Forty Days at Kamas Read Online Free PDF

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    The room was clean and orderly except for a dozen bunches of dried flowers hanging from the rafters and a paint–spattered, wooden easel in the corner. On the nightstand was a framed photograph of a giggling blonde girl in a bathing suit not much older than Claire.
    "Do you live here all alone?" Claire asked dreamily as Helen gave her a fresh T–shirt for a nightdress.
    Helen nodded and grinned with obvious pride.
    "Yep. It's mine by squatter's rights."
    "Would you mind if I asked you a big favor?"
    "Of course, sweetheart. I don't know if it's in my power, but I'll try."
    "Would it be okay if I stay with you till I find my dad?"
    Helen laughed gently and gave Claire a motherly hug.
    "Claire, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to. From now on this room is yours. But there is one catch: if you want to eat around here, you're going to have to work. And work starts first thing in the morning."
    Claire nodded in agreement then lay back in the bed. But before Helen stood to leave, Claire leaned forward to give Helen a lingering hug of her own.

 
     
     
    C HAPTER 4
     
    "You are not brought here to live but to suffer and die."
… If you live, it means that you are guilty of one of two things: either you worked less than was assigned you or you ate more than was your proper due."
—Soviet labor camp doctor, 1930s
     
    THURSDAY, MARCH 7
     
    I opened my eyes in the pre–dawn darkness and looked out upon row after row of triple–deck bunk beds. I lay on a top berth, my kit bag tucked between my head and the plywood slab. Although I had no blanket, my prison coveralls kept me warm enough in the airless barracks.
    I counted five rows of beds, each row twelve beds long, for a total of 180 berths, all of which appeared to be occupied. Bodies also covered the floor. If each of the prison cars had delivered a hundred live prisoners to Heber, then 400 of us occupied a dwelling intended for 180.
    At the sound of a distant electric school bell, prisoners below me began to stir. A low murmur rose as men spoke to each other in apprehensive whispers.
    I looked down at the bunk directly below and saw Will Roesemann staring back at me.
    "Next bell will be roll call," he said sleepily. "What do you suppose they'll do with us?"
    "Whatever it is, anything is better than interrogation," I replied. "Right now all I care about is getting fed."
    "I could eat sawdust," Roesemann agreed.
    I slid off my bunk and sat beside him.
    "I saw them take Reineke away after you fell asleep," he told me in a faraway voice, as if replaying the scene in his mind. They took the guy who brought down the dog, too."
    "Thank God they didn't haul us off for helping him," I said. "With our luck, we’re probably on some blacklist already."
    "Stay cool, Paul. I’ll bet they couldn’t care less about us."
    I had lost count of the number of times Will had told me to stay cool. He always seemed to have things figured out several steps in advance.
    As I climbed down from my bunk a trio of warders in goose down greatcoats entered the room. Each carried a two–foot nightstick and rapped it rhythmically against a wooden bed frame. Each was hatless and had a shaven head that accentuated his thick neck and beetled brow. Their demeanor combined theatrical belligerence with a pathetic need for attention. High school football bullyboys of yesteryear, I thought.
    "Listen up, you pukes," shouted the shortest of the three, a heavy–jawed, bullet–headed gorilla. The room fell silent.
    "In exactly two minutes, I want every one of you standing at attention on the parade ground. Deputy Mills will show you how to assemble for roll call."
    He pointed to a sullen thug a few feet away.
    "When roll call ends," he continued, "I want to see you march single file to the latrines where you will have five minutes to do your thing. Then Deputy Mills and his men will lead you to the transit center for disinfecting, de–lousing, and registration. Is that clear?"
    A voice was raised