Dust (8 page)

Burke growled. He literally growled. “Jo! I bought those cases of beef jerky and canned meat because you and I made a pact. We were gonna split up our rations.”

“Yeah, and I told you I’d give you dehydrated fruit and split pea soup. That was one of the reasons I made so much split pea soup. What’s the problem?”

“Where are my rations?”

“Here.”

“Exactly. I have no goddamn rations in my basement!”

Thinking, ‘shit’, I tried to cover. “But still, Burke. You live five blocks away. I taught you enough to know after a couple of days you could have made it over here.”

Burke sounded eerily calm. “Yes, I could have.” Then he lost it. “If I wasn’t trapped!”

“You know!” I barked, “I’m turning this off. I’m not gonna waste my battery energy to listen to you bitch.”

“You’re right. You’re right. I’ll wait until I get there.”

“Thank you.” I took a moment to calm down. “Burke, you of all people surprise me that you didn’t hear the warning. You’re always watching television or listening to the radio.”

“I know. I was watching TV in the game room too. But I worked night turn and fell asleep right on the couch. I didn’t know it happened until I woke up and half my house had crumbled down around me.”

“You ... you slept through a nuclear explosion?”

“Yeah. How do you like that? Don’t it figure though? I always was a heavy sleeper.”

Unable to help it, I laughed. It was something funny that I needed to hear. More than he knew, Burke’s voice was also something I needed to hear. Despite how much he griped at me, I gained an incredible extra sense of security knowing that Burke was still alive and would be with us soon.

‘SOS’ was the only thing that Davy knew how to send. He got his Morse code contraption up and running, and sent signals out in fifteen-minute intervals. SOS. SOS. I was impressed at my son’s initiative, and even more so impressed at his teaching Simon Morse code. Of course all Simone sent out was ‘SSS’, but it was cute.

We awaited Burke’s arrival like he was a long lost relative. It was taking an exuberant amount of time. The last radio broadcast I received from Burke was a call of assurance that they were making progress. It had been three hours and I worried about Sam. Once again, he was at it. Once again he was outside. How much more would his body take? I reviewed the handbook I had purchased on how to survive a nuclear war, and researched the topic of radiation sickness. According to the book, for all intents and purposes, Sam should have already been sick. He wasn’t. Other than the cough, he exhibited no illness. Not even fatigue. I started to believe that it was his persistence to push on, and resistance to stop that halted anything from invading his body. By the grace of God, Sam was protected and was remarkably beating the odds.

I thought that Dan would have gone with Sam to help and speed things along. But Dan didn’t offer and Sam didn’t push. Both seemed rather content in having Dan stay in the shelter. Dan did have one thing in his favor. He had no problem eating the ‘disgusting’ shelter food everyone else wanted to avoid. Like the ‘Red Hot Pickled Sausages.’
 
Quaint little red things, wrapped in airtight packages. I bought them bulk because they were cheap, they were meat, and they had a shelf life of forever. Sour and gross tasting, Dan consumed them in a slow savoring manner as if they were a delicacy. He even chomped on dehydrated split pea soup as a snack.

Matty’s small daily dose of words were unexpectedly about Dan. She whispered to me that she didn’t like him. Dan overheard and felt compelled to try to convince my daughter he wasn’t all that bad. Simon listened intently, and kept trying to interject by saying, ‘But I like you, Dan. I like you.’

It amazed me, it did. A closed in area, extreme circumstances, apart from the occasional bouts of tension, we were doing extraordinarily well in the shelter. No doubt, things would soon take an interesting turn. Which direction that was—good, bad, smooth, rough—remained unclear. But it was certain, one way or another, things would change.

Burke was on his way.

It had taken just a minute or two under four hours and Burke transmitted he was coming. I knew it wouldn’t take long after the radio call, and I started to fill with not only anticipation, but anxiety as well. I never thought Burke wouldn’t survive, and be part of my little after-war plan. To me that wasn’t an option. However, the effects of Burke and I in the same shelter never had crossed my mind. We had a history of bickering, childlike, non-progressive. We had done so since we met. Burke was a brick wall in size and in mind. When there were bigger things to concern me, I worried about the petty stuff before he arrived. I shouldn’t have. The second Burke stepped into my basement; all of my worries went out the window. Even if it ended up being only for that brief reunion moment ... I was ecstatic to see Burke.

9. House Rules
 

“Cycle Three. Hourly Report. May thirteenth. If anyone is listening I have the radiation levels. Currently we are at 16 roentgens per hour. It is still advisable to remain indoors and below. Next report ... ”

“Craig.” Burke grabbed the microphone and approached the airwaves conversation in his typical gruff manner. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ hour it’s advised to stay indoors. So, on the chance someone else is listening, why don’t you tell them what is a safe level to go out.”

“You did this to me last hour.” Craig replied.

“And you didn’t respond.”

“I know I didn’t respond.”

“Why?” Burke asked.

“Why should I?”

“Why not? I don’t think you know.”

“I know.”

“Then say.” Burke instigated.

