Young Writers Society

I pulled my shirt up over my nose as the dust blew in large swirls around me. Through the thick dust, I could barely make out the outline of the barbed wire fence surrounding the compound. It seemed so far away, just a fuzzy line somewhere in the distance. I thought of Robinson Crusoe, my fictional book hero. He would somehow make a raft out of the pieces of debris I had collected and sail home. 

I, too, needed to soon get home- or at least to our temporary home in the Compound. These dust storms would only escalate, and when the wind picked up, debris left over from the Explosion would start blowing around. Plus, Mama always got anxious when I was outside during the dust storms, and I hated worrying her. She already had so much on her mind that any other burdens wore her down, whittling her down like Robinson Crusoe whittled down trees on his island to make a shelter. 

I kept plowing forward, forcing my legs through the thick resistance of the wind. The barbed wire fence was closer now. Now, I could see the guard towers, wobbly wooden structures situated along the fence, and the blurry line of the end of the jags. 

Finally, I reached the fence and pounded on the two wooden doors. Duke, the old watchman, turned the rusty crank to open the doors, and I slid through the small gap. The door slammed shut behind me, and I rested for a second, relieved to be sheltered from the wind. Pulling my shirt down, I took a gulp of fresh air and headed to Row C, Apartment 5. The walk was very short, not even a quarter mile from the gates. 

The compounds were solid concrete buildings, supported by chipped brick pillars. They were the only type of housing that was easy to produce to shelter the refugees but also sturdy enough to withstand the harsh desert winds. I was fine with whatever house I lived in so long as I had a nice, warm bed to come home to. But poor Mama had been crushed emotionally by the Explosion. She had lived the American dream, a small and modest homestead on the Nebraskan frontier. But after the Experiments had gone wrong, she had lost everything- her husband, her house, everything she had worked for. We were just like Robinson Crusoe- plucked out of a comfortable life and dumped in the worst of living conditions. 

I knocked on the door twice before entering, just a polite announcement of my presence. Mother was  anxiously waiting in her rocking chair, knitting a sweater to sell for a few eggs, or maybe a carton of milk. She set her knitting aside and came to the door, giving me a huge hug. Her apron smelled like flour and paint, and I noticed that she was getting paler and thinner.  Her hair was uncombed and unruly- just like Robinson Crusoe's must have been. 

"You're home," she whispered into my ear.  

I smiled and pulled her closer. I had to treasure these moments, because Mama was always so busy working so I could eat. The Explosion had changed me. I was no longer the reluctant teenager I had been. Now, I treasured every moment because I had realized just how quickly those moments could be taken. One explosion, one "accident," one shipwreck could steal that precious gift of life just as quickly as it had been conceived. Mama gently released me and turned back to her knitting. She didn't say anything more to me. Words were precious things in our house, There were very few exchanged, because there was no need to talk. Silence sometimes was the most beautiful thing in our house. It was a way to avoid anything that triggered memories of the Explosion. 

I had scavenged only a few machine parts today, so all I had provided for supper was a loaf of bread and two scrawny chicken drumsticks. Mama had gone to the Trading Mart of our section and traded some of her hand-knit sweaters for a small bag of potatoes, a handful of carrots, and a carton of milk. She put most of her groceries in the small hatch that was the 'refrigerator'. It was basically a small cellar, where we put any groceries we didn't need to eat. 

Mama set out our two clay plates and forks. Really, all we needed were forks. They could be used as spoons, and could cut through most things. Occasionally Mama sent me to fetch the saw, which we would wash and then use to cut through any stubbornly tough meat. 

But today it would just be drumsticks. No need to even use a fork to cut those up. We would, of course, gnaw the meat off to the bone and then throw the bones to the hounds who patrolled the city after dusk. Sometimes I woke to the howling of hounds as they roamed free in the cities, or the snarls of aggressive alpha males going head-to-head with other hounds. But no one had the time, or the courage, to stop them. As long as they didn't injure anyone or take anything of value, they didn't bother anyone. Plus, they scared the rats away. Rats were naughty little thieves, uncatchable but annoyingly tiny troublemakers who stole food and spread diseases like wildfire. 

