Blown Circuit

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Sometimes a bullet is better than a bomb. Mostly because a bullet can miss, a bomb, generally not. And that was pretty much what I was thinking when I saw the red LED counter ticking down. But I also knew that I’d come too far to abandon my mission unless I absolutely had to. And those half-inch-high numbers running down the seconds told me that I still had three minutes. Which meant that all wasn’t lost. Not quite yet. I synchronized my watch with the timer. Then I moved on.

The old ship was musty but warm, even in the middle of the night. I had been told that the country was in the middle of a spring heat wave and so far I believed it. It was half past four in the morning and it still hadn’t cooled down enough for me to stop sweating. And I was sweating buckets now. Not just because of the bomb and the heat. But because I was close to finding my father. I reached the next cabin. The mottled-green iron door opened with a low groan, but I could quickly tell that it wasn’t the place. The cabin overflowed with stuffed cardboard boxes. Nine seconds used up. I moved on.

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