John sat in the front seat of the old Peugeot looking out the window as suburbs gave way to small farms and the countryside became hillier. Leaving Kraków, they climbed away from the valley around the Vistula River and drove through miles of farmland, the road sometimes winding back down into the valley to cut through a small town before heading back into the hills again. Finally, the road settled back into the valley, and they continued through an endless topography of farms until they came to an intersection and John saw the first sign for Oswiecim.
“Is that where we’re going?” he asked.
Czarnecki nodded. They drove into the city of Oswiecim and out the other side, and they hadn’t gone another mile before John felt his throat start to tighten up. He suddenly felt feverish, and his mus
