The Vines Shelley Nolden (best way to read books txt) 📖

had already witnessed so much trauma, had been her fault. Those first moments during their reunion following the tragedy had been so crucial, and her impulsive reaction had destroyed any chance of them uniting in their grief.

Fortunately, Ulrich appeared to have no memory of the encounter. For if he had, she would have heard about it, and directly experienced his pain. Whenever she thought back to those moments, the guilt overwhelmed her. So, she tried not to.

“I’ll find another doctor, a smarter one,” she said, bracing for a second blow.

Ulrich lunged, stopping just shy of her, and laughed at the way he’d made her flinch.

Backing away, he removed his mask. The strap had riled his short, blond hair, and the sides of his broad forehead bore red indents. “Do you know what happens to dogs who bite their masters? They’re euthanized. Since I need you alive, your consequences will be inflicted upon others. Do you understand?”

She closed her eyes to blockade the tears. The knives hidden within the gardening shed would do her no good.

“Do you understand?” He picked up a scalpel.

Cora nodded.

“Good doggy.”

November 1938

n the hallway outside the laboratory, Cora inhaled deeply to calm her nerves while keeping her gaze on the watch Otto had given her. Since his disappearance two years earlier, whenever she checked the time, a wave of sadness crashed down on her, quickly replaced by fear.

During Ulrich’s first week in charge, she’d arrived late to her long-standing weekly appointment. That night, he tied her to a chair and forced her to watch as he sadistically dissected Jeepers. Her eyelids held open by a pair of surgical sutures, tears streamed down her cheeks as he sliced the tabby like a melon. Aside from Mary, who was currently suffering from pneumonia, the cat was her only remaining friend. “Next time you’re late,” he said, “it’ll be a child.”

The dial reached twelve with a tick that seemed to reverberate down the corridor. Clutching the brown bag with her urine and stool samples, she inhaled and opened the door.

The stench and chittering of the rodents didn’t greet her as usual.

The hair on her arms rose; something was wrong.

“Stay in the hall,” Ulrich said without looking up from the carton he was sealing. Nor did he consult the clock.

Even more astounding to Cora: he wasn’t wearing protective gear. And the drawers of the file cabinets along one wall stood open and empty. The room smelled of musty paper instead of mouse droppings.

He’s leaving, she realized, and her heart pounded so hard she worried it might crack her sternum. “What’s going on?”

“The Fatherland needs me, but don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

She bit her lip to keep from screaming with joy.

As his praise of Hitler’s ideology had intensified, she’d fantasized about him joining the movement. During his first month on the island, she’d perceived his internal struggle to establish a sense of identity. Cora had understood exactly how he’d felt; she, too, didn’t know where she belonged. Seven years later, when Hitler became the chancellor of Germany, Ulrich swore his allegiance, and in doing so, found himself.

Five weeks ago, the Germans had marched into Sudetenland, and Ulrich’s gait had become almost a goose-stepping march. Yet, still, Cora hadn’t allowed herself to hope that his patriotism would translate into freedom for her.

He lifted the box and let it fall atop another with a thump.

All her lab reports were in those towers. Without them there would be nothing to show for the torture she’d endured. And any new—kinder—doctor she convinced to help her would be forced to start from scratch.

“Where are you taking those?”

Ulrich smiled and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “They’re going with me to Germany.”

“They should stay,” she said, not daring to raise her gaze from the floor. “They’re mine.”

He made a tutting sound. “You know that’s not true. I’ll return, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“But what if you get killed?”

He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll pray for that to happen. Go ahead, beg that God of yours to drop a bomb on me. He didn’t listen to my father; why would he listen to you?”

Cora balled her hands. If I strike him in the eye, how fast will my germs kill him? she wondered, then realized that they likely wouldn’t succeed before he’d boarded the ferry, where he might infect others.

Eyeing her fists, he cracked his knuckles. “Unfortunately for you, Hitler is the only god that exists. And his SS Medical Corps, with their microbiology aspirations, won’t risk an asset like me near the border.” His lips curled into a smug smile. “Trust me.”

That she would never do.

“Now run along, little animal. Go play in your dirt,” he said, then kicked the door shut with his boot.

Late Summer 2007

After the tornado

August

tupid. Lily clicked the remote to change the channel on her hotel room’s boxy television. Gettler. She jabbed the arrow again. Men.

Because of their collective stupidity, any minute now she might feel the creeping onset of a headache, weakness, runny nose, or cough. Her temp would begin to climb, reaching more than one hundred four degrees as chills raked her body, followed by vomiting and diarrhea and an excruciating stomachache. Lesions could form on her tongue and palate, followed by macules on her face, with more popping up by the minute on her abdomen and chest, then her extremities. In the final stages, her liver and kidneys could fail. She’d become delirious. Blood might flow from her eyes, nose, and mouth.

As her condition worsened, the Gettlers might take her to a hospital. Or, more likely, Rollie would treat her in his lab to avoid tipping off the Health Department to Riverside’s resident “Patient Zero.”

Even if she made it to the ER, she’d probably die. From as little as one or as many as seven infectious diseases. Only measles was covered by the immunizations Lily had received.

Same with Finn, now quarantined in the adjacent room.

She’d become habituated to the possibility of her own death, but the