Amy Brashear - The Incredible True Story of the Making of the Eve of Destruction

“You and Terrence will have a lot of fun. You’ll remember this time for the rest of y’all’s lives,” Pops said, grabbing a fry and dipping it in my milkshake. “Yum. Next time I’ll have to get one for myself.”

With the last fry on my tray eaten, the men grabbed their coats, straightened their hats, and said their goodbyes.

“Fair warning,” Pops said. “Watch out for the speed trap down on Hunt Road—that hill toward the Piggly Wiggly. There was a cop hiding by a bunch of overgrown bushes.” He turned to me. “That’s where I got my umpteenth speeding ticket—by not paying attention to gravity.”

“Love you, Pops.”

“I love you too, Laura.”

Little Rock, Ark.—Curious about the end of the world? Here’s your chance to take part in the apocalypse. In Eve of Destruction , it’s 1954, and a Red Warning is looming over the country. A nationwide drill is set for 10 a.m. across North America. What happens to an American city when the unthinkable happens… FOR REAL?

All ages welcome. Locals with pre-1954 vehicles are needed. Dates: November 26–December 6.

Refreshments and snacks provided.

Headed your way to a movie theater near you is Eve of Destruction , the story of a world on the brink of annihilation. The nation fears a Red Warning, so to be prepared for the worst, the United States declares the first nationwide Civil Defense drill. Set in Arkansas in June 1954, the story follows four teenagers as the town of Pikesville stages a mock attack.

Even in 1984, people have nuclear war on their minds. Do you think there will be a nuclear war in your lifetime? Do you think if there is a nuclear war, you will survive? Do you favor a nuclear freeze? Please answer honestly. Once done, drop off your surveys at any of the following locations: Ellis Grocery, the post office on Main Street, the town hall (the local FEMA location) on Hatcher.

Results will be published in an upcoming issue of the Arkansas Telegram .

1. What are the chances of a nuclear war?

■ High

■ Low

2. Do you think a nuclear freeze will happen in your lifetime?

■ Yes

■ No

3. How often do you think about a nuclear war happening?

■ Several times a day

■ About once a day

■ Almost once a month

■ Almost never

4. Given that the state is a prime target, how prepared do you believe we are in case of attack?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

5. If a nuclear war occurs, do you believe one side will emerge as a “winner”?

■ Yes

■ No

6. What are your chances of surviving a nuclear war?

■ None

■ Poor

■ Good

■ Excellent

Your Age

■ 15 or under

■ 16 to 21

■ 22 to 30

■ 31 to 45

■ 46 to 60

■ 61 or above

Your Sex

■ Male

■ Female

Mom dragged Dennis to the hotel to fix a few issues that had been plaguing the staff of the Flat Inn, Terrence was at a pickup basketball game down at the Y, and I was at Max’s house trying to decipher my handwriting. Max’s room was the natural place for the creative process, strewn with his own drawings, action figures, and costumes from Halloweens past. Last year we went as Batman and Robin. I was Robin, of course. I never got to play the lead.

“I think we need a female lead,” I told Max.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because they keep canceling the ones that have one, like She-Hulk .” [32] She-Hulk had her own comic books, but they were canceled in 1982. She became a minor character in other comics, including the Incredible Hulk. Two years ago, she was a member of the Avengers, and this year, she appeared in the April issue as a member of the Fantastic Four.

He didn’t answer. I got to work on the origin story of my girl while Max got to drawing.

“I want her to be strong and independent and speak her mind but not be too bossy,” I said.

“Okay, how about a name?” he asked.

“Penny,” I answered, my eyes on my notebook. “Penny Star.”

“Is that too on the nose?” he asked, sharpening his pencil.

“Really? Too on the nose? Like Flash or Firestorm—”

“Okay, I get your point,” he said.

“Thank you very much.”

“Well, does it not sound like a stripper?”

“Uh, fine, I’ll change the name.”

A loud, piercing sound came from the living room. Max’s older sister, Erica, was home from college, watching soap operas. When she was done screaming—it didn’t last long—she turned down the volume. She was thoughtful that way. “I only want to hear that tone blaring in the end-times,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest.

“Like now?” Max said.

“They’re doing more tests lately, aren’t they? Should we be worried?” I asked.

“We’re just getting our origin story.”

“I went to a meeting yesterday at Tech about the end of Star Wars,” I said.

“The movie?”

“No—nuclear arms race,” I said. “We set off ninety-nine red balloons in protest.”

“When did you get political?” he asked.

“I’m not.”

“You do know red balloons are not great for the environment.”

“Do you think there’s going to be a nuclear war?” I asked.

“No. No one is that stupid,” he said. “What does your dad say?”

“My dad?” I asked.

“You know, your dad knows all about this nuclear weapons business?”

“He doesn’t talk about it.”

“You mean, he can’t talk about it.”

“Yeah, can’t.”

It was a lie. Dad once talked about it.

My dad was a member of the 374th Strategic Missile Squadron, the United States Air Force unit that was assigned to the 308th Strategic Missile Wing, stationed at Little Rock Air Force Base. The 374th Strategic Missile Squadron was equipped with the LGM-25C Titan II Intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM), with a mission of nuclear deterrence. The squadron was responsible for nine missile sites. Well, eight now. The ninth was at 374-4 at the underground missile launch facility near Damascus, Arkansas, population three hundred.

The missile they were “guarding” until they got the orders to “deploy” was a silo-based, liquid-propellant ballistic missile. It was the largest ICBM ever deployed by the US Air Force. It carried a W-53 9.0 MT nuclear warhead. The missile had a diameter of 3.05 meters, a length of 31.30 meters, and a launch weight of 149,700 kilograms. The missiles had a two-stage liquid propellant design and reached a speed of twenty-five times the speed of sound by the time the engines cut off. Meaning kaboom rather quickly. After the “incident,” it was found later in a ditch. On that day three years ago, the Damascus site became decommissioned and disassembled. Now there were nine ICBMs [33] 374-1 Blackwell, 347-2 Plummerville, 347-3 Hattieville, 374-4 Springfield, 374-5 Wooster, 374-6 Guy, 374-7 Damascus,* 374-8 Quitman, and 374-9 Pearson. *On September 18–19, 1980, a Broken Arrow happened. that Dad’s unit was responsible for.

Dad lived on base now, full-time since the divorce, and he couldn’t really call, so he wrote. The government liked to leave me with my imagination running wild, since there were a lot of black marks on his letters. Once he said he had been at the site at Damascus, and the United States government messed up one time and blacked out Arkansas instead. One time he let it slip after too many beers (this was after Mom’s illicit affair with Dennis was found out) that when (he said when , not if ) a nuclear war happened, he would be in the bunker. He was the one who typed in the codes and turned the key to annihilation. The next morning, he asked if he’d said anything incriminating. I lied because I didn’t want my dad to get in trouble, but he could tell I was lying. I didn’t want my dad to be transferred because he couldn’t keep a secret.