The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Eventually we slept. In the morning an air raid warden roused us all. “The
fires are getting closer,” he said. “We’ve got to clear everyone out.”
I sat up. The docks had been on fire. But they were a long way off. Weren’t
they?
It wasn’t until the man answered me, saying, “All sorts of stuff is on fire,
miss. The water mains are broken and they’re having a time getting the blazes
out,” that I realized I had spoken. Then I realized I could hear. My ears still
rang, but they were working again.
I shook Jamie. He emerged from sleep like a rabbit from a burrow, a tiny
bit at a time. “I want to go home,” he said.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He was gray with dust from head to toe. Smears of red from his bloody
nose still ran across his neck. His shirt was torn and he was missing a shoe. I
supposed I looked as bad, or worse. “Come on,” I said.
We emerged onto the ruined street, where gaps showed in the rows of
buildings like missing teeth. A pall of dust and smoke choked the sunlight, but
the street sparkled as though covered with stars. Glass. All the shattered glass.
And coming toward us, picking her way through the rubble and debris, a
small figure with frizzy blond hair poking out the sides of her hat. She looked
like a thin, very determined witch. I stared, disbelieving. My voice dried up in
my mouth.
Not Jamie. “Susan!” he screamed.
Her head snapped up as if yanked by a string. Her mouth flew open, and
then she was running toward us, and Jamie was running, knocking into her,
burying his filthy face in her skirt, and then I caught up, and before I knew it
her arms were around me too. Her wool cardigan felt scratchy against my
face. I put my arms around her, over the top of Jamie’s head. I held on tight.
“Oh, my dears,” she said. “What a disaster. What a miracle. You’re all
right. You’re both all right.”