Fallout

Janet leads Sparky back around the shield wall. Ronnie and I climb down and follow. Only the dads stay behind.

In the shelter, Ronnie, Paula, and I sit together, listening to every sound and whisper that comes around the shield wall. Wood scrapes and men grunt.

“Can you turn that post sideways?”

“Wedge it in as far as it will go.”

“There’s a hammer in the toolbox,” Dad says.

Mr. McGovern comes back into the shelter. He seems full of energy, and I wonder whether it’s from excitement or if he really has been saving it up like he said he was. He gets the hammer and goes back through the gap, and soon we hear banging.

“That should work.”

“What about this piece?”

“Can you jam it in that way?”

A long silence follows. Those of us in the shelter exchange uncertain glances.

“Dad?” I call.

“Just a second,” he calls back. Then to the other fathers: “Ready?”

We hear grunts and heaving noises. Wood creaks. Metal hinges squeak… .

There’s a slithering sound as if something is sliding off the trapdoor.

The narrow corridor on the other side of the shield wall fills with light. Different light. Natural light. Sparky jumps to his feet and dashes out.

The rest of us follow.

Above us, the trapdoor is open. Dad’s standing on top of the bunk bed, his body half out of the shelter, his pale skin bathed in light. It’s cold, and the rotten meat smell is awful. Mr. McGovern and Mr. Shaw are standing on the floor below.

“How is it?” Mr. McGovern asks somberly.

Something in Dad’s throat catches. “It’s… okay… I guess.”

60

It was Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?’s birthday. Earlier in the day, a U.S. Air Force spy plane was shot down over Cuba, and now the U.S. Armed Forces were being mobilized. Preparations for war had begun.

The Sinclairs canceled the birthday party but invited Ronnie, Freak O’ Nature, and me over for cake because we lived so close. Dad said it was okay to go. This was the first time we’d been allowed in the Sinclairs’ house since the Pee Steam Incident of the previous summer. Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?’s bedroom was upstairs and had its own porch, and one night we’d brought sleeping bags over and slept on the porch under the stars. It was chilly in the morning, and Ronnie said that instead of using the bathroom, we should pee over the railing because when it was cold, your pee had steam. Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? said it wasn’t cold enough for pee steam, and Ronnie said, “Wanna bet?”

I was surprised that Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? took the bet, but I guess he was determined to prove Ronnie wrong. We stood at the railing and peed down onto the flower beds. Of course, Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? was right because he was always right. Then Ronnie laughed and said he’d known all along that it wasn’t cold enough for pee steam and he’d really just wanted to see if he could get us all to pee off the porch.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Sinclair was in the kitchen making breakfast when she looked out the window and saw four glittering gold streams cascading down onto her rosebushes. We were immediately sent home.

“How come she changed her mind?” Freak O’ Nature asked while he, Ronnie, and I walked over for birthday cake.

“Maybe she figures we could all be dead tomorrow, so what does it matter?” Ronnie said.

Mrs. Sinclair let us in with a narrow-eyed look as if warning that if we did anything wrong this time, we would be banned from her house forever. The funny thing about the Sinclairs was that they weren’t all brains like Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? Mr. Sinclair owned a plumbing company and spent most evenings watching TV. And a few months before, Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?’s eight-year-old sister, Barbara, had swallowed a safety pin and had to go to the hospital.

Mrs. Sinclair served a cake with a rocket ship made of icing, and we sang “Happy Birthday,” only under his breath, Ronnie sang:

“Happy birthday to you.
You live in a zoo.
You look like a monkey,
And you smell like one, too!”

I was afraid Mrs. Sinclair had heard him, but she smiled while she cut the rocket cake, so it looked like we were in the clear.

Then Mr. Sinclair brought out a long box wrapped in birthday paper, and Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? got excited because inside was a telescope, and he said we should all go up to his porch and look through it. As we headed upstairs, Mrs. Sinclair once again gave Ronnie, Freak O’ Nature, and me that look that said we were dead if we got into any mischief.

Out on the porch, Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? set up the telescope. I felt my insides corkscrew when I imagined looking through it and seeing Russian missiles streaking our way.

He aimed the telescope at the moon. “That big white spot is Copernicus crater. And that round dark area right above it? That’s called the Mare Imbrium. It’s Latin for ‘the Sea of Rains.’”

“It rains on the moon?” said Freak O’ Nature.