Rebellion...

She knew exactly who turned her in. She had spent the entire time on the train thinking about it. It was the young woman who lived upstairs. The one that had suddenly had more rations than everyone else in the building. Double the flour allotment. A better cut of meat. She hadn't changed jobs, or boyfriends, so the only way to get extras like that was to turn informant. And once you got a taste for such luxuries everyone became a potential target. 

Thinking it over and working out just when the neighbor might have gone to the authorities and with what story had helped keep her mind off of the train itself. The crowd. The smells. They were packed in tightly. There had been no accomodations for bodily functions and eventually they had all soiled themselves. Urine, feces and the overriding stench of fear permeated the space. 

You might not realize fear has its own smell but it does. Not just the acrid sweat smell, but something deeper. It was the scent that let predators know which animals were prey. And right now the dark boxcar was filled with prey.

There was no light that managed to leak into the car. She wasn't sure if it was just that well constructed or if it was the massive crush of bodies. Any light that might have come from the sides could not travel far. The roof was solid so nothing came in from there. No light. No breeze. No sign of the outside world at all. Which was probably a blessing. 

They had heard stories of the night trains that ran full and came back empty. 

When the train finally stopped and the door rolled open, men yelling and pointing rifles at them all, it was dark outside, except for the bright lights shining at the gates of a camp up the hill. They were sorted on the platform. The men to one side, the women and children to another. Then in those groups the young from the old, those that looked frail from those that looked strong. And they were pushed and prodded up that hill. 

She looked young and fit. One of the guards spit at her. Called her a dirty gypsy. But she could see the hunger in his eyes and knew he'd come looking for her later. Men like that always did. 

Once inside the gates they were lead to a room and forced to disrobe. Sprayed down with water and then some sort of chemical. Delousing probably. They would assume they were all infested with bugs. It helped them feel better to degrade those they thought lesser. If they did it enough maybe everyone would agree. The spray took away one layer of the stench from the train but the smell of fear remained. She remembered to look down and away. 

They were given plain clothes to wear. Barely more than rags. Worn before. Smelling of someone else. But it was better than standing there naked while they stared. 

They were marking them. Printing numbers on their arms. Tattoos. An extra insult added to the rest of the indignities for those that were there for no other reason than their religion. “You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the Lord” Forced to get a tattoo, she assumed their God would make an exception for them. But they still wept as it was done, not just from the pain.

At first they thought they were out of ink. Then they thought the needle was broken. Then the mistake was made to be fascinated by what was happening. A number laid down and by the time the next was started the first was gone. The skin healed. They watched it happen a few times. Fascinated.

She looked around the room. Counting the number of guards. Working out how fast she would need to be. Wondering if those with her would understand that she was their chance at salvation or if the fear of what she was would freeze them into place. 

"Sie ist ein Dämon!"

She took out the tattooist first. Then worked out from there. Broken necks and bodies tossed. She cleared guard towers and offices filled with smug bastards who first looked at her with arrogance, wondering why this gypsy woman was daring to come near them. But that quickly changed to fear. 

And their fear was sweet. 

She fed well. 

The Germans covered up the story of the uprising. They didn't want it to get out that the prisoners could revolt. But that night she changed from being content to hide in plain sight and wait for the madness to end.

It was not the last of the camps to fall. 

Sie ist ein Dämon.

But at least she wasn't a monster.