“Fine.” Craig huffed, then rambled fast. “The human body can only withstand 100 roentgens an hour before getting sick. It is advisable that in order not to get sick, a person is exposed to no more than six or eight roentgens per day. The body can repair the radiation damage, if it is received over a long period of time in small does. Any dose over 350 can be lethal. So ... ” Craig sang out the word in a long breath. “Handing out some math trivia. If we are at 15 rads per hour. How many hours would Burke have to be exposed before Burke ... dies.”

“Asshole.” Burke shut off the radio.

“You deserved that,” I told Burke. “Why do you let him get to you?”

“Can’t he say anything else?” Burke asked.

“Familiarity breeds ... ”

Suddenly, surprising us all, Matty spoke up. “Twenty.”

Matty still wasn’t speaking more than a few words a day, so this was a breakthrough. Shocked at her speaking, but curious as to what she meant, I looked at her. “What honey? What was that?”

“The math trivia,” she said. “Twenty hours. If Burke goes outside twenty hours he will die.”

“Matty,” I wisped out so excited. “Oh my God, very good.”

Burke shook his head. “Swell.”

“Look at the bright side.” I told him. “You got her to speak.”

“To calculate my death.”

“Perhaps incentive works.” I shrugged.

Burke grumbled. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and walked away, probably to find Dan, sit by him and try to have a conversation. Burke was well aware his presence rattled Dan, maybe that was the reason Burke sought Dan’s friendship so diligently.

I, on the other hand, sought something else.

Solace.

It’s hard to imagine, that with seven people in that basement area, a quiet corner would be a feasible scenario. It was. My basement looked like something from the depression era. Bed sheets and old curtains made up separation walls; they gave us sanctuary when needed.

Matty found herself not needing to hold onto my hip quite as much. Still, I could not be more than a few feet from her. Her and I sat in the first partitioned area by the cold cellar. A place we would eventually become very accustomed to calling ours.

A singer named Helen Reddy recorded a song in the 1970’s called, ‘Ruby Red Dress’. The telltale chorus blasted out, ‘Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone.” I had to explain this to everyone, and even sang a sample of the song, because they were curious as to why I hung an old red sweater on the entrance curtain to our area.

Basically, if the sweater was hanging for them to see, it meant, ‘Leave me alone’. The look on their faces all but said they thought I was ridiculous. But I needed to assure privacy, and the red sweater was my fair warning to them. If they entered the area while I sought peace, it meant war. It was as simple as that.

Understandably concessions would have to be made all the way around. Managing problems before they arose was one of the reasons I sought my privacy. I had some thinking to do.

Not that I didn’t expect it, but Burke added an odd flavor to the soup of people in the basement. Sort of the spice that stood out, one that after a while would blend in. Burke was a great guy. When he worked on something his presence was hardly noticeable. When Burke was restless, he grew loud. He hadn’t even been with us twenty-four hours, and he was outside firing off his shotgun. Not at anything, just firing it off. A few shots. He argued that it was a way for him to relieve tension, plus maybe it would draw out other survivors. I totally disagreed; telling him that if I heard someone firing a gun, the last thing I would do would emerge from my safe basement to see who was shooting. Burke probably sent the entire surviving members of my neighborhood into a frightened tizzy. Causing them to dig in deeper, because not only had a nuclear weapon gone off, but ground war had erupted as well.

Managing Burke within the current shelter state was not where my concern lay. It was with those who would soon join us. Pre-space management, chemistry management, and delegation of duties were my new primary focus. I envisioned myself capable of plotting out a plan of perfect order. What to do with whom. Where to put this person, or that. What tasks would I hand out? The ideal of a picture perfect, ‘bomb shelter harmony’ was farfetched, I wasn’t aiming for that. A bomb shelter with minimal chaos was my goal. With that thought, high hopes of achievement, and red sweater handing on the entrance curtain, I set forth on the task.

***

“What is ‘MH’?” Sam asked right after I showed him my agenda.

I had gathered him, Burke and Dan—the adults—around to listen to what I had laid out. It was Sam’s fourth question in all of five minutes and I hadn’t even begun to show them. His first three questions were inane. ‘You actually wrote it down?’ was his first one. Though to some it may not constitute a question. His second was, ‘Look at all these pages, how long did it take you’ and finally, ‘When did I find time to do it?’ Which, of course, I truly wanted to reply that I hadn’t a clue, seeing how I was extremely busy sitting in a bomb shelter.

“You know, Sam, if you let me just explain first,” I told him.

“I’m just asking.”

“You know what ... ” I closed the notebook “Forget it.”

Burke, who was sitting with us, winced in irritation. “Why don’t you just calm your ass down, and tell us.”

I retorted, “Why don’t you go outside and hang out, that way, Matty can deduct a few more hours from the ‘how long can Burke be outside before he dies’ list.”

“Sam.” Burke huffed out as if Sam would be able to do something about me.

“Can I?” Dan raised his hand. “I’d like to hear this. Go ahead, Jo.”

I was reluctant, because somehow I just didn’t sense that they cared all that much about my list. “MH is Mark’s house next door.”

Sam nodded. “So you want to put Burke, Hebba, Dan, Craig and Nicky, Tammy and her son over there?”

“Yes,” I answered. “He has a huge basement. We’re OK now, but when more people show up, we’ll be cramped. Why not use his house until we get everything geared up to head to Burke’s cabin. Split the people between two houses.”