Dust

By Jacqueline Druga

Without warning the United States is invaded and attacked. The result ... World War III. In the sanctity of her shelter, Joanna Collins reconciles her life on the pages of a notebook. In doing so, she gains the determination to discover what has become of those she loves in a world that has turned to dust.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GreatOne AS
• Release date: Mar 1, 2011

Book preview

Introduction

It all turned to dust. Without a second to comprehend the reality of it, the world exploded. Earth and all its inhabitants did not literally evaporate from existence, but the way of life for mankind did. How long ago it occurred will forever be a question impossible to answer. Because no matter how much time passes, it will always seem like it transpired yesterday. When it happened is not important. It just ... happened.

It happened.

In my own right, I was a complete contradiction. Of all the people I knew, I was the most prepared, but the least ready. Some would say that I had been laying the preparation groundwork for over twenty years. I made it my obsession. Gaining all the knowledge I could, then trying to impress others with it—in the eyes of my peers—made me some sort of apocalyptic genius. It wasn’t that I had achieved a level of superior intellect when it came to surviving; it was that I practiced what I preached. I put things into motion even if it was just as a precautionary measure. I carefully laid out detailed plans for my friends that reiterated what everyone would do, where they would go, and what course of action would be taken following a nuclear strike or any type of apocalyptic threat. We would be the new civilization. Many times I was labeled completely insane. However, my core friends always labeled me, ‘the place to go’. I was Joanna Reed-Collins, the woman who had all the means to survive. Rations, water, stockpiled necessities, and a corner-made bomb shelter were all right there in the basement of her home. I knew they saw me as a safe haven. I was coroneted some sort of ‘Post-War Moses’ who would lead them from the ashes when it all turned to dust.

It did.

Seventeen months prior, Israel made a bold offensive move and crossed their borders in an act of war. Nothing new. The Mid East was always a ‘hot’ spot for conflict. This chimed my attention bell, but didn’t send warning flags hailing. Even in retrospect, the Israel initiative wasn’t enough. But that was the last ‘big’ thing to have happened. There was no global confrontation. No clash of super powers. No declaration of World War Three. Nothing. It was the ultimate metaphor of the parental excuse, ‘Because I said so’. No rhyme or reason. It just ... happened.

1. The First Day

Simon Reed was a little old man trapped in a toddler body. The extremely short three-year old, with a paper-thin frame, had enough energy at times to power a city. His mischievous smile was wider than his face, and his wiry blonde hair always stood on end. There was something about my nephew Simon that reached inside of me. He had this keen ability whenever I looked at him, to grab hold of my soul and make me scream from inside, ‘God, I love this kid’.

Babysitting Simon was not something I did often, nor for any extended period of time. But he was with me that day. A Tuesday in May, my windows were open and the warm, bright sun called for Simon to go outside. Aside from the fact that it was still early, the ground was muddy from a weeklong battle with thunderstorms. Simon was housebound.

He hit me a million times with that purple dinosaur he always carried with him. His way to get my attention, and to get me back in the living room to watch the movie he loved so much. A movie I instantly replayed as soon as it ended. From my experience with my own two children, I learned a child’s favorite movie was the parent’s great escape. That day was no exception.

Around ten in the morning, the phone began to ring, and it didn’t stop. One call after another in an annoying fashion made for continuous noise. Stopping just before the machine would pick up, then ring again. Answering the phone was not an option, for I was in the middle of an impending victory. Simon was halfway up the staircase in his first venture to the bathroom alone.

Almost there, Simon. I stood at the bottom of the steps.

Dinosaur dangling in his hand, Simon turned to look at me. Ten more steps, Aunt Jo?

No, only six. You can do it. Go on. I’m right here. Breathing out, I turned my head to the right and caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. I looked absolutely haggard. My shoulder length dark-blonde hair was straggly and messy. The slight coat of make-up on my thin face, completely wiped out. Why did I even bother getting myself fixed up? The truth was, I had been Simonized in less than an hour. Come on, you can do it, I beckoned.

Another two steps and Simon stopped again. The barter in him took over. Then can I go out and play?

If you go up there by yourself, yes. We’ll sit on the porch.

Okay. Simon readied to step. Five more, Aunt Jo?

