Ruination (reupload)

It's Too Late

All around them windows were lighting up, each household roused from its tranquil night by the hellish blare of the air raid sirens which seemed to swallow up everything else. Above them, Mari could see the pale beams of searchlights streaking across the slate ceiling of the clouds, lighting up the night in some garish imitation of the day. Still, the car continued to careen off into the night, her father not once taking his foot off the gas pedal. As the houses of her neighbors flashed past outside the window faster than she could process them, a thousand different questions were each vying for attention in her head; but one question kept crowding out the rest, like a black hole sucking in all the light around her, making it impossible to focus on anything else other than the growing black cloud of fear and confusion she felt pressing down on her shoulders: What on Earth was going on?

It occurred to her that there was a possibility that they were under attack, what other reason could there be to explain the sirens and the lights? But why now? Why here of all places? Each question only raised more, and none of them seemed to provide any answers, only serving to darken that already thick cloud weighing down on her. Instinctively she reached for her mother's hand, squeezing it tightly as she tried to derive any comfort or clarity from the contact, but there was nothing. Her mother wouldn't even look at her, their gaze fixed on some faraway point in the distance, their jaw fixed in a steady line. She was trying to put on a brave face, but it didn't help, if anything, seeing it made Mariana feel worse, like she was the least equipped to handle whatever was happening. Suddenly, she felt herself jerk back hard, pressing almost painfully back against Mrs. Weiss as the car took a turn way too sharply, ignoring a stop sign as it headed towards the freeway and out of town.

"Are you sure we should go this way Sam? The sirens are on, everyone else is going to be trying to make it out using the freeway too, we'll be like sitting ducks out there." Mr. Weiss didn't look up as he spoke, hunched over slightly as he fiddled with something in his lap that Mari couldn't quite see from her angle, only occasionally pausing to flick through the channels on the radio in an attempt to find something other than empty static.

"We don't have a choice! Gannon said we have to get there by sunrise or we're on our own."

"Then we need to take the back roads, we'll be exposed for a little bit, but we won't risk getting caught like everyone else!" Despite their situation, the two talked in such calm and level tones, working well even under the pressure of some imminent danger, a danger which no one had even attempted to explain to her yet. However, before she could even think of what question she should try and start with, Mr. Weiss finally seemed to find a usable channel because the incessant drone of the klaxons outside was suddenly broken by the addition of a slightly distorted male voice filling the car.

"Focus all efforts on evacuating the people we- OH MY GOD!" Whoever it was that was speaking, they seemed to be in the middle of issuing instructions. From the sound of it, it was likely some police or government broadcast, but Mari never got the chance to actually learn anything further from the brief directive because the voice was suddenly replaced by a shrill, high pitched whine. In that moment the fog of confusion cleared, but only because this horrible screeching had driven away any other thought, forcing her to cup her hands tightly over her ears in an attempt to block out the painful sound. She hunched over herself, bracing against both the noise and the sudden turbulence as the shock of the sound caused the car to swerve until her father was able to bring it under control again, her eyes shut tight and brow furrowed as if she could block out the fear and pain by willpower alone.

"Will you turn that thing off! They don't know what's going on! It isn't helping anyone!" Mrs. Weiss was shouting almost at the top of her lungs just to be heard, clutching at her own head as she gritted her teeth through the pain. Mr. Weiss was already in motion before she started talking, and by the time the woman had finished the screeching had been replaced by the relatively merciful sound of radio static and the blare of klaxons.