EXCERPT: TRANSPORT THREE – The boxcar smelled of manure and fear. Forty people and just one small window on each side, eye level for Adam if he stood on his tiptoes. Most others wouldn’t be able to see out at all. He could see Uncle Florian through the little window, standing beside the station with his wife. She was Hungarian, so they would be staying. Adam’s throat ached with unshed tears as he fingered the harmonica he’d kept hidden deep in the pocket of his trousers while the Russian police searched their belongings for valuables. It had been a gift from his uncle. His grandma and grandpa had been the last of his family to load, shuffling across the rough livestock yard to where Adam stood waiting to help them climb up. In the dark interior of the squalid car, his grandma sat awkwardly, balanced on her little bundle of belongings, glancing around nervously. Adam leaned back against the wall of the boxcar and wondered how long it would take to finish processing all 1,000 Germans scheduled for Transport Three.

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