James Herbert - ‘48

Flames and sparks followed, licking at my heels as I dragged myself up, and someone far off was screaming. My hand curled over the top of the radiator, but I could feel my strength slipping away, the effort of holding myself there becoming too great. I groaned, too feeble to pull myself towards the jagged ledge where the others waited, their hands stretched towards me, their voices raised over the crackle and fire rending noises.

I took a look down and didn’t like what I saw: if the fall didn’t kill me, the fire below would. Already I could feel the soles of my boots heating up and I guess the thought of a nasty death, one way or the other, encouraged a last burst of energy. I slid my left hand across the curved top of the radiator, taking the strain with my right. But when I tried to grip with my left hand again, the sweat on my palm caused it to slip, slowly at first, until it fell away completely, leaving me hanging there by one hand, my body swinging round helplessly.

Then Stern was peering down at me, his face only a couple of feet away, smoke billowing around him so that for a moment his head seemed disembodied, floating in space. I realized he was leaning forward from the ledge, one hand on the end of the radiator, the other reaching out for me. It was a dangerous move on his part, but I saw no fear in those colourless eyes of his. For a split second though, a moment gone by so fast I may have imagined it, I thought there was a shift in those eyes, a kind of cold mocking that vanished as soon as I’d noticed it His hand stayed just beyond my reach, then edged forward an inch or so as if he’d only been tormenting me. Maybe I’d got it wrong, maybe I’d misread his expression; that look might have been his own fear, because now he was risking his life even more by leaning closer. I just couldn’t be sure.

‘Take it,’ I heard him say over the roaring from below and the shouts from the others behind him. There were no hints in that gaze right then, only a blank – and equally as unnerving – coolness.

I hesitated. Would he let me go, pretend to the others I’d slipped from his grasp? There was no way of knowing and anyway, I didn’t have time to consider. My hand slapped into his.

Then he was pulling me up, the movement strong and smooth, as though it was hardly any effort at all for him. I managed to hook a heel over the ledge, and then other hands were dragging me to safety. I rolled over onto what was left of the floor at that end of the hallway, my rescuers shuffling back to give me room, and I lay there on my back, drawing in great lungfuls of filthy, broiling air. They wouldn’t let me rest though; I was pulled to my feet even as I choked on the smoke I’d sucked in, and the two girls stood on either side of me, steadying me until my head stopped reeling and some life returned to my arms and legs.

‘Yank, you’ve got enough lives to keep a dozen cats happy.’ Cissie was thumping my back, helping me get rid of some of that smoke.

‘Are you all right?’ Muriel’s touch was more gentle as she cleared soot from my eyes with her fingertips.

The warden had no patience for any of this. ‘Yer can make a fuss of him later, ladies. If we don’t leave right now all our gooses’ll be cooked, and I ain’t kiddin yer.’

He ushered us towards the door and when I gave one last glance back at the pit they’d hauled me from, it was filled with fire, the flames touching the ceiling above. Potter hauled open the iron door and we piled through into a welcoming coolness. The door made a satisfying clunk when the old warden pulled it shut behind us, and because of its metal flanges everything suddenly became hushed. The girls collapsed on the narrow concrete stairs that disappeared into the darkness above and the German went down on one knee, his shoulders heaving as he gasped in the cold dank air. It gave me some satisfaction to see he was as pooped as the rest of us, even if he’d disguised it a few moments ago. I watched those deadpan eyes, eyes that had seemed to be looking inwards rather than out, and wondered why I felt no gratitude.

Leaning back against the rough brick wall, I slowly sank to a crouch, wrists over my knees, eyes closed, taking deep breaths to control the trembling that ran through me.

Potter interrupted the moment of peace. ‘Sorry to disturb you folks, but we’re not in the clear yet.’

He sounded angry, as if he still blamed us for the destruction of the Civil Defence shelter, and when I opened my eyes again I saw his mouth was set in a grim line across his round reddened face. Then I understood.

‘You lived down here, didn’t you?’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I said, you lived in this shelter.’

“Course I bloody lived ‘ere. Safest place in London with you and those Blackshirts runnin all over the place, shootin off guns at each other. I just got on with me job and kept well away from lunatics.’

His job? I let it go for the moment. ‘Why did you rescue us today, then?’ I said, keeping my voice mild, just making conversation.

He gawked down at me in surprise, as if I’d asked something dumb. ‘You had those two ladies with you, didn’t yer? I couldn’t see them come to any ‘arm. What kind of bloke d’yer think I am?’

I liked that about the British. I’d learned a lot about old-style manners and chivalry from the English pilots I’d flown with, and I can’t say it’d come as too much of a surprise – I’d spent most of my life hearing stories about England and its people. Sure, much of it was romanticized, I knew that, but the person who taught me was someone you could believe in, someone who missed her home country but allowed nostalgia to colour her memories only a little. She was one of the reasons I’d come over at the beginning of the war, when England was crying out for trained pilots because the Krauts were kicking at the door. And if she’d still been alive at the time, she’d have been proud, proud as hell.

I didn’t realize it, but I was smiling at the warden.

‘Nothin funny about it, mister. Yer could’ve got these young ladies killed takin them down into the tunnels. The most precious things we’ve got left and you go riskin their lives.’

He was still riled, but his eyes had softened, become tear-blurred. I didn’t know what he was talking about and my expression must have shown it.

It was the German who put me in the picture. ‘Women are now the world’s most precious commodity, my friend,’ he said.

Vimmen and vorld. That just irritated me (and I noticed Potter giving him an odd, sideways look) but the ‘my friend’ bit really got me hopping. If I’d had the strength I would’ve been at his throat.

But it was Cissie who was really stomping. ‘Oh, sure we are! Who else is going to give birth to more chumps like you two so they can grow up and start a whole new war just to finish off what’s left of the human race?’ She’d been sitting upright on the stairs, stiff as a board, and now she pushed herself to her feet. ‘I don’t want to stay here any longer. I want to see sunlight again.’

The warden hurried over to her, his face big and anxious. ‘Don’t you worry, miss, we’ll get you out of here. Once we’ve climbed these stairs we’ll be safe.’ He stooped to help Muriel rise, but held on to her when she turned to climb. His other hand gripped Cissie’s wrist. ‘Look now, you ladies,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘You’re not goin to like what we’ll find up there, but try and close your minds to it. I had to put ‘em somewhere, y’see, and I couldn’t bury ‘em all. ‘Sides, there was others out there already, people who’d tried to get away from the poison. There’s hardly any smell now, so that won’t bother yer, and you can keep your eyes closed if yer like…’