Fallout

Heads rise as they exchange quizzical looks.

“As awful as this is, you’ll have that peace of mind,” Janet continues. “Without your help, I will never know what happened to mine.”

Silence.

“Please,” Janet urges them. “I am asking you to put yourself in my place.”

Silence.

58

“The Yankees sure are something, huh?” Mr. Shaw said after dinner. “Four World Series in seven years.”

“Yeah.” I’d managed to eat most of the steak and corn. The euphoric feeling brought on by the wine was gradually giving way to throbbing in my skull.

“Maybe this’ll be the Giants’ year to win it all, too.”

“Definitely,” I said. “Tittle’s great.”

“He your favorite player?”

“No, Sam Huff.”

“A fine linebacker,” Mr. Shaw agreed. “Your dad taking you to any games this fall?”

I started to shake my head, but that made it hurt more. Dad was a football fan, but we’d never gone to a game.

“Ronnie and I go a lot,” Mr. Shaw said. “Have a great time, don’t we, Sport?”

Ronnie nodded morosely.

“Maybe you’d like to come with us to a game?”

“You mean, if there isn’t a war?” I asked.

“That’s right,” Mr. Shaw said patiently. “We’ll only go to the game if we haven’t gone to war. Would you like that, Scott?”

“Sure, that would be great,” I said.

Ronnie’s dad smiled. “Okay, let’s plan on it.”

When it was time to go, Ronnie got his jacket.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“With you.”

“Because I’m drunk?” I asked.

Mr. Shaw rubs my head. “You’re not drunk, Scott. Now, run along.”

It was dark and chilly outside. Ronnie kicked a stone down the sidewalk. “Don’t tell your parents, okay?”

“That I’m going to a football game?”

“No, dummy, about the wine.” He held up his pinkie. “Swear?”

I had to think about it. I guess I knew they were using the Giants to get me to not tell, but the truth was, except for my head hurting, no harm had been done. I didn’t know why I’d taken that big gulp of Dubonnet, but they hadn’t made me, and I didn’t want to get the Shaws into trouble or to make Ronnie angry with me.

I hooked my pinkie to his. “Swear.”

“Okay.” He nodded grimly and patted me on the back. “See you tomorrow.”

59

No one’s spoken since Janet made her plea for their help to find her children. I know they must feel as bad as I do, but right now we’re so weak, and fortifying the broken bunk bed under the trapdoor seems like such a huge task. Maybe if we just rest awhile…

But minutes pass and no one moves.

It’s Sparky who finally speaks up. “I’ll try again, Janet.”

Of course, there’s nothing he can do, but somehow, hearing him say it gets the others to reconsider. Eventually, everyone, even Mr. McGovern, agrees to try. It takes a while, but we manage to get the boards up on top of the bunk under the trapdoor. Dad wants to use some of the posts from the other bunk bed to make this one stronger, and Mr. McGovern suggests angling them in a way that Dad didn’t think of.

Sometimes it feels like we’re working in slow motion, but finally we’re ready.

Then Dad climbs up and says something that really surprises me: “Ronnie and Scott, I want you to help. There’s only room for two adults up here. But I think we can squeeze two boys in place of one adult and still have room for me.”

As frightening as it all is, it makes me feel good that Dad wants me to help. That he thinks Ronnie and me together will be stronger than Mr. Shaw.

We slowly climb up on the reinforced bunk bed, and all three of us put on gas masks. Feeling a crazy mixture of fright and hope, I lie on my back next to Ronnie with our feet against the underside of the cold trapdoor while Dad wedges his back against it. “I hate to say it, boys, but our lives depend on this.”

What if I’m not strong enough?

What if no one would be strong enough?

“One, two, three… push!”

We grimace and push as hard as we can. It’s difficult to breathe with the masks on, and the clear plastic disks quickly fog from exertion. The trapdoor feels like it weighs a ton. Something really heavy must be on top of it. Dad grunts. My heart thuds so hard, I can feel the pulse thumping in my ears. The door rises slightly.

“It’s working!” Mrs. Shaw’s voice reaches my ears. “Keep going!”

“You can do it!” Sparky yells.

The trapdoor rises a little more. Bright light begins to seep in.

“A post!” Dad croaks, and Mr. Shaw quickly jams one into the gap between the trapdoor and the closet floor above.

“Stop pushing,” Dad gasps.

Ronnie and I go limp, panting and exhausted from the effort. The light seeping in around the trapdoor feels unnaturally bright, and we have to squint.

With the light comes cold air. Dad studies the instruments from the radiation kit. “Fifty-five roentgens. That’s close enough.”

When he yanks off his mask, it catches me off-guard. It almost seems reckless.

“Come on, boys,” he urges.

Ronnie and I pull off our masks, and cool, fresh air fills our lungs. It feels amazing.

But with it comes a smell.

Like rotten meat.

The others smell it. Noses wrinkle, eyes wince. Dad’s face falls. “Everyone into the other room,” he orders grimly.