Page 18 of Beloved Beast

Luke threw himself into the crowd. He grabbed the collar of one man. “Help get these people outside, now. Or you’ll all be crushed!” The man was frozen with shock, but he eventually nodded and started assisting others as did other men standing nearby. Luke had to get to the bottom of the stairs. There must be something he could do to help. Why have superior senses and strength if he could not use it to aid others?

On his way toward the stairs, he plucked people from the crowd and pushed them toward the exit. One lady was packed in so tight, when he pulled on the sleeve of her coat, she came away but her coat didn’t. He lifted three children to his shoulders and passed them to others, much like an overhead relay system. While he pushed toward the stairs, he freed as many as he could from the crush. Two older women, a couple of male youths. More children.

He made it, and his worst fears had come to pass. The stairs were nothing but a pile of bodies, stacked like cordwood. There was nothing else for it: He would have to climb over them until he reached the landing below. Luke began his gruesome descent. All the way down he could see these poor souls were already dead, their faces purple from asphyxiation, many badly crushed and unrecognizable as human. Some others were frantically trying to pull people from the pile but it was no use, they were packed in like sardines in a tin.

One man had tears streaming down his cheek. “I saw it happen, a woman carrying a baby and a bundle of bedding fell, then an old man fell on top of her and so on. It’s so bloody dark, no one can see. It’s horrible.” Luke heard a soft whimper. A small boy, being held in his dead mother’s arms, moved slightly. There was no possible way they could extract him except from above. Or could they?

“I will head back up and send for help. Meanwhile, gather men from below. How much farther down is it?” Luke had never been in this station. No handrails, poor lighting, poor bloody planning.

The man’s breath came out in ragged huffs. “There are more steps and another landing, then escalators below. I’ll bet no one knows what’s happening here.”

“Then go tell them, now,” Luke yelled.

Luke turned toward the rising reverberation of whimpers and crying. Could he pull the child loose from this wall of tangled limbs and torsos? He could injure him further by attempting it. Blast, he had to try. Gripping the boy’s shoulders, he pulled with all his might and managed to free him from his mother’s deathlike grip. Already bruises were forming on the child’s face. Luke passed him to a man standing behind him.

He caught the sound of another cry, a young woman. Again, he managed to pull her free, but she collapsed at his feet. He couldn’t stay down here; he had to get help. A woman rushed forward to assist the young woman, who was still breathing, barely.

After freeing a few more people, Luke started to climb upward, his booted feet stepping on people as he went. The prospect was horrifying, but what else could he do? As he neared the top, Gillian’s terrified voice filled his hearing.

“Luke, help!”

His blood froze in his veins and he clamored to the top of the pile. The bodies were now past the landing and lying on the floor. And still people were pushing forward. All this happened within a few minutes though it unfolded in slow motion. His first priority was Gillian. God, she must be terrified.

Struggling to his feet, he pressed his way through the crowd and looked toward the wall where he left her. She was being shoved against the tiles, her hat, wig, gloves, and veil gone. “Gillian, I’m coming!” Luke’s heart lodged in his throat. If he didn’t get her out of there, she would be crushed. Damn, he never should have left her.

She was flat against the wall now, the crowd moving in all directions, as if confused as to which way to go. He was heartsick at the thought of anything happening to her. Grabbing a fistful of her coat, he yanked with all the strength he had, but the suction was enormous. He pulled her right out of her shoes. With his left hand, he clasped another woman who was also being crushed. She was holding a child of about seven years of age. “Put him on my shoulder,” he yelled. The woman did, and the child clasped him tightly around the neck. He could barely breathe.

Fighting against the tide of terrorized humans, Luke pushed on toward the exit. In the distance, he could hear multiple sirens bearing toward them. “Get back to the street, all of you,” he kept shouting to anyone who would listen. “The stairs are blocked. There’s no way down.” Gillian and the woman were both sobbing now. His hat, glasses, and scarf were gone long ago, the child grabbed handfuls of his hair in order to keep his balance.

Finally they made it to the street, though the bedlam was not any less here. He lowered the child and handed him to his mother, who kept thanking him as they stumbled away. Luke pulled Gillian into his embrace and held on tight as people milled all around them. She sniffled into the torn lapel of his coat. Clasping the nape of her neck, he tucked her head under his chin and whispered, “There, you are safe.”

She slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, her breathing uneven. Despite this entire calamity, this horrendous incident, a wave of peace rolled through Luke, along with a comforting warmth. Gillian was safe, in spite of the death and destruction around them, and at this moment that’s all that mattered.

“Are you injured?” He clasped her arms and looked down at her tear-streaked face.

“I…don’t think,” she murmured.

“We cannot linger here. The authorities will arrive any moment, and we do not want to be caught up in this.” He scooped her up in his arms and ran across the street toward the automobile. The fire brigade had arrived. The word must have got out; there was nothing else he could do to assist. Never had he felt as powerless. Luke helped Gillian into the car. Her stocking-clad feet were wet, the hose torn. There were many small cuts, some of them bleeding. A quick stop to that chemist was in order, then to get her to his flat.

After closing the passenger door, he stood and observed men carrying out the bodies and laying them on the pavement. Finally the police and ARP wardens arrived, carrying torches and directing curious people away from the scene. They would be closing the street next; he had to depart right away.

Luke understood how the government worked during wartime. This tragedy would be kept quiet, classified, swept under the rug. There were probably hundreds dead, many more injured. But the government could not let this become publicly known or no one would use the underground stations for shelters, which meant even more lives would be lost.

Oh, there would be whispers. There would also be empty desks at school, men and women who didn’t show up for their shifts at the factories. A multitude of funerals. More whispers, sadness, and grief.

But everyone would carry on as they were expected to do. The most disturbing thing? The majority of the corpses being carried out were women and children. Shaking his head sadly, he walked around the auto to the driver’s side and climbed in. He slammed the door and sat, staring forward, his heart sick, his insides tumbling.

“Oh, God. What happened?” Gillian sobbed.

“Something tragic. A horrific accident. And it will be cleaned up like nothing ever happened.” He turned the ignition and pulled out into the street, keeping the auto’s lights off hoping they remained unseen.

Like it never happened. One thing Luke did know: as long as he existed, no matter how many decades or centuries lay before him, he would never forget this night.

Ever.

Chapter 8

Gillian was still shaking by the time they arrived at Luke’s flat. They didn’t speak, for what was there to say? Luke had stopped at the chemist. He came out with a brown paper bag filled with who knows what, and they continued on their journey. Every now and then he asked how she was, and she gave an auto response of “I’m all right,” but deep down inside, she wasn’t right at all.