by Orson B Wolf
The waitress took down the order with a smile, then turned to the princess’ new friend. “And for you?”
He looked at the street corner on the other side of the road. He didn’t seem to have heard the question. When he noticed the silence that settled about him, he raised his eyes to the waitress. “Oh, yeah. I’ll have the same.”
“All right, enjoy.” The waitress blew a giant bubble with her gum and left.
“So what was it you wanted to ask me?” The princess stretched her arms across the table and fidgeted with the napkins.
The man took out a mobile from his pocket and looked at the time. It appeared that he wasn’t listening, but the princess didn’t mind. She started telling him about that time in her life when she lived in a luxurious house and ate proper breakfasts, not common ones like the one they were about be served.
“You know, when I’d go out to see a musical some evenings…” She paused mid-sentence, recalling something. “Oh my! My radio show.” She took the radio out of the shopping cart and put on the headphones. It was on so loud that it could clearly be heard all around her. The princess shut her eyes, raised her face toward the sun, and smiled delightedly.
This day may have started gray and drizzly, but it was certainly getting better by the moment! Here she was, listening to her favorite music and waiting for a pampering breakfast, and the sun went out of hiding just to stroke her face again. There’s nothing in the world like being a princess.
She will never forget what transpired in the following seconds. The music blasting through the headphones prevented her from hearing anything as the waitress approached them with the breakfast tray.
Mr. Bogart must have heard something, however, because he suddenly looked aside. His mouth gaped open as his eyes followed something advancing down the road. A great blotch reflected in his sunglasses, moving quickly.
The waitress froze and the tray dropped from her hands. Sheer terror filled her face.
Then it happened. The earth trembled and a piercing noise rumbled its way through the sealed headphones. She felt a shockwave behind her back, a blast of hot wind dropping her from her chair. Plastic chairs, tables, and napkins flew about her, followed by a cloud of dust that engulfed her and Mr. Bogart, the café, and the entire street.
She found herself lying on the sidewalk, the sharp smell of smoke and gasoline filling her nostrils.
Bogart stood in front of her. He leaned closer and shouted something. She couldn’t hear, but was able to read his lips. “Are you all right?” She nodded and raised a trembling hand to remove the headphones. An irksome noise buzzed in her ears and she could hear other sounds—sirens, crying, and screaming.
Bogart stood up and looked at the events unfolding behind her with concentration. Her heart beat wildly as she slowly turned to look. Her eyes widened with amazement.
Her beloved corner had been completely wiped out. A large truck lay on its side, crushed against the concrete wall, burning. Tall flames raged above it and clouds of black smoke filled Beverly Drive. The princess’s “Giving Tree” had been cruelly severed right through its trunk. What was left of it began to burn like a huge torch.
A car stood upside down in the middle of the road. It, too, began to burn while the driver barely managed to crawl through the window. Metal and plastic shards scattered all over the street, some still burning. The princess could barely breathe. Her heart beat like a drum as her eyes were glued to the terrible sight.
“I was sitting right there,” she muttered. “Just a few moments ago. You saved my life, Mr. Bogart!” She turned her face back to look at him, but he was gone.
“Where are you, my hero?” she mumbled and looked around.
People started to come running, screaming at each other. Someone showed up with a fire extinguisher and started spraying the burning car. The wail of sirens was heard in the distance. She slowly rose up on trembling feet.
A large object stood burning a dozen yards down the street. The distance and the smoke made it difficult for her to distinguish the details. She peeled her eyes, and when she finally recognized the burning object, pressed both hands against her mouth and started weeping.
It was her bench. Its broken slats were twisted and covered with soot.
The pennant was still attached to it, going up in flames.
3
Little Boy
Edward Castner, high school principal in Green Pines, California, took his place behind the podium. From the improvised stage in the school gymnasium, he quietly examined his crowd of students, adjusted the arm of the microphone, and patiently waited for the high schoolers to take their places.
It was eight in the morning and the students, about two-hundred and fifty of them, filled the gymnasium to the brim. Some sat in white plastic chairs brought from the storeroom, others simply obeyed their teachers’ instructions and sat on the parquet floor. The cacophony that normally accompanied gatherings in happier times was completely absent. There were hardly any giggles or hushed mutterings; even the youngest students sensed the gravity of the situation.
Edward sighed and waited for the noise to die down. A shudder passed through his body, but not because of the cold—he had overdressed and his suit made him perspire. This was the first gathering of the day, with two more planned to take place, each with a different crowd in attendance, so that by the end of the day the information would be known by everyone: students, teachers, administrators, and all other school personnel down to the last janitor. The instructions were clear-cut; everyone should know the new regulations so they would be able to protect themselves.
He knew this was going to be a long day. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his shiny pate with a single rushed movement.
If it were up to him, he would have done it all in a single gathering and be done with it, but the small gymnasium couldn’t possibly contain all the students, which meant he had to repeat the tiresome process three times: get one third of the classes into the gymnasium in an orderly manner, provide the same information, and answer the same questions at the end.
