Highlander - Donna Lettow [17]
“STILLE! “
A single shot rang out. The scream was silenced. The young Jewish mother slumped where she stood, killed by the same bullet that had passed through her child, but her body could not fall, held in place by the crush of the other prisoners. Behind her, the splatter of her blood leached into the fabric of the wall.
One of the old men near her, his hair, his clothes, his face all gray, rocked back and forth, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer.
MacLeod reached down and cautiously pulled the pistol from his boot. At the train station would be more soldiers, and more innocent victims. He knew he didn’t dare make his stand there. He felt trapped. He had made a solemn promise to Shimon, and then to Shimon’s father, but how many lives was he willing to sacrifice to keep that promise? He watched the gray man praying. They both would need a miracle.
Then, before MacLeod’s eyes, someone’s prayers were answered. The chase car erupted in flames!
Not stopping to thank God for this unexpected blessing, MacLeod acted on it. As the three guards registered what had just happened behind them, he fired three shots in rapid succession. Just as rapidly, three stains of blood blossomed on three brown shirts. One guard fell from the tailgate to the rapidly moving pavement below. MacLeod pushed the other two from the truck as the other prisoners looked on in astonishment.
The sound of gunfire was all around now, and another explosion rocked the truck. “Get down!” MacLeod ordered the stunned passengers. “Vart doh!” He pushed the gray man to his knees for emphasis and the other passengers followed.
As the truck lurched to a halt, MacLeod vaulted over the tailgate, landing on the street in a crouch, then rolled under the truck. From there he surveyed the situation. He could see they were about a block from the train station. All around, hundreds of people wearing the white armband were fleeing, taking cover, or dropping to the ground where they stood, covering their heads. In the midst of them, a fire fight—a handful of Jews, maybe twenty in all, young men and women, practically children, were taking on the Germans with nothing more than some pistols and a few grenades. And, incredibly, the Germans were retreating to cover under the barrage!
Another grenade impacted nearby and rocked the truck. MacLeod could hear the occupants still above him in the truck scream. He crawled along the underbelly of the truck until he reached the cab. Reaching up from below, he threw the driver’s side door open. When the driver leaned out, MacLeod grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from the cab to the ground.
“Guten Morgen!” MacLeod said cheerfully to the surprised German, then punched him hard in the face, knocking him out against the pavement.
Climbing into the cab, he saw that the copilot had already bailed out. He threw the truck into gear and started to drive.
As he did, he sensed the presence of another Immortal nearby.
Shit, he thought, not now. He drove on for several blocks, taking the truck far from the line of fire, but still he couldn’t shake the sensation. Once sure that his passengers were safe for the moment, he stopped the truck and knocked against the back of the cab, yelling “Go! Hutry! Gai a’vek!” The rocking of the truck assured him his charges were taking his advice and getting the hell out.
Just as MacLeod turned to get out of the truck and face the other Immortal, the other Immortal came to him. The passenger door opened and a young man of slight build jumped in. His skin was smoky dark, very different from that of either the Poles or the Jews who inhabited the area. He had black, almost bottomless eyes and a boyish face that could have been considered friendly under other circumstances—circumstances where he wasn’t holding a pistol to MacLeod