Fallout

We each drank some, and then Ronnie went to the bathroom to wash the glass. As soon as he left the den, I lifted the bottle of Dubonnet to my lips and took a big gulp. The wine warmed my throat and my empty stomach, and I felt myself relax. The anxiety of war became one step removed.

Ronnie and I watched more TV. A little while later, Mr. Shaw came into the den wearing a suit and smelling of cigarettes and the train. He looked serious. “Any news?”

We shook our heads.

Ronnie’s dad took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “How about a little something to take the edge off, gentlemen?”

Ronnie and I shared an uncertain look.

“Come on, boys, you wouldn’t let a man drink alone at a time like this, would you?”

It wasn’t long before I had a glass filled with ice and more Dubonnet. Ronnie shot me a smirk as if he thought we were getting away with something. Little did he know.

We sipped our drinks. When I closed my eyes, I felt like I was on the deck of a boat in swaying seas.

“That bomb shelter might come in handy after all, Scott,” Mr. Shaw said. For once he wasn’t joking.

“You really think we could go to war, Dad?” Ronnie asked.

“It’s hard to imagine,” Mr. Shaw said gravely. “I mean, the sheer insanity of it. No one can win.”

“What if the Russians don’t care about winning?” Ronnie asked.

Mr. Shaw sighed and shook his head.

From the kitchen, Mrs. Shaw called, “Dinner’s ready. I called your mom, Scotty. She said it was okay.”

Mr. Shaw got up. “Shall we?”

I stood up, and the room suddenly rocked.

55

“It’s hopeless,” mumbles Mr. Shaw.

We’re all back in the shelter. Mom’s on her bunk. The rest of us sit on chairs or on the floor.

“Is it, Dad?” Sparky asks.

“I need to think,” Dad says.

“About what?” Mr. McGovern demands. “How stupid it was to build this shelter in the first place? How much better it would have been if we’d just died when we had the chance?”

“Shut up!” Dad shouts so loudly, we all jump. This time, Paula’s father does what Dad says.

I’m scared sick. The shelter seems dimmer than usual until Dad replaces the batteries in the flashlight and it’s brighter again.

“Well, at least you made sure to have enough batteries,” Mr. McGovern says bitterly.

“Buried alive,” Mr. Shaw mutters.

Sparky lets out a frightened whimper and hugs Janet tightly.

“There’s a way,” Dad says a little while later.

“Oh, give it up already, will you?” Mr. McGovern growls.

“What’s your idea?” asks Mrs. Shaw.

“We have to reinforce the bunk bed.”

“It won’t work,” Mr. McGovern says.

Dad turns to Mr. Shaw as if asking if he’ll help, but Ronnie’s dad lowers his head.

They don’t think it can be done. And if they won’t help, it’s hopeless. Dad can’t do it alone. My insides churn. How can they just give up and let us die down here?

It’s Janet who speaks up. “I’ll help you, Mr. Porter. I want to find my children.”

Her eyes meet Dad’s, and he blinks slowly and hard as if to fight back tears. Is it because he’s grateful that she’s offered to help? Or is it sadness because it’s hard to imagine how her children could still be alive?

“Thank you,” Dad says.

They begin by moving Mom from her bunk to some pillows on the floor and making her comfortable. Then Dad turns toward the bunk she was lying on and says, “We have to take this one apart and use the pieces to reinforce the other one.” But his shoulders stoop, as if just the thought of all that work is too much. “We’re going to need more hands.”

None of the other grown-ups reply.

I clear my throat. “I’ll help.”

“Me, too,” says Sparky.

Dad gives us a weak smile as if he doesn’t think we can make much of a difference. You can tell by the way he looks at Mr. Shaw that he’s hoping he’ll try again, but Ronnie’s father sits besides his wife with his knees pulled up under his chin and doesn’t respond.

“What good will giving up do?” Dad asks.

Ronnie’s dad looks up at him, and then back down without answering.

“Seriously, Steven,” Dad persists.

“I don’t know what’s on the other side of that trapdoor, but whatever it is, it’s too heavy,” Mr. Shaw finally says. “We tried, Richard. Before the board cracked.”

Dad stands still, his face tilted upward in thought. Is he considering giving up, too?

He looks at Sparky and me. “I’m going to keep trying. Come on, boys.”

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. When I push myself up, dizziness causes my vision to narrow, and I have to bend over with my hands on my knees and my head as low as it will go.

When I straighten up, everyone’s staring.

“You okay?” Dad whispers.

I nod. He gives me a screwdriver and shows me which screws to take out of Mom’s bunk bed. I do what I’m told, but I don’t say what I’m really wondering: Is he just trying to keep us busy so we won’t think about what’s ahead?

56

“Whoa!” In the Shaws’ den, Ronnie’s father caught me by the arm. “Steady, sailor.”

Holding my elbow, he led me into the kitchen, where four aluminum trays were set with little compartments that kept the meat from touching the potatoes and vegetables. Mrs. Shaw pointed to a chair. “You’re there, Scotty.”