The Ten Seconds Before the Fireworks Went Dark

Elias moved before he thought. He lunged, grabbed a woman holding a little boy, and shoved both of them behind a steel railing just as the light rig collapsed where they had been standing. Shards of plastic and hot wire sprayed the ground. The woman stared at him, white-faced. “Thank you.” “Stay low,” Elias said. He was already kneeling at the switch cabinet. “This isn’t random.” “What?” He popped the access panel and stared into the box. The main lines had been cut cleanly. Too cleanly. Not burnt. Not aged. Not failed. Cut. His phone buzzed. Grace. His wife. He answered, and all he got was her broken, breathless voice over the crowd noise. “Where are you? Mia can’t find me.