Nuclear Winter

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She liked to sit and imagine it was as it was in the books she had read - men and women dancing at regal balls, children playing in open fields, animals of all kinds wandering about freely. She had never felt the grass against the soles of her feet or let the cool water of a brook run through her fingers. She had never let the rain fall on her face or even felt the summer wind blow her hair. In her world, it was all gray walls and scuffed wooden floors and the smell of stale, stagnant air.

Her uncle told her of a time, before the wars, when children would go to school and learn addition and multiplication, and would read and write together, instead of alone in a room dimly lit by old oil lamps. He said they had playgrounds with slides and swings where the children would run and play together. Now, all children stayed indoors, always. Sometimes her uncle would play with her - checkers or some card game, or they would tell each other stories they dreamed up. But she wondered what it might be like to spend time with other children, outside of the old house, in the times that her uncle had grown up in.

Bethany was not exactly a child anymore, she was fifteen, but she felt very much like a child. She felt as though every moment of her life was planned out for her. For my protection, she reminded herself. And so she ate her breakfast of oatmeal with maple syrup, read her books, tidied the house, ate her lunch of boiled eggs and garden vegetables, and paced around until dinner. Some days she would knit, others she would paint, she always had something that could occupy her time, but nothing to occupy her curiosity. One particular night, she decided to do something she’d never done - ask exactly why she was forced to live such a dark, dreary life.

Each night when Bethany’s uncle got in, he’d place his boots beside the door, hang his hat and coat on the rack, and greet her. His greeting was always warm and polite, regardless of the mood he was in and the kind of day he’d had. Bethany wasn’t certain what he did for work or where he went all day, but she knew he tended the greenhouse in the morning before he left and tended to the chickens in the evening before he came inside. Occasionally he’d come home with a new book or art supplies for her. Once or twice a year he brought home cookies or a cake, usually on her birthday or for Christmas.

This night, when he walked in and kissed her on the top of the head, instead of walking toward the kitchen as usual, he sat in the rocking chair beside hers. She thought, perhaps, he could tell there was something on her mind. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke.

“Uncle, I have something I would like to ask you.” She looked up at him, then immediately back down to her fingernails. He nodded, encouraging her to go on. “In your stories, you talk about explosions and men being gunned down in the street and wars in far away places, but you also talk about people going into shops just for fun and walking around cities with their families.” She looked at him once more for assurance, which he provided through another nod. “I guess what I’m getting at is, if you go out each day, why can I not? Just for a few minutes. Just to see what it’s like.”

“Bethy…” he sighed, calling her by the name he used when she was small. “Bethy, I don’t know that I can allow that. The world is still dangerous. There are still wars on, and there could be another blast any time.” He smiled an apologetic half smile and shook his head. He took her hand in his and said, “Listen, I think it’s time you learn what happened to your mother. Then you will see why you must always stay inside the house.”

Bethany leaned forward, intent to soak in every detail of the story. She knew that she had a mother, once upon a time. All children have mothers at one point or another. She and her uncle used to speak about her when she first learned that not all children are raised by their uncles. At the beginning, her uncle told her things she’d heard many times before - everyone was fighting over what they thought was the right thing, all the while another country was plotting against all of them. The president was old and confused, and times were very hard, but still very easy compared to the present. Then he mentioned the blasts. “Nuclear bombs”, he called them.

Bethany’s uncle was fourteen at the time, just a year younger than she was now. His father had been preparing for the worst-case-scenario for years, so he understood what to do if something bad were to happen. He knew to run down into the cellar, seal off the door, and wait for three days in the event of a nuclear blast. He knew how to grow his own food with the seeds his father had stored in the root cellar along with the potatoes, carrots, and canned sauces and meats. But he, himself, was not afraid. He thought his father was too cautious, too careful. He was not allowed on the internet or to wander the town alone for fear of trafficking. He was taught the world was far too dangerous, but never believed his father’s warnings or ramblings.

