by Sofia Grey
Pulling what was left of my wits together, I followed him and found him marking the outside of the door with a piece of chalk from his bag. “I need to find it again if I have any chance of getting back.”
The door opened onto a long corridor with a strangely familiar curved ceiling and small white tiles covering the walls. I knew I hadn’t been there before, but I’d seen pictures.
Marc looked quizzically at me. “Well? You’re the expert for this period.”
“I think this is the London Underground. The Tube.”
“That would make sense. Readily accessible and protected from the bombing above ground.”
“The general public used the Tube stations as bomb shelters, so we should be fine to mingle with the crowds without drawing suspicion.”
To our right, the corridor ended, and so we headed left, Marc adding little green X’s in chalk at regular intervals. There were people not far away. We could hear footsteps and muffled voices, and soon enough we rounded a corner, climbed a short flight of stairs, and found ourselves at the end of a busy railway platform.
“Piccadilly.” I pointed to the name, boldly displayed on the wall. “I think that’s in the city center.” I hadn’t studied London, other than at the most general level. My geography of the city was non-existent. Marc had referred to me as the expert for the period, but that was laughable.
Anxiety lurked in my chest, buoyed along on a wave of receding adrenaline. Now the shock of the jump had worn off, I just felt scared. In the seconds since we walked onto the platform, the space around us had shrunk, with people steadily joining the crowd.
“It’s a little after two, according to the clock,” said Marc. “I’m guessing afternoon rather than early morning.” He paused to pick up a dropped newspaper and hand it to the middle-aged woman who’d been rearranging her bag. As we walked away, he spoke again. “December twenty-ninth.”
Okay, this wasn’t good. In fact, this was very bad. I took a deep breath. “It looks as though people are setting up for the night already. We’re unlikely to get out of the city today, so I think we should stay down here until morning.”
“Agreed.”
We found a space next to the wall and sat on the floor. Marc produced a rolled up fine-knit blanket from his bag, and with that and our coats, we made ourselves as comfortable as was possible. The people around us were good natured, chattering and laughing as they rigged up folding beds and canvas chairs. Somebody pushed a trolley dispensing cups of tea, and the overall atmosphere was one of calm.
They had no idea of the firestorm that would rage that night. I shivered at the thought. Whatever happened, we had to stay underground.
“So tell me.” I looked up at Marc, sitting next to me. “What are your plans?”
“In thirty-six hours, the portal will reopen, and I’ll jump back. If I’ve configured it correctly, I’ll land a few seconds after we left and still have time to exit safely. My vehicle is in the woods, and I’ll drive back to New Oxford.”
“I think you’re crazy.” I swallowed hard. “But thank you. I know it’s not going to be easy for me, and having you here at first helps. I don’t feel so alone.”
Marc flashed me a rare smile and slipped his arm around my shoulder. He gave me a squeeze. “I never intended to abandon you. I won’t be able to stay long, but hopefully it’s enough to get you somewhere safe.”
I hoped so too.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The hours passed slowly, dragging from early to late afternoon, and the platform steadily filled with people setting up for the night. The trains continued to run, punctuating the chatter with their whoosh and rumble as they entered the station. I’d never been in such a crowd, not even at Mildenhall, and I shrank closer to Marc. His presence comforted me, more than I could have thought. Who would ever imagine my cold ghardian cousin behaving like this? Breaking the most serious laws to help a runaway was bad enough, but actively encouraging me to find love, to follow my heart, was unbelievable.
What had motivated him to do this? I’d asked, but he refused to be drawn into answering. Would he find a love of his own one day? I hoped so.
I slumped half asleep against him, while the day drifted by. Would we hear the bombs down here? It was late December and would be dark by now. What time would the raid start? I refused to think about all the other issues to be faced. There would be time enough tomorrow and in the days that followed. Tonight was a chance to catch my breath.
