Todd Strasser - Fallout

Paula: “Take a bath.”

Ronnie: “Eat something good.”

Me: “Take a bath and eat something good.”

Ronnie’s mom says, “What about you, Janet?”

“Look for my children, Mrs. Shaw.”

Ronnie’s mom utters a little “Oh!” of surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

As if there weren’t already a million reasons to feel bad, now I feel even worse. The two small faces at the window the day Mom drove Janet home… All the time we’ve been together down here, she never said a word. Sparky snuggles closer to her. “If you can’t find them, you can be my other mommy.”

Janet starts to cry.

The fathers’ voices come around the shield wall. “Move it a little to the right.” “Can you shine the light on this?” “Anyone see the screwdriver?”

Finally Dad calls, “I think we’re ready.”

We go into the corridor to find the bunk bed rebuilt under the trapdoor. Standing on the floor, Mr. McGovern is holding the flashlight on Dad and Mr. Shaw, both wearing masks and squatting naked on the top bunk under the trapdoor. Dad presses his back against it. He reminds me of that statue in New York City of Atlas holding up the world, only Atlas was all muscles and Dad looks so skinny. Next to him, Mr. Shaw lies on his back with his feet against the door.

They grit their teeth and push and strain. The bunk bed creaks; the trapdoor rises slowly. The creaking grows louder.

The trapdoor rises a tiny bit more.

Crack! The sound of splintering wood explodes into our ears.

“Stop!” Mr. Shaw gasps.

Clank! The trapdoor slams down.

Atop the bunk, both fathers breathe hard for a moment, then Dad asks, “What happened?”

“The board under us cracked,” says Mr. Shaw.

“Of course,” Mr. McGovern says, as if he’s just realized something. “You’re pushing up on a metal door, but at the same time you’re pushing down on a wooden board. This is never going to work.”

The Russian ships were getting closer to the quarantine line set up by the United States Navy. There was going to be a showdown. Would one side back down, or would there be war?

My stomach was in a nonstop knot, and I would catch myself at my school desk with my hands clenched and my toes curled up in my shoes. At lunch, the spaghetti and meatballs looked slimy, and I hardly had any appetite anyway. On the way home from school, I asked Ronnie if he wanted to play Nok-Hockey again.

“Why?” He asked.

“Don’t you want a rematch?”

“I killed you last time.”

“You won’t this time.”

Ronnie gave me an uncertain look.

“Scared I’ll win?” I challenged him.

He snorted. “Fat chance.”

We went to his house, where he beat me eleven games to one.

“Can I eat over?” I asked. “We could watch TV.”

The Shaws were the only family I knew with a color television set. In the den, Ronnie and I watched The Jetsons, but what I really wanted to do was look in a Playboy before we went to war, only I was afraid Ronnie would make fun of me. When The Jetsons ended, Ronnie glanced toward the kitchen, where his mom had started dinner, and then went to the liquor cabinet and poured some Dubonnet into a glass. “We’ll share,” he whispered.

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.

“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.