Diseases always made Mama nervous, and for good reason. A few weeks ago we had heard that the town where my older sister, Anna, was staying had suffered a large outbreak of some type of swine flu. Anna, thankfully, had been spared from any diseases, but almost two thirds of the population had died from the outbreak. Mama was unwilling to take that kind of risk, to allow either me or her to die. She loved me more than anything in the world now, besides Anna. We had grown much closer from the Explosion, now acting as survival partners rather than mother and son. Our bond had grown as we spent many a cold night huddled around a dying fire, or bombings sheltered in the cellar. 

Sometimes I wondered if the Explosion had ultimately changed my life for better or for worse. I was so much wiser and more mature from the drastic change, but I didn't know if that was good. Weren't teenagers supposed to be restless creatures, pushing the boundaries until they find their place? Aren't they supposed to move all around in parts of society until they find their little nook and decide to stay there for their whole lifetime? 

Or was that not what being a teenager was about? Would it be simpler if somehow, we were assigned a place in society and spent our teenage years productively. Wasting five whole years from the ages of 13-18 seemed like it was pointless. But was it necessary? What was necessary? 

I often racked my brain over questions like these. The aftermath of the Explosion had given me more time than I knew what to do with. All of my toys and gizmos had been destroyed, buried among the rubble of our old house. Some day I intended to pick through that rubble and find whatever I could. But that was miles from here- all the way in Fremont, Nebraska. I didn't know if I would ever leave this compound. It all depended on when and if the government decided to clean up the debris from the Explosion, at least enough to permit travel. It didn't look like it. From the scarce bits of news we got from the occasional traveller, bands of rebels were attacking the Scientist Centers in Washington D.C. They were enraged that the scientists could be so careless with such important matters- how they could let a factory make a big enough mistake to release a NUCLEAR BOMB into the center of the country. Most of them had lost everything in the Explosion. We were lucky to have escaped with our lives. So many of our friends and neighbors hadn't been so fortunate. Every day, it was a blessing to be alive. 

Mama called me for supper, and I stood from the faded armchair, the place where I felt secure enough to relax and reflect on the mysteries of the universe. She had baked the potatoes and spread them with cheese and a thicker, congealed milk. It was the closest thing to a baked potato she would be able to conjure up. I thanked her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into my wooden stool. Mama stood at her place, leaning over the plate to eat.

I always felt guilty taking the only seat at the table when my back was younger and healthier. But Mama insisted that I should have it. After all, she pointed out, she couldn't fit comfortably into the table while sitting on such a low stool. She also sometimes mumbled something about a bruised tailbone, but I thought that was a little white lie. 

We ate our supper quickly. There was never any time for tarrying. My belly was almost full from the warm potato, half-loaf of bread, and chicken drumstick. It was one of the best meals we had had in a good long while, and it would be another month or so until we ate so well again. 

After dinner, I headed right to our sleeping quarters. The sleeping quarters, a small and enclosed room across from the living room, was one of the smallest and coldest rooms in the house. The fire was in the kitchen stove, because then we could cook over the fire with more ease. The bedroom was a simple space- a candle on a bedside table, a small bookshelf with only a few ragged books adorning its shelves, and two cots with a few blankets spread over them. I insisted that we each have an equal amount of blankets, but when I awoke I noticed that Mama only had two or three and I had five or six. 

It concerned me, how much Mama was willing to sacrifice. I knew that she would sacrifice her health for my health, her life for my life, her comfort for my comfort. But when it came down to it, she was more important. If she died, I no doubt would die soon after. But if I died, she would be able to survive. Then at least one of us would live, instead of both of us dying. We had to think like true survivalists- the real-life Robinson Crusoes of our time. 

I had told her my concerns, but she brushed them off. She insisted that she never put herself in danger. She had told me I was so grown-up, the sweetest son she could ever have asked for. She told me that I deserved everything she gave me. But I didn't know about that. She was so kind to everyone and so generous, even when she had so little. Didn't she deserve to live longer than me, a selfish, spoiled teenage brat? 