“Excuse me.” A young girl peered down at us. No older than twelve, she had a thin, pale face and huge dark eyes. Her cotton dress was neatly patched in several places, and she hopped from one foot to the other, as though agitated. “My mum sent me to find someone strong to help ’er.”
I frowned, puzzled, even as Marc scrambled to his feet. Why ask us? Realization slammed into me. Most of the people settled on the platform were either women and children, or the elderly. Marc was the only young man in sight. So much for hiding in the crowd.
“How can I help?” He towered over her, and she gazed up at him.
“We was on the bus. Coming ’ere.” Her thick accent was hard to follow. “It’s crashed, and she can’t get out. She’s got my little bruvver. He’s a cripple. In a chair. Please help.”
I glanced up at the clock. If the raid hadn’t started yet, it couldn’t be far off.
“Stay here, Isabella.” Marc was about to follow the child, but I couldn’t let him go alone.
“No, wait.” I pushed to my feet, grabbed our bags, and then scooped up the blanket. Our space would be taken within minutes. “I’m coming.”
“You’re staying here.” His eyebrows drew together in a stern look that others would find forbidding, but I knew him better now.
“No. Together or not at all.”
We pushed through the crowd, heading along the corridors and then riding the giant escalators up toward the surface. Several people tried to stop us. Some called that we were riding the wrong way.
An officious-looking old man blocked us at the top. “The sirens ’ave gone off. If you leave now, you might not get back in.”
Marc didn’t waste time trying to explain. He dodged past the man, followed the girl darting ahead, and I tried to keep up. I wouldn’t let them out of my sight.
If I’d thought it busy earlier, that was nothing compared to the torrent of people surging into the station now. I had to cling to Marc’s hand to make sure we didn’t get separated. We pushed through the crowd, unable to speak over the noise of the voices and trampling feet around us.
It was bright as day outside, and my step faltered in the doorway. Had Marc gotten the date wrong? Was it summer?
It was fire.
Noise assaulted my eardrums. The droning of the bombers overhead, like a million bees in a swarm. Staccato bursts of anti-aircraft fire from somewhere close-by. Over it all, the fire had a noise of its own, a roaring, sibilant hiss. Metal canisters clattered down from the sky, hitting the street with peculiar clinking noises. I’d never seen anything like them, and I stared, puzzled. A moment later, they exploded in a shower of green sparks and light, instantly setting fire to anything they touched.
“Incendiaries.” The name leaped to my lips. This was how the Germans had planned to destroy London.
“Isabella.” Marc gave me a shake. “Go back inside.”
I couldn’t do that. I knew I would survive, but I couldn’t stand by and watch him take any more risk. Digging deep, pushing past the fear, I shouted to the girl. “Where are we going?”
“There.” She lifted her arm, and I saw the bus. It lay on its side like a giant abandoned toy. Why was nobody helping? Another shower of incendiaries rained down on the street, and I understood. All the available people were busy putting them out. As fast as the canisters landed, someone ran up to stamp on them or beat them out with a spade.
“Mum.” The girl screeched and grabbed at my hand. “Is my mum okay?”
Marc was already circling the fallen
bus, peering through the windows. He waved me closer. “There are people trapped inside.” He had to shout for me to hear him. “I need to get in there.” The way the bus had toppled over, the entry platform was now blocked.
“I got out there.” The girl pointed to a smashed window close to the ground. Bright orange flames and green phosphorous smoke reflected in every pane of glass, the patterns shifting and rearranging like a kaleidoscope.
“Isabella.” Marc’s voice stayed calm, and I took a deep breath. “Stand back. I need to clear the glass and climb in.”
The windows were small, and he was not. I heard shouts from inside the bus and the sound of a baby crying. My feet were frozen, but I knew what I had to do. Before I had time to think it through, I forced myself to move. “I’ll go in first. I’m smaller. I might be able to help inside.”
