Story #12
Two of Swords
It seemed like any other fall day in Albuquerque. The weather app predicted a daytime high of 87 degrees, a nighttime low of 53. Along the banks of the Rio Grande, the cottonwoods were glowing golden in the sunshine, but the breeze through their leaves warned of change. The river chattered anxiously, and though the weatherman said the few clouds would dissipate, no rain in sight, the birds, the insects, were suspiciously absent from the conversation.
At 12:03 PM, Max stood on a downtown sidewalk, snuffed out the last of his lunch break cigarette, threw the butt into a nearby receptacle, and began to walk back to work. At 12:04 PM, a shaky general, representing the interests of an alliance of dictators half a world away, pushed a red button, signaling the release of multiple, strategically aimed, nuclear bombs. At 12:06 PM, Max entered the big glass doors at the front of the Social Security Administration building, and started across the lobby. At 12:07 PM, the first of the bombs reached their target. At 12:09 PM, Max stepped inside the elevator and held the doors for another young man hustling across the lobby. The buttons for the fourth floor and the fifth floor were depressed. They waited for the doors to close. At 12:10 PM, a bomb hit Los Alamos, approximately 60 miles north of Albuquerque, as the crow flies.
The doors to the elevator slid shut, but it did not move. The lights flickered. Both men looked up at the ceiling, curious about the source of the issue, oblivious to the wave of destruction headed their way. Max pressed his floor button again. And again. Nothing.
“Stairs?” the other man suggested.
Max sighed. “I guess so.”
He pushed the button to open the doors, but there was no response. Then, the lights went out completely. He felt something shift internally and braced himself in a corner. A wave hit the building, and both men were knocked to the floor.
