The Bullet and the Bread

Chapter 1: The Notebook and the Doctor

Cold concrete. A pipe dripping somewhere in the dark. ⟨Character 1⟩ wakes with his cheek stuck to the floor and a headache like a bad hangover.

⟨Character 1⟩: Ugh. What time is it? Where am I? This is not my bed. This is not even a bed.

He pushes himself up. A small notebook lies open beside him, the pages smudged. He squints at the handwriting.

⟨Character 1⟩: Kill Hitler. Save the Jews. Pistol in the crate. Is this a joke? Because I’m not laughing. I’m too tired for jokes.

He looks around. A wooden crate sits against the wall. He opens it. Inside, a pistol with a long silencer. He picks it up, feels its weight.

⟨Character 1⟩: Great. A gun. Just what I needed. I should go back to sleep. This floor is terrible, but sleep is sleep.

A radio console blinks on a desk, red and green lights. A pipe in the corner drips. Drip. Drip. Drip. ⟨Character 1⟩ stares at the lights, his fingers twitching.

⟨Character 1⟩: That radio is asking for it. One touch. Just to see if it still works. No. Focus. Sleep. But that drip is going to drive me crazy.

A whisper cuts through the dark. From behind a hulking boiler, a woman’s voice, urgent and low.

Leah: Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. They’re coming. Two of them. SS. They’ll kill you if they find you.

⟨Character 1⟩: Who are you? And why are you hiding behind a boiler? Is this some kind of game? Because I’m not in the mood.

Leah: My name is Leah. I’m a doctor. I’ve been hiding here for two days. They’re searching the building. Please, you have to help me. If they find me, they’ll shoot me.

Boots echo in the corridor. Two SS officers appear in the doorway, caps low, eyes cold.

⟨Character 1⟩: Ah, gentlemen. I was just, uh, inspecting the boiler. It’s a fine boiler. Very, very fine.

The officers exchange a glance. One steps forward, hand on his holster. ⟨Character 1⟩’s hand closes on the pistol behind his back.

Leah: They’re not buying it. Do something!

⟨Character 1⟩ raises the pistol. Two muffled coughs. The officers drop. The silenced shots are lost in the drip of the pipe.

⟨Character 1⟩: Well. That’s done. Now can I go back to sleep? I’m exhausted.

Leah: Sleep? Hitler is in the next bunker. If you kill him, you can end this war. I can get you inside. But you have to help my group escape. There are five of us. Please.

⟨Character 1⟩: Kill Hitler? I can barely keep my eyes open. What’s in it for me? Besides a bullet in the head.

Leah: There’s food. Bread, cheese. In the next room. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Help me, and you can eat. Then we talk.

⟨Character 1⟩: Food? Why didn’t you say so? Lead the way. But if this bread is stale, I’m going back to sleep.

He follows her through a narrow door into a small room with a table. On it, a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. The pipe drips somewhere behind them.

⟨Character 1⟩: That drip is going to be the end of me. But the cheese looks decent. Alright, Leah. Tell me about this Hitler plan. And pass the bread.

Chapter 2: The Sandwich and the Shot

A narrow corridor under bare bulbs. ⟨Character 1⟩ walks with a half-eaten cheese sandwich in one hand and the silenced pistol in his coat.

⟨Character 1⟩: Five more steps. Just keep chewing. Nobody stops a man who’s eating. That’s a rule of life. Took me forty-five years to learn it.

A tall officer in a black uniform steps into the corridor ahead. Himmler, oval glasses, thin mouth, hands folded.

Himmler: You. Stop. Identification. Why are you in this section?

⟨Character 1⟩: Mechanical. Boiler pressure. Very urgent. Awful boiler. Here, sir. You look hungry. Take it.

Himmler takes the sandwich, inspects it, and frowns at the bitten corner.

Himmler: You offer your own food to an officer? There is something wrong with you.

⟨Character 1⟩: Yes, sir. Many things. But the boiler’s fine. Good night, sir.

Himmler bites the sandwich and waves him on. ⟨Character 1⟩ keeps walking, hands cold, heart slamming.

