All Clear (55 page)

Oh, no
, Polly thought,
I’ve only made things worse
.

“I couldn’t stay in Backbury,” he said, “preaching sermons and heading up committee meetings when so many others were making sacrifices. Like you, facing danger every day here in London. I felt I had to do my bit, as it were.”

“But you can’t,” Eileen said, and burst into tears. “You’ll be
killed
. Just like Mike was.”

MARY WAS LYING FLAT ON HER BACK
.

I must have slipped on something and fallen when I came through
, she thought.
The shimmer must have blinded me
. She remembered that the light had been much too bright, and then …

There was a sudden deafening
cr-rack
, and immediately after it, a second one.
That was the double boom of a V-2
, she thought, suddenly panicked.
I’ve come through too late
. And remembered where she was. She and Fairchild had heard the V-2—no, that was wrong, it had been a V-1—and they’d come back to Croydon to see if there were casualties, and Fairchild had—

Fairchild!
She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t. There was something on top of her, crushing her so she couldn’t get any breath in her lungs, couldn’t—

Oh, God, don’t let it be the printing press
, she thought, gasping for breath, and then,
I’m buried in the rubble
.

She tried to feel what was pressing down on her, but there was nothing on her chest, no fallen beams or bricks on her throat, so why …?

Somewhere far off, she heard an ambulance’s bells.
Croydon
, she thought, straining to hear better and, in the attempt, stopped gasping for breath. And as soon as she did, she found herself able to breathe again, able to raise her head.

She had had the breath knocked out of her, that was all, and she
wasn’t buried, she was lying atop the rubble. The explosion must have knocked her flat. She drew a long, ragged breath, then stumbled to her feet, wishing there was something to lean on, but she couldn’t see the printing press, couldn’t see anything at all. The explosion must have blown out the fires. “Fairchild!” she called. “Paige! Where are you?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she’s dead
, Mary thought. “Paige!” she cried frantically. “Answer me!”

No answer. No sound at all, not even the ambulance’s bells.
The V-2
must have punctured my eardrums, she thought detachedly, and then,
Oh, God, I won’t be able to hear Paige calling
.

And remembered that Paige was dead.

She heard ambulance bells again, but from the wrong direction, from behind her, and when she turned, she saw that she had been wrong. Not all of the fires had been blown out. One was still burning, more brightly than ever. She could see their ambulance silhouetted against it.

It was moving slowly past the fire. She stared at it stupidly for a long minute, unable to make sense of what she was seeing. If it was moving, then Fairchild must not be dead, she must be driving it, but she wouldn’t leave without her, she wouldn’t …

“Fairchild, don’t leave!” she cried, and staggered forward.

“No,” a scarcely audible voice said, just off to her left.

Fairchild
. Mary groped for her in the darkness, but it wasn’t her, it was the man with the severed foot. How could she have forgotten him? She had been tending him when—

“Where—?” the man asked, and his voice was hollow, as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well.

“I’m here. It was a V-2,” Mary said, and her voice sounded just as echoingly hollow.

The man’s foot had been severed. She needed to tie a tourniquet on his leg, and she’d taken off his tie to use as one.

No, I already tied it
, she thought, but when she bent over him, trying to see if the tourniquet was holding, it wasn’t a tie, it was a handkerchief.

But I remember untying the tie
, she thought, confused. His other leg must have been bleeding as well. And it was, but she couldn’t find the tie. She must have dropped it when the V-2 hit.

She got to her knees, pulled off her jacket, and tried to tear it. The rough cloth wouldn’t tear, but when she tried again, the lining ripped, and she was able to yank a strip free, able to tie it around his thigh. But
he’d already lost a good deal of blood. She had to get him to hospital. She bent over him. “I need to go fetch the ambulance,” she said.

“Go,” he murmured. “Have to …” and then, very clearly, “leave.”

“I’ll be back straightaway,” she said, and stumbled off across the dark wreckage, over bricks and roof slates she couldn’t see, looking for the ambulance.

“Mary,” a muffled voice said at her feet. “Here.”

“Fairchild!” She’d forgotten about Fairchild. Mary groped for her in the darkness and found her hand. “Are you all right?”

