26

The cold was a deep shock to his system.

So was the sight of the corpse.

It—he—was facedown in the snow. The dead man was dressed in a thick but ragged wool coat. A deep oval of blood was growing in the snow from the top of his head outward.

Corey felt sick to his stomach. He had to look away.

Instinctively he backed off. But the ground rose sharply behind him and he stumbled. The snow was seeping through his shoes, and already his feet were freezing. Above him the sun shone through the gray-green peaks of a pine forest. Corey could see a shack at the top of the incline. The corpse had been left by the side of a path recently beaten through the snow. The footsteps were fresh, their outlines only now being softened by thick, falling flakes. They traced the bottom of the hill and disappeared into the woods.

In the distance he heard tromping feet and voices—shouts and commands in some other language. It sounded like German to Corey, but he couldn’t be sure. The metal cigarette case belonged to Uncle Stanislaw, and he was Polish.

In the area where the voices were coming from, Corey could see movement. A dull gray blot among the trees, popping in and out of sight.

As he stood, his back ached again. He kept himself from crying out in pain. He couldn’t risk being heard in the clear wintry air and the empty forest. Someone in the group obviously had a gun. And was not afraid to use it.

Corey’s teeth began to chatter. He knew he wouldn’t last long standing here in just a shirt and pants.

He stole another look at the corpse. The coat looked raggedy, but it was made of wool. The boots were a little big, and they had holes, but they were thicker and sturdier than what Corey was wearing. And the dead man’s hands were covered with shredded leather gloves.

Corey choked back a feeling of nausea. The idea of taking clothing from a dead person was disgusting.

But not disgusting enough to die for.

Kneeling down, he took a deep breath and said softly, “I’m really sorry, sir. If you’re listening to me from wherever you are, forgive me, okay?”

He waited a moment, then reached for the jacket collar. The man was rail thin, but he still seemed heavy. Pulling downward, to avoid the growing bloodstain, Corey carefully removed the coat. The body was still warm, and somehow that fact made Corey finally give up whatever was in his stomach. It wasn’t much, but it steamed when it hit the snow.

He coughed and coughed. Loud, retching coughs. He tried to stifle the sound but couldn’t. The voices in the distance were growing louder, but it sounded like the men were arguing. No one seemed to have heard him.

The coat was heavy and about two sizes too big, but putting it on, Corey felt warmer right away. As fast as he could, he removed the guy’s boots and put them on, too. And then the gloves. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Lifting his feet awkwardly with the oversized boots, he headed up the hill toward the shack. The snow was fluffy but very thick, which made the going slow. The shack was lopsided and neglected. Its only door had been torn off, and if there had ever been windows or screens, they were long gone. The rusted black pipe of a stove emerged upward through a small, slanted roof, which looked like it was about to slide off its beams.

It was shadowy inside as Corey leaned into the door. “Hello?” he called out.

No answer.

As he stepped in, the ground was soft and bouncy under his boots, fragrant with decaying branches and pine needles. He propped his back against a wall and allowed himself to sink down. In the cold, his pain wasn’t quite so horrible. He could still hear the voices down on the path. It seemed like the men were standing still, maybe taking a break. German. Definitely German. Soon they gave way to laughter, light talking. And then, finally, silence.

Leila would know what they were saying.

Of course.

Corey felt himself seize up inside. He was more scared than he’d been in a long time. What made him think he could do this without Leila? Making decisions when you were tired and depressed was a dumb idea. Where was he anyway? What year was this? He knew nothing.

He would have to go back. He would have to convince Leila to do this with him.

Corey felt a funny sensation on his legs. He looked down in time to see a small rat leaping off his pants and onto the floor.

“Gahhhh!” he cried out.

The rat twitched its whiskers and scurried into a hole.

Enough.

He took off his gloves and reached into his pocket for his twenty-first-century coins. Those would get him back to the present. Right away he noticed the cigarette case was gone. He must dropped it down by the corpse.

He looked around for something else, some other piece of metal in the shack that would eventually get him back here, with Leila. But the place was in such a state of decay. It looked like it had been put together with glue anyway. He took a deep breath. Before doing anything else, he would have to go back down the hill and get the case. He stood and moved for the door.

A sharp bang, from deep in the woods, made him jump.

Then another bang.

A scream rang out over the snow, followed by a series of explosions like firecrackers. Screams. Bloodcurdling howls.

Corey couldn’t move. It felt as if every organ had shriveled, every ounce of fluid in his body drained. He stood still in the silence that followed, which was absolute. As if nothing at all had happened.

He felt like puking again. Puking and going home.

He would do this fast. Grab the cigarette case, then grab the coins in his pocket. His twenty-first-century coins. Did he even have coins anymore, in these clothes from 1939? Corey wasn’t even sure of that. He’d used them to get back to the present, but had he even put them back in his pocket when he’d changed into these clothes at that store in Munich?

As he fumbled in his pocket, his hands were so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers. Even with the gloves. They closed around something, but he wasn’t sure what. The dumbest thing he’d done was not wear a belt with a metal buckle, from home. As a backup.

He tried to pull his hand out, but it caught on the edges of his pocket. Which would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. With a grunt, he pulled it loose.

His fist was full of coins, all right. But they spilled out onto the ground, scattering on the forest floor like tiny animals. Some of them disappeared into the shadows, but three coins rolled right out the door.

Corey ran after them, but he didn’t get very far.

A massive figure stepped into the doorway, blocking his way.