My family and I are staying at a hotel. This is strange, because we’ve stopped having family vacations years ago after we all grew up. Anyway, we’re vacationing in a city that’s being targeted by some unknown enemy (way to pick a vacation spot, huh?).
There have been raids in the past, specifically poison gas attacks, so we’ve all been instructed that when the siren goes off, we are all to vacate our rooms and assemble on the patio outside. Apparently, that will save us from choking to death on the poison fumes. However, you only have thirty seconds to get out.
Sure enough, the siren sounds, and we all scramble out of our rooms. The hallway is much longer than it was before, it seems to lengthen as we pass through it. I’m counting down the seconds as I run through the passage. 19. . . 18 . . . 17. . . 16.. . Then I realize that I’ve not counted fast enough; I’m out of time. I take a huge breath and keep running. Finally, I arrive outside, gasping for air.
One by one, each of my family members makes it out okay. But the family across the hall from us hasn’t come out yet. I take out a telescope with x-ray vision and look through the walls. I see the silhouettes of the other family as they choke and writhe, as if they are drowning.
What I feel is a strange mix of horror and relief. I’m traumatized by what I saw happen, but I’m also feeling satisfied and happy that my family has survived.
Now all we have to do is wait until the all-clear sounds so we can go back to our hotel rooms to sleep.