That's The End Of It - Chapter 39

With their leader dead on the porch and another shot at the side window, the remaining men marched Johann toward the oak.

Jakob’s voice was gruff, bristling with urgency. “Damned bastards... itching to hang the lad.”

Lina’s grip tightened on the pistol, the iron still warm in her grasp. Sweat beaded on her temples. She glanced toward the door—then back to Jakob, her eyes full of doubt, the fear plain on her face.

Max snarled at the window, barking relentlessly as he clawed frantically at the planks.

“We can’t sit here,” she whispered, her knuckles white against the grip.

Jakob muttered a curse, blood draining from his face. “We wait… he dies.”

He flung the curtain aside and leaned halfway out the broken window, one hand braced on the frame. “Scheiße!“ he mumbled.

Lina’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“See Johann?”

“Not now.” He pulled back in, the glass snagging the wool of his coat. “Out of sight.”

She moved to the door, hand brushing the latch. “Max! Hush! Sit!”

Max stiffened, before howling again.

“Three out there,” Jakob snarled. “Goddamn sons of whores—ready to lynch a boy.”

Behind the closed door, Max barked wildly, hurling himself against the wood. Voices outside—yelling, maybe. She couldn’t hear over the barking.

Lina’s fingers found the latch. “I want to see—”

Jakob leaned in. “Careful—”

The iron latch grated as she raised it.

Suddenly, Max exploded through the open doorway, sailing over the dead man’s body slumped in his path—teeth bared, barking furiously—as he charged into the yard.

“Verdammt!” Jakob spat, lunging after him too late, fingertips grazing the collar.

“Dog!” one man shouted, jerking his weapon up.

Crack.

Max yelped a piercing cry, stumbled and dropped.

“No!” Lina’s voice was shrill, catching in her throat.

Jakob swore, one arm braced on the doorframe, pistol already up.

A second shot rang out. Wood splintered above the doorframe.

“Get back!” he hissed over his shoulder.

Lina dropped to the floor inside the doorway, her eyes fixed on Max lying on the ground where he’d fallen.

Another shot cracked from the hedgerow, and the man pressing his gun into Johann’s back dropped mid-step, his head snapping back. He hit the dirt hard, face-first, the last breath rattling out of him.

Johann’s heart pounded. He struggled to steady himself as the ground spun beneath his feet.

Gerhard stood up slowly. Cold-eyed… a second already chambered, set to fire again.

Gerhard!

Jakob ducked behind the open door, took aim, and fired. The shot caught the smaller man in the shoulder, spinning him sideways and knocking the weapon from his hands. The pistol skittered across the dusty soil, coming to rest a short distance away.

Jakob’s footsteps pounded off the porch. Lina’s distraught voice followed close behind.

The shorter, grim-faced man groaned and collapsed to his knees, a hand clamped to his bleeding shoulder. His mouth winced in pain; his eyes burned with defiance.

The larger man froze, eyes darting. His fingers fumbled; the pistol slipped from his grasp and clattered against the oak’s gnarled, exposed roots. He stared at the lifeless man on the ground and the other writhing in the dirt. For one taut moment, it seemed he might bolt.

But slowly, his shoulders slumped. He raised both hands in surrender; the fight draining from his stance.

Gerhard charged out of the trees at a full run. Jakob sprinted from the farmhouse, heading for the oak. The two would reach Johann within seconds.

Without warning, the injured person’s hand twitched toward his boot. Metal flashed as he surged from the earth.

He lunged, knife sweeping in a jagged arc toward Johann’s back, angling for his ribs.

“Jakob!” Gerhard shouted.

Lina screamed as she ran behind Jakob, fingers clutching her skirt off the ground.

Johann spun, falling backward, boots scrambling in the dust. The blade burned across his shoulder, slicing through fabric.

Gerhard slammed into the man from the side with a thudding crack of bones and weight. They hit the earth hard.

Jakob was right behind him, gun raised—but the men were grappling too wildly to risk a shot.

The injured man continued to thrash, knife still clenched tight. Gerhard grunted as the blade drove against his side. Jakob lashed out with a hard kick, his boot striking the attacker’s arm with a sickening crack.

The knife wavered dangerously close as Jakob lunged forward, fingers closing around the man’s wrist. Steel bit into the dirt as he wrenched the blade free, a flash of metal catching the light.

Gerhard’s weight dropped hard onto him, shoving the side of his face into the ground.

Johann scrambled out of the way, breath ragged, dirt filling his mouth.