I pulled one of my favorite books, Robinson Crusoe, off the shelf. I thumbed through the yellowing pages, holding it as if it were an artifact in the museum. And it might as well be. It was an object that had survived the Explosion, and it too seemed pale and sickly. It was as if it could feel how hard things were, the struggles everyone had to endure now. It also seemed thinner and colder, just like Mama and I were. The book was a clear illustration of my life- tattered and torn but still working hard to survive and persevere. 

I turned to chapter 1 and started to read. Around page 7, when it talked about Robinson leaving his family, I buried my head in my knees and cried. The beginning of the book reminded me so much of my life- a middle-class, spoiled brat who rebels against his parents and lives to regret it. I was my own Robinson, except I wasn't as kind-hearted as he became in the end. 

I wondered why anyone would ever give up a comfortable and even luxurious life for this kind of misery. Robinson had wondered to- describing in great detail his great regret of these reckless decisions. I hadn't chosen to leave everything behind, though if you had asked me before the Explosion I would have wanted nothing more than to be a world-class scavenger, hunting through piles of rubble to survive and dealing with all the hardcore survival issues. I would have agreed to live in a concrete compound, far away from everything I knew. But there was one thing I would have changed.

I would have left Mama at home. There was no doubt in my mind that I would have thought she would ruin the whole experience for me. I saw survival as a fun adventure, a challenge to prove my masculinity. But Mama was the one keeping me alive. I knew I would never have survived without her, and it broke my heart that I hadn't appreciated her until she had saved my life. 

I put the book down and blew the candle out. Crawling into my cot, I pulled the blankets up to my chin and started to drift of to sleep, thinking of Robinson Crusoe and my resolution to be a better son tomorrow. 

***

Mama burst into the room, her pale face streaked with tears. "Honey, honey, you have to leave now! Get out, before it's too late!"

I sat up in bed and stretched lazily, throwing the covers off. I looked out the window and saw glaring fighter jets descending on our camp. "Who is it, Mama, who is it?" I cried out in dismay, feeling very young and very unprepared for whatever attack was coming.

"I don't know,' Mama sobbed. "You can run faster than me. I'll just slow you down. Run, run away and never come back!"

I suddenly realized what her plan was, and started crying too. I knew that crying wouldn't fix anything. I was aware that I was just making her more miserable, but I refused to let my mother die for my sake.

"No, Mama, we'll do this together," I shouted over the roar of the bomber planes outside.

She shook her head firmly, but I wouldn't take no for an answer. I grabbed her arm and pulled her outside. She resisted me, pushing me in front of her. I finally scooped her into my arms and started running for safety, when one of the fighter jets pulled up just in front of me. I stopped and turned, determined to find a way out. The pilot hopped out of the aircraft and pulled his helmet down. 

"Dad!" I exclaimed, suddenly very unsure of everything in the world. "But. . how? What? When?" I stammered uncertainly. 

Mama looked at him, her deep brown eyes a mixture of hurt, anger, and confusion 

"It isn't what it looks like, I swear," Dad began. "We're not bombing anyone. We're here to help you escape this compound and take you to Maryland." 

"Maryland," Mama breathed. Maryland was far away from the Explosion. There was sure to be a safe home there for us. We could live as a normal family again. 

"We'll live with my brother Dave until we can get our own house and get a job," Dad said, pulling Mama into a long embrace. Mama started sobbing again, this time from joy. Dad clapped me on the shoulder, a smile cracking across his face. "Get on board, soldier," he whispered to me. 

I saluted him. "Yes, commander!" A grin split across my face, the first time I'd smiled since the Explosion. We were free from the barrier that had surrounded us and laid on our shoulder since the moment we lost everything. I felt light as a feather, so light I could float up in the sky and away from the mess, sprinkling magical fairy dust over every bad thing in the world and magically heal it. I hopped on board the jet, ecstatic to escape the heavy wall that had held us captive for so long and fly above it, and to a new hope.