This week’s theme is a scary or horror scene. As a rule I don’t write horror, but after some thought, I’ve posted a scene from my historical Unforgettable. The bombers are flying over London and our hero and heroine are fleeing, trying to find a bomb shelter to ride it out.
Unforgettable by Shelley Munro
A double-decker bus lumbered down the road, crammed with passengers trying to get home. They walked for another ten minutes. The moon crept from behind a cloud, slowly emerging to highlight a bomb-struck Georgian mansion. A bomber’s moon, Johnnie thought as he switched off his torch and returned it to his pocket. He slipped his arm around Margo and guided her around the bricks and rubble littering the footpath and part of the road. Glass crunched beneath their shoes with each step. Johnnie caught the scent of lavender that wafted from her skin and fought the urge to lean closer. What he was thinking—that they could have a future—was stupid. He’d only make a fool of himself and leave himself open to more pain.
Without warning, a familiar sound filled the air—the drone of approaching bombers. The air sirens sounded, an eerie piercing whine that alternately rose and fell in pitch. It was becoming a nightly litany.
“Where’s the nearest bomb shelter?” Johnnie demanded. They wouldn’t have time to make it back to the dancehall. Urgently he peered through the moonlit darkness, attempting to locate somewhere safe for them to wait out the bombing. Searchlights probed the sky, scanning for the planes before they dropped their bombs. The dark silhouettes of barrage balloons, used to stop bombers flying low, were visible in the searchlights.
At his side, Margo glanced both up and down the street, trying to spy safety in the inky black of the night. “Three streets over at the underground station,” she said finally.
Johnnie frowned up at the sky before scanning the area for alternatives. “We’ll never make it.”
“There are houses at the end of this street. Most of the residents have moved away. If we’re lucky we might find an empty Anderson shelter.”
“How do you know?”
“My friend June used to live near here. Her parents moved to the country to live with relations.”
Johnnie grasped her hand, urging Margo to move faster while anxiously searching their surroundings.
The bombers and their escorts seemed to come closer and closer. A bomb dropped, the whistle when it fell making the hair at the back of Johnnie’s neck prickle in alarm. The flicker of a fire lit the night, the acrid stench of smoke strong on the air. Incendiary bombs. They were close. Too close. He increased his speed, desperate to get them both to a safe place.
“Over there,” Margo said, her words hoarse and barely discernable. Her hand trembled in his but thankfully she kept her head and didn’t panic.
Johnnie glanced in the direction she pointed and made out the dim outline of a shelter. The Anderson, named after its inventor Sir John Anderson, stood to the side of a fully intact brick bungalow. Now that his eyes were more accustomed to the night, he picked out a pot of marigolds and another of sweet william standing beside the Anderson. When they neared, he caught a whiff of their sweet scent. Rows of carrots and onions grew along the roof while marrows, potatoes and a pungent mint plant grew on the sides. The healthy plants made Johnnie wonder if the owner occupied the shelter. Hell, he hoped not. Perhaps the near miss of a previous bombing had scared them away since one wall was all that remained of the neighboring building. Johnnie stopped in front of the shelter, praying it was empty and not damp or so flooded it was unusable.
He tapped on the metallic doorway after squeezing past the earth-filled boxes that protected the entrance. “Hello?” His breath eased out in relief when there was no reply. He eased the door cover away and shone his torch briefly before flicking it off and slipping it into his coat pocket. “In here. It’s empty.” He ducked his head inside before turning back to Margo. “It’s not too damp.”
Anderson shelters were government issue and built to withstand almost everything except a direct hit. Johnnie hoped this one would save their lives.
A bomb hit a few streets over, the whine and subsequent explosion on impact sent a shudder of horror through him. Another fire burned in the distance, brightening the sky. His heart pounded and a fine film of sweat broke out on his forehead. He tried not to think about the comrades who had fallen during the height of battle or the piece of shrapnel that had ripped a gouge in his arm. He really did, but the cries and pained moans of his friends, the coppery stench of blood, the pungent smell of guns firing continuously and the wet, muddy uncomfortable foxholes flashed through his mind unbidden. A jagged throb sprang to life in his left biceps, as if the injury had just occurred. Johnnie trembled, his jaw clenched tightly to bite back his pained moan. He’d been one of the lucky ones—one of the men who had returned home.
Johnnie swallowed, shrugged off the flashback. “Hurry, Margo. Before another one hits.” Already the ack-ack roar from the antiaircraft guns thundered through the night and a third fire several streets over illuminated the way for the bomber pilots. “Quick.”
Margo slipped past him in a wave of lavender and he crawled in after her, covering the entrance and shutting out the nightmare scene outside before standing to his full height. At their center point Andersons were six feet high, just high enough to give him an inch of clearance, and large enough for up to six people at a tight squeeze. The interior of the shelter was inky black and he fumbled for his torch. It slipped from his trembling hand, rolling away before he could catch it. Johnnie clenched his fingers tightly, breathing deeply before he searched the floor. The interior smelled musty and a little damp. A blast of chilly air from near the entrance nipped at his face, bringing a shiver.
“Ouch!”
“Are you all right?” Johnnie sought reassurance since he couldn’t see her. He wanted to draw her close and hug her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted confirmation he was alive.
Purchase Unforgettable at Ellora’s Cave
Follow the links below to read more excerpts on the Snippet Saturday trail.
Anya Bast
Eliza Gayle
Juliana Stone
Michelle Pillow
Mandy Roth
Lauren Dane
Moira Rogers
Mark Henry
TJ Michaels
Jody Wallace
Ashley Ladd
Kelly Maher
Shelli Stevens
Shelley Munro
Savannah Foley
