In the old and hallowed town hall (built in 1987 from a design by an uninspired architect who was having a bit of an off day), behind determined “No Entry” signs, the mayor and the city elders met to discuss the crisis.
The incoming missile (launched seven minutes earlier following a misunderstanding about a pack of migrating swallows) was moved to the top of the agenda with little debate.
“There are, I trust,” the mayor said, “plans for this sort of thing?”
There was an awkward, coughing silence. The mayor glanced about.
“A bunker, perhaps? For the government?” He pulled at his collar. “Very important, continuity in government.”
“There is a bunker!” cried McTaggert, who’d been there before most of the town was. “Under the hall!”
The mayor breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now,” McTaggert muttered, patting at his pockets, “if I could only find the key…”
Word Count: 146
This is for FFfAW. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Yarnspinnerr for providing the prompt photo!