Page 1 of Submitting to Them
One
Kingston
Five minutes ago, my phone buzzed with a notice from the building’s security guards.BOMB THREAT.Immediately, calmly, evacuate.My phone rang a second later, and I answered, saying I was on my way out.
I’m leaving, but I’m not sure I’m calm.I don’t know where the device could be, who called it in, nothing.
It’s as if my heart and lungs cease to work.
As I walk toward the stairs, I text Sebastian.Bomb threat.I’ll let you know when I know more.
My footsteps echo in the stairwell.It’s only seven a.m.and the place is nearly deserted, especially on a Saturday.
“Kingston!”a woman calls from behind me.
I turn around and spot Kristin coming down the stairs.
“I didn’t realize you were here,” I say.
“I fell asleep at my desk.”Her hair is messy and she has dark circles under her eyes.“I can’t believe this is happening.Distract me.”
I can use some distraction myself.
“So, you were working late on a Friday night?”I ask as we take the stairs down together.“Or coming in early today?”
“I stayed last night, fell asleep at my desk.”She shrugs.“I have a lot to do.”
I can relate, and sympathize with her.
“Do you really think there’s a bomb?”she asks quietly.
“A threat, yeah.”I don’t want to believe it’s real, but I have to take it seriously.
“I’ve never been through anything like this before.”
Giving her a tight smile, I say, “Me, neither.”
Kristin and I catch up with another couple walking downstairs.They aren’t part of my company—a few smaller companies rent space here in my building.The woman’s face is tight with fear and the man is breathing hard.I want to tell them and Kristin that it’s going to be all right, but I don’t know this for certain.I can’t make this assurance or any promises whatsoever.
The four of us continue down the stairs, quickly and quietly.I don’t touch the stair railing—I don’t know why.It’s not like that’s going to trigger a bomb.Kristin stumbles on one of the steps, and I steady her with a hand to her elbow.
“Thanks,” she whispers, then removes her high heels to walk barefoot.
As we reach the ground floor, two uniformed people—a man and woman—come out onto the stairwell and begin walking up.They’re wearing helmets and heavy tactical gear and they look larger than pro football players.
“Do you know if anyone else was on your floors?”one of them asks, her voice muffled through her helmet.
“I didn’t see anyone on the twelfth floor,” I say.“But I could’ve missed someone.”
I hadn’t seen Kristin there, after all.
“I don’t think anyone else is there,” Kristin says.
“We didn’t see anyone on the eighth,” the other couple says.
The officers pass us and go up to the third floor, where I assume they’ll do a sweep for anyone who might remain in the building.I’m assuming our security measures will show whether anyone else has entered the building, but it’s probably their job to be thorough and also do a physical check.
We reach the ground floor.Nearly home free.My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat.Kristin and I start walking faster, and so does the couple, until the man is outright sprinting for the main doors of the building.I don’t run—I need to be calm.But it’s mighty fucking tempting.
