My phone erupts—harsh, jagged, loud enough to scrape nerves raw.
The sound doesn’t stop.
EMERGENCY ALERT
INCOMING MISSILE THREAT
SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER
THIS IS NOT A TEST
IMPACT ESTIMATE: 14 MINUTES
Sirens blast overhead.
Not a test.
Fourteen minutes. The kids. Now.
Grab the keys.
Sam’s closest. Soccer field behind the grade school. Five minutes.
Lily. High school. Play rehearsal. Twelve minutes. No traffic.
Five to Sam.
Ten to Lily. I’d push it.
Fifteen.
Fourteen minutes to impact.
My chest tightens, breath catching halfway in.
Lily. Inside. Brick.
Sam. Out in the open. One parent running drills.
“You always choose Sam.” The memory lands hard, no warning. Lily’s eyes locked on mine. I didn’t answer fast enough. She’d turned, walked out.
Cold air slams into my lungs. Gravel shifts under my shoes. The car waits where I left it.
My fingers miss the handle.
Try again. Drop into the seat. Slam the door.
My thumb hits her contact.
Call fails.
Try again. A voice—circuits busy.
Grab Sam. Back in the car.
Lily next.
Ten minutes if the lights line up. If traffic—
Traffic lights. Intersections. Cars that won’t move fast enough.
Time breaking apart ahead of me—seconds I can’t put back together.
I drag in a breath that doesn’t go deep enough.
The road won’t hold still.
It stretches, narrows, bends in ways it never has before. My foot presses down hard.
Too fast.
Not fast enough.
Sirens don’t stop, multiply.
Sam is closer.
Five minutes.
Four if—
The phone buzzes.
The wheel jerks. A horn blasts behind me.
I correct. Don’t slow.
The phone buzzes again.
A call.
I answer.
“Mom?”
Lily.
Everything in me clenches hard and fast.
“Where are you?” The words rush. “Are you in a classroom? Are they—”
“They made an announcement.” Her voice shakes, then sharpens. “No one knows what’s happening. Teachers are freaking out. They told us to stay put but—”
Noise behind her. Too many voices. Something falling.
“Listen to me.” My voice snaps into place. “Find a room with no windows. Get low. Stay there.”
Silence. Her breathing. Fast.
“You hear me?”
“…Yeah.” Small. Not angry. It hits straight through.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Auditorium.” Then, softer—“Mom… what’s happening?”
“I’m on my way.”
“For me?”
The question hangs there, thin, fragile.
The road bends. I take it too fast.
“I need you to listen. Lie low. Don’t move until someone tells you or I’m there. Not before.”
“Yeah.” Flat again.
“Stay with me. Don’t hang up.”
A beat. Breathing.
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I know.” The line crackles. Voices surge. Then—silence.
The parking lot lurches into view.
Cars angled wrong. Doors open. Engines running.
I brake too late. The car jerks.
Sam.
I run.
Voices crash over me. Shouting. Crying. A whistle cutting through everything. Kids are outside!
“Stay together—”
“Where’s—”
Nothing holds.
“Sam!”
Wrong kid. Wrong face.
“Sam!”
I push through.
There—
Blue jacket. Dirt on the knees. Glove hanging from one hand.
“Mom!”
He slams into me. I catch him, pull him in tight. His breath shakes against my neck.
“You came.”
I nod.
The phone buzzes.
Text: I didn’t think you’d choose me anyway.
The words sit there.
Flat. Set.
Sam pulls back just enough to see my face.
“Mom?”
He’s here. Warm. Solid.
I can get Lily. Push hard. Try. The thought flares, then stutters out.
The distance outruns the clock.
Exact. Unforgiving.
I can’t get there.
Not in time. Not without risking Sam.
I take his hand. Walk him back to the car.
For a second, it feels like I could still choose differently.
I press the gas. The car moves—
The road home blurs. I don’t remember the turns. Then the house. I take Sam into the reinforced basement, our safest room.
The quiet seals around us.
Sam’s hand finds mine. Small. “I’m right here,” I tell him.
The phone buzzes.
Text: I wish you were here.
My heart hits once, hard enough to echo.
Behind me, Sam breathes.
In.
Out.
Here.
I hit call.
It rings once.
Twice.
A click. Static. Then her breathing—thin, held tight.
I press the phone hard to my ear.
“Lily.”
Static. Then—
“Mom?
Small. Not flat this time.
My throat tightens. “Don’t hang up.”
Her breath catches.
“…I won’t.”
Sam’s hand in mine. Lily’s voice in my ear.
Two places.
One body.
I don’t let go.
(c) 2026 Lynne Curry, first published in Literary Garage