Author Notes: This fanfic will be split into four parts, with nine chapters in each part, to represent the nine main characters of the movie. Next up: The Journey to Bastion.

Chapter 9

God. I always say that name when I think of it. God. Twice, I speak it. I say His name in a futile attempt to understand. -Death, The Book Thief

It was almost time to leave, but I had to do something first. I scribbled down a note, rolled the scrap of paper into a tube, and tied it around the middle with a piece of thin elastic Three found a little while ago. I dropped it on my bed, grabbed my gear, and set out. I knew I only had an hour to get there and back.

For once, everything was quiet. Several times I had to hide from a Catskull, but other than that it was easy going, compared to other times.

Ghosts seemed to walk with me as the lingering dust floated around my legs like fog. Memories. Hundreds of them, all about my brother. My somewhat dense, loyal, crazy, gentle giant of a brother. I could almost hear his heavy footsteps thudding on beside me. He and I always went to the special place together. Always. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to go alone.

The sun was slowly starting to sink down when I got to where I wanted to go. It was deadly quiet. Not even the machines would touch this place. Why? Did they still have some mutual respect for what lay here? Was it the flowers that alarmed them? Was it the soft whispers of death that lay over the ground like a blanket?

I climbed up a small hill and stopped. Stretched out in front of me was a literal sea of bright red poppies. They were the only flowers that would grow naturally on this land. The humans once fought a bitter battle there, long ago. They called this place Vimy Ridge, and it is said that there was so much blood spilt that it turned the little white poppies red. Perhaps there is truth to the myth.

Whenever we came here, it was my brother who enjoyed the plants the most. He loved botany, though he'd rather die than admit it. I was the only one who knew how much the little bobbing heads of the flowers meant to him.

I was not interested in the poppies though, as beautiful as they were. No, I was interested in the crosses. There were hundreds of them, all in rows, each one marking a fallen soldier. The only difference in the rows was where there was a star instead of a cross, to show that the soldier was Jewish instead of Christian.

The first time that I came here I cried (or as much as a ragdoll could cry), and cried again when my brother softly chanted a poem under his breath. He later told me that Six had shown him the poem, and that it was written by a soldier that had fought here and had watched his best friend die here. The poem had affected my brother so much that he had actually taken time to memorize it, so he could show it, and this place, to me. After that, every time he came here he softly said the heartbreaking words that seemed to encompass our whole world, and what it had become.

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow,

Between the crosses, row on row

I no longer cried when I came here. I simply felt great respect for the bravery and courage of the fallen.

That mark our place, and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amidst the guns below.

I ran down the hill and disappeared into the poppies. Around me was a forest of green stems, the ever-present dust, and red bobbing heads, softly nodding as if saying "Good day" or "How do you do?" When I reached the first few crosses I stopped.

We are the dead. Short days ago,

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders Fields.

"Soldiers." I whispered, and then dared to raise my voice. "Soldiers! Warriors! Men of old! I am here!"

The air awoke. A breath of wind tickled my arm. The dust stirred, shifted softly. They had heard me. They were here.

"Soldiers, fallen, listen to me! I am one of you. You may not think it of me, but I am one of you. I know that you never left your comrades behind, even though you are now under the earth because of it."

Silence.

"I cannot leave my comrades behind either. My brother has been taken from me, and I must leave on a journey to bring him back."

Silence. I knew that it was foolishness, and that I was only talking to the flowers and the crosses. Somehow though, that didn't matter. The body may have returned to the earth, but the soul was immortal. Maybe they were able to listen.

"Soldiers, I came here to ask you for your blessing, so that we may swiftly return to you." I did not say whether that meant to return to this place or to return to them by joining them under the earth. I only wished to be with them, whatever happened.

At first, silence. Then, the wind picked up and the dust was flung in my face. I shut my eyes for a moment and heard the soft dinging of particles of earth colliding against the glass layer of my eyes. There was almost a sigh in the wind, and then it stopped. I opened my eyes to find myself lightly coated with dust.

"Err, ok, I'll take that as a yes then." I said, bowing at the waist towards the nearest cross. "Thank you." With that, I turned around and started to run back the way I came, the last verse of the poem thundering through my head, my heart and my soul. The last verse was always my favorite.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from flailing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders Fields.

As I ran, the golden light from the sun slowly died.

It was time to leave.

END OF PART 1