It repeated three more times before finally stopping.

Does that change anything? No, the best option in my mind is still to seek refuge in a military base. So, I just kept driving, my thoughts swirling in chaos. Can they really come in peace? If so, then why didn't they warn Tehran before? They just frickin bombed them to oblivion. Maybe it's about sending a message. Yeah, that's gotta be it. We came in peace, but don't even think about messing with us. Still, I don't like the uncertainty. What's gonna happen next…

“Marcus,” Krisztina said, showing me my phone. I had an incoming call from my brother.

Ohh. I totally forgot about him. Damn it.

“Can you pick up the phone and put it on speaker, please?” My wife did exactly as I asked.

“Hey bro!” I started. “Are you safe? Did you make it back home already?”

“Yeah … I panicked and had to leave immediately. I just got home.”

“Great to hear. Look. Can you call mom and dad to make sure they're alright? I'm driving right now, so I have to hang up, but take care, bro.”

“Yeah … you too,” he said and hung up.

He was always the reclusive one. No friends, as far as I recall, living alone in a one-room flat. In his teens, he was a real computer wizard, but then he faced some pretty nasty mental health problems. Now he's just a Stock clerk in Tesco.

Krisztina was doing the same, calling all her family members, asking if everything was okay, and telling them we might travel to the countryside for a few weeks.

“Sam,” I started. “How are you planning to take care of us in the military base? I get it, your dad's a big shot and our accommodation is sorted, but what are we gonna do there?”

It was a totally valid question. In an apocalypse or a catastrophe, a military base is one of the safest places to be, but it's gonna be in high demand because of that safety. So, are we going to get a flat or something in the base itself? Or will we be living on the outskirts? Or in a nearby village? And do we have to pay for it Damn. Maybe I was too impulsive in accepting without more questions?

“Don't worry, Marcus! Everything will be alright. I'll take care of it. You just need to get to the airport on time. Focus on the driving,” he said from the backseat.

He didn't calm my thoughts, but he's right. I gotta focus on driving.

To get to the airport, we had to go through the city center, and it was getting harder and harder to keep moving. Eventually, we had to stop when two cars collided in front of us, blocking our way.

“Keep driving!” Sam told me from the backseat.

“I can’t. Do you see that we're stuck?” I replied tensely, pointing at the blocked traffic.

“I don't care! Keep moving! We only have half an hour!” he started to shout.

Astrid started to cry in the backseat.

“Stop shouting, you jerk! You're scaring her,” said my wife. “It's all okay, honey! Everything's okay! Sam, stop yelling and apologize right now.”

“Marcus!” Sam hissed through his teeth. “For heaven's sake! We gotta get there in time or we're screwed. Who knows? Maybe this city's next on the hit list.”

I was sweating. I was stressed. I'd been on edge for some time with my own struggles. And now, this whole mess wasn't doing any favors for my already fragile state. My legs were jelly, my mind was a blur, my heart was pounding in my chest.

The panic attack hit like a sledgehammer. I have to get out! I have to get out! I HAVE TO GET OUT!

Our car lurched from its place onto the sidewalk. There were one or two people there, but they jumped away just in time.

“THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, BABY!” Sam exclaimed loudly, then burst into laughter. “WE MIGHT ACTUALLY MAKE IT!”

“Careful, Marcus! Careful!” said my wife, resting her hand on my upper arm.

I drove like a man possessed, unable to focus on what they were saying. Just kept moving forward. I was on autopilot, racing through the traffic jam, running red lights. Just moving forward.

NINO-NINO-NINO

Blue-red lights in the rearview mirror. A police car was chasing me as I drove on the sidewalk again.

I started to slow down the car. I'm not the kind of guy who runs from the police. I hadn't done anything wrong. Ever. So I began to slow down.

“DON'T STOP, MAN! WE CAN MAKE IT!” Sam started shouting again, his phone in hand with a huge clock on it.

