What follows is a fictionalized account of the final weeks and days leading up to nuclear war.

This narrative is provided in the hopes that it will help you learn to recognize the signs of the unthinkable approaching.

Learn to see what they are telling you…and what they are not telling you.  It could save your life.

Be informed.  Be prepared.  Be safe.  Because what you are about to read hasn’t happened…yet.

One Month Before the Attack

It’s a calm Wednesday evening in Los Angeles, about one month before the unthinkable. The Thompson family sat around the dinner table in their cozy suburban home, the TV murmuring in the background. Fifteen-year-old Alex scrolled through his phone, half-listening to the news anchor: “…rising tensions in Eastern Europe… diplomatic talks falter…” On screen, stock footage showed military jets and angry politicians at podiums. Probably just more posturing, thought Mark Thompson as he reached for the salad bowl. Mark, the father, had lived through countless global flare-ups on the news. “They’ve been flying bombers near our airspace again,” he noted casually, recalling a headline he saw earlier. “Russian planes playing cat-and-mouse off Alaska – but they do that all the time. It’s just routine posturing, not a real attack prep.” He glanced at his wife to gauge her reaction.

Linda Thompson frowned slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d been more anxious about the news lately. “I heard they intercepted two of those bombers today. They came very close,” she says, her voice low. On TV, the news showed a world map with arrows near a foreign border. The anchor mentioned large-scale military exercises by “a Eurasian power.” Mark waved a hand dismissively. “Exercises are normal too. Big countries flex their muscles with war games every year,” he said, echoing what analysts often point out about routine drills. “Remember last summer? They sailed a destroyer near our ally’s coast and everyone freaked out, but nothing came of it.”

Thirteen-year-old Emily pushed peas around on her plate, not entirely understanding. “Are we going to war, Dad?” she asked quietly. Linda shot Mark a concerned look. He softend his tone. “No, honey. There’s always something scary on the news, but it rarely means a real war is coming.” He forced a chuckle. “Leaders talk tough a lot—threatening ‘red lines’ and retaliation—but mostly it’s for show. They’ve rattled sabers like this all my life and we’re still here.” Emily noded slowly, comforted by her dad’s confidence, while Alex rolled his eyes as if to say whatever.

As they clear the dishes, the broadcast shifted to a stern-faced official at a podium: “…announced its withdrawal from the last nuclear arms control treaty today.” Mark paused to listen. The reporter explained that after months of accusations, the adversary nation’s government had suspended a key disarmament pact. Linda’s brow furrowed. “That sounds bad…why would they end a treaty that keeps us safe?” Mark sighed. “It is concerning,” he admitted, “but it could be a negotiating tactic. Still, it’s not a good sign.” He recalled reading that when countries pull out of arms agreements and stop talking, it can remove constraints that keep peace. “Let’s see if diplomats can pull something together.” He tried to sound hopeful, yet a sliver of worry lodged in his stomach.

That night, after the kids retreated to their rooms, Mark scrolled his tablet for more news. He found an analysis piece titled “How to Recognize Signs of Approaching Nuclear War.” Intrigued, he reads through the bullet points. False alarms: military patrols, harsh rhetoric – those alone don’t mean war, it said. Real warning signs include things like unscheduled troop movements toward borders, evacuations of embassies, breakdown of diplomatic contacts, and raising nuclear alert levels. Mark glanced over the top of the tablet at Linda, who was folding laundry on the bed. “Hey hon,” he said, “this article breaks down what to really watch for. It basically says not to panic over saber-rattling, but if we start seeing multiple serious moves at once, then it’s time to worry.” Linda stopped and listened as he continued, “For example, if they start evacuating embassies or moving nukes around, that’s a big red flag. And if diplomats stop talking entirely… well, that’s when war is close.” Linda’s lips pressed together. “Are any of those happening now?” Mark shook his head. “No. At least not yet. Talks are tense but still ongoing. No evacuations or anything reported. So… we’re okay, I think.” Satisfied, he set the tablet aside. They both want to believe that life would carry on as normal.

Before turning in, Linda checked on Emily, finding her daughter typing a message to a friend. “Mom,” Emily whispered, “my friend Jess said her dad is thinking of canceling their Thanksgiving trip because of…you know, the war worries.” Linda’s heart ached seeing the worry in her 13-year-old’s eyes. She sat on the bed and strokes Emily’s hair. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetie. There is no war right now. Sometimes adults get nervous and rumors fly around, but you have school tomorrow, and we’re still planning Thanksgiving at Grandma’s.” Emily nodded and huged her. Down the hall, Alex was on a voice chat with a buddy from school. “Dude, if it actually goes down, L.A. would get nuked first,” his friend insisted dramatically. Alex scoffed, though his face was pale. “Shut up, it’s not gonna happen,” he muttered, shutting his laptop. For the Thompson family, the crisis remained a distant thundercloud – worrying, but far on the horizon. They slept uneasily as that first week ended, unaware of how quickly the storm was moving ashore.

