No Shelter from Darkness (21 page)

Jeff took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. “I still don't think you're being as vigilant as you ought to be.” He looked down into Bill's eyes. “Are you sure it's
we
who can't afford to lose it, and not just
you
?”

“What are you saying, Jeff?”

“I think you've become attached and you're letting your guard down.”

Bill stared at the burly butcher. He wasn't prepared to listen to this anymore. “Did you do what I asked?”

Jeff ignored him. “I'm telling you this as your friend, William. You know what it's capable of and the second you let it in, it'll take advantage.”

“Did you do what I asked?”
Bill was resolute.

Jeff shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, William. I did it.”

“And? Everything went okay?”

“Are you kidding? It was easy. Those places are always so hectic. Some quack took a break; I lifted his coat and waltzed straight in. This blood doctor of yours wasn't even there. I had to pick the lock to get in.”

“And you destroyed it? The sample is gone?”

“Yeah … but there was one small problem.”

“What?”

“He'd already done the work and recorded the results.”

“Bloody hell … so he knows, then?”

Jeff shrugged. “I'd say so.”

“Did you get rid of the paperwork?”

“Better, I replaced it. Copied someone else's results, wrote Elizabeth's name on the file and copied the signature. Hasn't the wife mentioned anything?”

Bill shook his head. “No.”

“Well, that's good then. It means this Hawkins chap probably covered up his incompetence. I bet the poor doc thinks he's losing his marbles.”

“We need to keep an eye on him, make sure his curiosity doesn't lead him down any untoward paths.” Bill looked at his watch and prepped his crutches. “Right. I'll leave you to your Sunday, then.”

The two of them went through the shop and Jeff opened the door for his invalid friend. Bill stepped down onto the pavement, but paused and looked back. “And Jeff? I'm not attached. I have to play the part. You know that. But I know where my loyalties lie.”

“Good,” said the butcher, “for
your
sake. And the High Minister will be glad to hear it, too. Just make sure you keep it that way.”

Jeff closed the rattling door, while Bill turned and began his short but slow walk home.

TWENTY-TWO

BILL WAS STRETCHED OUT
on the left bunk; Beth sat with her mother on the right. Oliver perched on the edge of the higher, wider bunk and Mary sat next to him, lying back on her elbows. She couldn't sit up straight because she'd hit her head on the roof. Oliver hadn't yet grown enough to have that problem.

The glow of the evening could still be seen through the tiny gap around the door, even with the oil lamp flickering away. And soon after the sirens ceased, they all heard the first few sporadic echoes of explosions way off in the distance. They had become so commonplace, these small irregular raids, that in a way, it felt like the enemy just couldn't be bothered.

“First proper day of the holidays an' all,” Mary said, continuing her thoughts out loud.

“Well, just because you're on holiday doesn't mean
they
are,” said Lynne as five bangs in a row sounded in the distance.

There was little chatter over the far off booming of bombs, before Oliver virtually commanded a game of “I Spy”. Mary joined Beth and her mother in their near silence, allowing Mr. Wade to do most of the guessing. He was the only one out of the five of them who hadn't yet memorized the entire inventory of the shelter.

The all clear still hadn't sounded by the time the thin ribbon of blue had disappeared completely from around the door. It was beginning to look like they'd be spending the night in the shelter. The rules of bedtime were different here than in the house: there was no strict time by which they should all be asleep as such, but Lynne still tried to keep a sensible schedule. Mary watched her look at her
fob watch, the one she wore on her uniform, taking it as a sign
that
time was now approaching.

“Come on. Just because it's the holidays, doesn't mean you can stay up all night. Air raid or not.”

Oliver still groaned. He could be half asleep and he'd still groan at the mention of bedtime.

“Is there any water left?” asked Mary.

Lynne reached down and picked up the jug, but it looked like it was lighter than she was expecting, lifting it with too much effort. “I'll be back in a minute.” She got up to her feet and stretched slightly.

“Hold on,” said Beth.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I think I hear something.”

The shelter went quiet, and they all listened for a few seconds, but Mary heard nothing local. What little action there was sounded far away.

