Lean hunger

Rachel darted her eyes left to right, making sure none of the guards saw her pick the red apple out of the garbage. She hid the fruit in her burlap wrapper's pocket, so rough that it chafed the skin on her neck and arms to a tender, raw red. The makeshift covering kept the cruel winter's wind from sweeping across the fields and freezing her solid. Rachel walked across the dirt to the other building. A mountain of work awaited her.

She picked up her tools and continued hammering nails into the two-by-fours. She and her 18 compatriots, all women, would finish the building by the end of the week. Otherwise there'd be hell to pay with the guards. Rumors flew, they'd be sent east if they didn't finish on time, or worse. The guards would pick and choose. Half would live, half would get on the train. They'd all been warned before they'd been picked up in Cologne and brought to this Polish camp in the veldt. The further east your train traveled, the more people died.

Rachel hadn't seen her family in eleven months. She wondered if Oma and Opa survived the raid but had no idea. She knew Mama was killed fighting off the S.S. Papa surrendered and was taken away just like she and her sisters. They all went separate ways from there. Perhaps she'd find out when the war was over. If she even made it.

Lean hunger seized her abdomen. When she thought no one was looking, she reached into her pocket for the apple, but Rachel didn't see the guard around the corner, staring at her as he cocked his gun.