Quandary

As she ran thru through the forest, her breath ragged and tearing at her chest, the long fingers of the branches pulled at her hair and scratched her face.  The roots grabbed at her feet as if in league with the men who chased her, trying to trip her and slow her down.  She stumbled, then caught herself, missing only a step as she hurtled on through the dark.  The scratches were nothing compared to what would happen to her if she were caught.  She chanced a glance back over her shoulder but could see nothing in the night.  Yet she knew they were there, only a few yards behind her, could hear their curses as they too tried to elude the obstacles in their path, just as in hers.

What had gone wrong?  It had been a trap.  How did they know she would be there?  The men had needed food.  They were deep in the woods outside a small village near Warsaw, Poland.  She, who should arouse no suspicion, had volunteered to enter the village to buy food.  Yet they were waiting for her.  It was only by luck she had seen the match struck.  Someone lighting a cigarette in a darkened doorway where no one should have been.  As she had hesitated, feeling the hackles rise on the back of her neck, she had seen from the corner of her eye someone step out of a vacant building on her right.  She remembered passing a small alley a few feet back and without hesitation she had whirled around and ran for it.  Not expecting her to run it had taken them a minute to gather their wits about them and give chase.  She could hear the commands in German but could not quite make them out.  Tall and slender she had an advantage over the huskier men.  Also these months of living on the move had honed her to a fine physical point as well as kept her mind alert.  She would not now lead them to the encampment.  Rather she was running parallel to it, hoping to keep them from realizing where the others were.

Suddenly an arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist even as another hand closed over her mouth.  She fought with all her might as she was dragged through the trees, scratching and kicking, trying to get to the pistol in her pocket, deep within her skirt.  She heard a voice whisper in her ear, “Quiet, it is Simon.”  She stopped fighting and sagged against the chest that held her.  Tears formed in her eyes.  I will not cry, she thought, But oh how glad I am to hear his voice.  Simon was the leader of their little group.  How had he found her?  She did not even care at this point.  He was there.  She was safe.  Her breathing was still harsh and as they slipped silently through the forest she tried to slow it down.  Her chest hurt with each agonizing breath.  The air was too cold.  Later they would talk.  Later she would tell him there was a traitor in their circle.