Only three now. Go on. My eyes shifted from watching Simon to the phone. It still rang. Perhaps it was my obsession in getting Simon up those stairs, but after several minutes of continuous ringing, it dawned on me that the call might be important. I ruled out the possibility that it was the grade school calling about my daughter Matty, after one attempt the school would have tried an alternative contact. Nor was it about my son, Davy. In typical fifteen year-old fashion he was home from school suffering from a case of fake-itis and was fast asleep on the couch. How he managed to slumber through Simon’s racket, I don’t know.

Finally, Simon made it to the top. He dropped his drawers as he turned the bend. Seeing that as my sign, I made my way to the phone. After glancing at the caller-box and recognizing the number as my friend, Mona’s, I lifted the receiver. Hello.

A rush of static rang out. I pulled the phone slightly from my ear. Hello?

Jo. Mona’s voice was barely coming through. Knowing she was in Tulsa on business was my immediate blame for the bad connection. Jo—are—watch ...

Static.

Mo? Mo, I can barely ...

Jo. Her words broke up like a bad transistor-radio broadcast. Jo—watching—the news?

Am I watching the news? No. I chuckled, I’m stuck watching the annoying dinosaur.

Watch—the—news. A few blurbs of words fizzed in and out.

Mo? Hey, your cell is really bad. I cringed at the sound that mimicked crinkling wrapping paper. You want me to call you back?

Son—love—please. Please. Turn—the news. Oh, God.

Static.

Instinctively I yanked the receiver away from my ear, and when I brought it back, the line was dead. Mo?

There was something eerie about the happy children’s song that played loudly in the living room, in the after-feel of that phone call. Hanging up the phone, I went immediately to the television and shut off the movie. I obviously performed some sort of dastardly deed, because Simon screamed upstairs. I heard him race down the steps.

Searching out a news channel was not a problem. One click of the remote brought me the sight of a news anchorman. The sound was bad, and the picture jumped and distorted as if I didn’t have cable. I crouched down to fix the set.

Aunt Jo, my movie. Simon tugged my arm.

Just a second, Simon. I changed the channel, the flipping picture did not improve, but the sound did.

Aunt Jo.

What the hell is the matter with my TV?

On solid basis. The news anchorman held his earpiece as he spoke barely looking at the camera. OK. Yes. It is confirmed.

Aunt Jo, I wanna watch my movie now.

Just give me a minute. Then I’ll put it back on.

Via ground implantation, and three low flying aerial attacks . . .

Please, now, Aunt Jo?

Simon, let me ...

Nine nuclear warheads exploded ...

My attention was no longer drawn from the television. It was caught. Right there, I lost my balance. Oh, my God.

On American soil. Experts believe that ...

Oh my God. I pulled Simon to me, and turned up the television. Davy, Davy, wake up. Wake up now.

Are not out of danger. You are urged, until this immediate threat has passed to stay indoors.

Heart thumping from my chest, I hollered. Davy, get up something is happening.

Davy looked confused when he sprang up. What? What’s wrong?

Finally I stood with weakened legs. Simon argued with me, babbling something about the movie. I didn’t hear him. The blood rushed to my ears in the confusion of the moment. America’s under attack, Dave.

Attack. He stood. What kind?

Nuclear. At least nine places were hit. They aren’t saying ...

There it was. Oddly enough the sound of it brought a silence to the room. A dead stop to us all. The single beep of the Emergency Broadcasting System.

Davy called my name with worry, Mom?

There was a rush-to-move that pumped through my blood. I nearly threw Simon at my son, Take him to the basement. I barked out fast.

What? Davy hadn’t even time to comprehend he was holding Simon.

Take him to the basement now. That’s our warning. Now, Davy.

Davy hesitated. But, Mom, what about the basement windows. That’s my job, I have to cover the ...

Your job is Simon. Take him down. Get him situated and turn off the intake valve to the water and gas. Got it.

Yes, but ...

Go! My scream made him jolt. Davy headed in the direction of the kitchen where the basement door was located.

Davy looked back at me with a pleading glance. Please, hurry, Mom, he urged, then ran with Simon.

I needed to know they were safe and I needed to hear what was going on. The Emergency Broadcast system gave no time frame. Relying on my best knowledge, I had it figured that the shortest warning would give me seven minutes.

