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The street was empty save a hurried figure picking his way past the deepest puddles caught in the cobbled sidewalk. His footsteps echoed loudly up and away through the gloomy townhouses much to his chagrin. To be out and free of work at midday was to be loitering, a crime of no small consequence, only deepening his anxiety with every scraping step. No commuters to blend into, no bodies to hide among. He stood out alone and illegal, begging to be stopped by the first official passing by.
And idleness charges were the least of his concerns at the moment. Subconsciously slender fingers, slightly trembling, pulled the collar of his coat closer in a fruitless attempt to conceal his identity. The reality of the situation was that he would be doomed on sight, a glaring apparition moving at a frantic pace just shy of a jog.
What a fool he was. Everything, every action already taken stood out in unchangeable lucidity. Every better path should have chosen tantalizingly impossible. He wanted to scream. He desperately wanted to run, caught up in the fullest stride he could manage while everywhere behind him in places he couldn't see immutable footsteps called out to hungry onlookers. Louder and louder, those footsteps grew. Clanging like alarm bells. Their calls screaming like sirens. Any moment now, he was agonizingly aware, any moment now he would see someone coming to stop him.
However, like a blessing to a sinner his own front door miraculously appeared before him. Fumbling he fit a stubborn key into the lock and jammed the door open, pounding veins and skipping stomach relaxing slightly.
"Klaus?" A woman's voice called from the other room, surprised. "Klaus is that you? Are you ho-"Coming around the corner she froze dead upon the sight of her husband's pale face, sweat beaded upon his brow, and the image of wild terror in his eyes as an unwelcome blast of chilly air streamed past him and the door slammed shut. She paused there for a moment, slowly dusting flour from her hands.
"Monika," He choked, quelling an errant break of his voice. With a gulp he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started again. Calmly, he said, "Monika, dearest, fetch your coat. We have to leave now."
"Bu-"
"Now!" He wheezed urgently, halting a painful wail from escaping the back of his throat. Throwing open the hall closet he grabbed her winter jacket and proceeded to drape it onto his baffled wife.
She protested, trying to throw the coat off as he struggled with her "But Klaus-!"
"Monika!" He grabbed her shoulders and turned her square to him, staring desperately into her eyes. She stilled and met his gaze, the color slowly draining from her face. After a moment, he said, "Monika. The Gestapo. They're-"
"No Klaus-" She said uttered pendulously, quietly interrupting him. All the blood in her body, all of her heart flushing down and away from her.
"We have to-"
"No, Klaus-"Her voice was brittle, creaking distantly, parched and white.
"I love you." He said, brokenly.
"No, no." She moaned softly. Eyes closed.
They hung there for a moment, balanced on a precipice. Looking at him again she noticed absently his careworn features. That piercing pain in his eyes. The depths of his guilt. All of his regrets lay plain to see transfixed in every gram of his expression, somewhere between pure devotion and blind animal fear. He clung to her as if she'd disappear right there before him. Did it matter?
Gently, but with hated purpose, she let herself be maneuvered down the hall, back through the kitchen, and outside into their once happy garden – ages ago grown cold from want. He disappeared hurriedly past the gate and down into the alley out of sight. A few moments later he pulled up with their car, which lugged a little as the cold engine struggled against anxious demands.
Hopping out, Klaus strode quickly back over, gently ushering her to the passenger seat. His touch was distracted, faded with the hint of panic, but nonetheless she felt his love broadcast through the heavy mask of concern. As she stooped into the car she looked at him once more, locking him down with her eyes. "Such a stupid man." She thought. But none of it really mattered now, there was nothing she could do.
After the briefest hesitation, he closed the solid black door behind her and jogged over to the driver's seat. Quickly, and with visible relief, he jammed the warming car in gear and sped off. Monika did not know where they were going and she very nearly didn't care. They were as good as dead, it was just a matter time. Klaus was entirely bent the task though, every bit of his stiff posture said this. He was trying at least.
They were too young to die.
After a while of driving, her pallor of apathy gave way and mechanically she asked him, "So, Klaus. What happened?"
