We ran on and at some point it switched from me leading Nat to him choosing which turns to take, which side streets to disappear down. I could no longer hear a pursuit of any kind.
"Need a break," I gasped. Now that the immediate danger was behind us, I was very aware that it'd been quite some time since secondary school gym class.
Nat slowed to a stop on a lonely street lined on either side with abandoned flats, gap-toothed where the bombs had made their selections. He waited for me as I doubled over to catch my breath, but couldn't stop his head from swiveling left and right and left again, looking for any sign from our pursuers.
I gathered myself enough to rasp out words between breaths, "What. The hell. Was that?"
"Not here," was all he said. I followed him down the broken street.
After checking once again that no one watched us from the lattice of shadows, Nat pulled me into a gap between the shelled out buildings. I stumbled as my foot caught on rubble hidden in the darkness. Nat caught my arm. "Careful."
The flat that had been here was nothing but a foundation and a few piles of broken furniture. Where the bottom floor was still intact, you could see the impressions of where the walls had been. We passed through them like ghosts and Nat found the place he was looking for. He crouched down to feel around on the floor. There was a, "Ah!" when he found what he was looking for, a bit of rope among the broken bricks and glass.
He tugged on it and with it came part of the floor— a door that opened onto a set of fully intact stairs. It must have been the cellar. I was surprised to see the faint glow of a light or flame at the very bottom. Nat started down the stairs and then turned back to offer me his undamaged hand.
I didn't move.
Less than an hour ago, I had been standing behind the ancient bar in my uncle's pub, serving Ernest and Frank and the rest. Now I'd been chased through said pub by a woman with a gun and a man throwing fire, seen the fellow I'd been flirting with for weeks electrocute someone with his bare hands, and been led to some bombed-out flat in a part of London I didn't recognize, being asked to follow him down some godforsaken hole in the ground.
"I won't shock you, if that's what you're worried about," he said. I thought I caught the barest smile on his lips.
I placed my hand gingerly in his. This might be the last decision I ever made, but at least I made one.
We made our way carefully down the tunnel-like staircase towards the light. I could hear voices now as we emerged, echoing against the brick walls of the cellar. They belonged to a group of people I wouldn't think normally spent much time in each other's company.
There was a young boy, no older than eight or nine tilting back in a chair so that it balanced on two legs. His mop of curly dark hair was interrupted by an ugly scar the length of a pencil behind his ear.
He was speaking to a woman who could've been around my age. She drank something dark and foamy from a chipped glass. In the corner sat an old man doing nothing but staring at the wall blowing smoke rings of differing sizes. It took me a moment to realize he wasn't holding a cigarette.
The woman and boy turned as we rounded the corner.
"Nat! Where've you been?" said the woman. She wore an expensive looking coat but the fur trim looked a bit ratty in places.
"I got into a spot of trouble, but no worries. We're all right."
"Who's this? Did you find someone else? Was she part of the program?" she asked. They boy leaned further back to get a look at me and had to catch himself before he tipped over.
YOU ARE READING
Blitzed
FantasyLondon is only just recovering from the brutal war that saw most of the city demolished. Lydia's life has been upended, but much is the same. She still works as a barmaid in her uncle's pub and she's still frozen with indecision on what to do with h...