Two Weeks Before

Two weeks later, the world’s mood has darkened. The calendar showed mid-November; for the Thompsons, it felt like a different reality from Halloween just passed. In the morning, Mark stepped outside to retrieve the paper (old habits die hard – he still liked a physical newspaper with his coffee). The headline made him catch his breath: “Border Standoff Escalates – 100,000 Troops Mobilized.” The story reported that the adversary nation has moved massive armored divisions toward its neighbor’s border without explanation. Satellite images plastered the internet, showing columns of tanks and artillery stretching for miles. It’s an unscheduled, large-scale troop movement, exactly the kind of serious omen Mark read about. And it’s not alone: allied governments are evacuating embassy staff from that region as fast as they could. Overnight, the State Department urged all American citizens to leave the threatened countries. “This… this is different,” Mark murmurs, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

Inside, the family gathered around the TV, drawn together by the urgency of news updates. Cable news showed buses of diplomats’ families arriving at European airports amid flashing hazard lights. Linda remembered Mark’s words: “When embassies start pulling people out, it means they think war is possible.” She looked at him, eyes fearful. Mark just nodded gravely. The anchor listed other developments: the adversary’s President refused a scheduled call with the U.S. President; an emergency summit has been canceled. Diplomacy is breaking down in real time. “They’re not even talking to us anymore,” Linda said, voice hushed. Mark swallowed hard. Silence where there was once dialogue… that was another bullet point from the article. He never imagined he’d witness it so soon.

That afternoon, at school, Emily’s class was abuzz. Some teachers tried to carry on with normal lessons, but in history class the crisis is all anyone could discuss. “My mom bought a bunch of canned food last night,” said one girl behind Emily. “She said maybe we should be ready, just in case.” Across town, at Alex’s high school, it was even harder to ignore. During lunch, a group of students huddled around a phone watching a Presidential address being livestreamed. Alex pushed in to see. On screen, the President sat behind the Resolute Desk, the Oval Office backdrop familiar yet ominous today. “…We do not seek conflict,” the President was saying solemnly, “but we must be prepared for any scenario. I have ordered our military to increase its readiness in response to the unprecedented buildup abroad.”

Alex’s heart skipped. Increase readiness? Some of his classmates whispered that meant a DEFCON level change – maybe DEFCON 3 or 2, they guessed, recalling bits of trivia about the Cold War. Indeed, analysts on TV later speculate that U.S. nuclear forces have quietly been moved to a higher alert status. Bombers were seen dispersing to different airfields, and ballistic missile submarines slipped out of ports to unknown positions. Those strategic moves were usually reported in the specialist press, not blared in headlines, but Mark found them in the evening news digest: B-2 stealth bombers departed Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri; Ohio-class submarines put to sea from Kitsap; Minuteman III missile crews put on heightened alert. For Mark, each line read like another weight on his chest. Nuclear forces being primed – it’s the nightmare scenario materializing.

That night, Linda urged Mark to stock up on supplies. “Just in case,” she said, trying to sound casual but her voice trembled. At the grocery store, they found aisles busier than usual. They were not alone in their thinking. A few shelves lay empty – bottled water and batteries were in short supply. Mark pushed the cart while Linda grabbed canned goods and first aid items. She also secretly added a pack of iodine tablets (which she saw recommended online for radiation exposure). As they checked out, the clerk sighed, “It’s been like this all day… People are saying we might not get deliveries for a while if… well, if things get worse.” Mark gave a thin smile and nodded, both of them understanding the unspoken “if war breaks out” behind the clerk’s words.

On the drive home under a darkening sky, they passed a gas station with a line of cars stretching around the block. Rumors of a fuel shortage or price spike have triggered a mini-panic. Mark remembered another line from that article: governments might start stockpiling critical resources like fuel or food. It seemed ordinary citizens were doing the same. When they got back, Alex was on the porch tossing a football anxiously between his hands. “Coach canceled practice,” he reported. “He said some parents want their kids home before dark… in case of… I don’t know.” Alex’s bravado was gone; he looked like the worried 15-year-old he truly was. Mark patted his shoulder. “We got some extra groceries. Help me unload, sport.”