“I can’t … breathe,” Fairchild gasped, clutching her hand. “… can’t catch …”

“You’ve only had the breath knocked out of you,” Mary said. “Breathe out.” She pursed her lips and exhaled, showing her how to do it. Which was ridiculous. Fairchild couldn’t see her. “Exhale. Blow out.”

“Can’t,” Fairchild said. “There’s something on me.”

“It only feels that way,” Mary reassured her, but when she patted around her, feeling to see if Fairchild was intact, she encountered splintered wood. She tried to lift it, but Fairchild cried out.

Mary stopped. “Where are you hurt?”

“What happened?” Fairchild asked. “Did a gas main blow up?”

“No, it was a V-2,” she said, and tried to move the piece of wood to the side.

Fairchild cried out again.

She didn’t dare try to do anything when she couldn’t see. She might make things worse. She’d have to wait for the ambulance.

But the ambulance was already here. She’d seen it pulling up. She turned to look over at it, silhouetted against the fire, and could see the driver’s door opening and someone in a helmet getting out. “Injury over here!” she shouted, and the driver started toward them and then, inexplicably, moved away across the rubble.

“No, over here!”

“I don’t think the ambulance is here yet,” Fairchild said. “Listen.”

Mary listened. She could hear more ambulance bells in the distance. Another unit, from Woodside or Norbury, must be coming. “Croydon’s already here,” she told Fairchild, “but they can’t hear us. We need to signal them. Is there a torch in the ambulance?”

“There’s one in the medical kit.”

“Where’s the kit? In the ambulance?”

“No, you sent me to fetch the kit. I was bringing it to you when …”

Mary had no memory of sending her to fetch anything. She must still be a bit dazed from the blast. “Where is it?”

“I think it must have been knocked out of my hand,” Fairchild said.

And I’ll never find it in the darkness
, Mary thought, but she put her hand on it, and on the torch, almost immediately. And, amazingly, it wasn’t broken. When she pushed the switch, it lit up. She held it up and waved it back and forth so the ambulance driver would see it.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” Fairchild said. “The blackout. The jerries will …”

Will what? Hit us with a V-2
? She stripped off the tape shielding the lens.

“It’s a good thing we had our … talk when we did, isn’t it?” Fairchild said.

Oh, God
. “Shh. You mustn’t talk like that.” Mary shone the torch on her, afraid of what she’d see, but there didn’t seem to be any blood except for a cut on Fairchild’s arm where a broken-off slat was jabbing it. It and several planks lay crisscrossed over her chest and stomach, but there was no blood on them and nothing lying on her legs or feet.

I need to fetch the ambulance
, she thought,
and
—

“I told you things could happen just like that, with no warning,” Fairchild said. “If anything happens to me—”

“Shh, Paige, you’ll be fine.” Mary attempted to move the pieces of wood, but they were too entangled. She needed both hands. She propped the torch against a heap of bricks so that it shone on Fairchild and set to work.

“If anything happens,” Fairchild repeated, “I want you to—oh! You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!”

“It’s printer’s ink,” Mary said, trying to extract her from the strips of wood.

It was like a child’s game. She had to carefully pull one piece out at a time, all the while not disturbing the slat stabbing into Fairchild’s arm.

There was a sudden
whoosh
and boom, and orange flames boiled up behind the silhouetted ambulance. “Was that another V-2?” Fairchild asked.

“No, I think
that
was the gas main,” Mary said, looking over at the flames. She saw two ambulances and a fire engine pull up. “The rescue squad’s here. Over here!” and heard the slamming of several doors and some voices. “Casualty here!” She stood up and waved the torch, sweeping it back and forth like a searchlight, and then knelt back down next to Fairchild. “They’ll be here in a moment.”

Fairchild nodded. “If anything happens to me—”

“Nothing’s—” she began, and thought with horror,
It wasn’t Stephen who was killed. It was Paige. That’s why I was allowed to come through the net, to come between them, because nothing I did made any difference. Because Paige was killed by a V-2
.

But she wouldn’t have been here in the rubble if I hadn’t come between them. She wouldn’t have switched with Camberley, she wouldn’t have stopped the car to talk to me
.

