July 14, 1945
Max was walking by himself. For the first time since he had gotten sick months ago, he was walking the perimeter fencing, walking under the wide blue sky. He struggled to make his way around the edge of Dachau, one palm brushing the chain-link fence to steady his uneven steps. He hated touching it, hated seeing it. The fence only reminded him that he had seen thousands of people die in this little pocket of hell, and that he had almost become one of them. How many hopeless people in dirty rags had touched this very part of the fence's chains and wished they could escape the fate they knew was awaiting them?
Max tried to push the idea from his mind. He circled slowly around the prison part of the camp. The gates in the fences separating the sections of the camp were open wide, but none of the inmates were allowed to exit because they might carry the disease into the outside world. From his vantage point, Max could see the front gates. A wave of claustrophobia crashed over him when he saw that the gates closed and locked. But then he saw that people milled around on the other side, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something inside. Ally soldiers patrolled both sides of the gate, not to keep the recovering people in, but to keep the curious eyes out. Max released a long, strenuous breath and continued back to his building.
After being ushered back into bed by a nurse, Max Vandenburg fell asleep and dreamed of Book Thief for the first time in months.