Dust (5 page)

5. A Signal
 

The alarm clock chimed at 10:15 AM. It wasn’t a wake-up call, it was a form of knowledge. Days and nights held no distinction, and the alarm was a signal to Davy that another full day had passed. He marked the calendar with an ‘X’. We were beginning day four. Exactly seventy-two hours had passed since the bombs.

The Geiger counter was a bust. If indeed it did work, it was hard to tell in the basement, and I had yet to gain the courage to venture outside and do a reading. A part of me kept on hoping that soon enough I would hear trucks roll down the street. The Military maybe, blaring out through megaphones that, ‘Help is on the way’. That somehow it wasn’t a global conflict, and nuclear war hadn’t wiped out civilization. The news said, ‘nine bombs’. What if only ten or eleven bombs exploded? Then that meant a major part of the country would still be intact. They would unify, aid, and rescue.

It was possible.

Not probable.

The problem was we were in the dark all the way around.

As an amusement mechanism, Davy and Simon began holding their urine. Causing themselves discomfort to the point that they’d wiggle and dance about in order not to let loose. The constant verbal exchange of, ‘I got to go. No hold it’, escalated to ‘don’t make me laugh, I’ll pee my pants’. Self torture all for the heightened moment, when the two of them stood above the open drain pipe seeing who could better aim their power stream. I guessed the game would be the first of many ‘off-centered’ things they’d find fun and exciting while in the shelter.

It wasn’t long after the late morning water battle between the boys, when it happened. Where some people would label them ‘idiot lapses’, I called them my ‘blonde moments’. Episodes that happened rarely, but when they did, they were doozies.

How many times had Simon asked me for a can of soda? Too many to count. I turned him down every time, increasingly adding annoyance to my voice over his persistence to have a cola that didn’t exist.

I was messing around with the Geiger counter when Simon asked me again.

“Can I, Aunt Jo?”

“No, Simon.”

“I’ll share with Davy.”

“Simon ... ” I huffed out, my eyes still locked on the Geiger counter gauge. “No.”

He said, “Fine.” He breathed on me in a frustrated way and stormed off.

I shook my head at him until I heard it.

‘Snap’. Fizz.

I peered up. Simon was drinking from a can of soda. “Oh, my God.” I jumped up. “Simon, where did you get that?”

The brown substance dripped from his mouth and chin, and in the midst of a loud burp far too huge to come from his small body, Simon pointed ... to the basement refrigerator.

 
Was I stupid? Blind? How did I miss the hulking, ancient white box? How did I forget about it? It wasn’t like I never used it. I did. It was my refrigerator storage space for items that didn’t fit in my kitchen fridge. Such as the soda Simon consumed.

As if it were Christmas, I raced with enthusiasm to the refrigerator and flung it open. I suppose Simon was lost as to why I shrieked. To him, the contents of the fridge were nothing new. To me, I felt as if I found a buried treasure. No less than a case of orange soda was in there, eight cans of cola, some beer, and other food items. Of course, some of the things, if not most, would not be viable. What was still good, had to be eaten right away.

I grabbed the bag of carrots. My fullest intent was to peel them, and have them as a snack. I allotted a cup of water for washing, and then I took them aside and began to prepare them. Although washing and peeling was unnecessary, it gave me something to do.

More than likely I looked insane to the boys. After all, I was elated with joy over the discovery of soda and carrots. Amused was an understatement; I couldn’t stop laughing at my stupidity with the fridge.

Little did I know, my ‘fridge blonde’ moment was not the last for the day. The afternoon could have been called the ‘Simon Shines’ hour. Because if it wasn’t for Simon, not only wouldn’t we have carrots, we wouldn’t have heard it at all.

I almost cut my finger when I heard the static of the radio. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Simon. His tiny body squatted by the radio, hand reaching for it.

“Simon, don’t touch that.”

“I want to talk to the man.”

“That’s not a man, Simon, that’s a radio.”

Simon was insistent. “I want to talk to the man.”

I peered across the basement to Davy who was organizing the new fridge finds. “Davy, can you get Simon away from ... ”

Static.

“Cycle two. Hourly report. May 10th. Is anyone there? Over.”

The entire room spun around as if to zoom my focus on the radio. “Oh, shit.” My heart thumped and I lost my breath. “Craig.” I leapt forward, nearly losing my balance and flew to the radio.

Davy raced over and arrived at the same time as me. “Craig?” he asked.

“Craig.” I swept up the microphone, darted a kiss to Simon’s cheek, and pressed the button. “Craig. Craig. Come in. Craig. Oh my God.”

Silence.

A pause.

“Jo?”

Craig muttered something after the call of my name, what it was, I hadn’t a clue, because we all screamed at that moment. Even Simon, and he didn’t know why he was excited, he just was.

“Craig, oh, my God.”

“Jo, I thought something happened to you,” Craig said.

“I thought something happened to you, too.” I chuckled.

“Are you just getting your radio up?” Craig asked.

“No. We had it up since the day before yesterday. Where have you been?”

“Me? You? If you had the radio up, why didn’t you call out? Respond? Anything.”

“I did. I was gonna ask you the same thing. Craig, come on.” I sounded so teacher-like. “You know the routine. Call out every hour, but on the hour.”

“I have been, Jo.”

Sarcastically, I snickered. “Then you need to know how to tell time. It’s twenty after one.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.” I argued. “I know. Did your watch stop?”

“Yes, but you’re forgetting, I carry that wind-up in my emergency car pack. I wind it every day, Jo. It never stopped telling time. It’s One o’clock on the nose. Well, One minute after now.”

“Shit.” I had to laugh at myself. Really, I should have known. Why in the world would I argue with Craig? Of course him of all people would have the exact time. “Craig? Where are you?”

“I was on my way to work, when the warnings came. I pulled over immediately and ran into the first house I could. I’m in Belton.”

Belton was fourteen miles east of the city.

“Wait. Craig, was anyone home?”

“Bruce, the owner. How about you? Are you alone?”

“No, Davy and Simon are here.”

“Nicky ... Nicky didn’t go there, did she? I know she doesn’t work far from you.” Craig asked.

“No. She didn’t come here.”

“Then I have to come back down that way. I took the car battery from my car, so it should run. I’ll give it a few more days. I want to see if the levels drop.”

“Craig, are you taking readings?”

“Twice a day.”

“How?” I questioned.

“I’ve been going out.”

“Craig, that’s dangerous.”

“Nah. I’m fine.” Craig said. “I waited until the second day because I knew I could head out. And I was only out there a minute or so.”

“What are the levels?”

“Thirty rads.”

“Shit. I wanted to try to go get Matty today. She was at school. I need to see if she’s fine.”

“It shouldn’t take you too long, right? If you promise yourself no more than an hour, you’ll be fine. Give it four more hours, until the sun’s not as strong.”

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.

6. The Black Blanket
 

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?