“Shut up!” said my wife, glaring at Sam.

“Honey!” she then started softly. “I hate to say it, but we have to keep moving. I don't think the police will understand.” She leaned closer to me. “We need you here. Me, your daughter, and your future son. We all need you, and we made our bet. No turning back,” she said, squeezing my hand. “We can do this together.”

The panic receded, and I could think again. 'The trick,' Krisztina said, 'is to just roll with it. It's bad, it's uncomfortable, but it can't hurt you. If you can accept that, it loses its power over you.' As she said, we have to move forward. I can be stressed, I can panic, but I'll still move forward. I started to speed up again. I was tense as a bow, my heart pounding, but it was okay. I just had to move forward. I drove and drove and drove. My wife helped me a few times with directions, but as we reached the airport’s access road, we'd already left the police behind. I blew out a breath slowly.

“Damn,” I muttered, summing up the whole experience.

The problem with the access road is that there's no sidewalk. It's just the road, jammed as hell, and the fields, which are not great for a car. At least the huge ditch next to the road, which channels water away in case of rain, isn't great for any car. So, we finally had to stop. My hands were shaking, my legs were jelly. I didn't even register that I was crying until my wife started to wipe away my tears. Hell of an experience.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Dad! We're at the access road. Send someone to pick us up, please," Sam pleaded into his phone, then looked me in the eye. "Yeah, I said pick us up."

In two minutes, a military vehicle appeared on the field. With its rugged wheels, it navigated the rough terrain easily. It parked next to us after Sam started waving at them. We began to exit the car when two soldiers jumped out of the vehicle.

"Come on! Hurry!" one of them shouted, and I assumed he was a sergeant or something. "Leave everything behind!" he continued as I started to grab my bag. My daughter started to cry, and my wife began to soothe her. "Get in the truck! Now!"

We all got in, and the military truck raced toward the airport building.

"We'll arrive at the runway in three minutes. You'll have approximately five minutes to board the plane," the sergeant stated. Maybe he wasn't angry, just stressed? Frustrated?

We bypassed all the cars that were stuck on the road. A lot of people started walking to the airport on foot and left their vehicles behind. I could imagine how frightening it must be for tourists stranded in a foreign country, trying desperately to get back home.

"They won't be leaving for a while," the sergeant said quietly to me. "All civilian flights are canceled. The higher-ups don't want to give the aliens any reason to bomb us."

I saw a family of four making their way between the stranded cars. The dad was trying to distract the children by pointing out different things and making funny faces. The kids were laughing, but a tear glistened in the dad’s eyes. It could easily have been me, I thought.

We left the fields and the stranded vehicles behind and reached the runway. Many planes were just sitting at their designated gates. We bypassed them one by one, encountering a lot of commotion. People and service vehicles were running everywhere, focused on their own tasks. On the way, we saw another military vehicle racing in front of us. After another half a minute, it made a sharp left turn and stopped. People started pouring out, and a military personnel tried to guide them toward a nearby plane. We followed suit.

"Almost there!" the sergeant said to us. "When the truck stops, you have to follow me closely." As soon as he finished the sentence, the truck halted. The soldiers opened the door and jumped out.

"Move-move-move!"

I picked up Astrid and jumped out after the soldiers, with Krisztina and Sam close behind. We had to run about 50 meters to reach the huge airplane. There were more trucks coming in, and other people were running there too. While running, I noticed many soldiers standing around, directing us, and at the start of the mobile stairs leading up to the airplane.

"Names?" one of the soldiers asked as we reached the stairs.

"Marcus Lucius Augustus! Krisztina Rózsás and Astrid Lucius Augustus!" I said.

The soldier stared at his list, flipping through the pages.

"You're not on the list. Move aside!" the soldier said, and two others immediately separated from the rest and started to escort us to the sides.

"SAM!" I yelled. "SAM!" But one of the soldiers hit my side with his rifle's butt. The pain shot through me, and I dropped Astrid from my arms as I bent forward, panting.

