Todd Strasser - Fallout

“A shelter,” Dad said.

“A bomb shelter,” Mom added, annoyed, as if it was silly to pretend it was anything else.

Everyone was quiet, then Mr. Shaw said, “Well, good luck.” He and Mrs. Shaw and Leader left.

Back in the house, Dad went to change out of his tennis clothes while Sparky and I set the kitchen table for lunch.

“How come the Shaws wanted to see the hole?” I asked.

“I guess they were curious,” Mom answered.

“They never came over before,” I said.

“We never had a hole before,” Sparky said, as if it was obvious.

Mom laughed.

But when Dad came in, she stopped smiling. Usually at meals our parents would talk or ask us questions about our plans for the day. But that day Mom and Dad were quiet. Sparky kept shooting me puzzled looks, and I’d shrug.

Finally Mom said, “You knew that was going to happen sooner or later.”

Dad took a bite of tuna-fish sandwich and gave her the “not in front of the kids” look.

“Don’t you think they should know?” Mom asked. “They’re part of this, too.” She turned to us. “Your friends may say something about the bomb shelter.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“They may want to know why we’re building it.”

“Because of the Russians, right?” I said.

Dad nodded.

“The problem is that not everyone agrees with what we’re doing,” Mom said.

“Why not?” asked Sparky.

Mom looked at Dad as if it was his job to answer.

“People have different ideas about whether we’ll go to war or not,” Dad said. “Some think it’s likely, and some don’t.”

“You think it’s likely, right?” I asked.

“Well…” Dad paused. “I think it’s possible.”

“And the bomb shelter is for just in case,” Sparky said. “Like a spare tire.”

“Right,” said Dad.

It got quiet again.

“So… what’s the problem?” I asked.

Mom and Dad looked at each other. I expected Dad to answer, since he was sort of in charge of the bomb shelter. But it was Mom who said, “The problem is that everyone knows about it.”

“The threat of war?” I said, confused.

“No, the bomb shelter.” Mom looked at me questioningly. “Do you know anyone else who has one?”

“No.”

“Your mom’s worried that other kids may make fun of you,” Dad said.

Sparky made a fist. “Anyone makes fun of me, I’ll punch ’em in the face.”

“Why would they make fun of us?” I asked.

“Some people think it’s silly,” Mom said. “They don’t believe there’ll be a war. And there are other people who think it’s silly because if there is a war and everything’s destroyed, what would be the point of living?”

“Everyone wants to live,” I said.

“Even if there was nothing left?” Mom asked. “No electricity. No jobs. Hardly any food.”

“We’d rebuild,” Dad said. “Think about what it must have been like when the Pilgrims first got here.”

“What a wonderful existence they had,” Mom muttered sourly.

“They had Thanksgiving,” Sparky said. “After the war, we could have Thanksgiving, too.”

Mom’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. Her chair scraped loudly as she pushed it back and hurried out of the kitchen.

Dad stared at the empty doorway, then let out a sigh and got up. “Sorry, boys. This is something your mom and I disagree about.”

He left Sparky and me at the table. Our parents’ voices came down the hall from their bedroom, too faint to make out what they were saying. But we could hear the tone. Mom was upset and angry, and Dad was trying to get her to calm down.

Back in the kitchen, Sparky whispered, “What’s so bad about Thanksgiving?”

Ronnie catches me looking at the checkers game and raises his eyebrow. I turn away. I may be going crazy with nothing to do, but I’m still not playing with him.

“Come on, you two, let bygones be bygones,” Dad says.

I bet he wouldn’t say that if he knew what Ronnie said about him.

“Did something happen?” Mr. Shaw asks.

Ronnie and I share another look, neither of us willing to tell.

“They got into a scrape last night,” Dad says.

“About?” asks Mr. Shaw.

“You’ll have to ask them.”

Ronnie’s dad studies us.

“Seriously, boys, whatever it was about, how could it matter now?” Dad asks.

“You’d be surprised,” I mutter.

“Shut up,” Ronnie growls.

“Why don’t you tell them?” I dare him.

Ronnie narrows his eyes like he’ll kill me if I tell. As if he could do anything with all these grown-ups around. Suddenly it’s so stupid, it almost feels funny. I stick my tongue out at him. He blinks, then grins, and sticks his tongue back at me.

Dad and Janet take turns sitting with Mom. When Dad’s with her, he holds her hand. Now and then, Janet takes her pulse. I know why they’re watching her, but I can’t say anything because I don’t want to scare Sparky. But I’m scared. I don’t want her to die. And what will happen if she does, and we still have to stay down here for two weeks? The idea is so awful, I have to make myself think of other things.

Now that we’ve stuck our tongues out at each other, it feels dumb to stay angry, so Ronnie and I play checkers. Sparky watches and goes “uh-huh” when he thinks I’ve made a good move and “nuh-uh” when he doesn’t. Normally I’d tell him to get lost, but that would leave him with nothing to do.

The grown-ups start to play cards. I guess they need to find a way to pass the time, too. It’s weird because no one knows what time it really is. Is it daytime up there? Night?

Do day and night still exist?

“Two weeks of this?” Mrs. Shaw mutters to no one in particular.

Minutes, hours, countless games of cards and checkers have passed. Sparky wants to take a nap, so Dad puts a towel over the wet spot and helps him up into our bunk. Mr. Shaw lies on some blankets on the floor, and Ronnie squeezes beside his mom on a bunk, just as Paula does with her father. Janet starts to lean her head against the concrete wall, so Dad makes a small bed out of pillows for her on the floor then turns to me.

“You want to sleep?”

I shake my head. Dad and I sit at the card table. My fingers scratch at the red plastic surface, and I can’t help thinking about school and my teacher, Mr. Kasman, and, once again, about my friends…. I feel a deep sadness like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?… Freak O’ Nature… Linda… Can they all be gone? I know what the answer probably is, but it’s so hard to believe.

Mr. Shaw starts to snore. The others breathe deeply and steadily. Opposite me, Dad stares at his interlaced fingers.

I whisper, “Do you think it killed everybody up there?”

There’s down here and up there. The ones who feel like they’re buried are alive, while the ones who aren’t buried probably aren’t alive. Everything’s upside down. Dad gazes at me with sad eyes. “There must have been other people with shelters. People who were less obvious about it.” He sounds like he wishes he’d been less obvious, too.

“But they would have dug a hole, right?” I know for certain that Freak O’ Nature’s and Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?’s and Linda’s parents didn’t dig holes for bomb shelters, and I have a feeling that if anyone else we knew had, we would have heard about it. It’s not fair. Freak O’ Nature and Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? never did mean things to anyone and never even met a Russian….

My thoughts are interrupted by faint grinding sounds coming from Sparky’s direction. He’s lying on the bunk, eyes closed as if he’s asleep, but his jaw works back and forth.