Page 51 of No Man's Land

Josef watched helplessly as people ran past them towards the tube station. “Well, what about them?” he said hoarsely.

“The ghoul aren’t hunting them.”

“Shit.” He scanned the sky. Was that a shadow, moving beneath the clouds? “But surely in a crowd we’d be—”

An enormous detonation sucked all the noise out of the world. For an instant, he felt weightless, and then the pavement thumped him hard in the back, knocking the air from his lungs, and something warm and heavy covered him. No, not something, someone. Alex, shielding him from the patteringrain. Only there was no rain, just falling masonry, brick, and dust.

Josef didn’t move—couldn’t move—as he struggled to get air back into his lungs. On top of him, Alex was still, too. Breathing, though. Josef could feel his chest heaving, heart pounding, breath warm against Josef’s neck. He could feel the ponding of Alex’s heart against his chest. It helped him find his breath, even if he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.

The brickwork rain stopped; the world held silent for a long moment. And then the shouting and screaming began, and Beaumont moved, pushing himself up enough that he could study Josef’s face. Very close. He’d lost his hat, and his hair fell forward across his handsome face, his eyes dark in the dim light, lips parted as if about to…

“Are you all right?” Alex asked in a ragged voice, barely audible over the concussion in Josef’s eardrums.

Josef wheezed out his reply. “Think so.”

“Fuck,” Alex said, in very un-lordly manner, “that was a squeaker.”

Josef only nodded, and with a soft exhale, Beaumont leaned forward and rested his forehead against Josef’s. Only for a moment, but despite everything, Josef felt his blood rise and sing. Clumsily, he lifted a hand and patted the man’s shoulder in reassurance. “I think it was me doing the squeaking.”

To his surprise, Alex chuckled and lifted his head to look Josef in the eye once more before pushing himself up and away. It was easier to breathe without the man’s weight, but nevertheless, Josef found he missed his warmth. He shivered as he sat up too, gazing around at a world transformed. People were scrambling to their feet, or standing dazed, clutching friends or family, staring at the flames billowing out of the building not a hundred yards further down the road.

“Christ,” Alex said. “That’s the Royal Academy.”

“I hope no one was working late.”

Alex scrambled to his feet, pushing his hair back with one hand. He cast around for his lost hat, snatching it up. Stiffly, Josef also stood. No permanent damage, but he’d probably feel it in his back tomorrow.

As he rose, Josef realised that all around them people were panicking. This was nothing like the front, where men bent lower beneath the deadly barrage, hunkering down into the sodden earth of the trenches. For these people, these civilians, this single detonation was a catastrophe, and they were reacting like ants when you lifted a stone, running in all directions without thought.

Further up the road, the Beadles were shouting orders—they were old soldiers, after all—but few were paying attention. A woman hurried towards them, a bloodied handkerchief to her head, dragging a screaming child along by his hand.

Another huge explosion echoed across London, not far away, and a plume of flame and smoke rose up from the direction of the river.

The woman yelped, half turned and caught her foot on a piece of broken brickwork. She would have fallen had Alex not caught her arm and steadied her. “Careful,” he said. “It’s all right.”

She grasped at him, dropping her handkerchief, and revealing the bloody gash on her forehead. “Oh God,” she said, wobbling on her feet. “My son…”

“I’ve got him,” said Josef, and scooped the squirming lad up onto his hip. As the eldest child, he was no stranger dealing with young children. “He’s all right, aren’t you, mister?”

The boy sniffled and shook his head. Josef didn’t blame him.

Another explosion shook the city, and then a third, as fire rose into the sky, red and bloody. Josef met Alex’s eyes through the flickering flamelight, and they came to a silent agreement.

“Let’s get you to the Underground,” Alex told the woman. “You’ll be safe there.”

By the time they’d made their way back to the packed Dover Street station, the bells of the ambulances and fire engines were ringing, and they were able to discharge their wards into the tender care of the women on duty. And not long after that, the first bugles sounded, announcing all clear. Thank God.

Obviously, the tubes weren’t running; their platforms and tracks would still be crowded with frightened Londoners. And that left Josef with a long walk home.

“You’ve no choice, then,” Alex said as they left the chaos and noise of the station. “You have to come back to my flat.”

Josef shook his head. That was a bad idea for many reasons, not least of which being that he had to check that the Cohens were all right. And to tell them that he was, too. They’d imagine the worst if he didn’t come home after an air raid.

“We’ll send a messenger boy,” Alex said when Josef explained. “And to your family, too, of course.”

“Not to my family, no.”

Alex said, lightly, “No?”

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