After dinner, the family gathered intentionally to talk – something they hadn’t done in a while. Mark laid out a portable radio, a flashlight, jugs of water. Linda checked their first aid kit. Emily eyed the supplies nervously. “Are we… are we preparing for a nuclear war?” she finally asked in a small voice. No one spoke for a moment. Mark took a deep breath. “We’re just being cautious. It’s like preparing for an earthquake or a bad storm,” he explained gently. “Odds are we won’t need any of this. But it helps to be ready.” “Duck and cover?” Emily said, recalling an old phrase they learned in a brief school unit about the Cold War. A weak chuckle broke tension in the room. “Something like that,” Linda said, pulling her daughter in for a hug. Mark forced a smile. “Remember: most crises don’t end in disaster. We just hear about the scary stuff more.” He was trying to convince himself as much as the kids.

Before bed, Mark stepped outside for fresh air. The Los Angeles night sky was hazy orange from city lights and smog. Everything looked the same as ever: the hum of distant traffic, a siren wailing (just a police car, he told himself). But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted in the world these past two weeks. His phone vibrated – a news alert. He unlocked it to read: “Cyberattack Hits Power Grid in Eastern Europe – U.S. Blames Adversary.” The brief article said parts of a neighboring country went dark for hours due to a sophisticated cyber assault on the electrical grid. Analysts warned of increased cyber operations targeting infrastructure as part of the conflict. Mark felt a chill; cyber war spilling over could even reach the U.S. next. He gazed out at the glow of Los Angeles and whispered, “Please, let this calm down,” to the silent stars above.

One Week Before

By one week before the attack, denial was no longer an option. A regional war had effectively begun overseas, and its tremors were felt at home. News footage now showed real combat: tracer rounds streaking the sky and refugees clogging roadways in a distant European country. The adversary nation has invaded a bordering state in force. NATO forces, which had been on high alert, were now actively engaging – there were reports of American and allied troops exchanging fire with the invaders. The world has crossed a dangerous threshold.

On a Monday morning, the Thompsons woke to a jarring Emergency Alert on their phones. The loud buzz and screeching tone made Linda jump from the bed. Her heart pounded until she reads it: “This is a test of the Emergency Alert System.” A test – at 7 AM? On TV, a banner scrolled: “Nationwide Emergency Alert System test in progress.” Mark muttered, “They usually announce these well in advance… Did we know about this?” They didn’t. It seemed impromptu, almost like officials were making sure the warning systems still worked after decades of peacetime complacency. In Los Angeles, a few of the old Cold War-era air raid sirens actually howled briefly, startling residents who hadn’t heard those sounds in decades. The city had over 250 civil defense sirens in the 20th century, installed to warn of incoming attacks from Russia. They were abandoned in the 1980s, but now, suddenly, a handful have been repaired and set off in this test. Mark and Linda stood on the porch and heard a distant wail rise and fall. It sent a shiver down their spines. “I never thought I’d hear that sound for real,” Mark whispered.

The government insisted these measures were “just precautions.” At a press briefing in Washington, the Homeland Security spokesperson urged the public to remain calm. “We are doing routine readiness checks. This is NOT because an attack is expected imminently,” she emphasized. But the subtext was clear: they wouldn’t be testing nuclear warning sirens and phone alerts nationwide if things weren’t dire. The public’s trust wavered. Linda kept the TV on a news channel all day as she teleworked from home (the kids’ schools having pivoted to remote learning for the week – officially due to “security concerns and to keep families together”). One commentator noted that civil defense measures were quietly being dusted off – pamphlets on “What to do in a nuclear strike” have appeared on government websites, and local authorities were checking community shelter locations. New York City’s own emergency management even released a video PSA on surviving a nuclear attack, something almost unthinkable until recently. “When officials start talking about fallout shelters and running public service announcements,” the commentator said, “that’s when you know they’re taking the nuclear threat seriously, even if they won’t say it outright.” Linda watched this and immediately downloaded a copy of FEMA’s “Nuclear Explosion Response Guidelines” for her own peace of mind.

