Page 8 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘No!’ I say a little too abruptly. ‘I want to stay here, please. By the exit. I will be fine if I can stay here. And as for the child – he’s already got lost once. It doesn’t seem like a great idea to let him get lost again.’
‘That’s more like it – sounds like your brain cells are waking up.’ The American grins at me; I see dark hair curling beneath his cap and a crooked smile. ‘Let them stay here a while, huh? I’ll take responsibility for them. Maybe you’ve got some water they can have?’
The warden – I think that’s what he is – sighs.
‘I only do this for you,’ he tells the American. ‘Because you are hero. You come while I fetch; you tell me about last dogfight.’
‘You got a deal.’ The American shakes the warden’s hand, and the warden beams.
‘Stay right there on that chair.’ The American points at me and the boy in turn.
Gratefully, I take his seat. Unbidden, the boy climbs onto my lap and rests his head against my shoulder. All sounds of attack seem to have receded. The adrenalin thathas kept me on my feet and unaware of my injury starts to drain away, leaving a deep exhaustion in its wake. Mustn’t sleep. Not when I have the care of a child. Mustn’t relax – that’s a mistake I can never make again. Must get out before all of this falls down on top of us. But what about the boy?
The American said I could leave when it was all quiet – that’s what he said. And now, itisquiet. Just beyond them, I see a staircase leading upwards – the same milky stone of the tunnels but edged with bright daylight behind a metal door. What I want more than anything is to be out there in the world, where I can tell up from down and make sense of this insanity.
‘Hey.’ I lift the slight child off my lap. He rubs at his eyes as he frowns at me.
‘You sit there and wait here for your mum, OK? Do not move.’
‘You are going outside?’ he asks, grabbing at my hand. ‘It’s very dangerous!’
‘I’m just going to look,’ I tell him softly, as the American regales the warden with an animated tale of some description. ‘You stay here, though. Promise? You need to wait.’
The boy sits on the chair and watches me. ‘It’s very dangerous,’ he repeats in a whisper.
‘Your mum will come and get you,’ I assure him. ‘You’re going to be fine.’
Then I dart for the exit. The door is harder to open than I expected. Bolts need dragging back, and a wheel lock needs turning. But then it moves, and I’m out.
Reflexively, I gasp in lungfuls of air, and it’s a mistake. I breathe in burning oil, noxious smoke and clouds of stone dust. There’s another smell, one I can taste, sweet and metallic. I don’t want to think about what that is.
Piles of rubble are haloed with dust that glares in the sun. Where am I?
Somewhere far away, a high-pitched wail rises. There’s the noise of a distant engine. Looking up, I spot a small plane in the sky, growing larger and louder by the second. Where am I? What is that plane doing?
‘I come with you,’ the boy – this very little boy of maybe five – appears at my side, tugging me back towards the shelter. ‘I make you safe.’
Then he catches sight of the aircraft. His eyes widen.
‘Messerschmitt,’ he gasps.
My gaze turns back to the plane screaming right towards us.
It’s mesmerising. I want to run and hide, but I seem to be fixed to this spot, my eyes glued to the oncoming winged demon that rips down towards me. Its shape fills up the sky, now so low I can see the two black crosses painted on the underside of its wing. It swoops right down the centre of the ruined road towards me, the ground ahead of it pitted with tiny, rapid-fire explosions. Too late, I understand that in the next three seconds, the plane’s machine-gun bullets will reach us. It’s happening again. And all I can do is stand here and wait.
‘Jesus H. Christ!’ I hear the American growl as he charges at us, knocking me out of the path of fire, scooping the kid up under his arm and throwing us all as far as he can into the unforgiving rubble of a broken house. Our attacker screams into a sharp turn as the American drags us further in under a cave formed out of a collapsed ceiling.
‘So, you wanna die?’ he asks me angrily. ‘You want to kill the kid, too, while you’re at it? What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘He . . .’ The world swims and dissolves in front of my eyes, and, touching my hand to my head, I am intrigued to see blood glazing my fingertips.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That’s not good.’
I look at the American. The world melts all around him.
‘There’s something really wrong,’ I tell him.
Then there’s nothing.