Seven minutes. Too much to do. Davy was in the basement and had accomplished at least the task of turning off the water intake valve. I heard the pipes squeak. The water and gas lines were part of a long list of duties I had dictated to be done prior to going into the shelter. A list of duties that would take no more than a few minutes to implement. I created that list, but in my heart and mind, I believed every preparatory action was made in vain. Never once believing the bombs would actually come. But they did and more were on the way. I had to get it together. I was failing. When did I forget it all? Suddenly I was an imbecile standing in my living room staring at the windows and doors, trying to remember if I leave them open or closed.

My thoughts weren’t just in that room, trying to determine what all I had to do. My thoughts went to Matty. My ten-year-old daughter who was four blocks away. I had two ‘rules of thumb’ that I urged upon everyone I knew. I beat it into their brains. Relentlessly, I informed them that should there be an attack, upon warning ... take cover. Do not hesitate, do not wait, take cover. And the second rule; if you survived the attack, under no circumstance should you leave your shelter until radiation levels fall.

The rules were fine in theory, but in reality, they seemed shallow. I calculated how long it would take me to get to the school. At seven minutes, even five, I could make it. I could. My mind was made up.

Matty, her named seeped from my lips and determined, I pushed for the door.

Flash. White. Bright. Blinding.

My chest immediately filled with an ache and I swore at that moment, the body tremors I experienced would inhibit me from moving. But I did. The option to choose what to do was taken away. I no longer was in a race against the clock to get my daughter; I was in a race against the blast to get downstairs. Mustering up the thought, ‘My God this isn’t happening,’ I bolted toward the kitchen.

Six feet.

The small foyer that I always complained about become my ally, I hit the kitchen in three good steps. My foot slid on the linoleum as I made a quick, sharp turn to my left, grabbed the basement door and flung it open.

Five seconds, maybe less, then it began. A deep, resonating, ‘boom’ in the distance caused a ringing in my ears. The howling winds grew louder, closer, faster, approaching like a locomotive raging forth, and I leapt the remaining five stairs, landing on the concrete floor. What started out as a rattle, turned into a major quake. How I retained my ability to run is beyond me. I spotted the cold cellar in the deep corner of the basement. My goal. My salvation. The door was slightly ajar, and I grasped for it, opened it a little bit more then hurriedly slipped in.

Davy held Simon as they stood center of the small eight by eight room. I wasn’t inside that room a split second when I charged out, pointing, scolding, In the corner!

It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. I knew it. There was no way, in the shelter or not, we were guaranteed safe. A cheap mattress hung on the wooden door; I reached under, and secured the latch.

The noise level was deafening. Quaking mixed with a sense of crushing pressure, and the destructive winds seemed to scream demonically as they beat against our sanctuary.

Simon cried. I could see that on his face, but couldn’t hear a resemblance of sound come from him. Like a silent movie, his mouth moved, and the end of the world was the background music. They were against the far wall, and Davy clutched diligently to Simon.

Simon reached for me, and I caught a peep of Davy screaming my name. Arms extended to keep my balance, I glanced to the ceiling. Dirt immediately fell into my eyes and hit me at the same time a fear that everything above us would collapse. The ‘cushion’ mattress that was propped against the wall had fallen to the floor. Grabbing it, I slid it with me in my race to the far corner, dropped to the floor and brought it over us in a protective manner as I huddled with Davy and Simon. The weight of the mattress was more so on my back. I shook out of control, clinging to Davy and Simon with dear life, hovering them as if my thin body would be a great shield. Eyes closed tight, mind reciting prayers in supersonic speed; my soul beckoned an end to the madness.

Was it the house? The ground ripping apart? What caused that last noise, I do not know, but I’ll remember that sound forever. An earsplitting ‘crack’ triggered us all to scream. Then it was over.

Silence.

It lasted all of thirty seconds, but it was the longest thirty seconds of my entire life.

2. Below

A safety time frame exists from the initial explosion until the arrival of radiation. Many people aren’t even aware of this. Sure there is danger within the snow-like fallout, but the true invisible killer arrives around a half an hour later. It seeps through the air and through ultra violet lighting. So not only is blackening out the windows important, thickening them is crucial as well.