I saw the uncertainty in Marc’s eyes. With his military training, he was no doubt assessing my idea, ready to discard it. I didn’t give him the chance. Dropping to my knees, I crawled into position, ready to squeeze through the gap. Broken shards of glass lined the jagged hole, and I took care to cover my head securely with the scarf.
By my side, Marc kicked away some of the sharp edges. “Report back with how many are trapped. Don’t take any action. Just assess the situation and come straight back.”
Before I could enter, the little girl scrambled through and then looked over her shoulder at me. “Come on, miss.”
I followed.
I refused to think about the incendiaries flooding from the sky and covering the street. I ignored the knowledge that the heavy bombs would be next. Instead, I concentrated on moving forward, a little at a time, following the child.
I’d been on a bus with Davy. While upright, it had seemed spacious. Now it felt cramped. The seats had broken away and were tangled together, with people trapped underneath. We’d gone in through the back window, underneath the staircase, but it took long moments for me to orient myself.
Memories of being trapped in the collapsed air raid shelter were crippling me. Every time I blinked, I remembered how it felt. Being helpless. Afraid for my life. I hauled in a ragged breath, my heart pounding.
“Mum! Mum!” The girl wriggled underneath a broken pole and reached a young woman.
“Maisie.” They clung to each other, and then she saw me. “Are you a nurse? I think I’m going into early labor.”
Labor? Dear God, she was pregnant? “Um, no. But I’ll do what I can to help.” I was crazy. I didn’t want to be in here. The bus stank of fuel and fear. I inched closer, working my way past the broken seat frames. “My name is Isabella.”
“I’m Violet. My son Bobby is in here too, but he’s gone quiet. Please get him out first.”
Report back, Marc had said. How many were trapped? An old man sprawled underneath a seat, and another young woman lay sobbing. The driver and conductor should be here somewhere too, and there might be more upstairs. “I have to go report.”
“Please take Bobby.”
I couldn’t even see her son. “I’ll be right back.”
“Help me, please help me.” The other woman shouted to me, her words choked.
“I’ll come back,” I repeated, and I started to retrace my steps.
“Isabella. Isabella.” That was Marc’s voice, loud and urgent.
Sweat ran down my forehead and dripped from my nose, and when I reached up to wipe my face, I managed to rub dust into my eyes. Why was it so hot in here? I could see my exit hole up ahead, only now it glowed bright orange with a flickering, dancing light.
The bus was on fire.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My heart stopped. I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t even blink away the perspiration trickling into my eyes.
Every instinct told me to turn around and get as far away from the flames as possible.
Logic reminded me that my only exit lay ahead.
As my lungs suddenly creaked back into life and oxygen crept into my brain, I knew I couldn’t leave the others trapped in here.
“Isabella. Get out.” That was Marc again.
What if I was changing the timeline again? Right now? I was putting Marc at risk. There was no guarantee he’d get back to our time, and none that I’d survive, either.
No, I couldn’t think like that.
My knees hurt from crawling through the wreckage that had been the interior of the bus, and I focused on this pain. It sharpened my mind. “Marc,” I shouted. “Two women, two children, one man. There may be more upstairs.”
“You need to get out. Now.” I saw his face through the flickering curtain in front of me.
“Two women, two children, one man,” I repeated as loud as I could. “One woman is pregnant and might be in labor. We need a medic.” I corrected myself. “A doctor.” I was petrified, but I had to keep my wits about me. “Can you smash the side windows to get us out?”
“Any minute now. It’s toughened glass.”
A muffled whoomph sounded in front of me, and the flickering curtain became a solid sheet of flame. I scuttled back, the air tight in my lungs. The staircase was on fire. I had no way to get out.
Behind me, someone screamed. In my head, I screamed too.
Over the roaring of the flames outside, the crackling and spitting of the burning staircase, and the shouts and screams, I heard more metallic clinking noises. More incendiaries?
I had to get as far back as possible. Dodging around the broken seats, I hurried back to the passengers. The sobbing woman lay silently now, her head bowed. The little girl—Maisie—held tightly to her mother’s hand and huddled close. Their positions were reversed. The child was now the protector.
