Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti - Dust

I nodded as if he could see me. “I’m gonna do that.”

“Let me know.” Craig said.

“Oh, I will.”

“Have you heard from anyone else? Anyone?”

“No one.” I answered sadly then hesitated. “Craig, do you know if it’s just us and a few cities or if it’s all over?”

“I wish I had that information,” Craig replied. “But…” Then he gave the stock statement that I, myself, had thought and said so much. “I just don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll find out. We’d better end this.”

“Yeah. I want to do my report, then I’ll turn off.”

“I’m glad you’re out there, Craig. Do your report.” A sense of relief befell me as I placed down the microphone. I pulled Davy and Simon closer to me, and we stared at the radio. Reaching to turn it off, I waited. Craig was speaking.

“Cycle three. Hourly report. This is Craig Roman in Belton, PA. Reporting to anyone who is listening.” Craig sounded different as he broadcast—like a changed man. He spoke clearly, concisely, and with little emotions. “Radiation levels are steady at thirty Roentgens per hour. Staying below is still advisable. It is May tenth. It is a little after one PM. Over.”

“At least…” I looked at the boys. “We’re not alone anymore.”

I turned off the radio.

A change was immediately made to the ‘I’ll be there’ list. I placed a circle around Craig’s name, and next to that, I wrote the letter ‘A’.

Alive.

For the next several hours, we turned on the radio a couple of minutes before Craig was due. Then sure enough, like clockwork, he came on and did the exact same thing. Repetitiveness for security, I suppose. Two call outs to anyone to respond. A thirty-second delay, then Craig simply gave his name, radiation levels, the date and the time.

Over.

That was enough.

I placed myself in the mindset of someone who had a radio, yet was unable to respond. How would I feel hearing Craig’s voice? Excited? Sad? Drowned in a reality nightmare that had no escape? I kept thinking Craig’s message served another purpose. His radio calls also sent signals to possible rescue crews. If there were a world intact outside of our hometown, then surely they knew after Craig’s call, that people were alive.

I daydreamed quite a bit about what awaited us when we rose from the ashes and the dust. Firemen and military personnel donned protective clothing. They planned a strategy for ‘rolling in’ as the American Red Cross called out over the nation in a desperate plea for blood and food.

‘Come to the aid of your countrymen! Ten cities are down but not out! We must save them. Life will prevail.”

That had to be what was going on. There had to be some news channel out their constantly covering what was happening in the cities that were hit. Rescue efforts. Speaking to experts about what we may be facing. Estimating the number of casualties, and urging fellow Americans to pray. Showing the president as he gave heart-wrenching speeches about courage and retaliation, all while every radio station remaining in America blasted hour after hour of patriotic tunes.

It happened before in our history. American Tragedies. American soil attacked. America… lives. So why not now?

Those were my thoughts.

And those were also my thoughts as I prepared to be my own rescue party and go after Matty.

Once again the thrift store donation bags served a big purpose. Rummaging through them, I sought clothing that I could layer upon me. An old pair of jeans, a little tight in the waist, were covered by two pairs of sweatpants. I wore three shirts as well. Sam’s old work boots were my footgear, and gardening gloves covered my hands. With the exception of my sunglasses and the scarf for my nose and mouth, I was ready to go.

Davy looked nervous. He really did. Holding Simon, I swore I could read his mind. He didn’t want me to go. For some reason my son felt he was the better one. Faster, as he put it. But my argument to that was my age. Resistance to radiation poisoning was stronger the older an individual was, and that was a medically proven fact.

I had befriended a doctor through my frequent visits to the coffee shop. A lovely woman named Toni. Often confused, always seeking someone to talk to, Toni enjoyed speaking about anything as long as it didn’t depend on her diagnosing some bizarre illness. She wasn’t much into the ‘apocalypse’ topic at first, but her attention piqued as time moved on. She transferred to Chicago about three months before the attack and we kept in continual contact. Before she left, she gave me a gift. Something she knew I had been looking for. Usually people exchange cards, pictures, anything personal. But Toni, she handed me life. Her words to me were, ‘I hope you never need to use this. But won’t it be neat to add to your survival collection?’

The gift—a potassium iodide equivalent. A medical agent used in combating the effects of radiation poisoning. One would have thought she handed me a million dollars when she gave me the twenty-four doses. To me, it was worth more. She instructed caution in taking too much, stating that a dose should be taken immediately after the attack--half a dose for children. Then another dose should be taken following exposure to radiation, or prior to. End of instructions.

All three of us had taken our dose with our first meal in the shelter and I had just taken my second dose in preparation to get Matty.

Sunglasses in hand, I had kissed the boys. I debated in my mind whether to give them the ‘If I don’t return’ speech, but opted against it. I was positive I would return and I would return in one hour. If I failed in getting Matty that try, I would venture out again.

Turning from the boys to the steps. I froze. We all heard it. A loud ‘bang’ rattled the ceiling as if something above us had fallen.

“Mom?” Davy whispered out.

My hand shot to Davy’s mouth covering it, and bodily I rushed into my son, gripping him and Simon then moving them away from the stairs and further into the basement.

Our eyes all looked to the ceiling and at the shuffling noise. I released Davy and edged my way silently to under the stairs where I kept the shovel. At that moment I wished I would have listened to Burke and had a better means of protection. I didn’t. The shovel was my defense, and with a rapidly beating heart, I grabbed it.

Someone was definitely upstairs. Was it a looter? A friend? Rescue workers?

Footsteps.

I swallowed.

“Jo!” he called out.

The shovel dropped from my hand and clunked hard on the ground. “Sam!” I shrieked and dove for the steps. “Down here! We’re down here!” No sooner did I reach the bottom of the stairs, the basement door opened.

“I’m not alone,” Sam said.

The awkward, slanted ceiling, inhibited me from seeing Sam entirely. But I did see his black shoes as he stepped through the door. I could barely speak through my excited breaths. “That’s OK, we’ve got room.”

Sam descended another step. His black work pants were filthy, and as his knees came into view, I could see a blanket or something was draped over him. “Jo, I don’t want to come all the way down. I’m covered. I wanna change. But I wanna give you something.”

“Sam? What are you talking…”

Sam emerged into view and I stopped speaking and moving. I also swore that I stopped all life functions. Sam was home, but he wasn’t home alone. In his arms tight, covered by a blanket was… Matty.

Dan Leonard worked with Sam at the hotel. In my opinion, Dan was a sleazy, whining, sniveling, pompous princess who I wasn’t really fond of. So how in the world did he end up with Sam at my shelter? His being there broke my firm rule that I’d never let anyone in my shelter that I didn’t like. After all, a nuclear disaster would be tough enough without having to deal with the emotional distress of irritating people.