by Amy Brashear
And then: blessed silence.
A collective sigh of relief. We all stood. Well, all of us except for Chuck.
“Can someone help me up?” Chuck asked, raising his right arm in the air and waving his hand for anyone with strength to grab it.
I took a step forward.
“No, don’t help the dead person,” Coach Brooks commanded, laughing.
I couldn’t tell if Coach really meant what he was saying. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I froze in place, staring as Chuck clumsily tried to get himself into a standing position.
Orwell was right. All you have to do is keep people scared.
* * *
35 A sci-fi movie directed by Steven Spielberg. It came out in 1982. It’s basically about a boy who befriends an alien and tries to get him home before the government kills them.
36 DEFCON 5: Normal Readiness. DEFCON 4: Above Normal Readiness. DEFCON 3: Air Force Ready to Mobilize in 15 Minutes. DEFCON 2: Armed Forces Ready to Deploy and Engage in Less than 6 Hours. DEFCON 1: Maximum Readiness.
Save This Community Guide. It May Save Your Life. Pope County Emergency
FEMA
FEMA was created to ensure that the United States government survives a nuclear attack. In a nuclear attack, most people will be killed instantly, due to the blast, heat, or the initial radiation that follows.
BE PREPARED
This is in no way meant to frighten you; however, in a State of National Emergency declared by the President of the United States, it is best to be prepared because there will be casualties.
WARNING
An attack warning signal will be heard. An attack warning signal means that an actual attack against the United States has been detected—and protective action is necessary. An enemy attack on the United States is possible in these rising global tensions. In the event of an attack you will receive a warning. To be prepared, know there are Alert Signals: a 3 to 5 minute steady blast of sirens. In the event of a real attack, there is an Attack Warning Signal: a 3 to 5 minute wavering sound on sirens. Please familiarize yourself with the distinction of each.
EVACUATION
In the event of an attack on the United States, if you live in a target area, it is best to be prepared to evacuate to a safer location. In the event of an attack, locations in your area have been designated as safe places to go. These locations have been marked with a sign—black-and-yellow with three upside down triangles with the words fallout shelter clearly visible. Please locate and be familiar with the nearest shelter. You will live in the shelter for fourteen days. There are things you can do in order to survive. Make sure that all windows are blocked in the room. Possible items of use: bricks, concrete, building blocks, sand, books, dirt; furniture can also be used in an emergency. Sanitation arrangements need to be made because there will be no water or toilets. See your local FEMA office for more instructions.
SUPPLIES
A list of suggested items to have in your shelter:
Water
Milk and/or formula
Food—canned or dried
Bottle and can opener
Eating utensils
Plastic and paper bags
Battery-operated (transistor) radios
Extra batteries
Candles and matches
Soap
Sanitary napkins or tampons
Diapers
Towels and washcloths
Garbage can
Toilet paper
Emergency toilet (bucket and plastic bags)
First aid kit
Toothbrush and toothpaste
Powder
Work gloves
Extra clothing
Coats
Rain gear
Extra shoes
Extra socks
Sleeping bags and blankets
Pickax
Shovel
Saw
Hammer
Broom
Nails and screws
Screwdriver
Roll of wire
HEAT AND BLAST
The temperature of the heat and blast will be hotter than the sun. It will destroy surroundings up to many miles from ground zero. To protect your shelter from the heat blast, it is recommended that you paint your interior walls with antiflash white. It is the brightest white paint color. It will reflect thermal radiation. Contact your local FEMA office for more information.
FALLOUT
Fallout is dust that is sucked up from the explosion. The radiation from the dust is dangerous. Exposure can lead to sickness and/or death. Contact your local FEMA office for more information.
ELECTROMAGNETIC PULSE (EMP)
During a nuclear explosion, an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, will occur. In the event of one, most electronic equipment will be ineffective. An EMP will cripple infrastructure and make it nearly impossible to retaliate against a possible attack. Contact your local FEMA office for more information.
The main goal is to survive a nuclear attack. Please follow your local authorities’ instructions.
Chapter Eleven
By five o’clock, Jennings’s Hardware was officially out of white paint. God help you if you painted your house any color other than white.
“Did you at least save any for us?” Mom asked.
“Of course. But we don’t really need it. There’s not going to be a nuclear war,” Dennis said.
“But what if there is?” I asked.
“We’ll just do what the government tells us.”
Right. Of course, the government wouldn’t lie to us. That only happened in books like 1984.
“Seriously, what if it does happen?” I asked again.
“We’ll survive,” he said.
Adult reassurances ranked even higher on the bullshit-o-meter than those of the US government.
“Why don’t we just paint ourselves white?” Mom asked. “To deflect the blast, do you think?”
“Government wants us racist even in death,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Harharhar,” Dennis said dryly. But then he started laughing for real.
