I apologize for the wait on this update. I'm not satisfied with how it ended, but I decided not to keep any readers I have waiting too long. I would like to DISCLAIM that Linda never steps foot into Narnia and never will. I would also appreciate a review, even if it's a bad one. =] This is mostly based off the movies, just because it gives me more substance to work with. Enjoy.
Linda had been writing by candlelight when the sirens started sounding. For a blissful moment, she thought that perhaps she had slipped into a slumber after all—and fallen straight into a nightmare. Then her mother started to scream, unintelligible words, from her bedroom. Reality was quick to set in then.
She tossed the letter she had been composing to the side and reached for her housecoat. Linda and her mother had been prepared for this moment—she dove under the bed to retrieve the box. It contained priceless memories, things that had more worth to the heart than to the outside world. The most prized possession within was an aging photograph of her grandparents on her father's side.
Without a second thought Linda threw the half written letter into the box and stumbled out of her bedroom. Her mother had been frantic. When Linda had responded to her calls, she panicked and began to search out her only child. The mother and daughter nearly collided in the dark house. Anna Scott gripped Linda's forearm and began to drag her down the stairs.
Linda's breathing was laboured, bordering on hyperventilating. Her heart was beating quickly, creating a harmony with the siren blasts. It was happening so fast, her legs weren't long enough to match her mother's strides. Everything was a blur of sound and darkness. Mrs. Scott didn't care how often her daughter stumbled—just that they both reached the shelter before a bomb was dropped in their vicinity.
Outside the noise was unbearably loud, Linda wanted to drop her box of precious memories and cover her ears. Overhead planes were gliding through the air, right above their house. Halfway across the dewy lawn, Linda caught sight of a black mass falling through the air—a bomb. It impacted in the direction of Susan's house.
Linda wasn't given the option to stand there and assess exactly where the bomb had fallen. Every second counted in those moments—even the slightest of pauses could mean the difference between life and death. Linda couldn't get down the stairs of the shelter fast enough; she ended up falling and crumpling on the ground inside. Her mother shut the door behind them and began to light the oil lamps.
The shelter was small, only big enough to fit two cots in it. There wasn't any room for pacing, or standing, so Linda crawled onto the cot furthest from the door. Linda cradled the box full of pictures and letters from her family. It wasn't her father—stationed in France, fighting in the war—that Linda was thinking of.
Her mind was reeling. Had the Pevensie's been in their home when the bomb hit? Had they made it to the shelter? Was Lucy frightened? Had Susan gotten hurt? Did the house have a lot of damages? Could it be that best friends forever, ended tonight? No, if Susan had... perished in the blast, she would still be Linda's best friend. There was no replacing Susan Pevensie.
What if Mrs. Pevensie hadn't made it out, but the children had? Peter would have gotten them there safely, right? But if something happened to Mrs. Pevensie... Peter couldn't raise his siblings. He was only fourteen. It would be four years before he would be of age. How would he provide for his family? Linda swallowed back her tears, if her father were here he'd tell her to be brave. Linda would be brave, for him, for her mother and for the Pevensie's. It wouldn't do anyone any good to fret.
"How long do we have to wait down here?" Linda asked.
"Until the raid is over," her mother answered.
"How much longer do you think it'll be until the raid is over?"
"I don't know, Linda, do try and get some sleep." Her mother soothed. Linda could see through her mother's rouse. She was on the brink of a breakdown and wanted Linda to sleep, so that she may fall apart in private.
"Mum, do you think the Pevensie's are alright?" Linda asked, feeling timid. For a long time, it seemed like Linda's mother wouldn't answer her.
"I'm sure that they're all fine, sweetheart."
"Mum, if something happened... will we be able to help them?" Linda asked with more confidence.
"It depends on what kind of help you're talking about." Her mother evaded the question, while still providing an answer.
"I mean, say if, Mrs. Pevensie were hurt and had to go to hospital, would we be able to take Lucy, Edmund, Peter and Susan in?"
"Oh, no, Linda. That responsibility would fall onto their next of kin. A relative would want to take them in. But don't worry because I'm sure Mrs. Pevensie is fine. Now, do try and get some sleep."
This time, Linda listened to her mother and allowed herself to go to sleep. It felt like she had only just shut her eyes, when her mother was shaking her awake.
