Midnight by Anna Dove (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

In between the Russell and Dirksen Senate office buildings, there are tunnels that create an easy and safe access line for members of congress and their staffers. The tunnels are white-walled and well lit.

Haley descended on the elevator, by herself. It pinged cheerfully as she reached the tunnel floor, and the shining reflective doors opened for her to exit.  The overhead lights above her shone glaringly as she walked, her heart racing, down the tunnel toward Dirksen. She was the only pedestrian; the tunnel was empty.

And then, with no noise or other indication, every light went out, and the subterranean tunnel was plunged into a darkness deeper than the blackest midnight.

Haley stopped, her senses suddenly acute. She could hear no movement. Slowly she took one step, and then another, to her right, hand outstretched. In a few paces her fingertips met the cool wall. She flattened her body to it immediately, and crouched down.

No sounds met her ears, only deafening silence. When one listens too hard to quietness, it begins to buzz, and tingle in one’s ears. Haley waited, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing, her ears straining for anything. She began to notice her own breathing, and the heartbeat pounding in her chest.

It crossed her mind that this could somehow be part of the attack. She should not be in such a weak position. If anyone shone a light, she would be visible. Inching forward, she began to slide along the length of the wall, stopping every few seconds to listen.

After what seemed like an eternity, her fingers met an adjoining wall. Here were elevator doors--useless, of course. She continued to her left until she found the crack of another door. Here was the staircase to Dirksen. Sliding her hand up, she found the door handle, and twisted. The electrical lock accessible by badge was no more; the door swung open easily.

Finding the wall to her right, she stepped carefully up the frozen escalator, her left hand in front. Here was another door.

Haley cautiously cracked open the door, which was unlocked, and a ray of dim light pierced into the stairwell. She peered out into the hall. Sunlight fell onto its marble floor from the open doors of offices, with windows that allowed for natural light to enter. But, from what she could see, all electrical lighting was out; there were no hall overheads, no office lamps.

A staffer scuttled by, running as fast as his short fat legs could carry him. Haley watched him disappear around the corner of the next hall. Then, she heard someone crying hysterically.

It seemed to be coming from another hall over. Haley opened the door and slipped into the hallway. There was an office to her left--Senator Marco Rubio’s, she had been there many times--and she stepped into it quietly, looking around at its empty desks and empty adjoining offices where her colleagues usually sat. Great burgundy curtains hung from the ceiling over the window facing the street on the far side of the room. Haley made her way around the abandoned desks toward it. Papers were strewn on the floor by the window as if they had been dropped.

She peered out the window, and her body froze still as a statue; her hands rose to cover her mouth as it opened agape.

         +

Carlos pulled Elizabeth past an ugly wreck, and she lowered her head, lifting the neck of her shirt to cover her mouth and nose from the smell of burning rubber. She wished she could cover her ears to drown out the screams and shrieks, but they echoed, only accumulating as the two ran down toward the monuments. The entire road was littered with wrecks, and as Elizabeth looked to her left and right, it appeared that the chaos did not stop there. Another plane, this one over Virginia near DCA, was hurtling to the ground; this time one of its wings ripped off in the pressure and fell side by side as far as the eye could see. Elizabeth’s throat was dry, and her ears rang, but a certain focus had set in, an animalistic self-preservation that heightened her senses. She clutched Carlos’ hand as he moved forward quickly.

They passed people lying on the ground, unconscious, wounded, bleeding, sometimes eerily still. All of the airbags had been activated in the cars and through the wreckage one could see the empty white balloons lying limp. Some people were uninjured, and stood in shock and horror; others fainted and fell, others ran in all directions. One man tore off his suit jacket and left it behind, running only in his slacks and undershirt.

The Washington Monument stood in front of them, a quarter of a mile away. There was a distant crowd of people huddled around it, sitting and watching helplessly, unsure of what else to do. Elizabeth suddenly tugged on Carlos’ hand. He stopped and spun to face her, and then he pulled her to the edge of the sidewalk as far as possible from the road.

“We need to go to my home,” she said urgently. “Away from this. Before dark.” He paused for a moment, and then nodded.

Elizabeth glanced around again, and something else seemed off, beyond the chaos of the streets. She raised her eyes above the wreckage, and the people, and the pavement, and scanned the storefronts and building windows.

“Carlos,” she said suddenly, “there are no lights on.”

Carlos looked up. The windows, the storefronts, the lamp posts, the electric advertisements--they were all without any hint of electric power.

A sickness hit the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach, and she felt as if she had been punched. The realization struck her; she knew what had happened.

“It never was New York,” she whispered, her eyes staring at the smoke wafting from a red corvette in front of her, whose driver slumped unconscious over the wheel.

“What?” retorted Carlos quickly.