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Richard lifted up the metal cover that formed the door to the shelter, switched on the generator for light and air, and climbed down the ladder. The little room was such a mess! He and Washington should really try to straighten it up one of these days. For now he kicked the loose magazines and books under one of the bunk beds and plopped down on a lower bunk with his guitar.
Maybe he should become a rock musician. His father thought he should go into mathematics, but Richard always felt happiest when he was playing his guitar. Washington thought he had real talent, and Stacey said the songs he made up were far better than most of the stuff around. Even Washington admitted he was good. But he also said, "Forget it. The odds are a million to one against you making it."
He plucked a few chords and let his mind float. The bad feelings of just a short while ago began to fade, and soon he was playing and singing some of the songs he'd written.
He'd been lost in the music for maybe one hour when he heard Washington's voice from above.
"Hey, down there! Anyone home?"
Stacey's face smiled down at him through the entrance hole, then disappeared. Soon Washington's legs backed down the ladder. In a moment his brother was standing in the narrow space between the double-decker cots with Stacey beside him.
"Truce." Washington held out a Hershey bar. "Sorry about how I acted at lunchtime." He dropped down on the bed opposite Richard and began unwrapping his chocolate bar. "Mom says to come up soon. Dad's gonna be late and she's got a class tonight, so we're having dinner early." He nodded at the guitar. "What's that you were playing? Sounded good."
"Play it for us, Dick," Stacey said. "What's it called?"
Richard shook his head. The song was about Stacey, about lost love. "It's not quite right yet," he said, putting the guitar down. "Did you hear the new Black Sabbath album?"
"Hey, c'mon, Dick. Don't be shy with us," Washington urged.
Richard went to the phonograph. "This is better." He put on the new record and stood back. "Just listen to these guys." He turned up the volume and sat down again, closing his eyes so he wouldn't miss one single note.
The Black Sabbath record had been playing for only a few minutes when a terrible jetlike roar coming from outside drowned it out. The roar was getting louder and closer. Everyone in the room stopped and looked at each other in confusion.
"Oh, what's that?" Stacey screamed.
"Sounds like some kind of an earth tremor," Washington said.
"Great! What a day for that,"exclaimed Richard. He got up to shut off the record player, but it mysteriously went off by itself, causing Ozzy Osbourne's voice to slur, slow and stop. At the same time, the lights flickered and went out. Richard felt a chill in the air as the room went dark. He stood motionless, listening for any sound in the eerie silence.
"It's weird." Stacey's eyes widened. "I'm scared!" Stacey was taken aback by the strange situation before her. She had never encountered anything like it and felt uncertain and afraid.
"Hey, it's nothing," Washington admonished her. "Don't be afraid. Could just be some idiot just hit the wrong switch. But the power does go out in windstorms and tremors like we're having now...."
"Are you sure?"
"Shhh."
Richard looked up as the strange rumbling continued. He remembered how, in elementary school, the teachers used to have them dive under their desks and cover their heads.
"Maybe we should cover our heads," he said lightly. This was stupid. Of course it couldn't be anything serious.
"Ssssh!"
"If you're so worried, I'll go upstairs and find out____"
"Turkey! If it's for real, that'd be the worst thing you could do. Where's the radio?"
"Damn!" Richard said. "I borrowed it last week. It's in my room." He started toward the ladder. "I'll get it."
"No, wait!" Stacey clutched at his shirt. "Don't go!"
He was halfway up the rungs when a brilliant light nearly blinded him. It lit up the small circle of dark sky outside, penetrating the underground room with glacier-white hardness. Richard jumped back, covered his eyes with an arm, and felt the hairs on his body quiver. He stared intently into the terrified eyes of his brother and Stacey. Instinctively they rushed together, huddling, arms around one another.
Then, in the eerie brilliance, and before they could think what might be happening, cans flew off the shelves, pelting them like hailstones. Part of a wall buckled, and earth spilled into the room. Richard was thrown against the bunk bed and found himself crushed beneath the weight of his brother and Stacey. He screamed. He heard Stacey and Washington's terrified cries and knew it wasn't a dream. His shoulder hurt as if it had been yanked from its socket. His cheek burned, and something dripped onto his neck. Richard was suddenly sure that they were dying. He feared that he and his family were going to die, and the intensity of this fear was almost too much to bear.
