The explosion that followed them knocked the subway station off its foundation and hurled cinderblocks down around me that shattered at my feet and exploded in my face.
Scrambling back to the wall, I scurried a few meters over broken brick to a high-backed bench. An escalator was nearby, I knew, but I didn't know if I could see it in the swelling smoke. Believing I might bump into it, I kept moving forward. Finding a corner near the end of the wall, I twisted my body left and found the first step, then the second. A heavy haze of ash whirled over my head, circling up the frozen escalator steps into the main station hall. As I started my climb a pair of high top shoes, empty of laces, stopped me cold: two steps above me, a young woman in her late teens stood cloaked in an over-large, raggedy man’s overcoat.
Her gaunt face, spotted with mud, was framed by the uneven stubble on her scalp. Her slight chest heaved under the coat as she caught her breath. Staring me down, she held a small bundle wrapped in blood-flecked newspaper.
Before I could speak to her, I noticed a tiny arm hanging underneath the paper.
Her defeated eyes glared through mine to a place beyond where I cowered at her feet. She seemed transfixed by an approaching threat like a deer caught in the headlamps of a truck.
Slowly she turned, facing the escalator’s burnt rubber railing, tightly clutching her dead baby. Gazing at me once more, she stepped forward and calmly disappeared into the wall.
No longer able to control my bladder, warm water trickled down my thighs, soothing my aching leg. I shivered and crawled up the burning hot metal steps, away from the leaping flames.
The dog barked over a wail of distant sirens. As I reached the top step, giant grey plumes of smoke gathered to greet gaping holes in the rooftop. The main hall of the subway station looked as if it had been turned completely inside out, its kiosks reduced to piles of smoldering rubble. Scorched advertisement posters on its walls continued smoking as ruptured water pipes, bubbling like miniature fountains, formed muddy pools where the Blumen Rasch and Mini-Bistro once stood.
The floor was carpeted with thousands of charred flowers and dead bodies. Mountain of bodies were piled high at the heavy wooden doors; all the exits had sealed themselves under the weight of the panicked mob.
My stomach boiled over and I retched until I could manage only dry heaves. Staggering along, I reached for a ticket stamping post and steadied myself against it. At the top of the post, an out-of-date, handwritten sign read defekt.
My mind wandered aimlessly while I wondered if the Ka De We department store across the street was still there. The dog barked furiously over and over again. Looking for an exit, I saw a fat, mangy Spitz growling angrily at a woodpile where a kiosk used to be. It hadn’t noticed me, probably distracted by its master’s sudden absence, probably the poor soul lying crushed underneath the pile of rubble.
Suddenly the rubble rumbled.
A large wooden board careened off to one side, rattling and bouncing loudly down the heap, clapping onto the floor. The dog pounced on the board, sniffed it once, barked and growled. It began a mournful whine and then a howl so sharp, it hurt my ears.
Too tired to move, I sat down next to the post and leaned back against it. Wanting sleep, I dozed as gunshots crackled and split the air; jolting me awake, the sound chased the dog away.
Inspecting me, a hulking figure rounded the dusky mound holding a rifle with bayonet drawn. Silhouetted by lurching flames, the soldier crouched and crept, ready to strike in the flickering light, his intent clear and deadly. For him, the war was far from over. He was imprisoned in time, still defending a long ago surrendered place and now, he was determined to terminate me.
Gasping for breath, I watched him raise his bayonet high, charging to run me through.
As he neared, I could see he wasn’t a soldier at all. He was but a boy, no more than twelve or thirteen years old. His scrawny frame was sheathed in tatters; his blond hair was matted underneath a helmet two sizes too big for his head. Standing over me, his alabaster face was twisted in blind hatred; his mouth was open wide in soundless rage. His eyes, no longer in their sockets, pierced me before his bayonet blade reached me: where his eyes should have been, there were only bottomless black holes, two open caves, as dark and infinite as night.
I surrendered all.
Raising my arms to protect my head, he brought the rifle down hard to strike me and a bomb went off in my mind. I heard a loud pop and the numbing dimness was redemption and relief.
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