I remember when the world ended

It came without warning, and then everything else was gone.

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In cities around the country, if you'd looked hard enough, you'd have stumbled across evidence of a by-gone age. An age where the fear of nuclear destruction had forced governments to create fallout shelters for the citizens to take refuge in when Russia or Cuba decided to flex their might. But by the end of the 20th century, these shelters had all but disappeared. One such fallout shelter was in the University District of Seattle. Strangely, there was still a sign on the east wall of the building housing it, now a hotel, alerting passing citizens and college students of the shelters presence.

But while fallout shelters were a great idea at the time, they usually forgot one very important piece of information that greatly inhibited their functionality: in times of crisis, where every moment counts, your average human being does not react favorably. Many will not understand the gravity of the situation, and choose not to follow their instincts. Others panic and cause trouble for themselves and those around them. Still others will simply make the wrong choice, and then endanger others by trying to take charge of the situation. The few that do choose wisely tend to do so quietly and calmly, quickly guiding those around them to safety without trying to save everyone. Some base instict tells them who they can save and who they can't, and they don't waste their time trying to do otherwise. For myself, I chose poorly.

So on a dark December day, the kind you could taste snow in the air, when the world became infinitely brighter, and the ground shuddered and the air exploded with the ferocity few live to tell about, I found myself transfixed by the sight of a mushroom cloud rising over downtown Seattle. My wife, on the other hand, leapt into action and saved me from my own curiosity and horror. She quickly gathered our emergency kit (which I'd always felt was an unnecessary expenditure), food and water, blankets and some clothes, and hustled me out the apartment door and down to our car.

By the time we were on the freeway, heading away from the city, the reality of what had just happened had finally caught up with me. I turned on the radio in the hopes of finding out more, but got only static. Since most of the local radio stations were based downtown, I could only assume they had been destroyed. We scanned through the radio frequencies over and over, hearing nothing. Finally we clicked off the radio and drove in relative silence, and let the events of the past half-hour sink in.

With each passing minute, the freeway got more and more crowded. Panicked drivers were causing increasing problems as they tried to get around or push past anyone in their way. I spent as much time watching my rear-view mirror for speeding cars trying to get away from the city as I spent watching ahead of me for the wrecks previous speeders had inevitably caused. I also thought about where we were going, trying to decide what the best course of action would be. But again my wife saved me by making the decision for us. When we finally reached Highway 2 in Everett some 2 hours later, she instructed me to take it. We needed to get away from any large population center, she reasoned. We would head to a cabin on Stevens Pass, owned by some relatives. Going farther would depend on the fuel in the car, and whether or not there was more available along the way.

That was two years ago today, and I still remember it like it was yesterday. To me, it was the day the world ended.