584
1945
Sugar and David lay in the mud by the barbed wire fence, trying to soak moisture from last night’s August storm through their tattered clothes. The coolness of the fetid puddle didn’t quench the thirst that had driven their lives since they were locked in the internment camp nearly four years ago.
David heard the engines, coming from the North. Then he heard a boy his age yelling from the other side of the camp, “The Yanks! It’s the Yanks!”
“They’re here! Momma, they’re here!”
Sugar didn’t open her eyes, sure the sound was just another chimera.
The sirens blared.