After The End

After the bombs there were storms. We were under the ground, but there were ways the grownups were able to know what was happening outside, and they said the storms were bad. Daddy said it was probably because the explosions put so much smoke and dust into the atmosphere.

We were just little kids, and didn't understand what that meant. We didn't understand about bombs or wars or any of the reasons why Mamma was dead and we were living with so many strangers in an underground shelter full of sectioned-off sleep areas and hundreds of beds, and storage rooms full of canned and boxed food and big kegs of water.

We were out in the middle of a forest somewhere far from the city. There had been a lot of talk among the grownups about the bombs and whether it was safe to go outside again, but once we'd done that much, the talk turned to whether it was safe to go to the city.

When they finally decided they would risk it, I threw such a fit that Daddy agreed to take me along, leaving Mae and Dawn with Grandma and some of the other women. Mae didn't want to see, but I couldn't rest until I did.

Daddy and I went along with Morty and some of the soldiers in a big van, and the ride through the woods was a fine one: the sun was shining, birds sang, animals moved through the trees and brush.

Once we got to the main road that would take us back, things got strangely quiet. The further we got from the forest, the dimmer it seemed, even though it was still early in the day. The air seemed tainted and the sky grew increasingly greyer, although I saw no sign of clouds.

"This is a bad idea," Morty said, and one of the soldiers whistled as the city came into view for the first time.

"Radiation?" Daddy asked.

"No." The soldier held an instrument on his lap, watching the needles closely. "Smoke and soot, I reckon."

We drove on, the road now damaged and bumpy and getting worse with every mile, until it wasn't really a road anymore, but just rubble.

Morty stopped the vehicle, and we got out.

Then we just stood, staring. Sometimes we coughed.

When I started to cry, Daddy picked me up and we all piled back into the van.

Morty sat at the wheel for a long time before finally putting the van in gear and turning us around to make our way back to the road.

I turned around in my seat and watched as the cityscape, forever changed, receded from view. We drove up and over the first hill, and as we descended into the first valley, I lost sight of the tallest remaining building. Daddy kept a good hold of me the whole time, not insisting that I sit until the city was hidden by the hills.

As he buckled my seat belt, I looked up at my father and asked, "Are there people there?"

He looked me in they eye. Honesty is the best policy, after all, and why lie? I was only seven, but I was far from innocent and certainly not stupid. "Not anymore," he said.

No one spoke the rest of the way back to camp. For better or worse, we were going home.
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The picture above prompted me to share this snippet from my work in progress, a follow-up to Starting in the Middle of The End. I don't know if it will make the final cut, but here it is, anyway.