Fallout

At the garage door, I glanced back at Freak O’ Nature, hoping he would signal that someone was coming and we should abandon this unlawful endeavor. But he wasn’t even looking at us. Instead he was staring down at his radio as if watching the words come out.

Ronnie took hold of the garage-door handle. The door creaked upward, revealing a shadowy interior that smelled of car oil and dry grass and was crammed with bicycles, toy carriages, and Hula-Hoops. Without a word, he marched toward the back. The freezer was one of those horizontal models, and a small cloud of chilled white vapor rose into our faces when Ronnie lifted the top. The inner walls were caked white with ice, and it was filled with rectangular packages of chicken pot pies, frozen vegetables, Swanson TV dinners, and the treasure that we sought, Sara Lee frozen cheesecakes. Ronnie picked up a box, covered with a thin film of ice crystals.

And that’s when the Lewandowskis’ station wagon pulled in.

7

“Turn on a light!” Sparky sobs. Paula’s still crying, too. It’s impossibly dark.

“Give me a moment,” Dad says wearily, his words interrupted by deep breaths.

Above us, there’s only silence, as if the world has stopped.

Or disappeared.

“Please, Dad?” Sparky implores.

“Yes, Edward,” Dad answers in his soft voice. There’s a faint rustle in the blackness as he feels around for a light.

“Mom?” I say.

She doesn’t answer. I wonder if Janet’s still holding her. I’d give anything to hear her reassuring voice.

Paula continues to sob in the dark. It’s just her and her dad. Not her mom or brother. My stomach twists. I hate to think of what’s happened to them. Our mom may be hurt, but at least she’s here.

There’s a soft slithering sound like Dad sliding his hands along the wall. “Everybody be still,” he says. “There’s a flashlight around here somewhere.”

Clinks and scratching follow, as if he’s touching things.

Crash!

People cry out in surprise. For one terrifying instant, I imagine that the roof of the shelter is caving in, then realize it was just a bunch of things falling from a shelf. Dad curses, then says, “Sorry, everyone.”

“You all right?” Mr. Shaw asks.

“Yes.”

“Dad, please turn on a light,” Sparky begs.

“I’m trying, Edward. Believe me, I’m trying.” There’s frustration in his voice. Things jangle and scrape as he sorts through whatever fell.

“What about the light from before?” Sparky asks.

I don’t want Dad to get angry, which he sometimes does when we ask too many questions. So I tell Sparky, “It won’t work. There’s no electricity anymore.”

“Why not?”

There’s a clunk and Dad grunts, “Damn it!” as if he banged his head.

“Are you okay?” This time it’s Mrs. Shaw who asks.

“Yes.” But he sounds even more frustrated. Sometimes when he got this way in the house, I would hide in a closet.

“Why isn’t there electricity?” Sparky asks.

“Because the bomb blew everything up,” I tell him.

“I didn’t hear a bomb,” my brother says.

“Be quiet,” Dad snaps. “I’m trying to think.”

“But I didn’t hear a bomb,” Sparky whines, his voice breaking. “Just turn on the light.”

“Quiet!” Dad bellows.

Sparky starts crying again. Fearing Dad will get angrier and yell even more, I pull my brother tighter to me and shush him the way Mom would. More clinking and scratching follows. Then, finally, a click and a light goes on.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, then I see Dad near the bunks, shining the beam from a long silver flashlight on Mom, whose head is on Janet’s lap. My breath catches; there’s a big red stain on Janet’s robe. Mom’s hair is dark and gummy, and in the dim light her skin looks almost gray.

“Mom!” Sparky wails rawly. He bursts out of my grasp and flies toward her, but Dad catches him.

“She’s going to be okay,” he says, swinging the flashlight beam away. I bite my tongue not to say what I’m thinking, which is that she doesn’t look like she’s going to be okay. Dad has to wrestle Sparky, who’s still struggling to get to Mom. “We have to leave her alone, Edward,” he says softly. “We have to let her get better.” He holds my little brother gently but firmly.

“Listen to your father,” Janet tells him.

“But what’s wrong with her?” Sparky asks anxiously, craning to see around Dad.

“Mr. Porter, is there a first-aid kit?” Janet asks.

Dad aims the flashlight at some shelves. “Get it, Scott.”

I rise, and that’s when I notice Mr. McGovern and Paula near the shield wall. Paula’s curled in his arms and weeping miserably. Mr. McGovern hugs her, his eyes glistening.

They’re half a family.

It’s… horrible.

8

“Run!” Ronnie yelled.

We sprinted around the Lewandowskis’ station wagon — past the astonished faces of Mrs. Lewandowski, Linda, and the rest of the brood — and out into the sunlight, where there was no sign of Freak O’ Nature. I didn’t understand why we were running. Mrs. Lewandowski had seen us. Lest there be any doubt, she now stood at the mouth of the garage and called, “Ronnie? Scott? What’s going on?”

Being a dutiful child who’d been taught to answer grown-ups, I began to slow, but Ronnie grunted, “Don’t stop!”