Morning came quietly, with a thin yellow light stretching across the port city. The air smelled of diesel, salt. One by one, the group gathered near the truck arranged for Salman and his family.
The back of the vehicle was loaded with crates and canvas bags. A British sepoy sat in the driver's seat, bored and yawning.
Shmuel hugged each child gently.
The little ones, four in total, stood together in a tight uneasy line as if staying close could keep the world from breaking again. The weight of another farewell stretched their hearts even further.
Ethan stepped forward. Salman met him halfway.
The older man placed both hands on Ethan's shoulders, his voice thick.
"You saved my wife. That German devil would have…." He cut himself off and cleared his throat. "Thank you. From here to the next life, I will not forget you."
Ethan managed a quiet smile. They embraced briefly.
Rivka held Talia's tightly. Talia's eyes were already red, tears streaming without pause.
"Don't cry, motek," Rivka whispered. "We are only going far, not gone."
"It feels like gone."
Rivka touched her cheek. "Be brave for your grandfather. For everyone."
Talia fell into her arms. Rivka held her, smoothing her hair.
Then Rivka turned to Ethan for a last glance. It lasted half a second too long, but she broke it before anyone noticed.
The children came to Baruch. He crouched, smiling despite the bruise still hurting his leg.
"Here," he said, pulling small wrapped candies from his pockets. "Don't tell anyone where I got these."
The kids' eyes widened as if he had given them treasure. They hugged him, said goodbyes and climbed onto the truck.
Salman looked at Baruch from the truck's step. "You are sure you won't come with us? We can make space."
Baruch shook his head. "I'm sure. I will follow Ethan."
Salman studied him, saw the stubbornness, and finally nodded. "Then may Allah guard you, my friend."
The truck engine coughed, then roared. A cloud of dust rose as it pulled away and vanished around the far bend of the road.
Only then did Ethan exhale.
Talia wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Shmuel placed a hand on her shoulder.
Ethan turned toward the barracks. Without thinking, everyone followed him. It was as if the group moved by instinct, orbiting him.
Inside his cramped room, he leaned against the table.
"We're moving to America," he said.
Talia blinked. "America?"
"A whole ocean away from the war," Ethan said. "A place where you can live without looking over your shoulder every hour."
Shmuel nodded slowly. "Jews are being hunted everywhere. Half of Europe is poison. Even the British are… complicated." He rubbed his tired face.
Baruch crossed his arms. "It's America then. That's settled."
Ethan nodded. "Baruch, talk to Samad. Ask if he can help us get on a ship. Something heading west. I'll speak with Lieutenant Harrington, he told me he will help. Maybe he can arrange documents."
Shmuel straightened his back. "I will speak with the Jewish delegation nearby. They sometimes sponsor refugees."
Plans set, the group moved quickly.
In three days they were aboard a cargo ship, taking the long way around the horn of Africa.
The voyage started with vomiting and more vomiting.
The small ship rocked endlessly. Ethan leaned over the rail, gripping it tight as nausea twisted his gut. His biology has mutated into something far beyond human, but somehow, seasickness didn't care.
Behind him, Talia bent over a bucket, looking half-dead.
"Are you…." Ethan paused as his stomach lurched. "....still alive?"
She glared weakly. "Don't talk. Or breathe."
They both suffered. Ethan's recovery came within a few hours. Talia's took two full days.
The ship crawled around the African coast, forced into detours to avoid German U-boats. Rumors spread among sailors. Whispers about torpedoes. Disappearances. Lost ships. Every night, the engines hummed a rhythm of fear.
Two months slipped by inside a single room that smelled of sweat, damp wood, and cramped bodies. Ethan, Shmuel, Talia, and Baruch lived shoulder-to-shoulder in the tiny cabin. By the end of the voyage, Ethan felt the walls pressing inward; something inside him tugged, restless and hungry.
When the engines finally slowed, a hush filled the cabin. Ethan followed the others onto the deck, inhaling deeply as cold air hit his lungs. It felt unreal.
They disembarked at a smaller city along the American east coast, Connecticut's New London, an industrial grey harbor where cranes loomed like steel giants. For a moment the new arrivals stood uncertain, clutching bags, blinking in the morning glare. Then aid workers approached.
Representatives from HIAS, the American Friends Service Committee, and the National Refugee Service registered each group in turn, offering blankets, food, medical checks, and directions to shelters. One of them stopped before Shmuel.