“It must be your imagination,” said Lynne. “I can't hear anything.”

“Honestly, Mum. I can hear something. I think a few are coming this way.”

“If that's the case, then the sooner I get some water the better. We can't be stuck in here all night without anything to drink.”

“Hold on, darling,” said Bill. Mary caught him glancing at Beth quickly. “I think I might hear something, too.”

The shelter went quiet once more with everyone straining to hear a hum or a buzz overhead, or anything to indicate bombers were nearby. Still Mary could hear nothing.

“Are you saying you can't hear that?” Beth blurted out.

“Right! Shush you two, you're making me nervous,” said Lynne. “Right now there's nothing out there, and we need water.”

Mary had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach; images of her own mother popping out of the shelter under similar circumstances came flooding back.

Lynne unlatched the door. Mary was about to say something when Beth leapt forward and gripped her mother's wrist. From somewhere high above Mary heard the high pitch whine of something plummeting through the air, but Lynne seemed oblivious. She spun round, her mouth open in pain.

“Beth! You're hurting—” Lynne stopped and looked up.

The door had already swung ajar and Mary saw Beth's mother hunch her shoulders defensively. Light, bright like summer lightning, flooded the shelter before everything was plunged into darkness. Mary's insides vibrated, and all she could hear was the deepest, loudest earth-trembling boom.

The world shook. A wind slammed her backward.

Now she heard nothing but a ringing in her ears, a continuous tone that didn't waver. She was lying flat on the bunk, but the backs of her legs hurt. They'd been dangling over the edge, and something large and hard had forced them back and up against the underside of the bunk's frame. She'd shouted out in pain but only felt her throat go raw; there was no sound. Just as quickly, her legs were freed and they sprang back like springs, but the sharp ache remained.

A wind still cautioned her to stay down and she felt pinpricks all over her body. She brought her feet up onto the bunk, wincing at the pain in her knees, and rolled onto her side to try and cover the body next to her. She assumed that Oliver had been slammed back on the bunk by the same wind, as had everything and everyone else.

The tiny spots of white heat over Mary's legs began to have a sound. The ringing in her ears finally faded enough for her to hear the horizontal rain of debris pinging off the exposed metal front of the shelter. It clinked off the iron wall above her head, too, and it stung her like a thousand bees. There were bigger bits, too. Lumps of concrete or sods of earth. Or both. She flinched in the darkness, not knowing what would hit her next.

With her eyes firmly shut and her heart in her mouth, she could only wait as the internal ringing kept fading. And then the rain of tiny projectiles began to ease. Through the thin flesh of her eyelids she could see the faintest flickering. The return of her hearing brought an abundance of noise, worse than the ringing before. Flames roared and walls fell, and the rumbling was frighteningly close. The body next to her, covered in debris as she was, lay motionless. She heard no other sounds of life.

Mary feared the worst.

She lifted her head from the thin, hard mattress, shaking dust and gravelly detritus from her hair. She blew through her lips to
clear her mouth, but still she tasted the bitter earth. The shelter flickered with an orange glow and the crackly growl of flames was a heart-stopping sound. Thankfully, none of it was enough to suggest the fire was a threat.

Miraculously, the shelter door had remained on its hinges. It swung to and fro in the heat of the air. Beneath her hand Oliver's chest moved up and down. She shook him gently, disturbing the fragments of rubble that covered her arm and Oliver's clothes. “Ollie! Ollie, are you okay?”

There was no answer. Below her, beneath the bunk, someone coughed.

“Beth? Mrs. Wade?”

“Mary?” Beth's croaky voice sounded muffled, as if struggling for air.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm stuck. Mum? Mum?”

Mary sat up, ignoring the pain in her knees. She shimmied to the edge of the bunk and looked down. In the glow she could see Mr. Wade lying on the left bunk. He was only lightly covered in debris, but he lay motionless with his eyes closed. Mary lowered herself to the right-hand bunk and down to the floor. In the tiny gap between the two lower bunks was a tangled mess of limbs. She realized it was Beth's mother, who had been blown off her feet to the back of the shelter, taking Beth with her and landing on top of her, crammed under the upper bunk.

