“Terrence, I don’t want to die,” I said finally.
“Me either.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
We didn’t want to go outside, but we didn’t want to stay in here.
They said cockroaches were the only thing that would survive. That didn’t give us much hope. Staying put in here, even if it smelled like shit and vomit and urine, meant safety. We didn’t know if safety would be guaranteed if we went outside.
“In the first issue of Teenage Mutant we meet Destiny with powers so great from a nuclear bomb that she can do anything. We could be like her. We were all touched by radiation. But to fulfill our potential, we need to leave this fallout shelter,” I said.
“Are you trying to rah-rah us up about opening the vault door?” Astrid asked.
“Well, I was trying. Is it working?”
“No.”
“I can quote another,” I said, thinking.
“Stop. I’m embarrassed for you,” she said.
“Did you just quote a comic book?” Terrence asked.
“Yes, I did,” I said. “Mine—one of the best superheroes ever.”
We gathered what we wanted to take with us. My Nuke Me tote bag was full of first aid supplies, food, and other necessary items.
“We might have to hoof it to find civilization,” I said.
“Find civilization?” Terrence asked. “You’re making this sound like some stupid science fiction plot to some bad movie.”
“Wait—hoof?” Astrid asked.
“Walk,” Max defined for her.
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“It’s a saying,” I said.
“Again, your American idioms,” she said, shaking her head.
“We don’t know what’s outside. It could be fine or—” Tyson said.
“It’s fine,” the director said.
“But the radio said—” I started to say, but was cut off by the director going on a tirade about the government and propaganda.
“It was touch-and-go through the first two periods, but I knew that everything would be okay when Mike Eruzione scored his famous third-period goal to put the Americans ahead. Do you believe in miracles?” Rodney asked.
“Hockey?” Freddy asked.
“It was the Olympics—against the Russians. USA… USA… USA!”
We chanted “USA” like some insane glorified patriotic crazy person. But it helped. Did we believe in miracles? Yes, of course we did. Everything could have been fine outside. Everything could have been normal outside. Like some crazy adventure. A Hollywood joke.
“It doesn’t matter—we’ve got to go,” the bus driver said.
“What he said. I’ve got to find a bathroom with privacy.”
“Privacy.” Max sounded it out for Astrid the proper American way. Like all Americans do with tact and understanding. (That was sarcasm.)
“Let’s get the hell outta Dodge,” Dylan said.
Terrence, with the help of Rodney, grabbed the handle on the vault door and waited until it was time. We had a moment planned. Dylan turned on the camera and filmed our exit. The director stood behind him, giving direction. One of the last scenes for the movie that might never be.
Tyson stuffed the tape that he chose for the moment the vault door opened into the tape player.
“And action!”
At the moment the vault door opened, the director pressed play. The volume was turned to full blast, and “We Are the Champions”[77] echoed throughout the hall.
We stepped outside the fallout shelter.
Astrid walked out first. Freddy helped Owen; he was Owen’s eyes. Rodney, Terrence, Max, and I followed behind. The bus driver and Tyson were in the rear, but the director was the last one to leave. He didn’t want to be in the shot. It was our moment. The eleven of us. What started as a novella about four people turned into a story about eleven. Eleven different people all on a journey of destruction. That sounds cheesy and sappy, and for that I am sorry.
It was quiet. The air smelled of burning flesh and, surprisingly, burnt popcorn. But once we got upstairs and to the front door, we saw we weren’t alone. There had been an invasion—by the United States Air Force.
We stopped on the stairs that led to the charred ground where the flagpole once stood. A man in a protective suit, including gloves and a gas mask, was raising an American flag. Dylan was filming it all, including the helicopters that flew in the sky. A perfect backdrop. The director patted Dylan on the back, probably thanking him for thinking of the perfect visual ending to this horrific story.
The men, probably soldiers, carried guns, and they were pointed at us. The soldiers were also wearing protective gear. But we kept walking toward them. We were dirty. We smelled. We probably didn’t look like human beings.
Rodney was walking with a limp and leaning over in pain. He was moaning. He had been for a while. Stomach problems. We all had them.
“Shit,” I heard a soldier yell.
“Copy,” yelled another before he shot Rodney twice in the head. “Confirmed kill.”
Rodney fell to the ground.
“What the hell?” someone yelled, and we ran toward Rodney. We could have been shot too, for all we knew.
The soldier who shot Rodney was getting screamed at by a superior officer. The soldier had yelled “shit,” not “shoot,” like the soldier had thought he heard. The word zombie was thrown around. We didn’t look human—but we were still alive. We weren’t the walking dead. But Rodney was dead.
The ten of us circled around his lifeless body. To survive a fake but real whatever-the-hell-happened, only to be killed by a gun? What were the odds?
-
In the summer of the Year of the Horse, meaning 1954, three individuals did the unthinkable: they ventured onto the streets of Pikesville in search of the truth—and to find food.
The following is all that remains of the ordeal. What you are about to read is real and may not be suitable for those who suffer from nucleomituphobia.
-
In the fall of the Year of the Rat, meaning 1984, ten individuals did the unthinkable: they ventured onto the streets of Griffin Flat in search of the truth—and to find food.
The following is all that remains of the ordeal. What you are about to read is real and may not be suitable for those who suffer from nucleomituphobia.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“Now we are all sons of bitches,” I said, holding Terrence’s hand.
“That’s a good line,” the director said. “Can I use that? I’ll credit you.”
“Sure, but Kenneth Bainbridge, an American physicist, said that to Robert Oppenheimer after the Trinity test. You should probably credit him.”
The director patted me on the shoulder.
Dylan had been filming but was ordered to stop by the United States Air Force. They took away the camera and confiscated the tape that Dylan had on him.
“Ugh to literally everything about this,” he said. “I say we flood the world and start over.”
“I think we did,” I said.
“That’s a wrap,” Mr. Edman said, wiping his eyes. What would have been his greatest feature was being taken away from him, and all he could do was cry.