1
Stumbling along an empty street, eyes filled with tears, the ground beneath my feet rumbling, and nothing but destruction behind me, I keep going. I can’t turn around.
Why? Why can’t I go back? Where did I come from? My mind is foggy, and I can’t remember how I got here. Even so, I can’t fight the feeling in my gut that I need to run. There’s something terrible at my back, like a rabid hound with sharp teeth. Snapping. Ready to claw through me until it reaches my marrow.
I gasp as something explodes, heat rushing along my spine and blowing me hard forward, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Forward. Only forward. Away from … From what?
Boots. Pounding boots on pavement. Ahead, a contingent of soldiers emerge from the dark, their guns at the ready as they run toward me with steely intent.
With a strangled cry, I veer off the street and onto the sidewalk, flattening myself to a brick wall as they surge by. One of them screams, but I can’t see why. Then the shooting starts.
Acrid smoke wafts past and sparks a coughing fit in me, my throat burning. I can’t stay here. Can’t stop. My feet seem to have a mind of their own. The soldiers ignore me, more of them pouring onto Pennsylvania Avenue and heading toward the White House.
DC. That’s right. I’m in DC.
More screams and gunfire. I should go back and help. That’s my job. Even as I think it, I break into a jog despite my cough. More soldiers run past. More screams. They need me. I’m supposed to save people, to help them.
I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. I don’t stop. I can’t. The jog turns into a sprint, hurrying along the road as more explosions sound behind me and I struggle with the desire to aid the people I’m running away from. Fire lights the moonless night, sending shadows stretching along the broken pavement, and I don’t know why I flee, but I can’t stop.
What is happening? I can’t process it. Something’s wrong. It’s like I’m trapped in a dream state, part of my mind in deep sleep while the rest of it functions at a basic level. It says run, I run. The part that should tell mewhyI’m running isn’t there. It’s slumbering somewhere dark and warm, and no matter how many gunshots and explosions I hear, it doesn’t wake.
A helicopter passes overhead right as all the lights go out, all of DC falling into darkness.
The helicopter makes an odd noise, then its hum turns into the screeching of metal pushed too far. The sound stops abruptly, followed by another violent burst of noise. A plume of fire rises off to my left, and when I peer at the impossible mushroom of flames, I could swear I see enormous bats overhead, their wings spread wide in the cold night. But I don’t pause to look at the impossible sight. I don’t stop for anything.
Forward.Away. I have to get away. That thought is on a loop in my mind. It’s the only truly clear thought I have.
Shouting erupts to my left as more troops emerge from a side street. They don’t give me so much as a glance.
Now running, I cross the street to avoid the soldiers and pass along a narrower lane until I reach an open area. The bleached skeleton of the Capitol building rises in the dark, and I finally see more people. Not soldiers. They’re all running away, just like me. I follow them, finally forced to slow some as a stitch aches in my side.
“The White House.” A woman dressed in scrubs stares at what’s behind me. “It’s gone.”
I want to see what she sees, but I can’t turn around. Turning around would mean stopping.
People are scrambling up the Capitol steps, and more are beating on the doors far above us. “Let us in!”
“There’s no one there!” a man to my left yells. “We have to keep going!”
They ignore him and keep trying to get in. Is it safe inside? My gut is full of misgivings, and I don’t go that way. I don’t take the stairs. Instead, I veer around and climb a barricade at the side of the building.
Still moving, I keep sweeping the area around me for … for what? I’m not sure. But nothing here is safe. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Finally, my steps slow somewhat as the ache in my side makes it hard for me to breathe. The urgency is still there, but I can slow my pace a bit more. Maybe I’m in shock? Is that it? On autopilot from shock, that could be it.
“It’s blocked!” Someone runs past me, her voice shrill. “Go back!”
I turn and follow her, climbing back over the barricade and then heading toward the street that runs beside the building. Maybe it’s clear there. Maybe I can keep going. Escape—that’s the word. That’s what I’m trying to do.
Whatam I escaping? I still can’t answer that question. Something is horribly wrong. We’re under attack. By whom? The next question that surfaces stops me. My feet finally going still. Where’s Juno? My sister. Where’s my sister? Did I leave her behind?
Though my skin crawls, I force myself to look, to stop and justlook. The White House is at the other end of the mall. It’s engulfed in flames, some of the licks of orange and red reaching high into the night. The gunfire is nonstop, and a jet screams overhead, flying low.
“Let’s go!” A man grabs my arm. “We have to run!”
I let him pull me. When he releases my arm, I follow him into the street. There are more people here, all of them fleeing.
“Keep going! They’ve taken the city!” someone yells.