More metallic rattles sounded above my head, and I looked up, fearful of what I’d see. Instead of a bright green flash, I saw a man. Two men. They were smashing the windows. The glass cracked, a spider web spreading across the window. I had to shield myself from the shards when it smashed. I ducked back and tugged the headscarf over my face, ducking my head.
Just in time. The pane shattered, a myriad of shards tumbling down. A man dropped through the hole, and then another, a rope trailing behind him.
I wiped my eyes, unsure if I was crying. Marc was the first to reach me. He placed a hand on my face. “You okay?” I nodded. “I want you up the rope. You can’t do anything more in here.” Another man landed in the ruined bus as he spoke. “Go.”
It was getting crowded in here. When Marc picked me up and pushed the rope into my hands, I obeyed. It was only a few feet, and fear lent me speed.
Another man crouched at the top and gave me his hand before hauling me out. I saw a flash of fair hair. It was Teddy. “Watch your step now. Jock will lift you down.”
Teddy? Jock? As if in a dream, I inched to the edge of the fallen bus and peered at the street below.
A giant of a man in a Royal Air Force uniform held his arms out to me. “Just let go, lassie. I’ll catch you.”
He would recognize me.
He hadn’t met me yet.
I blew out a breath and let go. He caught me and placed me gently on my feet. “How many more are in there?”
“Um. There’s two women, and one is pregnant. She thinks she’s in labor. And there’s some children and an old man.”
“We’ll get them out, don’t you worry.”
I stared at him, thoughts clicking into place in my tired brain. If Jock and Teddy were here… “The men inside, are they with you?”
“Aye. Davy’s practically a doctor. He’ll be making sure nobody bleeds to death on the way out.”
Davy.
My knees buckled, and for a moment I thought I would faint. Davy had been there in the bus. Beside me. I hadn’t seen him.
Jock grabbed my arm and kept me upright. “Let’s get you sitting down and away from the street. It’s not a safe place for a young lassie.”
“I’m okay.” I stood there, swaying and wobbly, but still on my feet. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t mean t
o say it, but the words poured out of me, unchecked. “Why are you here? Now?”
“We’re with Bomber Command. Down to the city on a forty-eight hour pass. We were on our way to the Café du Paris but stopped to take shelter. Lucky we did, aye.”
Chapter Thirty
Nothing would make me move from the stricken bus. Not the cascading incendiaries. Not the air raid warden. Not the repeated urging from Jock to move to safety. Wardens were plying water on the flames and holding them back. Making it safer for the people inside.
Davy, my Davy, was inside the burning bus with Marc and Teddy and another man. I hadn’t seen my lover for three long, pain-filled months, and it would be at least another six before I saw him again. If I saw him again. I was hungry to just catch sight of him, to see his ready smile and hear his voice. The little details I wanted to store and file away to sustain me in the lonely months ahead.
I wanted to talk to him. Hold him safe. Kiss him. Lose myself in our love.
I could do none of these.
If he saw me, it wouldn’t do any harm. My previously long hair was cropped short now and dyed a deep, walnut brown. I didn’t look anything like the shy girl he would fall in love with half a year later.
I busied myself with a shovel, helping to put out the incendiaries, but never moving far from the bus.
Slowly, the casualties emerged. The young girl. Then Teddy, carrying a small boy. I hurried forward, took the child from him, and carried him to a nearby doorway. He was lighter than I expected, and thin, his legs limp and twisted. Maisie had said he was a cripple. The poor mite. What kind of future would he have? He stared up at me, his eyes wide and frightened, but he didn’t make a sound until his sister hugged him.
He had a loving family. That counted for a lot.
Marc and Davy came out last, helping Maisie’s pregnant mother and carrying her between them. By this time, an ambulance had arrived and already loaded up the other passengers. My heart swelled with love for my two men. One represented my past, the other my future. I was so proud of them both.
