Nuclear Summer

The sun burned red through the smoke, still managing to be fairly hot for the thick layer between it and the survivors. That was all the sky was now: a red sun, dark clouds, and ash and smoke. It didn’t matter that the nukes had fallen half a continent away.

Romaldo Cavaglieri hadn’t died from the initial blast, nor from the radioactive fallout. He’d seen men and women affected by radiation and he had quickly learned why it was called “radiation burns,” because at first those travelling too close to the site zeroes just looked like they’d gotten a sunburn or a rash. Some treated the burns with aloe, thinking maybe it would help.

It didn’t.

Some swelled up like water balloons. Others became blackened skeletons before they died, as though they were being subjected to hours of fire.

None of this happened quickly and scavengers and survivors were both identifiable by their marks that now, months later, meant either death or lifelong scarring because not all of them died. No one seemed to be able to tell which option was actually worse.

The people who were neither scavengers nor survivors retreated further inland, to the states that had once been called the breadbasket of America by those favorable to them or the fly-over states by those who were not. It didn’t stop the smoke and dirt from spreading, nor from the fear spreading but it was summer now and while it was cool, many hoped that the once dreaded nuclear winter would be mild and plants would still grow come the spring months.

Nuclear winter didn’t worry Romaldo at the moment, though it had on occasion in the previous weeks. His biggest concern was the gang of marauders currently looking for easy prey, which he unfortunately was. If he could make it back to the bank his little group had claimed and holed up in, he’d be fine.

Romaldo pressed his back up against a burned out car, keeping his head ducked and hoping the ash and dirt in his dark hair disguised it enough that he wouldn’t be immediately caught and killed, or worse. There were in fact a number of unfortunate options.

He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as his lungs quickly decided to expel the ash and smoke in the air that had gotten through the cloth covering over his mouth. He choked on the cough and his body jerked with the effort of staying quiet, thumping against the car metal.

He froze, beginning to panic. The panic didn’t stop him from trying to cough again. His fingers dug into the blacktop.

His body jerked again.

His fingers dug in deeper against the unyielding surface.

The pain in his hand distracted him from the burning in his lungs.

He heard the gang of marauders get closer and he stopped breathing, eyes widening.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears and he reflexively began to count them, making his attention slip briefly.

And, then, the laughing and jeers began to grow quieter, more distant. Something broke further down the road, shattered, maybe glass from a window of the surrounding brick buildings or a different car. Eventually, everything grew quiet and Romaldo was left with just the sound of his galloping heartbeat and the wind moving around the abandoned cars and stores.

Then he realized that he needed to breathe and he slowly exhaled, still coughing but less extremely. When no one came back at the sound which seemed to echo mockingly around him, he dared to lift his head and look in the direction the marauders had gone.

Nothing.

Romaldo slumped against the car more fully, relief turning his muscles to pudding. He stayed there for another thirty seconds before he stood, lifting the heavy backpack onto his shoulders and feeling the cans within shift. He kept his eyes focused down the street and his ears on, well, not down the street because it wasn’t like he could focus his hearing the way he could his sight.

There was a chance that he was finally safe for the moment.

It didn’t hurt to be careful, so he looped right and then left, going down a different street in the right direction, before he stopped several feet from an intersection, looking up at something now unfamiliar.

It was funny. If Cathleen hadn’t been weighed down with building supplies last night, she wouldn’t have been unable to load up on the nearly untouched store she’d discovered. He wouldn’t have gone out looking and been forced onto a different street than he was expecting.

If none of that had happened, he wouldn’t have discovered the only working traffic light he’d seen in months.

Romaldo blinked, staring at the red light like he’d never seen one before. As he watched, the light impossibly turned green and a sense of peace washed over him.

For the first time in months, Romaldo smiled.