The Honorable Traitors

by John Lutz

  Now.

  But as he was about to press down, a yellow dot caught his eye: the ball of wool atop the cap of the mother. Holding her baby in one arm, she used the other hand to raise the lapel of her coat to shield his face from the wind. The old man limped behind her, a shopping back in each hand.

  He lifted his finger from the detonator. In a few seconds they would be aboard the new tram. The doors would close. Steel and safety glass would protect them. If he just gave them a couple of seconds.

  He fought off the wave of weakness. Turning his back, he pressed the button.

  A brilliant flash made the snow sparkle. The pillar at his back shielded him from the shock wave, but the roar of the explosion hurt like ice picks thrust into his ears. He was deafened, but only for a moment. Sooner than he wanted to, he could hear the screams.