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S HE CLUTCHED THE LETTERS tightly in her hands, careful not to damage the stamps. It was snowing and her toes were freezing, wet through the worn soles of her boots, but she kept walking through the woods toward town, shielding the letters underneath her coat to keep them dry. Only a few steps more, she kept telling herself. It was a lie, but she kept on walking.
Only a few steps more. Just a few more.
All she had to do was make it into town, drop the letters at the post on Wien Allee. All she had to do was mail the letters, and everything was going to be all right.
That was a lie, too, of course. But she kept on walking through the snow.
At the edge of the woods, she reached the clearing, and through the swirl of snowflakes, the pink-blue onset of dawn, she could see the remaining red-roofed buildings in town, up ahead.
Wien Allee. She was almost there.
The sudden cold butt of the gun against her temple surprised her. She didn’t even let out a cry before the man grabbed her arm, and the letters fell from her hands, onto the unblemished snow.