Black Ghosts

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In memory of Adash Silverberg, Bella’s uncle.

A wonderful young man who didn’t survive the Holocaust.

Peter Ivanovich Rogov expected all hell to break loose, and he was well aware of the fact that any deviation from the plan could render him dead. Either way, he regarded it as a gamble worth taking. No matter what happened he would be free from this frozen abyss. After six years in this barren scrap of purgatory, the chance of freedom, no matter how slim, was worth taking.

Few places on Earth were as inhospitable as Prison Colony No. 5—or, as the prisoners referred to it, “the grave”—on a winter morning. Little, if anything, ever changed in the grave, except perhaps the weather, and that was always for the worse. Peter raised his frayed coat collar, shielding his face from the freezing wind that howled across the desolate, color-starved valley, pushing clouds of swirling snow in its wake through the razor wire and electric fences.

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