The bedroom is small and dim. Hitler sleeps on a narrow cot, blanket at his chin, mouth open, breathing slow. The pistol feels heavy. ⟨Character 1⟩ lifts a pillow and presses it down over the face. He pushes the barrel into the pillow and fires. The sound is a dull thud. Hitler jerks once. Then goes still.

⟨Character 1⟩: That was for everyone. And also because you kept me awake. I really, really hate being kept awake.

He takes a small black notebook from the desk, slips it into his coat, and walks out past the empty corridor.

Outside, at dawn, a small truck idles on a frozen forest road. Leah waits with the old man, a young woman, a teenage boy, and a silent man who leans on a stick.

⟨Character 1⟩: It is done. He’s dead. Let’s go before someone notices.

They pile into the truck. Headlights sweep through the trees. A motorbike and two soldiers block the road ahead. Weber climbs off the bike, smiling.

Weber: Out. All of you. I know that pistol. That is an officer’s pistol. And you, doctor, we missed you twice. Your lucky day is over.

An old man: Leave her alone! We have nothing! We are nobody!

Weber shoots the old man in the chest. He falls into the snow. Nobody moves.

⟨Character 1⟩: Into the trees. Now. Don’t look back. Count your steps and do not stop.

They run. Weber follows. Branches whip ⟨Character 1⟩’s face. He counts the boy’s breaths behind him and turns at a fallen birch. Weber comes through the gap. ⟨Character 1⟩ grabs him, stabs the pen knife into his throat, and feels the shot before he hears it. The pain opens in his side like a burning water line.

⟨Character 1⟩: Leah. Keep them moving. Do not stop for me. I’ll walk. I will… walk.

Leah tears a strip from her coat, presses it hard against his side, and scans the trees. The truck burns behind them.

Chapter 3: The Safe House and the Sleep

A low room with a wood stove and a squeaking door. Rain taps the roof. ⟨Character 1⟩ stumbles in and goes down on one knee, one hand pressed to his side.

⟨Character 1⟩: Status report. I am alive. I want a blanket and a sandwich. Not in that order. Blanket first, then…

His voice gives out. Leah guides him to the cot, unbuttons his coat, and looks at the wound.

Leah: Lie back. Arms down. I need hot water and the clean rag from the bag. You. Boy. Fetch the pot. Keep your hands steady.

The teenage boy crouches by the stove, feeding wood on, and watches Leah work. The young woman stands in the corner. The silent man with the stick seats himself by the locked door, facing it.

A teenage boy: Is he really dead? Like, actually dead? Not just hurt. Not pretending. Dead.

⟨Character 1⟩: Yes. I put a pillow on his face, put the barrel in the pillow, and pulled the trigger. He moved once. Once. That’s all. Here, look. I took his notebook.

He holds up the small black notebook. The boy takes it, opens it, closes it, and hands it back with both hands, as if it has weight.

A teenage boy: The old man. He was seventy-two. He taught me to read in the camps. He kept saying, hold your shoulders up, boy, and think about soup. He just wanted soup.

⟨Character 1⟩: I know. I heard him say it. He died shouting at them. Stupid, brave old man. I’m sorry.

The young woman crosses to the doorway and covers her face. She does not make a sound at first. Then she does. The man by the door looks at her, then back at the door.

Leah: Sit. Take the book. Read the cover aloud if you can. His death does not vanish because another man is dead. We will carry it together.

Leah pulls a wet red rag away from ⟨Character 1⟩’s side, drops it in the bowl, and presses a fresh pad down. He hisses air through his teeth.

⟨Character 1⟩: Careful. Careful. That’s my favorite side. Use the other one. Fine, fine, keep going. Rain on the roof. That’s good. Better than the pipe. That pipe will haunt me until I die.

The woman wipes her eyes and reads the black cover under her breath. The boy adds a log to the stove. The man with the stick settles his back against the door.

⟨Character 1⟩: I’m going to close my eyes for a second. Don’t let anyone come in. And if you make bread, wake me.

⟨Character 1⟩’s eyes close. His breathing slows to the pace of the rain on the roof. Leah draws the thin blanket up to his chin. Outside, a single bike passes on the road and does not stop. Inside, the last log settles into coals, the drip of the old pipe no longer anywhere.