The clothes intended for donation to the thrift store were stacked in plastic bags on the basement floor. Davy and I used them to block out the windows; they fit nicely in the window well space. He held them. I secured them with tape. It was a task we took on immediately, one that was always incorporated into the plan. Six bags always remained in the basement. No less. Never was a bag removed unless another was there to replace it. As odd as it sounds, we were fortunate for a few things. Davy was able to shut down the water heater affording us extra water. A few of those thrift store bags contained ‘wearable’ clothes that would be useful later on, and I had just laundered the heavy blankets and bedding to store for the summer. They were folded on the table.

The basement was intact, and so was the cold cellar that would be our home continuously for at least a few days until the radiation dropped enough to venture into the actual basement. The basement would give us room to walk, move and not feel so cramped. Freedom to go topside or aboveground was hindered by my knowledge that radiation would drop to tolerable levels. The human body could only take and repair so much, stand only a limited amount of exposure. Two weeks was always the theoretical safety frame I had learned.

After finishing the basement windows, I examined the ceiling for structure problems. Not that I would know if there were any, but common sense told me since nothing looked as if it were crumbling, we were fine. What lay above our heads was not my concern at that time.

Davy had lit the emergency light. Small, round, battery operated. It was one of many I had purchased from a discount store. I never intended the life of those lights to last very long, one per day was what I figured.

They worked, that was a good sign. Something that always stuck in my head was the Electro-Magnetic-Pulse effect, or EMP. The theory that anything that was running when the bombs fell, would cease and never run again. So Davy had an idea, one he took upon himself to implement. About six months earlier, Davy had dug a small hole in the dirt floor of the cold cellar, and he buried our batteries. Sealed in plastic bags, he pulled out what was needed and covered the rest up with loose dirt.

I watched him put a battery in the back of an alarm clock. He showed it to Simon, So we know what time it is. He winked. Hey, Mom, what time do you have? he asked as he prepared to set the clock.

I glanced to my watch. Shit. I brought it to my ear. It stopped.

It stopped?

Yeah, at Ten-fourteen.

Good thing we buried the batteries, huh? He smiled.

Good thing.

How long you think it’s been?

No more than twenty minutes. I answered.

Thanks. As if he were showing a toy, Davy set that clock in front of Simon.

Simon.

He had finally calmed down, stopped crying and probably assumed it was some sort of game Davy was playing with him. Davy always teased Simon, and I guess in the three-year-old mind, this was just another one of Davy’s tricks to make him cry.

Done. Davy set the clock on a small box. See, Simon, now we know the time. Brushing off his hands, Davy stood up. Mom, can we sit on the mattress?

I only nodded.

Davy grabbed the mattress we had used for shielding us and laid it on the floor. Is this OK here, or do you want me to put this somewhere?

No. I shook my head. That’ll be fine.

Maybe me and Simon can organize in here. Something to do. Davy said. You wanna do that, Simon, huh? After we take a rest?

Simon excited, nodded his head.

We’ll help out Aunt Jo, that way it won’t be so dirty.

It’s dirty, Simon said.

Yeah. Davy made a crinkled face. Let’s take a rest first, OK?

Taking Simon’s hand, Davy led him to the mattress. Both boys sat, and Simon seemed to mimic Davy, leaning against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles and closing his eyes, right after Davy did.

I sat across from them on an old folded winter coat. All I could do at that moment was watch them. They were perched upon one of three mattresses I went out and bought at a discount store. A two hundred dollar expense my husband Sam didn’t bat an eye at. Of course Sam didn’t say too much about what I bought, or did regarding our little survival world. He went along with it, no matter how outlandish or expensive. Labeling everything as something you never know if you would need.

Who would have thought the need would be there. I certainly didn’t, despite what I did. I peered around the small cold cellar. A dark, dingy room that I used mainly for storing my supplies. Sure, I said it would be the immediate protective shelter, but I never prepped it. My boxes of food, supplies, and water took up so much space we barely had room to sit. I hadn’t a true clue on what all I had. Davy’s post-rest reorganization plan would be a much needed activity. Not only to give us space, but to give us something to do. I had spent so much time planning, creating checklists, schedules, and charting what we would do in the days and weeks following the attack, I forgot to plan what we would do in the immediate. How crucial the ‘immediate’ was.

Time stood still. The shock of what happened left my body with a tremendous inability to move. My mind wouldn’t think. My body ached in the painful silence of the aftermath. The brass balls I displayed on my sleeve rolled off somewhere in the confusion of