Carrion Comfort by Dan Simmons Read Free Book Online Page B

Schnell!”
When the man did not move the SS guards dragged him roughly into the aisle. Saul heard bare feet scraping on the floor.
    “Du, raus!”
And again.
“Du!”
Now three Musselmänner stood like weightless scarecrows before the massive silhouettes. The pro cession stopped four bunks from Saul’s row. The SS guards turned away to play their lights up and down the center row of bunks. Red eyes reflected back like startled rats staring from half-opened coffins.
    I will live
. For the first time it was a prayer rather than an imperative. They had never taken more than four men from a single barracks.
    “Du.”
The man with the hand torch had turned and was shining the light full in Saul’s face. Saul did not move. He did not breathe. The universe consisted of the back of his own hand centimeters in front of his face. The skin there was white, grub white, and flaking in spots. The hairs on the back of his hand were very dark. Saul stared at them with a deep sense of awe. The torch beam made the flesh of his hand and arm seem almost transparent. He could see the layers of muscle, the elegant pattern of tendons, the blue veins softly pulsing to the wild beating of his heart.
    “Du, raus.”
Time slowed and pivoted. All of Saul’s life, every second, every ecstasy and banal, forgotten afternoon, had led to this instant, this intersection. Saul’s lips cracked open in a mirthless grin. He had long ago decided that they would not take him into the night. They would have to kill him here, in front of the others. If nothing else, he would dictate to his murderers the time of his murder. A great calm descended over him.
    “Schnell!”
One of the SS men screamed at him and both stepped forward. Saul was blinded by the light, smelled wet wool and the sweet scent of schnapps on the man’s breath, felt the cold air against his face. His skin contracted waiting for their rough hands to fall on him.
    “Nein!”
snapped the young Oberst. Saul saw him only as a black simulacrum of a man against the white glare of light.
“Zurücktreten!”
The Oberst took one step forward as the SS men stepped quickly back. Time seemed frozen as Saul stared up at the dark shape. No one spoke. The fog of their breath hung around them.
    “
Komm
!” said the Oberst softly. It was not a command. It was said softly, almost lovingly, the way one would call a favorite dog or urge one’s infant to take his first tottering steps.
“Komm her!”
    Saul gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He would bite them when they came. He would go for their throats. He would chew and rip and tear at veins and cartilage until they would have to shoot, they would have to fire, they would have to fire, they would be forced to. . . .
    “Komm!”
The Oberst tapped his knee lightly. Saul’s lips drew back in a snarl. He would leap at the fuckers, tear the motherfucking son of a bitch’s fucking throat open in front of the others, rip his fucking bowels out of his. . . .
    “Komm!”
Saul felt it then. Something
hit
him. None of the Germans had moved, not so much as an inch, but something struck Saul a terrible blow at the base of the spine. He screamed. Something hit him and then it
entered
him.
    Saul felt the intrusion as sharply as if someone had rammed a steel rod up his anus. Yet nothing had touched him. No one had come close to him. Saul screamed again and then his jaws were clamped shut by some invisible force.
    “Komm her, Du Jude!”
    Saul
felt
it. Something was
in
him, ramming his back straight, causing his arms and legs to spasm wildly.
In
him. He felt something close on his brain like a vise, squeezing, squeezing. He tried to scream but
it
would not let him. He flopped wildly on the straw, nerves misfiring, urinating down his own pant leg. Then he arched wildly and his body flopped out onto the floor. The guards stepped back.
    “Steh auf!”
Saul’s back arched again so violently that it threw him up on his knees. His arms shook and waved of their own