Half the row of terrace houses had collapsed.
‘Cable Street got it as well, poor buggers,’ a passing woman said.
He stumbled forward, ignoring the melee of filthy firemen.
An arm shot across his chest. ‘Where d’ya think you’re going?’
‘Number 29.’ He pointed.
‘There’s an exploded bomb.’
Tom pushed the arm away and scrambled up onto the rubble.
Almost immediately he spotted the tiny hand reaching skyward.
Lucy. Just turned one.
He dug frantically into the debris and halted.
The arm was plastic.
He didn’t know whether he was relieved or not.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words