Part two of the story based on the book:
By Morris Gleitzman (The sequel).
At once, I walked away, scared that he was trying to trick me into something.
As I walked into the woods, I passed the Hitler Youth group. Amon ran over, leaving his group behind.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just away from Cyril,” I replied fiercely, walking between the shades of the woods.
“What’s that bulgy shape in your coat?”
I stopped sharply. I had a plan. It was risky and stupid, but I had wanted to do it for a very long time. The peculiar shape was a present. From Dov. Dov was also a Jew and he had also been adopted, by a man named Mr Krol. Unfortunately, he died, but he had been a good friend to me, loyal and brave, but secretive. The present was a gun. A real gun, not a toy gun. A gun with precious bullets, that I could shoot with.
“What is it?” Amon asked again.
I tapped my nose.
“Whatever it is you’re doing, don’t even think about it,” said Amon.
I still didn’t reply. But now I knew exactly where I was going. All the trees, even the bushes, seemed familiar, especially the one that Zelda and I had hidden in, burrowing into the ferny, damp leaves. I could still feel the softness of her hand and could remember her scared, yet reassuring eyes. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I rubbed it away quickly before Amon could see.
A few minutes later, we came upon an old, crumbly house with dark, smashed windows and wilted flowers. Mr Krol’s house, where Dov used to live.
“But why would you want to come to this dump?” Amon asked, confused.
I didn’t take any notice. I was too busy scribbling in this journal and opening the leaning door into the house, my footsteps groaning on the creaking floorboards, with Amon following me. It had seemed like forever since Mr Krol and Dov had been killed. I heard German voices down in the basement, where Dov used to hide. Nazi soldier voices. I smiled. My plan, like I had expected, was going perfectly.
“No.” Amon whispered. “No.”
It sounded like they were playing cards. That’s strange, I thought. Nazi soldiers don’t play cards. They normally play killing Jews wherever they go.
“Don’t go down there.” Amon whispered again, a little louder and more urgently. “If you go down there, you’ll probably get killed just for scaring them.”
I patted the bulky shape under my coat and smiled, putting my finger to my lips. Suddenly, Amon’s eyes grew wide and as big as a cat’s.
“Don’t” he said, pleading.
But those were the last words that I heard from him, because I had started to creep down the stairs v-e-r-y slowly and quietly. My eyes noticed three Nazi men, shouting in German and slapping down cards. They must be sneaking off the job just to play cards, I pondered. I looked around. They didn’t seem to have any guns or protective gear.
“Pssst,” I heard a voice above me. At the top of the stairs, I saw Amon. With another gun. It seemed to me that he hated Nazis just as much as I did, and that he was joining me to make up a team, a team that was going to kill the three Nazis.
Hiding behind the gnarled banister, we waited for the perfect moment to jump out and attack. All I could hear were the loud voices of Nazi soldiers, the ticking of the clock, and the impatient sound of my breath blowing in and out.
I looked at Amon, and he nodded.
We jumped out and started firing. The three Nazi soldiers swivelled around, alarmed, aghast, shocked. One soldier went down, then the other. Then we both pointed our guns at the last Nazi’s head, one eye narrowed. Then in 3... 2... 1... We both shot him in the mouth. He fell to the floor, blood oozing out of his mouth, eyes rolled. Amon and I both screamed in triumph. But those weren’t the only Nazi soldiers left...