“So, Dennis, who’s going to paint these interior walls?” I asked cautiously, knowing full well that Terrence and I would be stuck with the rest of the town anti-flashing the inside of our homes so white we’d need to wear sunglasses just to sit in our living rooms.
“Oh, you know who,” Dennis said with a wink.
Terrence was still at his mom’s and would be until Monday. So it was just Dennis, Mom, and me for the night, making brownies for the Welcome to Griffin Flat party. Nothing says
“southern hospitality” like hundreds of calories. Dennis and I were taking turns licking the bowls. That was, until I got a call from Max telling me to get to his land, or the Woods. (Everyone in town called that area on Crow Mountain the Woods. Max, though, called it his land.) There had been an invasion.
Mom was against my going.
“No, today is family time,” she said, pouring brownie batter in an 8x8 glass pan.
“Family time? Terrence is with his mom. Can’t you just pretend I’m with Dad?”
Mom laughed. “When’s the last time you were with your dad?”
“Edna,” Dennis warned in a gentle voice.
Mom sighed. She opened the oven, put the brownies in, and set the timer for twenty minutes. And she sighed again, cracking eggs over the bowl to mix another batch of brownies. And she sighed again, wiping her hands on a rag. We were a family—Mom and I and Granny—we were a family that sighed when angry.
“Dad would let me go,” I said, unable to keep from poking the bear with a stick.
“Of course your dad would. He would want to be the good guy.”
“Dad is the good guy.”
She whirled to face me and opened her mouth, but Dennis touched her lower back before she could start talking. I had to hand it to the guy: he was like some sort of pacifist puppeteer when it came to my mother.
She could have taken my comment in many awful directions, all of which probably would have been true. But the immutable facts remained: she was the one who cheated. And she was the one who wanted the marriage to end. She was the one who filed divorce papers. She was the one who married Dennis not long after the papers were signed. She was the bad guy in my eyes. But I couldn’t say that. I would have been the bad guy for pointing it out.
“Terrence is probably at the party,” I pointed out, for all our sakes. “His mom probably let him go,” I added unfairly, licking the leftover batter in the mixing bowl with my finger.
“Don’t start—”
“Start what?” I feigned innocence and went for another dip.
That did the trick. “Go . . . go to your party,” Mom grunted. She stomped over to her purse and dug for her keys. “Here,” she said, throwing them at me.
I smiled as I changed into some black leggings, an oversized light-pink sweater, and a pair of hot-pink Keds. I kept smiling as I put my hair in a side ponytail and grabbed my black backpack. I was smiling still as I waltzed out the door, waving to Mom and Dennis.
They looked like they felt sorry for me more than anything else.
Now, Max’s land was really his grandfather’s land. Of course, Max gets his grandfather’s land when his grandfather dies, but that’s another story. The place was up on Crow Mountain. It was too far to ride my bike. People had been coming out here since the 1960s. Meaning people like my mom, which was kind of weird if you thought about it—since there was a ton of drinking and sex. Lots of unplanned pregnancies were conceived here. Probably followed by vomiting and dry heaving. Ahh . . . memories.
Max’s grandfather was a bootlegger. During Prohibition he was the area’s biggest supplier of moonshine. (Commonly overlooked bit of Griffin Flat trivia: moonshine is the reason why our high school mascot is called the Shiners.) He made it in this cave on his land. It was dry and open. But the cave was like a small factory. He had this huge distiller. Even after Prohibition he continued making moonshine. Max’s dad continued the family tradition, even though it was so illegal. Max’s grandfather made the best illegal but tasty stuff. Max’s dad kept it in an underground shelter that his parents built during the brink of the Cold War. Back during the Cuban missile crisis. Back when we were almost annihilated by the Russians. Again. But everyone bought from him, even my grandfather, and Pops. There were quite a bit of “accidents” that occurred around here. When caught, a lot of men and a few women decided to make a break for it and run. And within a hundred feet of the cave is a drop. Watch your step, ’cause it will be your last.
Everyone from high school was here.
It wasn’t really saying a lot: Griffin Flat High School wasn’t that big, and neither was my class. I pulled up right behind Kevin Barnes’s beat-up old truck, got out of my car, locked it. An unlocked car equaled the perfect place to do the nasty. Many parties ago, after an incident that happened that one does not speak of, someone created a sign and nailed it on an old oak tree.
what you see here
what you do here
what you hear here
when you leave here
let it stay here
“Laura,” Max yelled, running toward me, “I have been waiting for you.”
“Are you drunk?” I asked.
“Nooooooo, honestly, I’m not. It’s soda.”
“Max—Max—Max—Max—Max—Max—Max . . .” the crowd chanted.
Max turned to the crowd, raised his cup in the air, and then proceeded to chug.
“Max—Max—Max—Max—Max—Max—Max . . .” the crowd chanted again.
Max stuck out his tongue, shook his head, crushed his cup with his left hand, and threw it to the ground. “Yeah, boy.”
