Page 39 of Winter's End
She reached inside her jacket for her identification papers, keeping one hand in the air.
The younger guard examined them, looking up more than once to check her face against the photo.
“What is your purpose?” he said in passable Dutch.
Zoe tried a smile. “I was out for some exercise,” she said. “I fell asleep, though, when I stopped to rest. I am horrified to be out after curfew – and look, my bicycle tires are damaged. I am afraid to pedal too fast.”
The older guard looked at her sternly. “Your bag,bitte.”
Evi could not remember all that was in her shoulder bag, but she handed it over and held her breath.
“I am a veterinarian – an animal doctor, in Haarlem,” she said, with as much friendliness as she could manage. “I take care of pups and kittens who are sick.”
The guard was not impressed. He pored through her bag, trained a flashlight inside, examined everything in the inner and outer pockets.
“Where are you coming from?”
She paused. “No place, really. A little clearing a kilometer or two up the road When I woke up and realized how late it was, I turned around to go home.”
He regarded her through narrowed eyes.
“Please,” she said. “Bitte, you must believe me. I fell asleep. I meant no harm.”
“Sit.” He motioned her to a bench.
Zoe sat, huddled into her coat, anxiety gnawing at her belly.
The pair of guards conversed in German, glancing back at her from time to time. They kept her sitting there for nearly an hour. It was all she could do to sit still.
Finally, the older guard beckoned her.
“Gehen,” he barked. “Go!”
She moved to her bicycle, her mind working.
“My bag,bitte,” she began.
But the stern-faced guard motioned her through, whacking his stick against the back of her bicycle as she passed.
Her breathing slowed, but her thoughts were frantic. Was there anything in her bag that could feed information to the Germans – a business card, a scribbled note, anything that could mark her as a Resistance fighter – or implicate someone else?
Were the Germans yet aware of the wrecked train? Where were the farmers and their carts? She prayed they were more vigilant than she about watching for, and dodging, German road blocks.
Pedaling hard, worried about her tires, she headed in the direction of the hospital. She sensed, rather than saw, a second check point on the approach to the city limits, and managed to circumvent it, certain now that the Germans were already hunting for connections to the demolished train.
...
At the hospital’s loading dock, to her great relief, she saw half a dozen carts and wagons being offloaded – nourishment enough for weeks, perhaps longer. She looked for Leela or her husband, did not see either, but she recognized Lukas Jensen’s mother.
“MevreowJensen,”she said, approaching. “The German check points.Godjjzdank, you were able to avoid them.”
The woman did not stop unloading goods. “We were careful,”she said heavily. “We left our wagons behind, passed through the check point, then circled back and took another route. My husband stayed behind to warn the others.”
“Lieve god-”
“Do not think of it, Dr. Visser. He will be fine. We would do it again in a moment.”
It was dark, but Zoe scanned the horizon and saw another bicycle and wagon approaching. Other volunteers were leaving as their carts were unloaded, so it was not possible for her to know for certain how many were accounted for.
