For all that tensions had been building for years, nobody really expected an attack. The North Koreans had been posturing for years, ever since they acquired reliable nuclear technology, but everyone thought in their heart of hearts that the lessons of the cold war would continue deterring them. Everyone was wrong.
Chris and his sister Jess were coming home from a house party that night. The subway was deserted, but for them, and they were nearly back to their stop, only a block from their house, when the lights went out and the train coasted to a stop. A few moments later, a rumbling started, not as violent as an earthquake, though that was his first thought. When it finally subsided, and the siblings had assured themselves they were alright, Chris tried to push the emergency call button. It was dead. Their phones were dead, too. Chris clutched his 18-year-old sister to him, smoothing her long, dark hair, and tried to quiet the tremors of her 5'4" athletic frame.
After a time - 10 minutes, an hour, who could say in the blackness - they knew the power wasn't coming back on, and they had to move. Only a short distance ahead was their stop, and from there lay only a short sprint to their home, and the fully-stocked shelter their parents had insisted on building. Clutching each other for courage, more than support, they made their way out of the train, forcing the doors open, and crept ahead to their stop. Fumbling around in the inky darkness they finally crept up the stairs. The flickering glow of fires at the top confirmed their worst fears. "We can't stay outside for too long," Chris said in a hushed voice, "when we get to the top, we run, and we don't stop until we're in the shelter." Jess looked up at him, her big, light brown eyes even wider than they normally were, and nodded.
Climbing the last few steps, they gripped each other's hands so tight it nearly hurt. There was nobody in sight, though screams of agony and grief echoed here and there from ruined buildings. They ran.
Down the street they sprinted, Jess easily keeping pace with him, despite his much longer legs. Around the corner and onto their street they went, tears streaming down their faces. One look was all that was needed to show them nobody could still be alive inside their house. Where it still stood, it burned. They stopped, and a sob was ripped from Jess's body, but Chris pulled her on again, around to the side of the house. The metal was hot and burned his hand as he opened the thick, heavy door to the shelter. With a grunt of pain he stumbled down the stairs with his beautiful little sister, slamming the door behind them and locking it, sealing them off from the world, completely.
Chris and his sister Jess were coming home from a house party that night. The subway was deserted, but for them, and they were nearly back to their stop, only a block from their house, when the lights went out and the train coasted to a stop. A few moments later, a rumbling started, not as violent as an earthquake, though that was his first thought. When it finally subsided, and the siblings had assured themselves they were alright, Chris tried to push the emergency call button. It was dead. Their phones were dead, too. Chris clutched his 18-year-old sister to him, smoothing her long, dark hair, and tried to quiet the tremors of her 5'4" athletic frame.
After a time - 10 minutes, an hour, who could say in the blackness - they knew the power wasn't coming back on, and they had to move. Only a short distance ahead was their stop, and from there lay only a short sprint to their home, and the fully-stocked shelter their parents had insisted on building. Clutching each other for courage, more than support, they made their way out of the train, forcing the doors open, and crept ahead to their stop. Fumbling around in the inky darkness they finally crept up the stairs. The flickering glow of fires at the top confirmed their worst fears. "We can't stay outside for too long," Chris said in a hushed voice, "when we get to the top, we run, and we don't stop until we're in the shelter." Jess looked up at him, her big, light brown eyes even wider than they normally were, and nodded.
Climbing the last few steps, they gripped each other's hands so tight it nearly hurt. There was nobody in sight, though screams of agony and grief echoed here and there from ruined buildings. They ran.
Down the street they sprinted, Jess easily keeping pace with him, despite his much longer legs. Around the corner and onto their street they went, tears streaming down their faces. One look was all that was needed to show them nobody could still be alive inside their house. Where it still stood, it burned. They stopped, and a sob was ripped from Jess's body, but Chris pulled her on again, around to the side of the house. The metal was hot and burned his hand as he opened the thick, heavy door to the shelter. With a grunt of pain he stumbled down the stairs with his beautiful little sister, slamming the door behind them and locking it, sealing them off from the world, completely.