And if she hadn’t stopped the car, they wouldn’t have heard the V-1—

“No, listen, Mary,” Fairchild said. “If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of Stephen. He—”

There was the sound of running feet, and a girl in a St. John’s Ambulance coverall ran up and knelt over her.

“Not me,” Mary said, “she’s the one who’s hurt. Her arm—”

“I’ll need a stretcher!” the girl shouted, and someone else raced up to them.

“Oh, heavens, is that Fairchild?” the new arrival said, and Mary saw that it was Camberley. “It’s Fairchild and Douglas! Get over here quickly!” and instantly Reed was there with the first-aid kit, and Parrish and the stretcher were right behind her.

“What are you doing here, De Havilland?” Reed asked, bending down beside Mary. “I thought you’d gone to Streatham.”

She was right, they were supposed to have gone to Streatham. Why hadn’t they? She couldn’t remember.

“You’re supposed to go to the incident
after
the flying bomb hits, Douglas, not before,” Camberley said cheerfully, squatting down next to Mary.

“We did,” she said. “There was a V-1, and then—”

“I was joking, dear,” Camberley said. “Here, let me have a look at your temple.”

“Don’t bother about me. Paige’s arm—” she said, trying to see past her to where Parrish and the St. John’s girl were working on Fairchild, lifting the wood off her, lifting her onto the stretcher, covering her with a blanket.

“Is she all right?” Mary asked. “Her arm—”

“You let us worry about her,” Camberley said, holding Mary’s chin and turning her head to the side. “I need iodine,” she said to Reed, “and bandages.”

“They’re in the ambulance,” Mary said, and Camberley and Reed exchanged glances.

“What is it?” Mary asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let me see that head.”

Parrish and the St. John’s girl lifted Fairchild’s stretcher and started across the rubble with it.

Mary attempted to go with her, but Reed wouldn’t let her. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not blood,” she said, but Reed ignored her and began to bandage her head.

“It’s not blood,” she repeated. “It’s printer’s ink.” And remembered the man whose leg she’d tied the tourniquet on. “You need to go fetch him,” she said.

“Hold still,” Reed ordered.

“He’s bleeding,” Mary said, attempting to get to her feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Camberley said, pushing her back down to sitting. “We need a stretcher over here!” she called.

“No, he’s over there,” Mary said, pointing across the dark rubble.

“We’ll see to him,” Camberley said. “Where the bloody hell is that stretcher?”

“Can you walk, do you think, Douglas?” Reed asked.

“Of course I can walk,” Mary said. “He was bleeding badly. I tied a tourniquet on one leg, but—”

“Put your arm round my neck,” Reed said, “there’s a good girl. Here we go,” and began to walk her slowly across the rubble, and it was a good thing she was holding on to her. The ground was very rough. It was difficult to keep one’s balance.

“He was over by the fire,” Mary said, but the fire was in the wrong place. It was near the ambulances, in the road.

That’s not the right fire
, she thought, stopping to look around at the rubble, trying to see where he was, but Camberley wouldn’t let her, she kept urging her along. “His foot had been severed,” Mary said. “You need—”

“Stop worrying about everyone else and concentrate on this last bit. You can do it. Only a bit farther.”

“He was over there,” Mary said, pointing, and saw two FANYs carrying a laden stretcher from that direction.

Oh, good, they got him out
, she thought, and let Camberley walk her the rest of the way to the ambulance. Two ambulances were already driving away. One of them was from Brixton. She could read its lettering in the firelight. And here was Bela Lugosi. But where was their ambulance? “Did you take Paige to hospital in the new—?”

“Here we are, then,” Camberley said, opening up the back of Bela Lugosi. Mary sat down on the edge, suddenly very tired.

“I need some help over here,” Camberley called.

Two FANYs Mary didn’t know came over, helped her into the ambulance and onto a cot, covered her with a blanket, and hooked up a plasma bag.

“It’s not blood,” she told them. “Was he all right?” But they were already shutting the doors, the ambulance was already moving, and then they were at the hospital and she was being unloaded, carried in, deposited in a bed.