The crowd cheered and went back to their drinks.
“What?” I asked, laughing.
“We all just formed a cult—and I’m their leader. Does this mean I should go to the store and pick up some Kool-Aid?”
“Don’t drink the Kool-Aid. Wait—” I said. “You’re the leader?”
“I know, I know. Last week they didn’t know my name. This week, damn, I’m—Max!” He yelled his name and everyone in unison proceeded to chant, “Max—Max—Max—Max.”
“I am a god,” he whispered in my ear.
I laughed.
“You’ll never guess who’s here,” he said.
“Who?”
“Come—you’ve got to see.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the cave. Sitting on a crate of dried apple slices was one celebrity—Astrid Ogilvie. Her blonde hair was so big. And her curls were permed, by the way; I can spot a perm a mile away thanks to Brenda Leigh’s Beauty Parlor. Plus, I get perms. Astrid kept moving her curly hair out of her face, blowing it back, but eventually asking some random girl at my high school for a scrunchie. There’s something about our weather down here that makes our hair rise to the occasion. Some say it’s the humidity, others say it’s to be closer to God, either way. No one knows the struggle of having to iron your hair just to get through a day.
No one in the cave was talking—they were just staring at her like we had just seen three seconds of unscrambled Cinemax or something.
Max grabbed my arm and pulled me toward her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, trying to get him to let me go.
“You have to meet her. She’s just a person. Just like us.”
“No. She’s famous. We’re not.” Hearing my words in my head, I realized I sounded like Dana. Now I wanted to puke, and I hadn’t even had a single sip of beer.
“Come on.”
“If this isn’t rock bottom, then I don’t know what is,” Astrid said, clearly to us, but pretending as if she were just talking out loud to herself. Her eyes caught mine.
“Something I can help you with, miss?”
“I was just coming over here to say hi, that’s all.”
“Well, hi,” she imitated, emphasizing the southern drawl that was apparently my speaking voice.
I turned to walk away.
Max grabbed both my arms and said, “This is my friend Laura. She’s going to be in the movie too. She won the radio contest.”
Astrid flashed a big, fake smile. “Congratulations.” She sipped her beer with a straw. “I bet you’ll do great playing a hick.”
“Why don’t you reach down with both hands, firmly grasp the stick, and pull it out of your anus,” Max replied.
I laughed.
Her straw fell from her mouth. “Excuse me?”
“Take that stick, ya hear?” Max used the same exaggerated cowpoke lilt she’d just used with me. “Out. Of. Your. An-u-u-s.”
“You can’t talk to me like that,” Astrid snapped.
People were staring now.
“Do you know who I am? Because you can’t talk to me like that. Who invited you to this party, anyway?”
“It’s my land. Who invited you?”
She didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “Kathy Baker.”
Of course. Kathy Baker: spoiled, stuck-up, and pretentious. The problem was that Max might not have been afraid of celebrities, but he was afraid of Kathy.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me away.
“I think I need a new pair of underpants,” he said once we were outside the cave.
“I can’t wait to see Astrid’s character die as a fireball engulfs her as she runs across Main Street searching for shelter,” I said.
My Lord. I really am Dana.
“Where’s Peony?” I asked Max.
Max put his index finger to the side of his nose and sharply inhaled
.
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Rehab.”
“Fifth time’s the charm,” he said.
Members of the football team were trying to pump the keg. I opted for a can of Coke. I nearly bumped heads with Kathy Baker as she grabbed a Diet Coke from the ice chest and shook the can to remove the excess ice. She would regret that later when she popped the tab.
“How’d you get Astrid to come?” Unlike Max, I felt only pity toward Kathy.
“I, like, asked her,” Kathy said under her breath. (As if talking to me would infect her with radiation poisoning.) “My dad was refilling a prescription for her. I, like, asked, and she came.”
I can just imagine how that conversation went:
“The Woods, it’s like where we party, and, like, we get drunk and hang. Making out is optional. [Insert laugh.] Please come and meet us there. You’ll, like, have lots of fun. It’s up the mountain and, like, go half a mile and turn right and you’ll see a big oak with a sign nailed on it—what you see here what you do here what you hear here when you leave here let it stay here and, like, around the corner is a cave, and that’s where we’ll be. There’ll be, like, beer and moonshine—tasty, trust me. See ya!”
Kathy said “like” a lot. To the point that it made you want to throw yourself off a cliff. That was her scariest quality. All at once, I spotted Dana behind her. (Speak of the . . . Devil. No. Speak of the Divine? The Ditzy? Whatever.) At Kathy’s heel—like a dog. If you’re keeping track at home, Dana hadn’t said one word to me all day, which was fine, but I was kind of worried about what she would do. Like with a bomb of the nuclear variety being dropped, I was waiting for the fallout.
“What are you doing?” Dana whispered.