Mark, meanwhile, decided to fill up the family car and keep it gassed, a habit he read about – in case they need to evacuate on short notice. At the gas station, he overheared two men arguing. “…No way I’m sticking around here if it goes south,” one man said loudly. “I got family up in the Sierras. Better chance out there than ground zero L.A.” The other man shook his head, yelling back, “You’re overreacting! Leaving will just cause chaos. The government hasn’t told anyone to evacuate.” They noticed Mark listening and fell silent. Mark paid and drove off, unsettled. Evacuating Los Angeles… the thought had crossed his mind too, but where would they go? And if everyone had the same idea at once, the highways would be gridlocked deathtraps. No official evacuation orders had been given — in fact, no government figure has even dared suggest civilians leave cities. Mark understood why: an evacuation order for a place like L.A. or New York would incite mass panic and practically admit that nuclear war was expected. Still, he wondered if not ordering evacuations was a mistake. Are they going to wait until the last minute? he thought grimly.

At home, Alex and Emily noticed their parents’ tension. Alex tried to lighten the mood by suggesting they watch a movie together. “How about something fun? Maybe a comedy?” he offered with a half-smile. They settled in the living room and attempted a semblance of normal family time, popcorn and all. But halfway through the film, another special news report interrupted. A grave-faced anchor announced: “We have unconfirmed reports that a nuclear weapon was detonated overseas…” The words hit like a punch. Mark fumbled for the remote to turn up the volume. The anchor continued, voice unsteady, “…possibly a tactical nuclear explosion at a military base in Eastern Europe. U.S. intelligence believes the adversary may have used a low-yield nuclear device on advancing NATO forces.”

A stunned silence fell over the Thompson living room. Linda’s hand flew to her mouth. Emily began to cry softly, and Alex’s eyes were huge, fixed on the TV. “They… they used a nuke?” he whispered, incredulous. Mark felt the color drain from his face. On screen, they showed a grainy satellite image of a mushroom-shaped cloud over a smoldering area, though details were scarce. The anchor stressed that this is not yet confirmed by the White House. But moments later, the President appeared in an unscheduled address from the West Wing. He looked visibly shaken, but determined. “My fellow Americans,” he began, “it appears the conflict in Europe has taken a desperate and terrible turn. If reports are accurate, a nuclear explosion has occurred on the battlefield.” He paused to let the gravity sink in. Linda wrapped her arm around Emily tightly.

The President continued, condemning the use of nuclear weapons and warning the adversary nation in stern language: “Any nuclear attack on our allies or our forces will be met with a decisive and overwhelming response,” he declared. He did not explicitly say “nuclear response,” but everyone could read between the lines. He also announced he’s requesting an emergency session of the U.N. Security Council. In closing, he urged Americans to remain calm and united: “We have contingency plans for scenarios like this, and our military is fully prepared. There is no need for panic. We will get through this together.”

Mark clicked off the TV after the speech ended. The family sat in the dimly lit living room, stunned. A nuclear weapon has been used in war – something that hasn’t happened since 1945. “I can’t believe it,” Linda finally said. “They actually did it…” Mark rubbed his temples. He remembered one analysis he read: when leaders start to see nukes as usable, the unthinkable becomes thinkable. That mental barrier had indeed broken, he reflected bitterly. Alex suddenly got up and walked to the window, looking out at the quiet street. “Should we leave the city now?” he asked, his voice trembling despite trying to sound tough. “If they used one there… what if they shoot missiles at us?”

Mark and Linda locked eyes. It’s the conversation they’ve been avoiding. “Maybe we should go to my parents’ place in the desert,” Linda said quietly. Mark hesitated. Her parents lived in rural Arizona – somewhat safer from blast zones, perhaps, but the trip was 8 hours and fuel might be scarce. “If we’re going, we have to go soon,” Mark conceded, thinking of that gas station argument. Emily pleaded, “I don’t want to leave Muffy!” clutching their bewildered cat. Linda shook her head, “We’d take Muffy, of course.”

Ultimately, they decided to stay put, at least for now. The roads might not be safe, and there’s no official word to evacuate. Instead, Mark double-checked their prep: he cleared out a corner of their windowless downstairs pantry as an improvised shelter spot and lines it with cushions and supplies. Linda filled every container she could with water, just in case the taps go out later. They instructed the kids to pack a small bag each with essentials and keep them by the front door. It’s an eerie routine – like preparing for a disaster they still hope won’t come. “I feel like I’m living in a movie,” Emily wrote in a text to Jess that night. Her friend replied, “Me too. A really bad one.”