He flinched, but whether it was from the fear of what was to come or the pain of answering her question she could not tell. Hesitantly he pushed his glasses up the bridge of this nose – an old tic had that started around the same time as the war– and said, "The worst that could happen." He added on meekly, "Dearest." After a few moments of driving and a couple of turns to head in a direction clearly out of town, he continued. "I was very careful, but some of the older surgeons started to notice what was going on. Hartzell, in particular." Again the glasses were pushed up. "Max warned me that I was being reported while I was operating, so I-" He glanced sideways out the window. The main road out of town had been roadblocked with a checkpoint for some time now, though the less-travelled route they were on would avoid it. This was lucky. "-finished up." He paused slightly, "And came straight home."
She noticed the pause. Klaus was never very good at hiding anything, as he was hiding now, and in hindsight she was not exactly surprised that he had been discovered. But at the time his nobler plans of quiet subterfuge seemed quite reasonable, tenable even. She chuckled imperceptibly to herself. They were finished, and after having survived for so long too.
Monika felt the burden on her heart lift gradually as acceptance of their mutual destruction seeped quietly inwards. It was really not like any other outcome was possible. Everywhere every person or entity they knew that resisted the National Socialists had been destroyed. Why would they be any different? She looked over at her husband. Companion of seven long and hard years. Though he was tensed and aged from worry he was still in his prime – as handsome as the day they had first met.
That was a happier time. She mused with the briefest pensivity. Before the shortages. Before the air raids. Before it became clear that the war had been lost and all the hopeless insanity was for naught. The most maddening of all was that even while the Party was failing it continued to chew the country up from the inside out.
Klaus noticed her gaze and returned it. She smiled at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. Reaching over, Monika squeezed his arm and said, "I'm proud of you."
"I'm so sorry." He choked, voice heavy. It was almost a sob.
Another squeeze from her silenced him. Their lives were caught up in this monster and from the beginning, she knew, they were as likely to live as to die.
After a while and a few more turns the bomb-shattered suburbs of Stuttgart gave way to the countryside. It was late February and the muddy remnants of the last snow lay everywhere.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a long period of silence.
"I'm taking you to Max. He has a plane. He's going to fly you out of here."
"What?" She said, genuinely surprised. It was incredible, and for a fleeting moment there was a flicker of hope. Yet instantly this was replaced by the most aching and gnawing horror. "Klaus," She said carefully, even fearfully. "Klaus, you're flying out too." It was a statement. It couldn't be anything but a statement.
"No Monika." He replied slowly and looked her way for a moment, quietly. "I'm responsible for this mess. I'm responsible for you. This is the best chance we have – that you have – to get out of here alive." She was silent and he continued, "We're lucky to have Max at all, and that he's willing to take you. The fact that he even has the petrol is a miracle." He shook his head, "We've had this planned out for almost three years now. A contingency just for this situation." As he said this they turned off the main road onto a forest drive. The slush on the ground made traction difficult and Klaus was quiet for a while in concentration. He then continued, "You'll go west at low altitude until you can make it into the Allied controlled zone well past the front lines. I'll head as far west as I can by train, and go the rest of the way however it is possible. Australia is about to enter the war, and it will be over soon for everyone." He paused. "That should make travel easier."
"I'm not leaving you Klaus!" Monika cried, tears welling in her eyes. "You can't do this, I won't do it!"
"Monika please!"
"Klaus, they will kill you! They will kill me!" She buried her face in her palms, sobbing hotly. "If you make me go, I will never see you again. I can't bear it! I won't!"
"Monika, this is all my fault!" He yelled suddenly, fist slamming the steering wheel. This outburst silenced her, and after a moment he continued quietly, painfully, "Can't you see? What kind of man would I be if I let you die for my own stupid actions? If there's one of us that is to die, it will be me. And if there is one to live, it must be you." Reaching over he took her hand and held it. "Don't worry about me. I love you and I swear I will find you."
She shuddered from the tears and from his touch and swallowed the dread in her throat.
The rest of the drive was accomplished in silence.