Free Bunker by Andrea Maria Schenkel

Am Ilucky! Now I mustn’t make any mistakes. Go very carefully, make no noise. I pull at the door and it opens a crack. Pulling it up is easier than pushing it from below.
    I wait for a moment. The stairs are empty, no one in sight on the ground floor. I keep perfectly still, hold my breath, listen. Nothing to be heard apart from a cricket chirping. A cool draught. That’s all.
    I pull the trapdoor further up with all my might, open it fully, lean it slowly and carefully against the wall without a sound. First my left foot on the first step, toes first, then slowly let the rest of the foot down until I’m standing on the entire sole. Step by step. A mouldy smell rises to my nostrils. After a few steps I bend down and peer at the large room beneath me under the open door. The door beyond the low brick partition is wide open. Hanging on the open door is a small body with its arms stretched. Like a baby’s. The outline stands out clearly, the body itself is in shadow. I’ve opened my eyes wide, I stare at the body, go down the last few steps without taking my eyes off it. I start making my way towards the low brick wall and then along it, hardly daring to breathe. I’m taking smaller steps now. As I come closer, the body takes shape more clearly. No skin, just pale red, muscular flesh. Head and feet cut off. I notice how my throat is constricting more and more, I feel sick, just a step to the wall,propping myself on it with my hands, I vomit in a great gush against the wall. I let myself drop to the ground. A metre away from me there’s a shallow tin pan. In it lie the rabbit’s bloodstained skin and severed head.
    It’s all so disgusting. I have to get out of here, quick.
    I scramble up, take another look at the skinned rabbit, turn and go over to the door opposite. I don’t look left or right, just straight ahead. Over the threshold. The sun dazzles me for a moment, just disappearing behind the treetops. I cross the old wooden door. First cautiously, slowly, taking care to make no sound, then I move faster. Past the pond, through the undergrowth. I’m running. I ignore the thorny shoots catching in my blouse, tearing it. The path – left or right? Right or left? Which way did I get out of the car, was it to the right or the left of it? Damn it, my stupid sense of direction! Go on, think!
    I can’t concentrate, I don’t know. Hell! Well, any direction, then. Right or left – heads or tails. Left! I run for a little way, but then my breath gives out. I get a stitch in my side, go down on my knees, gasping, I’m out of strength. All the same, I struggle on and on. It gets darker and darker. When I look at my shoes I see that I’m having difficulty lifting my feet from the ground. The path grows narrower, just a cart-track with two deep ruts. Grass in the middle. I switch to one of theruts. It’s full of broken tiles and stones, my steps sound louder and clearer than on firm ground. There are hardly any clouds in the sky, pale moonlight, black bushes beside the path.
    The night is never entirely black. In the light of the moon, all the bushes look as if there were an animal or some other living creature hiding in them, or concealed behind them. I know that’s nonsense. No one’s out and about here at this time of night, and the only dangerous animals are in the zoo, not here. All the same, I’m frightened.
    The cart-track gets even narrower, the central strip disappears, the road is nothing but a path leading into the forest now, winding its way up to a rise.
    And now I realize that I turned the wrong way right at the start. The town is in the opposite direction. So silly of me – how could I be so stupid? Half-witted!
    Frustrated and exhausted, I sit down on the path. My legs ache, my back hurts, and I’m cold. My mouth is dry. I’m thirsty. I sit there looking up at the moon. I feel like crying. Was that splashing I heard? If I keep