As the noise of the bomb faded away, the roar of engines took its place. The Bosche were closing in on them. Elaine knocked on the door and tried to keep the sound from being too loud or too rapid.
Manon opened it, her eyes darting about. Surely she too had heard the explosion.
Elaine pushed inside. “The Germans,” she said as audibly as she dared. “We must go.”
Sarah stood in the doorway leading to the living area, frozen with Noah in her arms, her eyes wide like a rabbit cornered by a predator. “Was that an explosion?”
“A diversion,” Etienne confirmed. “Please, we haven’t much time—this way.” He indicated the door to the balcony with the courtesy of a ma?tre d’ at a fine Parisian restaurant.
No matter how out of place the gesture seemed, Sarah reacted, following him quickly and quietly.
Elaine tugged at Manon’s slender arm. “You must come.”
The slam of car doors came from outside, followed by the clipped sound of running feet and a woman shouting with indignation.
Denise.
Elaine gripped her friend more firmly. “We must go now.”
Manon simply regarded her with large, calm brown eyes and shook her head. “There is not enough time.”
“Manon—”
“I lost one child to these monsters.” She withdrew in a firm jerk, fire in her eyes. “I will not lose another.”
“Elaine.” Etienne spoke in a sharp whisper, his hand extended to guide her to the balcony.
“Go,” Manon said fiercely. “Get them to safety. I will distract the bastards.”
Etienne grabbed Elaine’s arm in a viselike grip and hauled her away. Abandoning Manon.
The horror of it left Elaine momentarily stunned.
“Think of Sarah and Noah,” Etienne said harshly in her ear.
It was the reminder Elaine needed for her feet to start working on their own as they raced out onto the balcony. There they were able to pass easily into the next home, another safe house, but one without furnishings, appearing more like an apartment open to let than a place anyone ever stayed. Etienne guided them all through the empty space and down the back stairs that descended to an alternate exit through the rear of the building where a quiet street met them.
But there was no chance to breathe a sigh of relief. Not when rough, angry shouts punctuated the late evening. Sarah clung to Noah as he buried his face into the bulk of her coat, her mouth pressed closed with silent tears.
Elaine understood their terror. Her own skin prickled with it, and her stomach had gone tight. If Etienne was affected by the powerful fear plaguing them all, he did not reveal it as he navigated them through the back alley to the main street where they swept away in the opposite direction. A scuffle sounded in the distance, German orders, severe with accusation and malice. The response delivered was in a demure female voice, so soft and gentle, it could only be Manon.
Elaine slowed, warring with the need to go back to help the woman, but Etienne put a hand to her elbow and rushed her along. Their small party walked with hurried steps and skulked their way through a narrow alleyway to climb the steep, winding hill of Croix-Rousse when a chatter of submachine gunfire pierced the night air.
Elaine slapped her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out. Still, she continued on, trying to think only of what lay ahead of them. Imagining what transpired behind was far too painful. Any distraction at this point could be their demise.
The trams were still running, carting workers in Lyon to the outlying areas where many lived. Etienne guided them toward a stopped tram where they settled in a back row together, joining the quiet group whose bodies were weary and stomachs empty. It was an arduous journey where every jostle and jolt, every voice and stomp of a foot, made Elaine’s nerves jump.