Arc Light by Eric Harry

of your thigh, straight through your clothes. All three of ‘em, one after the other. The tip is spring-loaded.
    Atropine. The word echoed in Chandler’s mind. Atropine: nerve gas antidote.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
June 11, 0500 GMT (2100 Local)
    Melissa Chandler stared transfixed at the television as she held her overnight bag already packed for the hospital. The pain seized her abdomen once again, but she concentrated on what they were saying on CNN.
    â€œI’m getting something here, Susan,” the reporter said from the Washington, D.C., studio, reading a piece of paper. “It appears that there is activity around many of the principal government office buildings here in Washington, and high government officials who have been working long hours during what all have stated to be this critical early phase of the Korean War have been coming and going—or more correctly just going—in the past fifteen minutes or so. Helicopters can be seen—”
    The anchorwoman interrupted him. “I’m getting something on this end, excuse me, Doug.” She read the computer monitor off to the side. “It says here the Associated Press is reporting that the Federal Emergency Management Agency has undertaken an evacuation of key government officials from Washington and has sent word to the state authorities advising them to do the same. The AP wire report says that the President is already on his way from the White House to an unknown destination.” The cramp shot pain once really hard, and Melissa winced. “Doug, does this make any sense to you?”
    â€œWell, Susan, it . . . it certainly sounds like the kind of evacuation that’s always been planned in the . . . in the event, and I hate to even say the words. . . . I’ll just have to wait for a little more information.”
    Oh, my God, Melissa thought and ran to the phone to call David. “The Los Angeles cellular telephone user you are trying to call is either unavailable or out of the Los Angeles cellular telephone area. Would you please try your call again later.”
    â€œSusan, I’ve just been handed a note that says an unnamed Congressional source—and I’m just reading what I was handed here—an unnamed Congressional source confirms that a full-fledged emergency evacuation of top government officials is currently taking place. This . . . this is simply unprecedented. It’s never happened before.”
    â€œCould this indicate—and this of course would just be pure speculation at this point—but could this indicate that some risk of . . . of nuclear war is at least perceived by whoever . . . whoever ordered this evacuation?”
    â€œWell, Susan, that was obviously what I was alluding to earlier,but it’s really way too premature to even speculate about that right now. The North Koreans do have nuclear weapons, but it is unthinkable, highly unlikely, I would say, that they would ever use them against this country, even if they could. And in all my talks with Defense Department officials, not one has ever even expressed the least concern about that.”
    Oh, my God, Melissa thought as she stood there with her bag, staring at the television report. What do I do? she thought. It was just her. She was all alone, and she had to make the decision by herself. The unsteady picture now on television was of a black government car speeding out of an underground parking lot with a police escort. We’re at war, she reasoned, and they’re evacuating Washington. And CNN is talking about nuclear war.
    She laughed as she felt a wave of nausea, and in her shaky state tears welled up in her eyes. And I’m standing here in Los Angeles, California, all by myself and going into labor!
    â€œWe go now to our Fort Worth bureau,” the anchorwoman said.
    A reporter stood in the glow of bright light against a chain link fence and an