In the German countryside near Mainz and Frankfurt, in the tense years before World War II, seven prisoners break out of the fictional Westhofen concentration camp. The commandant vows to recapture them all within a week, raising seven crosses as a warning. The novel follows escapee George Heisler as he turns to old friends and wary strangers for help, in a country where anyone could be a danger.
A power that has made itself out to be almighty cannot afford a single visible mistake, because its whole hold depends on seeming all-powerful. Ordinary strong people can err and lose nothing. So one small, successful act of defiance against such a power is worth far more than its size.
A hunted person in a police state survives less by his own skill than by a scattered web of ordinary people. Each of them, faced with him without warning, must choose whether to help or hand him over. In making that choice, each one also settles what kind of person they will be from then on.
Someone in hiding is often caught not because they were seen but because they believed they had been seen. That belief pushes them into a panicked, foolish move that gives them away. Fear works by letting one idea crowd out every other thought.
The poor carry an old dread of being hunted by the state that has nothing to do with guilt. It is the fear a chicken feels under a hawk. That fear shows whom the state really serves more plainly than any constitution or history book.
Outside forces can reach terribly deep into a person, down to their innermost self. Yet something at that innermost core stays untouchable. Even knowing that others suffered the same, now or long ago, can comfort a person who is suffering.