Fallout

“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “But I can’t sit here and do nothing. Even President Kennedy said we should build a shelter. He’s building one at his summer place in Hyannis Port, and we all know there’s got to be an enormous shelter in Washington.”

“Well, good for him. Meanwhile, Scott’s pulling the hair out of his head and is so worried he threw up his dinner.”

“What?”

I had to get closer to try to hear what Mom said next. Suddenly the door swung open. Dad looked startled when he saw me. “You… were listening?”

I bowed my head in shame.

“You threw up?”

“Ahhhh!” Halfway down the hall, Sparky let out a cry and dashed away. He must have been coming to see what we were talking about.

“I’ll take care of him.” Mom went past us.

In a low voice, I told Dad that I hadn’t thrown up, but that Sparky had been so eager to see what was in the shopping bag that he’d filled his mouth with spinach and spit it out in the toilet. Dad sighed, then reached out and turned my head with his hand. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You pull out hair when you’re worried?”

I nodded.

“Try not to, okay?”

47

In order to have toilet paper and washcloths, we’ve torn our nightclothes down to almost nothing. Paula and Janet clutch what remains of their robes tightly when they move around, but Mrs. Shaw can’t be bothered and lets her shredded robe hang open, revealing the nakedness beneath. I guess she knows that we’re all so hungry, weak, and miserable that no one cares.

“I can’t stand it!” Mr. Shaw suddenly pushes himself up. It seems like the first time he’s stood up in days, although that probably isn’t true. He stumbles toward the gap in the shield wall.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Shaw gasps.

“I’ll take my chances up there.”

“Dad!” Ronnie dashes after his father and wraps his arms around one of his legs.

Shock and alarm fill the shelter. For an instant, my dad looks dumbfounded. Then he hoists himself up and grabs Mr. Shaw’s arm.

“Let go!” Mr. Shaw tries to yank free.

“You’ll kill us all!” Dad warns.

“I can’t stay in here anymore!”

“Dad, stop!” Ronnie cries as his father tries to drag him.

“You’re scaring him, Steven!” Mrs. Shaw yells.

With Ronnie’s arms wrapped around his thigh like a boa constrictor, Mr. Shaw tries to squirm out of Dad’s grip in a strange slow-motion dance as if they don’t have the strength to move faster. Dad hooks an arm around Mr. Shaw’s neck, and they tumble to the shelter floor, a mass of squirming arms and legs.

“Let go!” On the floor, Mr. Shaw tries to wriggle and twist away, but Ronnie’s still clamped to his leg, and Dad manages to pin his arms down. Ronnie’s crying and Mrs. Shaw is yelling, “Stop it! Stop it!” Mr. Shaw twists his head back and forth and tries to kick with his free leg. “Let me go!”

But Dad has him pinned. “If you open that door now, the radioactive dust that falls in could kill us all.”

Her hair a wild mess, Mrs. Shaw kneels and takes her husband’s head in her hands. “Stop,” she says gently but firmly. “Get ahold of yourself. I understand how you feel. I really do. But you have to think about the rest of us. Ronnie needs you. I need you.”

Her words get through. Mr. Shaw goes limp. The back of his head rests on the floor, and he bursts into tears, hiccupping and snorting, his chest heaving.

I’ve never seen a grown man cry so publically before, and it feels strange and upsetting. Sparky’s whimpering. Janet strokes his head reassuringly. Paula’s eyes are wide as she clings to her father. We’re all so close together; there’s nowhere to hide. Ronnie lets go of his father’s leg and sits on the floor, wiping his eyes, his face smudged with tears and dirt.

Mrs. Shaw helps her husband to one of the bunks and lies down with him. She kisses his face and whispers in his ear. He slides his arms around her and pulls her close. I feel bad that they can’t be alone.

Dad watches Mrs. Shaw caress and soothe her husband. He turns his gaze to Janet hugging Sparky. Then he looks at Mom, lying on her bunk with that blank expression, not the slightest bit aware of what just happened.

Dad doesn’t check the radio anymore. But whenever he wakes up from a nap, he goes around the shield wall and tests the radiation levels under the trapdoor.

“A hundred and twenty-seven,” he reports.

It’s dropped again, but is still high above the safe level. Meanwhile, we’re slowly starving to death.

48

On the TV, President Kennedy wore a dark jacket, white shirt, and thin black tie. He sat at a desk with a dark curtain and an American flag behind him.