“Johann!” Lina cried, dropping to her knees, hands fumbling to steady him.

Gerhard punched the man once, twice. Blood spattered his knuckles. He went limp.

Without rising, Gerhard pinned the man’s neck beneath his knee, chest heaving. He glanced at Johann. “He’s not getting back up.”

Johann stared at the injured man’s unblinking eyes, dust clinging to his lashes. His own breath rasped in his ears. He bent double, gasping as his knees gave way. He vomited, his body racked by shock and fear.

The rough earth bit through his trousers as he collapsed onto all fours.

The yard lay quiet except for the rustle of wind through the branches.

Jakob moved back, scanning the yard with the revolver held high. “That all of them bastards?”

Gerhard grimaced. “Bind them… with their rope.”

Jakob nodded grimly, stepping forward. He grabbed a coil of rope from the injured man’s belt and knelt beside the two survivors, binding their wrists tightly.

He glanced at Gerhard. “What now?”

Gerhard exhaled hard through his nostrils, eyes narrowing. “No use hiding the truth from them.”

Jakob doubled over, one hand braced on his thigh. “Damn scoundrels,” he rasped, breath ragged. “Let ‘em see.”

Gerhard’s voice cut through the tense air, calm but resolute.
“Heinrich is already dead.”

The shorter man flinched as if struck. His breath hitched, a guttural sound escaping his throat. The taller one blinked, swaying slightly, his jaw working but no words coming. They exchanged a glance—uncertain.

“You’re lying, you old gray rat,” the smaller man spat, his eyes filled with hate. “He ain’t dead.”

“Believe what you want. It won’t change where he is now,” Gerhard said.

“We’ll see ‘bout that,” the shorter man snapped.

Jakob growled, “Dig—see if you find breathin’.”

The man panted heavily, holding his wounded shoulder, his eyes blazing with fury.

Gerhard turned his gaze toward Lina, his tone softening.

“You all right?”

She nodded, silent.

Gerhard gestured in Johann’s direction.

“Stay with him.”

Lina didn’t argue. She shifted closer, her eyes drifting toward Max’s still body several paces away.

Gerhard followed her gaze, letting out a slow breath through his nose.

He crossed to Max and crouched, pressing a hand to the dog’s flank. Blood matted the fur. Max didn’t stir.

Gerhard’s hand lingered a moment longer. He gave a silent nod—part farewell, part promise—and stood.

Johann chewed his lip.

Jakob scrubbed a hand down his face, pushing himself upright.

“Gerhard… I tried to grab Max, but…” He didn’t finish… only a small shake of his head before straightening.

Gerhard gave a curt nod and jerked his chin toward the oak. “Get them up.”

Jakob strode forward, pistol still raised, and kicked their discarded guns farther into the dirt. He bent down, gripped the injured man by the upper arm, and hauled him roughly to his feet. The man cried out, stumbled, then sagged against Jakob’s side.

The taller man struggled to stand but managed on his own, wrists bound and head bowed.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know what they planned…” he whimpered, his voice barely audible as his eyes met Gerhard’s.

Gerhard arched a brow, his eyes narrowing with cold disdain.
“The grave’s behind the smokehouse.”

He and Jakob prodded the two men toward the grave. They walked stiffly, boots crunching over dry soil and gravel, the wounded one limping heavily.

Gerhard’s hand brushed across his ribs as they walked. He frowned, glancing down. Dark blood seeped through his shirt.

His fingertips came away slick.

Jakob noticed the movement and shot a glance at Gerhard, but said nothing.

Gerhard gritted his teeth, holding his pace steady.

Beyond the woodpile, hidden from the main yard, the burial site waited. The black cloth that had once shrouded the body flapped gently in the breeze.

Jakob pointed. “Came to string him up?” His voice scraped like gravel. “You’re too damn late!”

Neither man spoke. Their fear hardened into reluctant acceptance as they stared at the grave.

Gerhard squeezed his eyes shut, his face darkening with the heavy burden—a son lost to war, a loyal dog fallen moments before, and a lad nearly hanged for another’s sin.

He turned to face the two captives. The shorter man continued to pant in pain, his bound hands pressed against his injured shoulder. The taller stood rigid, staring at the grave with a blankness that bordered on dread.

“You got what you came for,” Gerhard snarled, gaze unwavering. “There’s the grave. That’s Heinrich. If anyone asks, you saw it yourself.”

He exhaled slowly before saying, “That’s the end of it.”