As morning came, the last wave of explosions stopped. A siren gave the all-clear signal, a long deafening drone that stirred the occupants of the shelter. People stretched their arms; others wiped sand from their eyes. A gradual crescendo of whispers turned to normal voices as people gathered their blankets, pillows, and bags. Susan’s apprehension gradually diminished. She hadn’t slept but didn’t feel tired, her adrenaline still pumping from the rumble of bombs, the proximity of explosions much closer than the distant echoes heard from Bertie’s farm. Perhaps she would have gotten used to it if she had slept underground for weeks with the others, the deafening blasts and quaking earth becoming an expected normalcy.

As Londoners prepared to leave the shelter, Susan noticed a little girl with tangled blond hair drop a gas mask and pick up a doll. And Susan wished she could take the girl, the girl’s parents, and everyone in the shelter to the safety of the countryside.

“Good morning,” Flight Lieutenant Boar said. He combed his black hair with his fingers, then ran his hands over his RAF uniform, attempting to press out the wrinkles. “Did you sleep?”

Susan shook her head. She recalled waking in the night to the touch of the lieutenant’s hand on her thigh, his breath across her neck. She had inched away, finding solace on the cold stone floor, but was unable to close her eyes.

The shelter door opened. People gathered their belongings and shuffled outside to the roar of fire engines and a thick acrid scent, a mixture of sulfur and burning petroleum. A block away, an apartment complex was partially destroyed. Firefighters painted with sweat and soot sprayed water on the burning building. She walked in the opposite direction, wishing she could shut out the cries of residents who had left the shelter to find their homes engulfed in flames.

To reach their train station, they had to maneuver through the maze of streets, many of which were blocked by barriers, fire brigades, or piles of rubble. The station was crowded with Londoners seeking to leave the city, to judge from the multitude of trunks lining the platform. As they boarded, people pushed to find their way into a carriage. The lieutenant claimed seats, but Susan insisted on giving them to a couple carrying a baby, so they stood in the aisle with many other passengers, all desperately seeking sanctuary outside of London.

The train whistle blew, the carriage jerked, and Susan fell back.

The lieutenant caught her.

Susan felt his fingers linger. She tried to step away, but the aisle was too crowded.

“I’d like to see you again,” Boar said. He lowered a hand to her hip.

“We both have work to do,” she said, inching away.

Boar leaned in. “All the more reason we should get to know each other.”

Susan noticed his sour breath. “I don’t think it would be a good idea, Flight Lieutenant.”