We embark on muscling our way toward the side. When I repeat the order to go back, more folks respond, the rest desperate for shelter. For every two steps Lenora and I achieve, we’re shoved back one. Still we press against the current, unrelenting, our hands clutched together so firmly my bones threaten to snap.

For an instant, the surrounding pressure gives. I eke out more steps with Lenora until there’s an opening, and we charge straight for it. Breaking free, I suck in gulps of air.

Someone hollers about taking cover across the way, and Lenora tugs me to hurry with her. Under high railway arches—meager protection but it’s something—we join amassing stragglers.

We did it. We made it out.

A surge of relief rushes through me. Only then do Lenora and I release our grip.

The baffling noises have stopped. No signs of smoke or damage. No silhouettes of distant aircraft. No engines to be heard. I’m not alone in noticing. A spread of murmurings dissipate fears as more and more from the crowd flee to our space, including children and babies. Thank God.

But then shouts grow from the direction of the Tube entry. “Make way! Make way!”

What’s left there of the swarm hustles to clear a path. Gasps ripple through the air. Sudden and ominous, they curl my stomach even before I track the cause.

From the stairwell, a fellow carries a limp form. As he places the woman on the pavement, another body is brought out. An elderly man.

A young nurse rushes to kneel and check for a pulse. Evidently finding none, she moves on to the next. Already a third lifeless figure has been added, this one a child. Then comes another and another. They show no sign of slowing.

Every inch of me quakes. My mind is spinning, a tornado telling me to run, and in a blur, I’m doing just that. Away from the crowd, the ghastly scene. I hear my name, faintly, but don’t stop until a wave of nausea rolls through me. I bend over to retch, though only dry heaves rack my body.

A hand is rubbing my back. Lenora stands at my side.

Once my gut begins to settle, she says something about returning to the truck when it’s safe and taking me home.

I need no other encouragement. I long for nothing greater than to be rid of this place.

By the time we reach the George, I realize to precisely what extent: as soon as arrangements can be made and logistics permit, I’ll be leaving England for good.

Chapter 35

A meal from the prior evening sits cold on my desk. It’s the latest delivery by the inn’s cook, whose concerns over my seclusion are gaining hints of doubt. My claims of battling a seasonal cold must stretch plausibility with each passing day, going on a week.