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"Riley? Riley, is that you?"
"Harold!" The young girl broke the hug between her and Joseph so that she was able to look at the person calling her name. Her dear friend, the friend that went missing, stood there in the striped drags that they used as clothing but kept no one warm. His hairless head was covered in streams of blood and his normal stuffed cheeks were now just some skin that was stretched over his bones.
Riley cupped his face in her hands and looked him in the eye, but no friend of hers was staring back. This wasn't her Harold, this wasn't him anymore. She had lost him, just like she had lost everyone else. Only Harold had to live with the trauma's, he had to live with every memory. He had to recover, gain back weight and become healthy again. But become himself again, no that was impossible. Riley wasn't stupid, she knew that and in some way believed that it might be better that old Harold wouldn't come back. That he would turn into someone new, someone who had turned the page and started a new chapter in his life.
"We need to get food and water," Riley said to Lipton, who was handing out the food that the soldiers had in their pockets. He went from prisoner to prisoner, hugging the ones back who seeked comfort or helping the others with a person who was closer to the death than Lipton had ever witnessed.
"There's not enough for everyone."
"Go to Speirs and ask him what to do. Oh and Lipton, bring some blankets as well, these men need the warmth that their bodies can't give them anymore." The first lieutenant agreed with Riley's demands. He took Harold from her grip, helping the young man to sit down and handed him a cup filled with water. Somebody else broke a piece of chocolate from a Hershey bar he had in his jacket and gave it to him, so that he could softly melt the sweetness on his tongue and give his body the needed sugar.
"They burned some of the huts first, with the prisoners still in them, alive," Joseph translated for Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Riley, who all stood around him and one of the men. This was the only prisoner ready to talk, the only one who could explain, in a way, what happened there and what they had been living through.
"Some of the prisoners tried to stop them, some of them were killed."
The prisoner was stuttering strongly over his words and even though no one expect for Joseph could understand what the man was saying, they could feel his pain just by his posture and broken voice. How he kept on brushing over his shaved head or he was struggling to look anyone in the eyes. His stare was constantly set on the uniform that the American soldiers were wearing, the uniforms that were proof for him that these weren't the Nazis and that he was safe.
"They didn't have enough ammo for all the prisoners. So they killed as many as they could before they left the camp."
He started to cry as he sputtered more words in German.
"They locked the gates behind them and headed south."
Nixon was shaking with his head and turned his face towards Winters, his best friend. Anger was written all over his face, a small hint of sadness was noticeable in his eyes.
"Someone in town must've told them that we were coming," he stated.
"Wait, they knew about this?" Riley's expression fell in question, her mind was twisting and turning in her head. She couldn't even imagine it, yet it was real. The people in town weren't so oblivious, they've noticed the smell and the cries or screams. But they didn't say anything, not even when the Americans liberated their homes from the Nazis.
"There is no way that they didn't notice that something happened here," Joseph answered while he placed his arm around her hip and traced the scar on her waist with his cold fingers. It was a way of keeping him on the earth, the touch of her skin showed him that it was real. He also kept Riley so close because he was afraid that she would fall back to her old ways or that he would lose her mentally. Joseph needed Riley and Riley needed Joseph.
"Can you ask him what kind of camp this is? Why they're here," Winters requested.
"He says it's a work camp for, I'm not sure what it means." So, Joseph asked the prisoner about the word, trying to understand what he was explaining.
"Unwanted, disliked maybe."
"Criminals." He shook his head at what Winters suggested what it meant, knowing well that these people hadn't done anything wrong. At least, not in his opinion.
"Doctors, musician, tailors, clerks, famers, intellectuals. I mean, normal people."
The prisoner finally dared to look him in the eye and said the word that described every single person in the camp. The word that made Joseph stop from moving, the hand that was drawing on Riley's waist now laid flat against her hip. His mouth felt drier as he tried to speak out the translation, but it hurt him, it hurt him really bad. Riley silently whispered his name, she understood what the man had told him and became worried, even more than she already was. She placed her hand on his and intertwined their fingers. Her thumb brushed over the back of his hand as she shuffled closer to him.
"Jews."
Joseph looked down at Riley, he had no idea what to do, what to say. He was speechless, it was the first time ever that his head couldn't piece together a well formed sentence. He wasn't used to it and now that he was experiencing it, he decided that he never wanted to experience it again and that needed to help Riley with it. He knew about her problems and now that he started to understand everything more, he became scared for her. As the prisoner explained more and more to him, he pulled her closer and closer, until she was close enough so that he could almost rest his head on her scalp. Everything the man now said, hurt him more and more.
"Liebgott?" Nixon asked, noticing how the soldier was reacting but didn't explain why. The prisoner walked away and started to cry very loud. He reached out to where Joseph was looking at, his mind clearly reaching for someone who was somewhere there.
"There's a women's camp at the next railroad stop."