My wife was next to me, and in the next moment, she tried to speak to me while I was writhing in pain.

"SAM!" Krisztina started to yell.

"Madam, you have to stop, or I'll have to make you," the soldier who hit me said, already in her face.

"Stop, babe. Stop!" I said, with every word causing me to see stars.

Sam stole some glances at us, his steps faltering a few times, but he kept moving toward the soldiers who stood at the bottom of the stairs. As he reached them and told them his name, the soldier started to go through the pages again.

"Let him through," a voice with an authoritative tone called out from the airplane's entrance door. There was a man in his late 50s, his eyes hard as steel and his face weathered. He was in a suit, but it was the best one I'd ever seen on someone.

As he commanded, the soldier stepped aside, and Sam started to move up the stairs. He could barely move from exhaustion but tried nevertheless. The older man's eyes were on him. He didn't say another word, just stood at the top of the stairs and looked at the scene before him with a hard face.

When Sam finally reached the top of the stairs, the older man still stood there, not acknowledging him at all. At first, Sam just stood there awkwardly, then started to move forward toward the airplane's door.

This piece of garbage had just used us to get here. The reality of it hit me hard. What now? I might even be a wanted person...

While I was sulking and starting to engage in the usual self-blame that makes you feel like crap and doesn't help in any situation, Krisztina was not idle.

She has more guts than me.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU GAVE US YOUR WORD! ROT IN HELL!" she really said that.

"This is your last warning, ma'am," said the soldier next to her, and there was finality in his words.

Sam clearly heard my wife yell. He tugged down his neck and tried to get in the plane as soon as he could. Then I felt it. An intent gaze on us. The older man was watching us. He said something to one of the soldiers, who started to run to us.

"The Director wants to see you," he told us. Not asked, just told us. I looked at my wife, then we started to move closer to the stairs. At the bottom, I saw Sam's head pop back into the door.

The Director stood at the top, his voice strong and crystal clear.

"Explain," he said.

My wife was still working up, so she responded instantly with fury.

"That worm!" she pointed at Sam, who was hiding in the door. "Promised us that he would take us with him to a secure military base and take care of us. He freaking gave his word to us just to simply abandon us there! This jerk..."

"Enough," said the man. He looked back at where Sam tried to hide. "Is it true?" he asked him. "Did you give your word?"

Sam was sweating. Sam's legs were shaking.

"I … I ..." he couldn't speak properly.

"We have to leave ..." someone started to say from inside the plane but was cut off when the Director raised up a single finger.

'Do not interrupt' was the clear message.

Sam finally broke down.

"Yes," he said finally, tears in his eyes.

The Director was apparently Sam’s Dad, shocking, but I didn't give a flip right now. I could feel the disapproval emanating from him. How his dad frowned, then shook his head, and looked at us again.

"How many are still not here?" he asked the soldier with the list.

"Seven names, sir!"

I saw a military truck just pop out at the edge of the runway. The Director clearly saw it as well. He was silent for a few seconds.

"We are taking off. Start the procedure," he said and started to enter the plane but stopped at the last second. He looked back at us.

"Let them through," he said to the soldiers and went in.

I didn't even register at first what he said, just when Krisztina started to hurry Astrid up the stairs. I followed suit as well, and we were in. One of the soldiers escorted us to the last of the free seats, and we sat down.

The airport staff disengaged the mobile stairs when the military truck arrived. Aside from the soldiers, seven people jumped out from the vehicle and started running for the plane but were halted by soldiers. They were yelling, they were crying, they tried to break through the soldiers but got the rifle butt treatment as well.

I looked around, and beside us, there were only four seats that were left empty. We were sitting in their place, I realized. Sam’s Dad left them behind instead of us. I was still lost in thought when the plane’s engine roared up.

I looked at my daughter; she was excited as we started to take off. It was her first flight, and I just really hoped that we would end up in a safe and better place.