Fallout

“Very funny.” I walked back to the start line, took the stopwatch, and gave it to Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? “No tricks, okay?”

Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? never played tricks on people. Once again, I crouched down. “Anytime.”

“On your mark, get set, go!”

I went.

“Seven point four seconds,” Johnny called out after I’d passed the finish line.

Still breathing hard, I took out a piece of paper on which I’d prepared some calculations. There were 2,640 yards in a mile and a half, and divided by 50, it was 52.8. If you multiplied 52.8 by 7.4 seconds, you got 390.72 seconds. “I can make it home in about six and a half minutes,” I said.

This was good because there might be things I’d need to do before I went down into the bomb shelter. Like go into my room and get the latest MAD magazine if I hadn’t finished reading it. And get the Halloween candy if Mom had already bought some. After all, Halloween was less than two weeks away and it would be a shame to see all that candy wasted.

“What about Sparky?” asked Ronnie.

I hadn’t thought of that. Sparky was slower than me, but not that much slower. “I think he’ll make it in time.”

“Can I see that?” Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? gestured for the pencil and paper. I gave it to him and lay back on the grass and looked at the clouds. Today they were thin and wispy, but I was thinking about a mushroom cloud. The only picture I’d ever seen of one had looked dark gray and ominous and was no doubt filled with radioactive fallout.

“You do what we talked about?” Ronnie asked while Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? was busy scribbling on the paper.

“Huh?”

“What we talked about after I pulled the thing that snapped? And then we ran behind Old Lady Lester’s house?”

I shook my head.

Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? looked up from his calculations. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“You could always look at your father’s Playboys,” Ronnie said.

“I don’t think my father has any,” I said.

“All fathers have Playboys,” Ronnie insisted. “Look in his closet. If they’re not there, look in his dresser drawer under his shirts.”

“Does your father have Playboys?” I asked Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?

He shook his head and circled a number on the paper. “I hate to say this, Scott, but it’s going to take you a lot longer to run home from school.”

“Why?” I asked, unsettled by how he’d stressed a lot.

“The fastest man alive can run a mile in about four minutes. Even if he could continue at that same pace for another half mile, which is doubtful, it would take him six minutes.”

“Uh-oh.” Ronnie grinned. “You’re probably about a thousand times slower than the fastest man alive. If they drop the bomb while we’re at school, you’ll never make it home in time.”

This was really bad news.

“I’d look for those Playboys if I were you,” Ronnie said.

33

The talk of making people leave the shelter has stopped, but it doesn’t feel like it’s over. A little while ago, after they fed Mom, Dad put his hand on Janet’s shoulder as if to reassure her that nothing bad would happen. I guess as long as we’re hungry, what Mr. McGovern said will probably be in the backs of everyone’s minds.

In the meantime, we have to adapt to less and less privacy. When someone has to go potty, two people hold up a sheet. It’s not just for the person who’s going, but for the rest of us, so we don’t have to watch.

When Sparky and I go, Dad reminds us to use as little toilet paper as possible. The way he says it makes me think he’s trying to remind the others as well, because he can’t really tell Paula or Ronnie or the other grown-ups what to do. But with ten people, the toilet paper seems to go fast no matter how careful we are.

We quickly get used to the potty noises that made us giggle up there. If a kid in class farted, everyone would laugh and titter. But down here no one cares anymore.

Dad and Janet take Mom to the toilet bucket often in case she has to go. They turn her on her bunk so she doesn’t get bedsores. Now and then Dad crouches in front of her and speaks, but he gets no reaction.

Sometimes Sparky sits next to Mom and holds her limp hand. And once in a while, he’ll reach for Janet’s hand. When he does that, you might catch a frown on Mr. McGovern’s face. Ronnie keeps pressing his fingertips under his nose and sniffing. Paula picks her nose but tries to hide it. Mr. Shaw sticks his finger in his ear and rotates it, digging out wax. Maybe they’ve always done these things in public and I just never noticed, but now there’s nothing else to notice. There’s no outside, no windows, no TV screens. Nothing to look at but each other. There are a few books and magazines, but if someone uses the flashlight to read them, there’s no light for anyone else. We take turns resting on the bunks and sitting on the floor and at the table. We’ve played about a million games of checkers and Parcheesi and Sorry! and Go Fish. When no one talks, we listen to the groans and cries of empty stomachs.