"Is it over?" The young girl asked.
"Yes, the raid is finished," her mother responded. Her wording was careful—she had no idea when this war would end, let alone the air raids that terrorized England. She would never lie to her daughter about these things.
Linda didn't wait for her mother, she didn't even consider the fact that she wasn't wearing any shoes, she just ran out of the shelter (after a struggle with the heavy door). With a sigh of relief she saw that her house seemed to be unscathed from the night's events. The Whitford's down the road, however, weren't as lucky. Their house had been hit in the raid, and the surrounding homes had suffered for it as well. Linda hoped that they had gotten out in time, but Shirley, Kevin and nine month old Donna Whitford weren't her main priority.
Her mother called after her as she began to sprint, barefoot, down the road toward the Pevensie's home. The concrete hurt the soft flesh of her foot, but she didn't allow the pain to slow her down. She had to see that the Pevensie's had made it okay, she wouldn't be able to cope had something happened to Susan, Lucy, Edmund, Peter or their mother.
Families stood in huddles along the street, emergency personnel and soldiers were doing their jobs, but no one stopped or questioned Linda. In her haste, she wouldn't have noticed, had anyone tried to deter her from her mission.
Linda felt only a fraction of relief from her worry, when she rounded the corner to see that the Pevensie house was still standing. All the windows had blown out, from a blast that fell on a neighbouring house. Had they been inside at the time of impact it could have resulted in potentially fatal injuries.
She knew better than to try and walk through the house. Instead she dodged glass littering the ground and ran out back, where their bomb shelter stood, untouched and stable. It was fate, or coincidence, that Peter opened the door to the shelter at that moment. The Pevensie's exited the shelter in different fashions, Peter was scowling, Edmund was brooding as far from Peter as he could get, Susan looked confused and Lucy was clinging to her mother.
"You're alright," Linda called, rushing faster toward her best friend's family. She reached Susan first and nearly bowled them both over with her momentum. Susan was as keen to cling to Linda as she was, both girls relieved to be alive.
"I was so worried about you, Su."
"I was worried about you too, Lin!" Susan squeezed her friend once more before releasing her. Linda fell to her knees in front of Lucy and yanked her into a tight hug, pulling little Lu right off her feet.
"Oh, Lucy, were you a brave girl?" She murmured.
"I-I tried to be," Lucy wrapped her arms tightly around Linda's neck. Linda pretended not to notice the damp feeling on her neck and instead swayed the young girl from side to side in a soothing manner. Linda stroked her hair and rubbed Lucy's back as they swayed. She reluctantly pulled back from Lucy and wiped away her tears.
"It's going to be alright," she told the young girl. Linda pushed herself up onto her feet and collapsed into Mrs. Pevensie's waiting arms. Now it was Linda's turn to have her hair stroked, soothing words murmured into her ear and having Mrs. Pevensie's hand rubbing a circular motion on her back. She inhaled the familiar scent of Mrs. Pevensie. Given the circumstances, she still smelled like fresh baking. Linda pulled away and forced a brave smile at Mrs. Pevensie.
Linda hesitated for a moment before she threw her arms around Edmund. She knew he would push her away, he always did, but she just had to hold him to reassure herself that he was alright. There was a brief moment where Edmund just allowed Linda to hold onto him, before he caught Peter watching and pushed her off of him, with perhaps a little too much force. She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her night clothes, but caught herself.
She didn't hear Mrs. Pevensie's admonishing her youngest son. Linda had already turned and stumbled into Peter, holding him tightly. He responded by lifting her off her feet, much like how Linda's father would. Peter wasn't very tall, and so her toes still brushed the grass below. He began to murmur assurances to her, and that put Linda off.
Peter wasn't allowing himself to be afraid, or to take comfort from her embrace. She broke away, and looked up at him with searching eyes.
When had he decided to act so grown up? Linda didn't have too long to question it, because Susan had captured her attention. Before she knew it, she had extended an invitation to the Pevensie's to join her for breakfast at her house, without her mother's permission. Mrs. Pevensie declined, saying she had to speak with her family, but offered Linda a pair of Susan's old shoes that didn't fit anymore. Linda accepted this offer.
She didn't want to step on any broken glass, after all.
