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Red Tide

Allan Onik

    The carnival was empty. Under the moonlight, the Schutzstaffel surrounded the boxcar and held their weapons. Blondi followed the Fuhrer to the door of the car and soon curled up to rest in the dirt.

    “Adolf. I knew you would come. I can see everyone that’s coming years before they come in. That’s how it works you know. For me at least. All of us are different. And some of us are fakes. Though I can assure you I’m not.”
    The Fuhrer was hit with an intense blue light, though he couldn’t spot a source. Then he realized. The light was coming from the mystic herself. He also noted some roses and Tarot cards, crystals and old books.
    “It took my sources awhile to find you. You are said to be the most powerful on the planet in the arts of unseen Physics. Even more powerful than the great Edgar Cayce.”
    “Yes,” the oracle said, “He has given me a gift. Though I know you aren’t one to believe.”
    “I’m not here to find worship,” he adjusted his armband, “I’m here to ask you a question. One question. And I think you already know what I want to ask.”
    The mystic glowed brighter. Hitler had to squint. “You will lose The Great War. The Red Army will overcome you—just as they did Napoleon. You will take your own life in Berlin. And then what comes after...you don’t want to know. He is quite upset with you Fuhrer...”

    Adolf stepped out of the boxcar. He sniffed and adjusted his tie. The German Shepherd lifted itself up and shook off. An officer with a large facial scar walked up to him.
    “Good news I hope?”
    “Send her to the chambers. But first, The Special Room. And make it long.” The Furhrer walked to his car, got in the back seat, and was driven away.

    Two Schutzstaffel entered the boxcar. In the dark, one lit a lighter and put his other hand over his FEG 37M. The other unsheathed his Hitler Youth Knife. In the small space The Mystic’s chair was empty.
    “She’s...”
    “Gone,” said the other.

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