Maybe a minute passed, maybe more, but at last the waves of pressure eased, and he could stand up in the darkness without the weight of the others on him. Fierce winds like a hurricane roared outside, and a strange smell filled the air.
"You believe it?" Washington muttered. "It's like the whole world just ended!"
"It's like an apocalypse just descended upon us," Stacey added solemnly.
Richard squeezed the painful shoulder and wiped the blood dripping down his face. "You okay?"
"I'm going up!" Washington swept past him.435Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtD0ICXnBq2
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2,711 miles away, in Florida, White House Chief of Staff, James A. Baker, III was faced with a painful decision. Should he inform President Ronald Reagan, who was speaking at a local elementary school, that some nuclear device had been detonated in Southern California? Baker knew his words could have a dramatic impact on the nation's future. . But what should he tell the president -- and how? The trick was not to provoke a reaction or cause a response from the president as he was sitting in front of the news cameras surrounded by elementary school children, so Baker decided to make his message short and direct. “Sir, America is under terrorist attack!” he told the president. "Nuclear terrorism! Los Angeles is destroyed!"
The room fell silent. The president looked around, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he told Baker, “We must act, and quickly."
The government mobilized resources and personnel to the area, providing medical aid, food, and shelter for the affected. The FBI launched an investigation to identify the perpetrators and bring them to justice.
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"Washington, no! Don't leave!" Stacey screamed. She stumbled across the can-laden floor after him.
"Where are you going?" Richard cried.
"To seal the entrance. You get the flashlight!"
He heard the clank of metal dropping into place as he groped along the beds to the chest of drawers where the flashlight was normally kept. Then he remembered taking it from the drawer last week, playing it against the walls so that it made bright circles of light as he lay on the cot, daydreaming. He swept a hand over the rubble of concrete and dirt on the bed. No flashlight. Candles. Matches. He felt his way back to the dresser.
"For God's sake! Where's the flashlight?" Washington roared.
With fluttering fingers he pulled open the drawers and rummaged blindly among bubble gum wrappers, pencils, baseball cards, and other junk until he felt two candles and a partial book of matches. He struck the matches several times before one lit and he could light the candles.
Washington stood at the ladder's foot, an arm around Stacey. Her eyes stared wide and unblinking as he led her to a cot, cleared a space, and sat her down. Then he turned around to look at Richard.
"You all right?" Washington stepped closer and took one of the candles. "You've got a cut on your face! It's bleeding!" He grabbed a wad of tissues from a box on the floor and passed them to his brother.
Richard pressed the tissue against the cheek. "It's not bad. What happened, Washington?" God, let it be anything, except what I suspect, he prayed silently.
Washington darted a glance at Stacey, who sat passively staring ahead. "If I didn't know better-----I'd say---I'd say we've just been nuked!"
Richard drew in his breath. For a long while neither spoke, then Washington finally said, "What do you think we should do?"
"I don't know!" Richard cried. "Are we at war? Is the whole country...." He couldn't finish the sentence. And then his heart froze. "Mom! Dad!"
"I'd better go outside. Look around. Find Mom and get her down here. You stay," Washington said.
"What if there's radiation?"
Washington's eye twitched as it always did when he felt pressured, and he didn't answer. "Where's the flashlight?"
Richard got down on his hands and knees and searched in the rubble of cans, magazines and dirt until he found it. He stood up and flicked the switch anxiously. What if he used up the batteries last week? He sighed with relief as the light held, and he handed the flashlight to Washington. "Maybe we should all go, stick together."
"No. If I need help I'll be back."
"Careful, Washington." Richard hugged his brother hard and fast. He wanted to cry. Washington took a deep, fear-filled breath and gave him the candle. Then he turned, climbed the ladder, and lifted the exit cover. There was a clank of metal as the lid fell back into place, then silence. Richard turned to Stacey.
She'd been sitting with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. Now he realized that she must be in shock. In TV movies they always slapped the persons to bring them back. Was that what he should do? He knelt before her and took her hands. "Stacey?" he urged. "Come on. Get up. Let's get this place cleaned up.
She stared back at him, not seeming to hear. "Stacey!" he said sharply. "Cut it out!" He shook her, frightened now by the distant, closed look. And then he slapped her, first on the arm and then on the face.