In the darkness before sleep, Mark scrolled once more through the news on his phone. A headline caught his eye: “Intelligence: Adversary’s Military Communications Go Dark.” The article explained that the adversary’s forces, which previously communicated on channels that Western intelligence could partially monitor, had suddenly gone radio silent or switched to encrypted lines. “This information blackout suggests they might be concealing final preparations,” one expert said. Mark’s stomach tightened. He tiptoed to the kitchen and found Linda still awake, sipping chamomile tea in the semi-dark. He shared the tidbit with her – the adversary’s secrecy – and she just shook her head in despair. “They’re really going to do this, aren’t they?” she whispered, barely audible. Mark gently pulled her into a hug, both of them gazing over at the kids’ framed school photos on the wall. “I hope not,” he replied, voice cracking. “God, I hope not.”

Three Days Before

Three days before the attack, the world stood on the edge of the abyss. Every hour brought fresh bad news. In Europe, the limited nuclear strike by the adversary (a single tactical warhead) halted the NATO advance temporarily. Rather than cowing the West into retreat, however, it had only hardened resolve. NATO forces pressed on, and there were rumors (unconfirmed) that some NATO countries have moved their nuclear weapons into forward positions in response. The adversary’s state media was blasting triumphant propaganda, claiming the West won’t dare escalate further. On U.S. news, retired generals and experts debated grim topics once confined to academic theory: “limited nuclear war,” “escalation ladders,” “counterforce vs countervalue targets.” The public discourse had shifted into nightmare territory.

In the Thompson household, exhaustion and anxiety permeated the air. The family had largely stayed home together, following official guidance to keep a radio or TV on for emergency instructions. Schools remained closed. Many businesses had given employees leave or shut down this week; Mark’s office was closed “until further notice,” so at least he didn’t have to worry about work. Linda, a freelance graphic designer, had no new clients calling. The economy had ground to a halt as everyone held their breath. Grocery stores that were open had long lines and rationing now. Linda was grateful they stocked up earlier; they avoided going out except for absolute necessities.

On this day, a final diplomatic effort was underway in Geneva. The U.N. Secretary-General had brought together representatives from the U.S., allies, and the adversary nation for emergency peace talks. It’s all over the news: the last hope to stop a full-scale catastrophe. The Thompsons watched footage of motorcades arriving at a grand conference hall. “Please, please let them make a deal,” Emily prayed aloud, hands clasped, as they watched. Even Alex, who hadn’t prayed in years, closed his eyes for a moment.

But by evening, the talks had collapsed. A breaking news alert read: “Diplomatic Talks Fail – No Agreement Reached.” The adversary’s delegation walked out after refusing to withdraw from the invaded territory; the Western delegation refused to accept the new status quo. The Secretary-General, looking defeated, went on camera to warn that the world faced its gravest danger since World War II. Linda felt tears of frustration. “They walked out… They actually walked out,” she said in disbelief. Mark just shook his head. When diplomacy dies, war isn’t far behind, he recalled grimly.

Late that night, the President addressed the nation again, somber and resolute. “We are closer to a nuclear conflict than ever before in our lifetimes,” he admitted bluntly. He announced that the U.S. military has been ordered to DEFCON 2 (one step away from launch-ready) – something not seen since the Cuban Missile Crisis. Though technical, the meaning was clear: forces were poised to respond at a moment’s notice. He also stated that he had activated certain emergency powers: an executive order enabling martial law in the event of an attack, and another authorizing FEMA to coordinate mass shelter and relief efforts if needed. Analysts later noted these extraordinary executive decrees essentially grant wartime authority in advance. To the Thompsons, hearing this was surreal. Linda griped Mark’s hand tightly throughout the speech.

Importantly, the President stopped short of calling for evacuations. He did, however, advise citizens to “review your emergency plans and be ready to seek shelter if instructed.” It’s the closest the government had come to telling people to prepare for the worst. “We will do all we can to prevent war,” the President said, voice heavy, “but we must also be prepared to protect our families and our nation. Stay vigilant, stay prepared, and stay calm.” The Emergency Alert System, he explained, will sound an alarm if an attack is confirmed inbound, giving people time to shelter. Hearing it laid out so plainly – that they might hear an alarm and have to hide from nuclear bombs – left the Thompsons sobered and silent.

After the address, Mark and Linda tucked the kids into makeshift bedding in the pantry shelter area. It was cramped, but the interior space with no windows was the safest spot they had. It reassured the parents to have the kids close by at night now. Alex tried to lighten the mood, pulling out his portable Bluetooth speaker and playing one of Emily’s favorite songs softly. They even managed a few smiles as Emily and Alex bickered over the playlist like it was a normal night. But when the lights were out, Emily whispered in the dark, “I’m really scared.” Alex reached over and squeezed her hand. “Me too,” he whispered back. In the adjacent kitchen, Mark and Linda sat at the table with a candle burning between them, listening to the quiet. They knew their children were terrified, and nothing in the parenting handbook ever prepared them for this. “Should we tell them it’s going to be okay?” Linda asked, tears in her eyes. Mark shook his head sadly. “I… I don’t want to lie,” he said, voice cracking. “I told them earlier most crises de-escalate. But now…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Linda squeezed his arm. “We’re doing our best. That’s all we can do for them.” They held each other, praying silently that somehow, tomorrow would bring a miracle.