"Sir, you and your granddaughter… we have a quieter camp. Safer than this chaos. Room for both of you. Medical staff. Food."
Shmuel, exhausted beyond resistance, nodded quickly. They guided him and Talia toward a side road. Ethan caught the movement a heartbeat too late, his mind heavy and fogged, battling the old hunger he thought he had buried after Rivka.
Hours later, after the chaos of arrival faded, Baruch finally found Ethan in the barracks.
"Ethan, the food…" Baruch froze.
Ethan sat on the floor, wrapped in four or five blankets, shivering. His skin was pale. His breath came unevenly.
"Are you sick?" Baruch asked.
"I need food," Ethan whispered.
Baruch handed him bread. Ethan devoured it. Moments later, he clutched his stomach, gagging violently.
"I need something else," Ethan muttered.
Baruch's face twitched with fear. "Don't tell me, your magic needs sacrifice! Should I look for some meat? Rat?..Cat?Dog?"
Ethan's pupils dilated. His jaw clenched. For a moment, Baruch thought Ethan would leap at him.
Ethan forced himself up. "I need to leave. Stay back."
Baruch followed anyway.
They walked through the dimly lit settlement. Snow dusted the ground. A lantern flickered beside a tent. Voices carried in the wind.
Ethan paused.
Two men whispered behind a supply shack. Their accents are thick.
"Are you sure the old man will eat the food?"
"Of course. Clara already earned their trust."
"And the girl?"
"She'll be unconscious soon. They said the last one cried too much. This time, do it fast."
Ethan froze. Baruch paled.
"That old man is useless. Throw him into the river. The girl, we will take her to the boss first. The boss likes the young ones, they bring more money."
A cold silence wrapped around Ethan. He signalled Baruch to wait and moved forward.
He crouched, listening in complete stillness.
"How many have we done now?"
"Twenty? Maybe thirty. Americans never check the missing ones. No papers, no problems."
Ethan's jaw clenched so hard it almost cracked. He came back to Baruch.
"We have to handle this."
Baruch swallowed. "Why don't we just report them to the police?"
"Because they're protected," Ethan whispered. "So many cases, I will bet my name, they have connections."
The woman entered the tent where Shmuel and Talia were kept.
Two men walked to the guard post, laughing with the uniformed officers there.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Connections. Told you."
A car rolled up. The men waited, lighting up their cigarettes.
Minutes later, Clara walked out again. She spoke with them quietly, then all three returned inside the tent.
Baruch clenched his fists. "We should go in. Take them now."
"No," Ethan said calmly. "Let them bring Talia out. Let them think they're winning."
His voice sounded different. A tone born from some new place inside him.
Baruch shivered. "Ethan… what are you planning?"
Ethan didn't answer.
Ethan felt it before he understood it, a pull from somewhere deep inside him, old and instinctive. He needed to feed. Not on bread or meat or anything a normal man would crave.
His body wanted human flesh. The idea had never surfaced so vividly until now, perhaps because he'd never allowed himself to even imagine harming innocents. That boundary had kept the hunger quiet.
But the moment he accepted the thought of killing someone, something within him stirred awake. His body began telling him what to do, as if an inner voice had been waiting for permission.
It wasn't a whisper in his mind, not exactly, but more like a set of impulses rising from the marrow of his bones.
He wondered if the microscopic organism inside him was trying to communicate. It wasn't impossible.
The kidnappers emerged minutes later. Talia was unconscious in the woman's arms. Shmuel slumped over one man's shoulder.
They loaded the two into the back seat and sped off.
Ethan handed Baruch a handgun.
"Stay behind me. If something goes wrong, use this."
Baruch stared at the gun. "Where did you get this?"
Ethan smirked. "Ask fewer questions."
He sprinted forward, accelerating into a blur. He could have caught the car instantly, but he held back. He wanted them isolated. Alone.
Away from innocent eyes.
He wanted to feel their desperation, taste their fear when he finally tore them apart.
Baruch followed as best he could, stumbling through snow and mud.
The road ahead curved into a deserted industrial zone. Bare trees swayed. Broken warehouses rose like black silhouettes.
The kidnappers' car slowed as it approached an abandoned mill.
Ethan's heart thumped with an almost erotic anticipation. His breath deepened. His muscles tightened.