Three A.M.

It was annoying. The phone rang at 3:00 AM last night but it stopped after three rings. Probably a drunk calling for a cab at closing. The rest of the day was uneventful. The usual workday- data collection, risk assessment profiles and meetings. Then the soccer practice and piano lesson for our two kids. I mentioned the 3:00 AM call and hang-up after three rings to my wife but it seemed insignificant.

 

After the baths and stories, we have our nightly cocktail and discuss the next day. Then off to bed. My wife puts on her earplugs to block my snoring. I’m soon off to some tropical island of the mind. Then, RING, RING. After two rings it stops. The clock on the end table screams “It’s three AM…this is not a drill”. The protocol rushes through my mind. My heart races as I hurry to the window. I don’t know what I expect to see.

 

In the morning I sit with my wife on the patio as she chatters happily about her busy day. Soon she’ll be off to her first graders. They are going on a field trip today. I interrupt her with the news, “The phone rang at exactly 3 AM, with two rings this time”. Her expression changed instantly. She was ashen as she lowered her spoon, trembling, to the saucer. It rattled against the cup as if to underscore the message. Her voice came to her from somewhere deep in her chest, “We’re ready for this. We knew it would happen someday… but we still have to wait for confirmation tonight”.

 

That evening we go on with our routine, the baths and stories. We watch the evening news. There was a big accident on the interstate. There will be a charity walk for breast cancer this weekend. You can buy a Kia really cheap at Billy’s. The weather this weekend will be sunny and warm. We go off to bed.

 

Lying there with fitful sleep, we take turns watching the clock. The numbers seem larger and brighter… 2:51, 2:52, 2:53…then 3:00…nothing. We exhale and relax for a few seconds…RING. One ring this time- the signal. We jump out of bed and head for the children. We hurry both to the basement, dragging a couple of pillows and blankets.

 

I open the basement door and hustle ahead of the children. I push aside a rug and push a button high on the wall. A trap door, wooden on top but obviously heavy with a thick metal body below, slowly opens. I stepped into this sub-basement after flicking on the lights. The children were amazed to see a huge room below complete with cots, a small camping stove, and racks of boxes stacked to the ceiling.

 

I told them I will be back soon. Upstairs, I walked by our dog rising slowly from his slumber. I patted him and got him a handful of treats and poured a few shots of our finest vodka into his water dish. He wagged his tail gratefully at this unexpected treat.

 

My smart phone is vibrating calling for my attention. It will not stop. I walk outside looking at the mountain range behind the house. I look intensely at the swing set, the bikes on the lawn, the playhouse and our SUV, memorizing every detail. The phone vibrates louder. I dig it out of my pocket along with my car keys and my NORAD pass. I throw them as far as I can in a moment of defiance. The mountain range stands silently before me showing no activity.

 

I know I have one hour to complete everything. I rush inside to collect needed items in a couple of garbage bags. Pictures, games, books, a teddy bear and doll, then on to the kitchen. I find cereal, bread, peanut butter and cold pizza. This will help with the transition. On the way back to the basement I pass our dog happily finishing off his cocktail with a somewhat unsteady stance.

 

It’s 3:58, I rush to the open heavy door and place the bags on a step. As I turn and press a button next to the top step I watch the heavy trap door slowly close. Just before it slammed shut, a burst of white hot light rushed through the basement and lit the top few steps in pure whiteness for a tenth of a second.

 

I hug the children and my wife. I tell them, “There will be a loud roaring sound in about a minute but we’ll be fine here”. The silence for the next few seconds was deafening. Then the terrible roar. I knew that everything above was gone.

 

After a few days and new routines, I opened a closet door to reveal a set of four radiation suits. Below them was a radio. I removed the radio and set it on a table as I plugged in an antenna wire hanging from the dropped ceiling next to the closet door. With headsets on, I spoke a strange new language that puzzled the children. My wife nodded. I listened then spoke in this new language, “Yes, as you know there was no response at NORAD… yes, I understand…there will be an extraction in three months…we are ready”.

 

I replaced the radio and glanced at another shelf in the closet. It contained a case of caviar and a case of vodka. We are ready for our new life. We will be back to our homeland soon.