Some of the parents would surely feel outraged by the shocking nature of what he was going to say, which included some graphic depictions that were difficult to watch. But as the instruction had arrived directly from the mayor’s office rather than the high school management, Edward knew that the outrage would not be directed at him.
On the contrary, he could demonstrate real empathy to the parents’ plight. He had already provided his secretary with explicit instructions on how to handle the barrage of panicked telephone calls that were sure to wash over the principal’s office.
He sighed again. The things he had to do in this job.
His eyes met those of Mrs. Graham, his vice-principal. She sat erect and looked at him with a pale face. Major Samuel Lincoln sat next to her. The officer nodded. Ready when you are, his nod seemed to say.
Edward shuddered and sighed again.
“Students, we’d like to start, please.” He tapped the grille of the microphone with his finger and a loud screech erupted from the PA system. The last murmurs in the hall quickly turned to silence. Everyone set curious eyes on the principal, students and teachers alike.
“Good morning,” Edward spoke slowly. It seemed that the new PA system was doing a good job of amplifying the nervousness in his voice.
“We live in complicated times.” He paused for a moment, peeked at the note he had earlier scribbled the main points of his instructional speech, and continued. “You all know about the recent political tension. I’m sure some of you have discussed it in class as well.” Some of the teachers nodded.
“With us today is Major Samuel Lincoln, who will brief you regarding the coming threats. Please maintain silence. You will be allowed to ask your questions once the major is done.”
Edward motioned with his hand, beckoning the officer to co
me up to the stage. A murmur passed through the crowd as the one-armed African-American officer briskly climbed the stairs to the stage. His starched and ironed uniform crinkled as he took his place beside Edward. His left sleeve was neatly folded under the stump of his severed arm. In his right hand he held a small black folder inscribed with a round, yellow emblem.
Edward recognized the famous nuclear weapons symbol. With his military crew-cut and tall physique, the officer seemed to the students like some impressive movie character. He examined his crowd with a frozen face.
Edward cleared his throat. “Major Lincoln was appointed by the Army to ensure all schools in our county are prepared to take protective measures against a possible nuclear strike.” He turned slightly to the military man. “Thank you for coming, Major. We have a lot to cover, so I’ll simply clear the stage for you.”
The school manager retreated to the back of the stage and stopped next to a pile of “How to Survive a Nuclear Attack” booklets, published by the United States Department of Defense.
The major placed the black folder on the podium. Not a single sound was heard as he began to speak.
“Thank you, Principal,” he said in a deep voice. “I’ll skip the introductions, we have a lot of ground to cover and time isn’t on our side.”
He turned to the podium and took the remote control. “My mission is to prepare you for a scenario we all hope will not materialize in the coming days and hope it never will. But…” he paused and motioned at Edward, as if hinting they were working together as a team, “we must still prepare for the worst. It may happen in months, weeks, or even days. But when it does—”
Someone sneezed loudly, which triggered some nervous laughter in the back rows. The major raised his eyes at the source of the noise. He grimaced and continued quietly. “It isn’t my job to comfort you with promises that everything would be all right. It might not be all right at all. And those who listen to me today,” He stared dryly at the students sitting in the front rows, as if addressing them specifically. “Might just live to attend memorial ceremonies commemorating those who won’t.” He paused for dramatic effect, then added, “It’s that simple.” He flipped through the black folder before lifting his eyes again.
“If you ask your grandparents, I’m sure they’d tell you about a similar threat our country had confronted in the past. It was over sixty years ago, in the previous century.” The major pointed at the pile of booklets. “Back then, they handed out booklets similar to the ones you will receive today. They told people they would need to hide under the table once the bomb drops… what a joke.” He chuckled. “Unfortunately, the danger is back and it is more tangible than ever.”
The major activated the remote and a large image appeared on the screen above him. To Edward, it looked like a sizzling pizza. A second look revealed it to be a badly burned, scarred, human back. Horrified cries were heard and many students diverted their eyes.
“A few basic facts,” the major stated dryly. “At the time of a nuclear blast, the biggest dangers facing the human and animal population derives from the heat and the shock wave.” He turned his head and looked at the large screen above him. “The miserable man you see in the image was two whole miles away from ground zero. I repeat: two miles!” He turned back to the students and continued.
“These are genuine pictures of a young man who wasn’t in too much of a hurry to hide. He could have saved himself had he only known what he was facing, what a nuclear blast is, and how to protect himself from it. He died a few hours after this picture was taken.”
The silence in the hall continued undisturbed.
“We spoke of heat. Water boils at a temperature of two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. Fire, for example, is over nine times as hot, nearly nineteen hundred degrees. Does anyone here know what the temperature of a nuclear blast is?”
No one answered. Edward, from his place at the back of the stage, looked at the troubled faces of his students.
