The Darkest Hour(57)

What have I done?

“But now we must get to work,” says Dr. Nacht.

“Where are we? If this isn’t a laboratory—” My voice stops cold because something new dawns upon me. If Dorner has been successfully smuggled into Britain, then why am I still alive? What does Dr. Nacht intend to do with me?

“Oh, this is indeed a laboratory, but its purpose doesn’t include studying diseases or engineering a plague, although I’m sure the Führer wouldn’t mind if such a thing were possible. He does, however, approve of the work that we are doing. For what I hold in my hand”—he waves the syringe at me—“may bring your Allies to their knees. And you shall assist me in it.”

My mind immediately jumps to the photos he showed me. Am I next in line?

He reaches for my arm, the needle careening toward my skin, and I come alive. I bite, thrash, kick, and curse, but it doesn’t stop him. His grip is surprisingly strong as he takes my ankle.

“I’d relax if I were you,” he tells me. “Your attempts at escape, while noble, will increase your stress levels, and that may cause the serum to bring you greater discomfort.”

Despite everything I throw at him, he plunges the needle through my skin. I scream as the serum enters my body, burning its way into my veins.

“Quiet, now. Focus on my voice. Don’t fight it. Breathe.”

The serum knifes its way through me, its blade hot and sharp. I cry out, “Why don’t you put a bullet in me and be done with it?”

“Kill you? No, no. That’s not my intention at all. Although, yes, death can be an unfortunate side effect of my serum regimen, but I have faith that you’ll survive. This is a risk we must take in the name of the Führer, and in the name of science in particular.”

I whimper because I’ve no idea what he means by that—or what it will mean for me. But all of that is soon forgotten as the fire rages through me, clawing paths into all of my senses. I teeter on the collapse of unconsciousness—or death, I don’t know—when Dr. Nacht draws his lips next to my ear and whispers:

“You, Fr?ulein, shall be my masterpiece.”





The next time I open my eyes, a gray-haired nurse with a puffy mole on her cheek stands ready to greet me. In her hand she holds a metal spoon that she pushes into my mouth. A grainy paste hits my lips.

“I? doch!” she barks. Eat up.

I cough out what she has fed me and blink furiously around the room. I’m still lying on the same cot and wearing the same gown as before. My limbs remain strapped, too, although now I feel a lightheadedness that I didn’t before, a gray haze that dampens my thoughts. Is it an effect of the serum? I’m not sure. There’s no sign of Dr. Nacht, although his last words stay fresh in my ears.

My masterpiece. A cringe curls inside of me. I don’t know what he means by that, but I know that I’ll soon find out.

I struggle to recall what he revealed to me. There is no Zerfall. There is no virus. It was all a story that Dorner fed me—even the name he gave me wasn’t real. But that’s the one piece of the puzzle that I don’t understand. If Zerfall is nothing but lies on paper, then what was the purpose of luring me in and strapping me to the cot? What was in that serum that Dr. Nacht injected into me?

The nurse sighs noisily and shoves another bite into my mouth, but I spit it out and the food splatters over the both of us.

“Where are my friends?” I demand.

“I? doch!”

“What did you do to them?” Each word comes out faster. “What are you doing to me?”

She looks furious enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if steam billowed out of her nose. When she sets the bowl down hard on the floor, triumph flares inside of me, but it’s short-lived. The nurse reaches for a syringe that’s filled with the same glittering liquid that Dr. Nacht used on me. She turns the needle toward my arm, and I go ballistic.

“No!” I thrash against my restraints, twisting my body until the leather rubs my skin raw. None of it does any good. The nurse merely moves to the end of the cot, takes a good hold of my foot, and sinks the needle into my sole.

Again, the burning, the pain. I scream.

“Hauptsturmführer Reinhard gives his regards,” the nurse tells me in halting English. To rub it in, she smiles, and her teeth are yellower than Dr. Nacht’s.

Reinhard. Dorner. Whatever his name is, I’m going to cut off every one of his fingers and toes if our paths ever cross again. If I ever make it out of this prison.

Minutes pass by. Every time I get close to blacking out, the nurse slaps me back awake. We repeat this three times until my screams dim into whimpers and the pain recedes, leaving in its place the thickening mist that continues to dull my thoughts, like static over your favorite song on the radio.

The nurse dips the spoon back into the bowl. “Open your mouth,” she says slowly.

I begin pursing my lips.

“You’re hungry. You wish to eat,” she says. “Listen to me.”

Confusion clouds my mind. I don’t want to listen to her. Do I? Then my stomach groans, and I think about how empty it feels. Would a small bite be so terrible?

Yes.

That one word kicks through the haze, and I keep my mouth shut.

“Fr?ulein, open up,” the nurse says. She hovers the spoon an inch from my lips, and the static grows louder in my mind, pushing out any other thoughts.