The refugees scattered. Dieter Katz and his friend sprinted toward the street. The doctor’s group moved through the shrubbery, stumbling in the darkness, panicked and afraid. Kirstin could hear their footsteps, the sound growing dimmer, just as the noise from the approaching guards grew louder.
She scrambled from mausoleum to tombstone, her heart racing, her breathing labored. The guards fanned across the graveyard. They tried to flank the refugees, pinning them by the wrought iron fence on the far side of the cemetery. Kirstin angled toward the church, crossing rows of tombstones and darting toward the townhouses, hoping she could get home without being seen.
She covered half the distance when she saw two soldiers. They were just ahead of her. If she didn’t change direction, they would
