled his chain saw just before the final thickness. He would not
be criticized; the limb was too high, too far away, for all practical
purposes.
But Spaulding knew it was his last chance. The only one left. And that fact
was made indelibly clear to him with the distant sounds of men and dogs.
They were coming after him now.
He removed one of the Ulgers from his belt and threw it over the fence. One
bulging impediment in his belt was enough.
He jumped twice before gripping a gnarled stub; his left arm aching, no
longer numb, no longer a blessing. He scraped his legs up the wide trunk
until his right hand grasped a higher branch. He struggled against the
sharp bolts of pain in his shoulder and stomach and pulled himself up.
The sawed-off limb was just above.
He dug the sides of his shoes into the bark, jabbing them repeatedly to
make tiny ridges. He strained his neck, pushing his chin into the calloused
wood, and whipped both arms over his head, forcing his left elbow over the
limb, pulling maniacally with his right hand. He hugged the amputated limb,
peddling his feet against the tree until the momentum allowed him the force
to throw his right leg over it. He pressed his arms downward and thrust
himself into a sitting position, his back against the trunk.
He had managed it. Part of it.
He took several deep breaths and tried to focus his sweatfilled, stinging
eyes. He looked down at the electrified barbed
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wire on top of the fence. It was less than four feet below him but nearly
three feet in front. From the crest of the ground, about eight. If he was
going to clear the wire, he had to twist and jack his body into a lateral
vault. And should he be able to do that, he was not at all sure his body
could take the punishment of the fall.
But he could hear the dogs and the men clearly now. They had entered the
woods beyond the fields. He turned his head and saw dim shafts of light
piercing the dense foliage.
The other punishment was death.
There was no point in thinking further. Thoughts were out of place now.
Only motion counted.
He reached above with both hands, refusing to acknowledge the silent
screams from his shoulder, grabbed at the thin branches, pulled up his legs
until his feet touched the top of the thick limb and lunged, hurling
himself straight out, above the taut wires until he could see their blurred
image. At that splitinstant, he’twisted his body violently to the right and
down, jackknifing his legs under him.
it was a strange, fleeting sensation: disparate feelings of final
desperation and, in a very real sense, clinical objectivity. He had done
all he could do. There wasn’t any more.
He hit the earth, absorbing the shock with his right shoulder, rolling
forward, his knees tucked under him – rolling, rolling, not permitting the
roll to stop; distributing the impact throughout his body.
He was propelled over a tangle of sharp roots and collided with the base of
a tree. He grabbed his stomach; the surge of pain told him the wound was
open now. He would have to hold it, clutch it . . . blot it. The cloth of
the turtleneck sweater was
-drenched with sweat and blood – his own and the Doberman’s and torn in shreds
from the scores of falls and stumbles.
But he had made it.
Or nearly.
He was out of the compound. He was free from Habichtsnest.
He looked around and saw the second Miger on the ground in the
moonlight…. The one in his belt would be enough. If it wasn’t, a second
wouldn’t help him; he let it stay there.
The highway was no more than half a mile away now. He crawled into the
underbrush to catch his spent breath, to temporarily restore what little
strength he had left. He would need it
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for the remainder of his journey.
The dogs were louder now; the shouts of the patrols could be heard no more
than several hundred yards away. And suddenly the panic returned. What in
God’s name had he been thinking ofl? What was he doingl?
What was he doing?
He was lying in the underbrush assuming – assuming he was firee I
But was he?
There were men with guns and savage – viciously savage -animals within the
sound of his voice and the sight of his running body.
Then suddenly he heard the words, the commands, shouted -screamed in
anticipation. In rage.
‘Freilassen I Die Hunde freilassen!’
The dogs were being releasedl The handlers thought their quarry was
cornered! The dogs were unleashed to tear the quarry apart I
He saw the beams of light come over the small hill before he saw the
animals. Then the dogs were silhouetted as they streaked over the ridge and
down the incline. Five, eight, a dozen racing, monstrous forms stampeding
toward the hated object of their nostrils; growing nearer, panicked into
wanting, needing the wild conclusion of teeth into flesh.
David was mesmerized – and sickened – by the terrible sight that followed.
The whole area lit up like a flashing diadem; crackling, hissing sounds of
electricity filled the air. Dog after dog crashed into the high wire fence.
Short fur caught fire; horrible, prolonged, screeching yelps of animal
deaths shattered the night.
In alarm or terror or both, shots were fired from the ridge. Men ran in all
directions – some to the dogs and the fence, some to the flanks, most away
in retreat.
David crawled out of the brush and started running into the forest.
He was free I
The prison that was Habichtsnest confined his pursuers … but he was free
I
He held his stomach and ran into the darkness.
The highway was bordered by sand and loose gravel. He
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stumbled out of the woods and fell on the sharp, tiny stones. His vision
blurred; nothing stayed level; his throat was dry, his mouth rancid with the
vomit of fear. He realized that he could not get up. He could not stand.
He saw an automobile far in the distance, to his right. West. It was
traveling at high speed; the headlights kept flashing. Off
. on, off … on. On, on, on … off, off, off, interspersed.
It was a signal!
But he could not stand! He could not rise I
And then he heard his name. Shouted in unison through open windows, by
several voices. In unison I As a chant might be sung I
‘. . . Spaulding, Spaulding, Spaulding. . . .’
The car was about to pass him! He could not get up!
He reached into his belt and yanked out the Miger.
He fired it twice, barely possessing the strength to pull the trigger.
With the second shot … all was blackness.
He felt the gentle fingers around his wound, felt the vibrations of the
moving automobile.
He opened his eyes.
Asher Feld was looking down at him; his head was in Feld’s lap. The Jew
smiled.
‘Everything will be answered. Let the doctor sew you up. We must patch you
together quickly.’
David raised his head as Feld held his neck. A second man, a young man, was
also in the back seat, bending over his stomach; Spaulding’s legs were
stretched over the young man’s knees. The man held gauze and pincers in his
hands.