The major continued. “The intensity of the heat at the heart of a nuclear explosion is eighteen million degrees.”
“Sweet Jesus!” A wave of horrified murmurs passed through the audience. The major drank some water and went on. “The blast shock wave crushes and flattens any structure. The fire comes next, wiping out everything in its path. And when I say everything, I mean metal, concrete, earth, wood, skin, flesh, bones—everything is melted and squashed.”
The sound of terrified murmurs grew even louder and the officer raised his voice. “There is no way of helping those at the heart of the explosion. Our objective today is to prepare those who will be far from ground zero, to teach you how to survive the initial strike, in the hope that our army will be able to prevent a second attack.”
Someone noisily dragged a chair. “We have to strike first, wipe them out!” The cry came from one of the students. He enthusiastically rose to his feet, and his outburst was echoed by more cries of agreement. One of the teachers shushed him and instructed him to sit back down. The student reluctantly obeyed.
The major seemed to ignore the outburst and continued to the next slide. It depicted a field stretching to the horizon. It was strewn with what appeared to be black shrubs, but on closer look the students realized those were devastated houses. An endless field of ruins.
“What you now see had used to be a city. About sixty-six thousand people were killed in seconds by a single atomic bomb dropped on the city’s main street.”
Shocked gasps were heard. “This city was about the size of your charming Green Pines. You can’t see any houses or people in this picture, because they have all vaporized, torn to shreds.” He sighed. “Obviously, no tables with live survivors hiding beneath them were ever found.”
Lincoln leafed through his folder. “The name of the city was Hiroshima. And the code name of the bomb dropped on it was ‘Little Boy.’” He paused to take another sip of water.
The unrest grew and Edward decided to intervene. He went over to the major’s side and spoke into the microphone. “Dear students, I understand this is a difficult subject, but I ask that you demonstrate maturity and sit still. Each of you will have to repeat what he’s heard here back home, and provide your parents with the safety regulations booklet.”
The commotion subsided and a tense quiet settled once more.
The major thanked Edward with a nod and continued. “Today’s nuclear warheads are seven hundred times more powerful than the single bomb that caused this devastation. I repeat: seven hundred times!” He motioned with his hand at the screen above him. “This is why we are here—so you understand what we are faced with.” His eyes drifted again to the back rows. “And this is the saddest joke ever told by humankind.”
Panoramic images of the ruined city changed on the screen. Cries of shock were heard as the screen depicted an image of charred human bodies. One student hurriedly got up with her hands on her mouth, as if she was about to vomit. She hurried across the rows of chairs and Fiona, one of the teachers, joined her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. The two reached the side door and exited the gymnasium.
Edward quietly got off the stage and followed them. He had to clear his head. It wouldn’t be that much of a big deal if he missed a few minutes, the briefing will start all over again in two hours.
Behind his back, he heard the major continuing with his lecture. “True, you have an atomic shelter here in your school that could survive the initial attack. The only problem is that we don’t know if the civil defense siren will be activated on time.”
Edward couldn’t hear the rest of the major’s words. The door slammed shut behind his back and he found himself outside. He took a deep breath, inhaled the cold air, and looked at the dreary skies.
That major may be an expert on civil defense, but he could sure learn a thing or two about how to talk to children, he thought.
The student and teacher who had exi
ted before him were stopped in front of the restroom door. It appeared that the student had been unable to contain herself and vomited her breakfast on the ground. The teacher knelt beside the weeping student, wrapped her arm around her shoulders and quietly comforted her.
So it begins, thought Edward, and he made a mental note to instruct the head janitor to make extra rounds next to the gymnasium restrooms. Fiona had noticed him. He smiled at her and shrugged as if to say, never mind, these things happen. She nodded with understanding and helped the student sit on a bench. Edward sensed that his presence embarrassed them so he walked on toward his office in the adjacent building. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
Manager, Mayor’s office education department: Did you start the briefing?
Edward: We started on time and everything is in order. As expected, the students are shocked. After a moment’s hesitation, he changed his mind and deleted the second sentence. As he hit the “send” button, a deafening thunder made him jump.
Heavy rain began to fall, and a single cold drop landed on the back of his neck. He shuddered and walked briskly toward his office. A few blinding streaks of lightning flashed above him, accompanied by the blast of thunder.
What a perfect day, he thought and began to run.
4
We Have an Offer for You
At ten in the morning, Paul climbed in the taxi and slid into the back seat. It took him a moment to realize the driver was waiting for a destination.
“Wake up, man,” the driver chided him with a smile. “No coffee this morning?”
Paul muttered an apology. “Sorry. Plaza Towers, please.”
“That’s all right.” The driver peeked at the rearview mirror. “Everyone’s a little out of it lately. The world’s going nuts.”
Paul reached for his pocket to make sure his wallet was there. That’s the last thing I need, he thought, forget my wallet at home on top of all the confusion of this morning.