He heard the soldier shout, then fire his weapon into the air. The water gushed. As the river took him out of range of the Wehrmacht, he labored to swim. His body, overrun with fatigue and cold, weakened with each stroke. He made it to the middle of the Bidasoa and wrapped an arm around a floating log.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably; his frigid joints were like seized pistons. He strained to keep his head afloat. The chances of crossing the Bidasoa, let alone making it home, dwindled with each breath. Before hypothermia stole what remained of his body’s warmth, he managed to slip his hand inside his coat. With numb and broken fingers, he found the pocket. Amid his pain and regret, one vision held steady. Susan. His eyelids grew heavy. And the river swept him away.

CHAPTER 53 - EPPING, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 53

EPPING, ENGLAND

Grit blurred Susan’s vision; her tear ducts were clogged with soot. The weight of bricks pressed on her torso. She labored to inhale, taking in thick dust mixed with the sour scent of cordite.

“Grandfather,” she said, coughing, her voice muted from the high-pitched ringing in her ears.

She struggled to push debris from her body, then rolled onto her knees. Her ribs ached, as if she had been struck with a club. Large bumps protruded from her scalp. From the strong copper taste in her mouth, she sensed that her tongue was bleeding or that her nose had been broken. Using the lining of her coat, she wiped dirt from her eyes. Her vision slowly returned. As her head began to clear, she realized that the force of the explosion had hurled her into the bomb shelter. The ceiling, partially collapsed, exposed billows of smoke rising toward evening stars. Beyond the shelter door, which was hanging askew on twisted hinges, she saw an amber flicker.

She crawled to the doorway. The first thing she noticed was the festering crater. A huge hole, the size of a pond, had replaced what used to be a dense thicket.

“No!” Using the doorknob as a brace, she struggled to stand, then stepped outside, dreading what she was about to see.

Where the cottage once stood was now a smoldering pit. Bestrewed flames, a mixture of explosive residue and shredded timbers, surrounded the hole. The chimney was toppled, like stones of a broken cairn.

“Grandfather!” She limped, her left foot missing its shoe. A nail from a broken board punctured her heel, and she fell. Ignoring the pain shooting up her calf, she kicked away the board, wrenching the nail from her foot, then crawled over scorched grass. She prayed, her hands pressed against the hot soil, that he had been blown clear of the blast.

She reached the hole, a deep cone in the earth. Below, mounds of charred wood. A broken chair leg. And what used to be the stove, its door ripped from the hinges.