Thomas Amo - An Apple for Zoë - Book One ~ The Forsaken

"There's something it's just around the corner, but I can't tell from here. I'm going to have to get inside this thing to find out," he said as the airshaft began to groan from his weight against it.

"Doesn't sound too safe Mike, maybe we should wait."

"No, I just need to climb in a few feet. What ever it is, it's just around the corner, Tom," said Kirkland as he tried to hoist himself up inside the shaft. Once again the metal groaned a defiant warning.

"Hold the ladder would you?" asked Kirkland as he once again tried to lift himself inside. Holding the ladder in place James looked up and could see the securing brackets slipping as dust began to billow down from the ceiling.

"Hurry up Mike, before this thing comes crashing down and kills both of us," said James watching Kirkland slip inside the airshaft and disappear. The sounds of his knees hitting the air shaft was similar to a heartbeat, with each crawl came a thump against the metal followed by the recoiling of the shaft itself.

"It's another ladder, looks like it leads up to a hatch of some sort," Kirkland called back to James.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, there's some kind of pale blue looking granules all over the place. Looks like rat poison," said Kirkland as he made his way from the shaft to the ladder.

"I'm going up Tom," he said as he climbed up the ladder and to the attic roof hatch.

"Keep your radio on, Mike," James yelled up to him.

"Way ahead of you," he said adjusting his radio volume then reached up and slid the old bolt lock to the side. Kirkland then pushed open the hatch door and looked inside.

"You see anything?" called James.

"Yeah, there's another room up here. It's huge. Looks like it runs the length of this part of the hotel. God it smells like stale almonds up here, too," he said climbing through the hatchway door and into the attic loft.

James turned and walked back to the trunk and started sorting through the rest of Hermann Kritzler's Nazi treasures again. There were more photo albums and different types of female costume type jewelry.

Kirkland pulled his pocket flashlight and clicked it. The small beam of light revealed a large looming mass in the middle of the loft. Standing up, Kirkland made his way over to it. Looking up he could see it nearly touched the ceiling, which had to be at least 15 feet above him.

"What the hell is that?" he asked himself as he closed in. He could now see it was covered by a tarp. As he stepped closer his foot kicked an empty metal tin, which startled him, then rolled away. Just as he reached the tarp covered mass, his flashlight died.

As James searched through the trunk he found a large black photo album. Slowly he pulled the cover back and the album creaked announcing its age. On the first page James saw several black and white photos. From years of watching television, Hollywood movies and growing up post World War II, he knew exactly what these photos were. They were pictures of holocaust victims, mostly young girls in various stages of undress and abuse. These photos appeared to be slightly different from the ones seen so often on the History Channel. These pictures appeared to be much more personal. The kind you take when you want to capture a memory forever.

Looking down to the bottom of the page James saw a photo of Kritzler standing proudly next to another Nazi and a blonde female guard, a woman who had the most intense eyes he had ever seen. The girl was showing a slight smirk as she rested her arm on Kritzler's shoulder. Kritzler himself was mugging to the camera as the taller Nazi smiled a smile that betrayed his uniform. Under the photo was scribbled in faded black ink. "Mengele, Hermann, und mein Irma–Auschwitz 1943"

"Irma Grese and Joseph Mengle," whispered James. "Just like Lawrence said."

"Come on!" said Kirkland shaking the flashlight in a vain attempt to extract some final life out of the exhausted batteries. Reaching into his pants pocket he found his Zippo lighter. Clicking the lid and striking the spark actuator the flame came to life. As he held the firelight close to the mass he could see it was boxes and crates covered by the tarps. Lifting the tarp up Kirkland saw there was writing on the side of the crates. Placing his lighter close enough for him to read the writing on one of the crates it was clear to him that what was printed on the side of it was not English. Is that German writing? he wondered.

James turned to the next page. This one was marked with a note in a space that allowed for the album owner to record the events of the photographs. It was in German and read, Sommer Der Leib 1967. James looked long and hard at the words. Slowly he said the words aloud, sounding it out like someone just learning to read. "So mer, so mer...Der?...there? Sommer there? Leib? Wait doesn't leib mean love?" he said to himself. Then suddenly like an arrow between the eyes he said it aloud. "Summer of love!" Looking down, James saw several photos of young girls all in their late teens or early twenties. Next to each photo was a lock of hair taped to the page. On the opposite page was Kritzler in his uniform kneeling down posing next to an open furnace.

"Mother of God," whispered James to himself as saw Kritzler in his element. Right here under our very noses. But who took the picture? wondered James as he flipped the pages, each page showed more girls and the years going by. The last page was marked with the year 2011. James's radio beeped again causing him to jump.

"Tom, it's Bobby, we need you down here."

"Are Jessalee and the little girl okay?" James replied.

"Yeah, they're fine, Jessa took her to the hospital. I'm down in the basement. We found something."

"What do you mean you found something? Found what?"

"We found one of the hotels old incinerators."

"Is it full of human bones?"

"Yeah. Oh my God, how did you know?"

"I'm coming down."

Slowly and methodically Kirkland stepped around the crates, his lighter had gone out. He now had to feel his way. He also realized he was now into what was rapidly becoming a maze of towering crates. His foot kicked more and more empty cans. He could hear in the darkness those cans colliding with other empty cans as they rolled in all directions around the room. His next step caused him to slip on one of the empty tins and fall face first onto the dust-covered floor.

"Shit!" he cursed as he heard the tin rolling away from him and drop down through the attic hatch. Seconds later there was a loud clang as it landed below.

James looked up at the sound. What the hell was that? he wondered. "Mike is that you?" Only the sound of the escaped tin can answered James as it continued to roll until it reached the open spot on the airshaft and dropped to the floor below. James stood up as the tin stopped just short of his feet.

Kirkland struggled in the dark until he found his Zippo and flicked it once more for light. As he lay face down, he could see one of the cans he had been kicking and slipping on. It was right side up and the writing, which was bold and black, was in German. Kirkland knew exactly what this was, and what it was used for. He swallowed hard as he read the words.

James reached down and picked the tin up. Reading the side of it his face became flushed with horror, this was a German word he didn't need translating. There in bold letters the tin read, "Zyklon B".

James pulled his radio from his hip and called Kirkland. "Mike what's going on up there? You okay?"

Kirkland slowly stood up realizing the horror that surrounded him. Cases and crates full of Zyklon B filled the attic. His radio beeped again. "Mike, answer me. Mike if you don't answer I'm coming up."

Kirkland took his radio out and answered. "Tom, don't come up! You've got to get out of here and now."