Mary leaned in to try and find Lynne's hand, while Beth's muffled cries continued.

Suddenly Beth's mother coughed and groaned, coming to, and quickly realized what had happened. “Oh my God!”

“Take my hand, Mrs. Wade,” said Mary. She helped the flailing woman up and off of her daughter. Beth gasped and gulped down air, and her mother helped her onto the bunk.

“Oh, sweetheart … I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” Her mother was frantic.

“I'm fine, Mum. Really,” said Beth.

“Mrs. Wade?” Mary stole Lynne's focus. “I think you should look at Ollie. He's breathing, but I couldn't wake him.” Lynne stood
up and checked on her son while Mary focused on the other parent, shaking his arm. “Mr. Wade?”

There was another groan as Beth's father started to move his hand, then his arm. He winced and struggled to sit up, holding his bad leg out straight. He leaned toward the door and pushed it to. Even in the dim light, Mary could see a dark trail of blood down Mr. Wade's forehead, maybe from where the door had hit him. With him awake Mary returned to Beth, squeezing onto the bunk next to her. She was rubbing her ribs and arms and legs. “Are you okay?”

Beth nodded. “Just a bit bruised.”

“That's a bit bloody lucky.”

“Language, Mary,” said a dazed Mr. Wade.

“It's a wonder nothing's broken,” Mary continued.

“Mary?” asked Mr. Wade. She looked at him, nodding. “Could you try and find the lantern? We need to get that door closed.”

“Yes, Mr. Wade.” She got down to her knees and started to look and feel around the floor. Everything was as she expected: covered in bits of soil and brick and plaster and concrete and, as evidenced by the sudden sting in her finger, glass. At the back, she found a tin box, the broken shards of the empty water jug, and finally the lantern in the corner.

The box was the first aid kit that Mrs. Wade had meticulously put together, and Mary placed it on the upper bunk next to Oliver's still leg.

“Thank you, Mary. But he just needs some water.”

“I'll get it,” said Mary. She looked at her friend who was inspecting a nasty graze on her leg. “Beth? Can you hear anything?”

Beth looked up, still a bit dazed. “Hmm? Uh. Nothing but that fire truck bell.”

What fire truck bell?
thought Mary. She decided to chance it anyway, hoping that lightning wouldn't strike the same place twice, though bombers often used existing fires as targets. Mary put the lantern in Beth's lap. “Here, light that.” She darted out of the door and up the earth-carved steps.

The heat of the fires on a summer's night surrounded her and burned her lungs, but she managed to feel a little relief at the sight of the house still standing. She crossed over the glass-littered yard to
the back door, itself having been blown open. Entering the house, she heard the bell of a fire truck as it came up their street but had no time to admire Beth's extraordinary hearing. She looked around the kitchen for something to fill with water.

The glow inside the house was far brighter than that in the shelter. Mary assumed it was the houses opposite that were in flames. Their house seemed to have survived … or at least the shell of it had; everything inside had been smashed against walls and cupboards. And the hot wind of fires that blew through her hair meant the windows no longer had glass.

She found a porcelain jug that was still whole minus its handle, and she crept to the scullery. Turning the tap on, she thanked the God she didn't believe in when the water flowed. With a full jug, Mary left the oven-like shell of the house behind and returned to the shelter to find Beth on the floor searching for something. The lantern still wasn't lit.

“Ow!”

“Glass?” guessed Mary.

“Shit!”

“Beth,” warned her father.

Beth got up to her knees and struck the precious match she'd found. Light filled the shelter and Mr. Wade pushed the door. Mary latched it closed. The heat and sounds of rumbling were both dulled and as Oliver coughed out of his concussion, Mary joined Beth once more on the bunk. Smoke lingered, and outside in the night, lives lay in ruins.

In spite of this, Mary was relieved—happy, even—that no one else she cared for had been taken.

The thought made her feel selfish.

TWENTY-THREE

BILL LEANED BACK ON THE SHELTER WALL
with the closed door to his right, stretching his legs out on the bunk. Across from him his wife held their son tightly. They both lay on their side with their eyes closed. Bill marveled at how they were able to sleep.