would inevitably become infected, and given how weak I was, it surely wouldn’t take long for an infection to finish the job the Germans had started.
But I hadn’t fought for so long and so hard to die an impotent death. I forced myself to find the manhole—feeling the ceiling above me with the fingertips of my left hand, and then struggling, I managed to push the cover away onto the surface of the alleyway. As I struggled to rise, the odor of blood and gunpowder overtook the reek of the sewer.
Chaim’s blood. Why had he saved me?
It was dark now. I squinted, trying to find the shape of the truck, but it was gone, and the street was still and silent.
It took several attempts to drag myself out of the sewer. My injured arm wasn’t strong enough to bear my weight, and my left arm wasn’t strong enough to pull my entire body out on its own. But staying in the sewer wasn’t an option: I was going to die being useful, or at the very least facing the enemy with courage.
I was grateful for the darkness when I finally found myself aboveground again. The alleyway was a mess of bodies and body parts, and some of that mess was Chaim. I stifled a sob and forced myself to start walking, shivering now, hot and cold in alternate measures. Even as I left the alley, I was becoming confused about where I was and what my options were.
I had walked the streets of the ghetto more times than I could count, but the landscape had changed in the past twenty-eight days. Every building was burned or demolished, and the landmarks I’d once used to navigate were all gone. I decided to try to find Franciszkan´ska Street to locate the other bunker, just as Andrzej and Chaim had planned.
I was at the wall before I even knew I was near it, and that’s when I realized how lost I was. I’d walked in the wrong direction and had accidentally stumbled my way to the Krasin´ski Square side, all the way at the wrong end of the ghetto. I groaned, furious with myself, and moved to turn away.
But as I did, my gaze snagged on a small pile of rubble. I hesitated but ultimately walked toward it, thinking I could shelter behind it to gather my thoughts and make a new plan. Only when I stepped around the rubble did I realize that a burned-out building had collapsed, and part of its structure had fallen onto the wall—leaving a small gap.
I approached it cautiously, bracing myself for the sounds of gunfire from the other side. I paused, listening intently. When I heard no movement, I held my breath and peered through the gap to find Krasin´ski Square in all of its glory, completely, shockingly deserted.
I sank back onto the ground, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily as I tried to clear my foggy mind to make sense of this.
Chaim is dead. Andrzej is dead. But I’m alive. Chaim saved me. Why did he save me?
Why the hell isn’t a German soldier waiting on the other side of this wall with a machine gun?
As my heart rate slowed, the scenario before me finally began to make sense. Of course the Germans weren’t rushing to repair or even to guard the wall. There was barely anyone left, and very few who were well enough to escape.
Maybe I could just walk right out of there. But if I left the ghetto, where would I go? Everyone I cared about was dead. Everyone who cared about me was dead.
Elz·bieta.
Her face flashed before me, along with a memory of conversations we’d shared in the back room of the youth center. I knew she lived on Miodowa Street, and she’d described her apartment in such detail that I was certain I could find it. Sara lived there, too, and she was a nurse. They knew people. People who could help me.
I leaned against the wall, and I looked into the square, then I looked back to the ghetto. Escape had been so unlikely I hadn’t even thought to daydream about the possibility, but there I stood, swiveling my view between two clear paths: life to the east across Krasin´ski Square or death.
I slipped through the wall and into the square, and then I started to run. The burst of energy surprised me, and it wasn’t until I was clear across the square that I realized what was fueling