Her eyes closed and tears came. Richard sat down and drew her close. He smoothed her hair and patted her back, repeating over and over, "It'll be all right. Shhh. It'll be okay."
At last she pulled away and wiped her eyes. Sniffing, she asked, "What happened? Where's Washington?"
"Upstairs checking things out." He hoped Washington wouldn't be gone long. He pictured fallout raining down on him, fires burning, and he wanted his brother. He needed him back. What would he do if he didn't return? Was it possible that the three of them were the only people still alive? He didn't dare pursue such terrifying thoughts. He looked around.
"C'mon, kid," he said, imitating Washington's self-assured manner. "We'd better try cleaning this mess up. In 5 minutes Washington will be back with Mom, and you know how she is about neatness."
Stacey didn't even smile. She stood up, looked about distractedly, and then sat down again. "Who gives a damn? It's all over. I just know it. Some military guy pushed the button, and the whole world's on fire. We'll all die. We'll never get out of here! This'll be our tomb!"
The picture her words made in his mind were so scary that he cried, "Quit it! We don't know that. We don't know anything! Maybe it's just an explosion downtown of some chemical plant. Now get the hell up and help me!" He yanked at her arm. In the candlelight her dirt-streaked face seemed faintly hopeful. "Pick up those cans. I'll see about the break in the wall!"
"But my mother! Rachel!"
"Get cracking, Stacey. You hear me? Don't think about 'em! Just do like I said!"
Surprised at his gruffness, she started picking up the things that had fallen off the storage shelves and put them back. Now and then she'd stop and look toward the ladder. "Where is he? What's happening up there? What if he doesn't get back?"
Richard didn't answer.
After seeing that he could do nothing about the break in the wall, and deciding that it would hold, anyway, he turned to taking inventory. With a kind of feverish energy he made mental notes of everything in the shelter---the contents of his father's fishing box, the number of sleeping bags and backpacks, how much freeze-dried food they had, what canned drinks and other foods. Somehow keeping busy this way helped time pass in a way that seemed purposeful.
When he found the camp stove, he felt a bitter irritation at himself. He didn't even know how the thing worked. Washington or his mom and dad had always operated it on camping trips while he'd been off getting water or finding firewood.
"I've got to go to the bathroom," Stacey whispered apologetically.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll find something." He blushed for them both, aware that in the excitement, he, too, had to relieve himself. "Here..." He handed Stacey a cooking pot from the camping equipment, then turned away. Whistling to cover any sounds, he moved to the farthest corner of the room and climbed several of the ladder rungs.
Almost an hour had passed since Washington had left. With each minute he felt more anxious. What could be happening? Was his mother all right? What about his father? His office was in Pasadena, 10 miles from here. What if Washington doesn't come back?
He couldn't wait any longer, regardless of what Washington made him promise. He raised the exit cover and looked out.
The wind seemed to have died down, but the air now had an electric tang to it. He touched a hand tentatively to the nearby blacktop and felt ashes and great heat. Quickly he jerked his hand back, wiping it on his blue jeans, then climbed another rung so he could see farther. At first all he could make out was the nearby shrubbery and the vague outline of the back of the house. It looked as if lights were on in the house. Lights? No! With horror he realized that it wasn't electricity but fire!
What am I supposed to do? he agonized. What can I do? Where's Washington? Why isn't he back? And then he saw the light wavering unsteadily towards him.
"Washington!" He jumped out of the shelter and ran across the sticky blacktop, sensing the heat through his sneakers.
"She's heavy," Washington panted. "Grab her legs."
Sharing the burden, they hurried back to the shelter. Richard climbed down first, easing his mother through the opening. He took her dead weight into his arms, then backed down the remaining steps. Washington sucked in his breath as if he were crying with exhaustion.
Richard heard the metal cover clang shut just as he dropped his mother onto the cot. She cried out. She was alive! Taking one of the candles, he held it close to her, and his eyes blurred with tears. Her arms and legs, exposed because she'd been wearing shorts and a shirt without sleeves, were red and blistered. Even her face seemed distorted, with brows and lashes gone. She opened her eyes, focused on his face, and smiled a strange grimace of a smile.
"Hello, darling," she whispered. And then, with a sigh, "Thank God you're okay!"
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