Final Hours

Dawn broke on the final day with a sullen, overcast sky. It was Wednesday morning, roughly a month since the crisis began, and the world stood at DEFCON 2 with a palpable sense that the dam could break at any moment. The Thompsons woke after a fitful few hours of sleep, nerves on edge. No one felt like eating, but Mark insisted everyone have at least a little toast and juice – they needed their strength.

News from overnight was not good. Reports indicated the adversary nation had put all nuclear forces on highest alert and dispersed mobile missile launchers into the field. There were satellite photos of ballistic missile trucks leaving their bases under camouflaged nets. Nuclear-capable bomber aircraft had been spotted on runways fueled and loaded. A commentator on TV said solemnly, “They’ve likely mated warheads to missiles and were preparing for a potential first strike.” In response, U.S. and NATO forces were also at maximum readiness. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see who blinks first – or who pulls the trigger.

Around mid-morning, the final straw came. A loud explosion rocked a U.S. base in Europe, killing dozens of American troops. Initial reports were conflicting – some say it was a massive conventional missile, others fear it was another tactical nuke used by the adversary. Either way, it was an attack directly on U.S. forces. In Washington, the President convened the National Security Council in an emergency session. Not long after, a statement from the White House declared that the United States will retaliate against the adversary’s aggression, and it warned Americans to brace for potential incoming strikes. This is it – the ultimate tripwire has been tripped.

Mark had the TV on mute and was instead listening to an AM radio, which is often quicker with alerts. The family was gathered in their pantry-shelter space, as they’ve been instructed to do at the first hint of imminent conflict. Emily clutched Muffy the cat in her arms, stroking the pet’s fur frantically. Alex sat next to his mother, jaw clenched, a single tear rolling down his cheek that he quickly wiped away. Linda held the kids on either side, whispering soothing words she didn’t truly feel. Mark, nearest the door, kept one eye on the window down the hall. Through a gap in the curtains he saw neighbors outside, hastily rushing somewhere with bags – some were looking at the sky. One neighbor caught Mark’s eye through the window and gave a little wave before hurrying indoors; it struck Mark that it was a gesture of solidarity, maybe even goodbye.

Time seemed frozen. Each minute stretched unbearably. Mark’s heart was thudding so loudly he wondered if the others could hear it. The radio squawked static and occasional fragmented chatter. He caught phrases: “…missile launch detected… radar tracking… waiting for confirmation…” His pulse raced. He turned to the family, voice tight but calm as possible. “Kids, put on your headphones now, like we talked about.” They both slipped on some old over-the-ear headphones (a makeshift attempt to protect against the coming blast noise). Linda had two more pairs ready – one for her, one for Mark. Mark kept his off for the moment, straining to hear the radio.

Suddenly, a distinct alert tone pierced the room – an unmistakable sequence of sharp, oscillating tones from every phone at once. It was the Emergency Alert System, forced through cell networks. Each phone screen lit up with the message everyone had dreaded: “EMERGENCY ALERT: BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Almost simultaneously, the air outside filled with a chilling sound: sirens. The old air raid sirens of Los Angeles, silent for decades, now rose in a haunting wail. Their mournful tone echoed through the neighborhoods, a sound straight out of distant history now signaling the ultimate horror in the present.

Mark and Linda exchanged one last look – a mixture of terror, love, and apology for all that was left unsaid. Linda pulled the children close, her arms around their heads. Mark finally put on his own pair of headphones and crawled into the cramped space beside them, yanking a mattress up as a flimsy shield. Above the sirens, a new noise grew – a deep rumbling roar as of distant jets or rockets, coming from everywhere at once. Mark squeezed his family tight, his eyes shut, heart hammering.

In those final seconds, the only sounds were Emily’s soft sobs muffled in her mother’s sweater, Alex whispering “I love you” to everyone, Linda humming a lullaby tune despite her shaking, and the air raid sirens blaring their relentless alarm. The Thompsons braced together in darkness, as the world around them descended into the unimaginable, and the sirens screamed on and on.