Before Our Dawn| ongoing

thirty-nine

Chapitre trente-neuf
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Within Isra's bedroom, Hans moved with urgency, his hasty footsteps and rustling of fabric filling the air. An open suitcase on the bed served as a repository for the essentials—Isra's clothes hastily tossed in, each piece a fragment of the life she was leaving behind. Hans seized whatever garments he could lay his hands on, without paying too much attention to what he was grabbing. He threw in a pair of flats he'd seen her wear before.

Against this backdrop of frenzied preparation, Friedrich's form lay sprawled on the bedroom floor, lifeblood seeping onto the wooden surface. His presence, now reduced to an inert silhouette. The room bore witness to the clash of fates—one man racing against time to salvage a future, the other succumbing to the consequences of a betrayed allegiance.

He hurried from the bedroom to the living room, snatching up the photographs that adorned the mantle, before returning to the suitcase and tossing the cherished memories inside. An ache of nostalgia led him to Sophie's old nursery, where he carefully selected a few of her clothes, holding onto them for the sake of precious memories, before adding them to the growing collection in the suitcase. The last thing he did was pick up Isra's worn copy of Les Misérables and from Sophies nursery, an old baby romper he found.

Securing the suitcase with a decisive click, he cast a final glance at the room where Friedrich's blood stained the floor. Without another moment's hesitation, he raced out of the apartment and down the staircase, determined to escape the grim scene he was leaving behind.

Fortuitously, the alley remained deserted as Hans retraced his steps, reaching the spot where Isra anxiously stood, Klaus in her arms. The baby squirmed and fussed, sensing his father's presence.

He put the suitcase down beside her. "Here, I've packed you a few clothes. The photograph and book are also inside. I need you to wait here for me while I go find Dr. Muller. I'll only be a little while longer."

"Please come back to me, Hans."

He patted the top of his son's head gently before pecking Isra on the lips. "I will. Don't move from here, alright?"

"Alright."

He kissed her goodbye, hoping it wouldn't be their final goodbye, and ran out of the alley.

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Hans navigated the barracks with caution, sidestepping patrolling guards as he edged toward the infirmary. Uncertain of Dr. Muller's presence, he hoped the doctor might be attending to late-night duties. Hans took the chance, banking on that slim possibility.

Stealth was his ally as he maneuvered, pausing whenever soldiers passed by, his back pressed against the wall, breath held. Eventually, he reached the infirmary and scanned the area before entering, relieved to find it deserted. Dr. Muller sat at his desk, engrossed in paperwork. Sensing movement, he glanced up, startled, as Hans approached, surprise evident in his eyes.

"Zeigler, what brings you here?" Dr. Muller inquired, setting his glasses aside.

Hans saluted, then leaned in closer, perspiring palms flat against the cool wood of the desk, his voice hushed. "I need your assistance. Isra and Klaus are in grave danger."

The doctor set aside his papers. "What's happened?"

"Friedrich found Isra's apartment. He was there and discovered Isra and the baby. He nearly killed them, but I intervened, and..." Hans lowered his tone. "I had to shoot him. He's dead."