The day of the blast, he had been home with Bethany for just a few minutes while her mother, his nineteen year old sister, walked to the store a couple blocks away for more baby food. Bethany was not even a year old, yet. The cartoon they had been watching together cut out, and an emergency alert tone sounded throughout the house. In fact, it sounded throughout every house within a couple hundred miles that had their TV on. There had been a nuclear attack the next state over, and over a hundred thousand people were presumed dead. It warned people to do their best to block off any windows and doors, and to try and remain calm. He did remain calm. He was prepared for this.

Immediately, he carried the baby down to the basement. He grabbed the backpack and baby bag his father had kept packed and up to date beside the bottom of the steps, and he took her into the root cellar, which was connected to the basement by a very thick door. He used the supplies that were in the room to seal off the door, and they remained in that small, dark room for four days. They both were fed, and there was a bucket for hygiene that he also used as a diaper pail. He knew three days was what he was instructed, but he was afraid what he would find once they emerged.

At the time, all he did was respond to the emergency, and nothing else crossed his mind. After he knew they were safe, he realized his father and his sister were still out in the world somewhere. He thought he might tell himself that they were alright, that they found bunkers somewhere and were able to survive the radiation. He also thought that was childish, and that he no longer could afford any foolishness. He knew that his father had been right, and was resolved to do everything in his power to keep his baby niece safe in every circumstance.

The first breath he took after leaving the root cellar felt like the first breath of fresh air he had ever taken. The amount of space in the basement after being four days with a crying, stinking baby felt like he was looking out on the largest room he could have imagined. He took the baby up the stairs, and looked around his home. Everything was exactly as he had left it, nothing had changed. The neighbors' cars were exactly where they were in the driveways before. The TV was still on, but it was just static. The dishes in the sink were still stacked as carelessly as he had left them. It was an eerie feeling, not knowing who was alive that he had known. Not knowing if his neighbors were safe. He thought maybe he should investigate, but then he remembered the baby in his arms, trying to wiggle down to the floor. He set her down to crawl to her toys in the middle of the living room carpet. Then he remembered that maybe he should be grieving his father and his sister.

It was strange, knowing he should be grieving but not feeling grief. All he felt was responsibility. And so, acting on this responsibility, he took the keys that were hanging beside the door and unlocked his sister’s car. He prayed it had enough gas to get to where they needed to go. He set the baby in her playpen and set to work packing up all the food he could fit, and then squeezing clothes and diapers in between boxes and bags. He ended up removing the car seat to make room for more supplies, like a toolbox and a rifle and ammo. The front seat, he packed with baby toys, and finally broke down the playpen and stuffed that in with the toys. He set the baby on his lap, and they headed out.

He had never driven before, really. Once in a while his dad would let him drive his truck out in the field of his hunting property. That’s where they were headed. A few miles out of town, his dad owned a few acres of land, both field and wood with a stream running through it. On this land his father had an old hunting cabin. It wasn’t actually a hunting cabin, it was some ancient homestead with only one window in the two-bedroom structure. Since his father had owned it, he had run piping to allow for use of the kitchen and installed a restroom, but no electricity. He didn’t trust having wires where he couldn’t keep an eye on the building in case of fire. So, it was two small bedrooms, a small sitting room, a small kitchen, and an impossibly small bathroom in this one small little house. This was where he’d raise his niece.

It was just as well, really. Apparently, his father had been right all along. Apparently nothing was safe. As the months went by, he still had not allowed Bethany outside. Months turned into years, and he did not trust a single person. When she was big enough, he began taking odd jobs and selling their extra eggs in town, as people were beginning to move in. The dust had settled from the nuclear winter they experienced, and emergency services had cleaned up everything. The war was still on, though, and so he never dared let her out of the house, not even for a moment.

The truth was, he was lying to her, and he knew it. He knew other children were playing outdoors. He knew girls Bethany’s age were going on dates and meeting boys. He knew men his age were married with their own children. But, his father was right, and the other fathers were wrong, and where did that get them? So he told Bethany once again that it still was not yet safe to go out, and she believed him, as she always did. He just wondered how long that would last.