Todd Strasser: Fallout

The Lewandowskis had a station wagon, and whenever Mrs. Lewandowski took one of her kids somewhere, all the others had to go as well. It was not unusual to see their car weaving erratically down the street, Mrs. Lewandowski steering with her left hand while reaching back to smack one misbehaving child or another with her right.

“So… what’re we gonna do?” I bit my lower lip nervously.

“Go in there and get us a cheesecake,” Ronnie replied, as if the answer were obvious. He stopped at the end of the Lewandowskis’ driveway and gazed at the house, which was the color of chocolate pudding.

My queasiness leaped up a notch; intentionally opening a garage door seemed to imply a greater degree of juvenile delinquency than merely wandering in. I reached behind my ear and took hold of a few more hairs. “You mean, open the garage door?”

“No, Scott, I’m going to walk right through it like that scientist in 4D Man. ”

“Nothing can stop him,” Freak O’ Nature said in a deep ominous voice, quoting from the TV commercial currently promoting the movie. “A man in the fourth dimension is in… de… struc… ti… ble.”

By now my reluctance had risen to the level of near-paralysis. “You sure about this?”

“What’s the big deal?” Ronnie asked impatiently. “The Lewandowskis are our neighbors. We share stuff all the time.”

“But we ask first,” I said.

“If they were here, I’d ask.” Ronnie took a few steps up the driveway, then stopped and looked back at us. “You guys aren’t chicken, are you?”

Leaving a smudged trail of blood on the concrete floor, Dad and Janet get Mom to a bunk. Ronnie and Mr. Shaw, in their pajamas, stumble into the shelter and look around. Mrs. Shaw, in a pink bathrobe, arrives next. From around the shield wall come shouts of people urging each other to hurry and go down.

Dad spins to face Mr. Shaw. “We’re all going to die,” he growls as Paula comes in with tears running down her face. “There’re already too many. There won’t be enough food or water for all of us.”

Mr. Shaw and my father face each other for an instant, then march back around the shield wall. Meanwhile Sparky’s still holding on to me, and I can’t stop looking at Mom, now cradled in Janet’s arms, and wishing she’d move. Ronnie and Paula also stare. Mrs. Shaw pulls both of them to her.

On the other side of the shield wall, Dad and Mr. Shaw shout that there are too many people. Loud grunts and curses follow, as if there’s a fight. A man shouts, “My daughter’s in there!” In the shelter, Paula cries out, “Daddy!” Her sobs grow louder, and Mrs. Shaw hugs her and says it’s going to be okay. But that can’t be true. There’s a nuclear war and Mom’s bleeding and too many people are already in the shelter and more are trying to get in.

The fighting and yelling grow louder. Sparky’s grip on me tightens as he pleads, “Make it stop!”

Mr. McGovern staggers around the shield wall with a long red scratch across his cheek. Paula breaks away from Mrs. Shaw, but before she gets to him, there’s a sudden bright flash of light as if someone on the other side of the shield wall took a photograph.

A woman’s scream pierces the air.

The bulb in the ceiling goes out.

Everything turns dark.

The sirens in the distance stop.

“What happened?” Sparky asks anxiously in the inky void.

Clang! On the other side of the shield wall, the trapdoor slams shut, and I hear a clank as if a bolt has been thrown.

It is pitch-black in the shelter.

The momentary silence is broken by Paula’s sobs, then into the darkness come ragged breaths — Dad’s and Mr. Shaw’s. From around the shield wall come thuds of fists drumming against the trapdoor. A muffled female voice cries hysterically, “Richard! Richard!”

It’s horrible. I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help. More thuds and frantic begging join in. “Please!” “For the love of God!” “Don’t let us die!”

“I’m scared!” Sparky wails. In the blackness, his sobs join Paula’s.

“Don’t listen,” Mrs. Shaw gasps, as if such a thing might be possible.

Despite the panicked shouts coming from the other side of the trapdoor, there is a strange stillness in the shelter.

“Scott?” Dad says somberly somewhere in the dark.

“Dad?” Ronnie says at the same time his mother says, “Steven?”

“I’m here,” Mr. Shaw answers, breathing heavily.

Loud clanks and thumps fill our ears as those left above beat at the trapdoor. But it is made of quarter-inch iron plate. Nothing short of a bazooka could blast through it.

“Make it stop,” Sparky pleads.

But it doesn’t. There’s no getting away from the agonized cries of those who’ve been locked out. Stomach cramped, heart racing, I fight back tears and wish the banging and shouting would go away.

Now there’s a new, more distant sound… growing steadily louder like thunder. Then a roar, and one last awful scream that disappears into deafening clatter and crashing. In the dark below, I cower over Sparky and imagine something like a tornado above obliterating everything in its path.

It rumbles over us, followed by a few muffled thumps.

And then… quiet.

“Keep an eye out,” Ronnie told Freak O’ Nature, and continued up the Lewandowskis’ driveway. Feeling light-headed with misgivings, I followed, wondering if Ronnie felt that way, too. He had to know that stealing was wrong. Was a Sara Lee frozen cheesecake really worth this much anxiety?

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.

“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.”