NightFall by Roger Hayden Page A

something in the museum that shut phones
down.”
    “ It’s everywhere,” Rob
said. “Happened about two hours ago. We don’t have a lot of time.
Stick close and follow me.”
    Kelly squeezed
Mila ’s hand tightly with one hand while
biting her nails with the other.
    People pushed against each other, as
crowds overflowed the area. A child stood near, crying for her
mother. A man carried unconscious female woman along. Rob pushed
back and tried to keep his family from being suffocated. There was
barely anywhere to walk. Barely any space to move.
    The alarming sounds of helicopters
further drove the panic. People looked up as five Black Hawk
hovered overhead. Pat the helicopters, a fleet of fighter jets
blasted through the skyline, leaving long trails of smoke behind
them.
    Thick black ropes then dropped from
the Black Hawks onto what little space there was on the ground.
Soldiers dressed sleekly in dark, urban-gray fatigues descended
down the ropes with high-powered rifles clipped to their assault
vests. Their abrupt presence startled the already uneasy
crowd.
    As the helicopters boomed above,
sending circles of debris into the air, confused people took their
attention off non-functioning phones and tablets and stood in
awe.
    “ Dad…” Josh said, pointing
as one soldier effortlessly slid down a rope and landed
nearby.
    Rob was caught in the spectacle and
unresponsive.
    “ We should go,” Mila said,
pulling Kelly along. “This doesn’t look good.”
    Rob ushered Josh along,
following Mila. “Keep moving. Let’s
go.”
    They pushed through a
crowd and crossed the street. Rob pointed up the road. “Just the way we came. Hurry.”
    They stayed close together,
constricted by the crowd, and moved as quickly as possible as more
and more soldiers hit the ground. They wore thick, tinted visor
helmets with no discernible military branch, identification or rank
on their fatigues.
    The soldiers brandished rifles with
long, one-hundred round magazines protruding from the ends,
clutching them with black tactical gloves. The wary crowds began
backing away from wherever the soldiers landed. A loud voice blared
over one of the helicopter bullhorns.
    “ Please disperse from the
streets now. A tactical clearing will take place in thirty seconds.
Please disperse from the streets…”
    “ Tactical clearing?” Mia
said, looking back at Rob. “What are they talking
about?”
    As they continued up the
sidewalk, people began moving every which way. The soldiers kept
their rifles aimed forward and began shouting to the people from
under their masks, “Move! Move!
Move!”
    Even the police officers looked
confused. The soldiers announced themselves as an elite urban
tactical unit specializing in crowd control, through their voice
boxes.
    “ We’ve been tasked with
clearing the roads to make way for emergency transport,” one
soldier told a police officer through the voice-box on his visor
mask.
    The police seemed reluctantly on
board. They began to usher more people off the street, facing
resistance from pedestrians. And while the officers showed
restraint, the soldiers took a much harsher stance. They pulled
noncompliant people out of their vehicles, threw them on the
ground, and clubbed them in the head without hesitation.
    Rob urged his family to move faster.
They traveled north up 5th Avenue, desperately trying to reach East
84th Street, three blocks ahead. Rob led them across Madison
Avenue, squeezing past cars, to Park Avenue, where many others were
fleeing.
    “ Clear the road!” another
soldier shouted through his voice box. He swung his buttstock and
just missed Rob’s face. Rob shoved on without looking back, keeping
his family close.
    Soldiers ascended upon defiant crowds
blocking the road,
    “ Get off the street!” they
shouted with their rifles aimed. “Now!”
    Smoke grenade canisters flew into the
air and hit the ground, igniting loud pops followed by billows of
purple smoke that dispersed the crowd into