Chapter 12: War Makes for Odd Bedfellows

The cellar was dark but for a single candle flickering in the corner. It was nice and cool down here and she was completely worn out, but sleep would not come for Erika.

The old man, Remy Dubois, snored softly on his cot on the other side of the small room. He had allowed the doctor to stitch his wound without so much as a peep. Volker had been the same only for a different reason.

She’d come to think of the veterinarian now as a doctor. Watching him work, one would never guess that he spent his days administering medicine to animals. He worked with confidence and skilled hands. As soon as he had unbandaged Volker’s wound and Volker got a look at the hole in his thigh, the blood caked on it, he laid his head back and, bang, he was out.

Fortunately, the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital and hadn’t gone far into his leg. The doctor suspected that maybe it had caromed off something before striking Volker, because it was little more than a fragment of a bullet.