Anyone? (2 page)

I stood there for the longest time staring up at the square
door, the latches unattached. Part of me hoped Dad would change his mind and
come back. Screw Toby. He didn’t seem to care much for Dad or me, not after Mom
died, so why should Dad risk his life for him? He should stay with me, here, where
it was safe.

It was selfish, but I didn’t care. I needed my dad.

But the door didn’t open. The realization Dad wasn’t coming
back anytime soon finally settled in, so I shimmied up the ladder and snapped
each latch into place like he’d told me to. It took a little muscle, but I got
them closed. No one was getting inside—not by trying to pull it open, not by
pounding on it, not even by gunfire. The bunker was built to withstand almost everything
tossed at it.

But when the earth trembled, I slid down the ladder and
stood at the bottom with my heart thumping like crazy and my arms wrapped
around my middle. I waited for the whole contraption to come squeezing in on me;
for the dirt to fall in and crush the entire thing like stepping on an aluminum
can. Yes, the Atlas Survival Shelter was supposed to protect against all sorts
of horrible things, but would it really?
Really?

Callie meowed from her safe place under the couch, and I
wished I could squeeze under there with her.

“Hey, baby! Come here. It’s okay.” I knelt beside the couch
and tried to reach her. She’d scratched the heck out of me, but for some reason
the idea of holding onto her, holding onto
something,
was better than
the alternative—alone and afraid twenty feet below the ground. “Come on,
Callie!”

She was outside my reach, so I lowered myself to my belly
and tried again. The earth began to shake and I froze, as if freezing in place
could stop everything bad from happening.
Please, no, please no, please no.

Nothing happened, so freezing must have worked. The shelter
remained intact, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare.

Dad always had these wild ideas of possible wars with other
countries, or a giant earthquake which would destroy half the planet, or medical
mishaps which would render a person brainless but alive. Zombies. Toby and I
had teased him about that.

“You can’t possibly be serious about the walking dead? That’s
just plain jackassery.” Toby had smiled at me then and used his finger to make
a swirling motion near his ear—cuckoo. Perhaps it was the only time the two of
us ever agreed on anything.

Dad
was
losing it. We joked, but there was also
something behind Toby’s eyes I recognized. I felt it too. Ever since Mom’s
death, Dad had gone to the extreme—seventy two hour kits, guns, food storage,
practice drills, the bunker—but neither of us knew what to do about it.

I brushed it off as harmless. What did it matter if Dad
installed a forty-five foot bomb shelter in our suburban backyard? Who did it
hurt? Nobody. Plus, it seemed to make him happy. How could I fault him for
that?

But kids at school kidded around. Some even nicknamed my dad
the Militia Man, and would ask me if I slept with an AK-47 under my bed. The
idiots. I’d looked them dead in the eye, all serious, and leaned in close. I
told them no; I slept with a Smith & Wesson instead. That usually shut them
up.

Who was laughing now? I bet they were all running around up
above, wetting themselves. Dad had been right and he’d been prepared unlike
their parents who spent money on fancy vacations or in-ground swimming pools
and hot tubs. Nothing lasting. Not like this.

I chuckled at the thought of Dad being right and their
parents being wrong, and my maniacal laughter echoed off the metal. Fear and mirth—two
emotions on the opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, but I felt them both,
plus everything else in between. I shouldn’t be laughing at anyone else’s
possible misfortunes. Here I was in the middle of a giant tin can below the
earth and I was terrified too.

I chuckled again.

Get a hold of yourself, for Pete’s sake! It’s gonna be
okay. It will.

Callie inched toward my outstretched hand. My laughter must
have eased her fears, even though it only exacerbated mine. It didn’t matter. I
grabbed onto her and drew her into my arms, nearly squeezing the life out of
her.

The florescent lights flickered, and even though it made no
sense, like running down the aisle of a plane falling from the sky, I climbed
into one of the bottom bunks and pressed my back to the far corner. The bit of
darkness felt more natural than the harsh light and having the upper bunk above
me made me feel the same way Callie must have felt under the couch.

The kitten snuggled into me, her claws gripping my shirt. I
didn’t care. I needed her as much as she seemed to need to me. I curled myself
around her and drew into a tight ball as far away from the edge of the bed as I
could manage.

“It’s going to be okay.” I whispered. “It’s going to be just
fine.”

Callie meowed in response as if she understood me.

Funny, because I wasn’t even talking to her.

My eyes blinked open, and I flew upright, nearly cracking my
skull on the bed above me. I didn’t realize it was possible to sleep while the
world ended all around me, yet somehow I’d done just that.

The clock on the shelf blinked. Ten-thirty. Six hours since Dad
had left me down here. Six hours. He should’ve been back by now.
Did I miss
his knocking? Did I sleep right through it?

Panicked, I left Callie asleep on the bed and went to wait
beneath the door.

If he knocked and I missed it, he’ll come back, right?
Of
course he would. There was no way he’d leave me. No way at all. Still I waited
and listened as if at any moment the Morse Code knock would happen.
What’s
taking Dad so long?

I glanced at the clock again. It had to be wrong because
finding Toby shouldn’t take six hours. I climbed the ladder and pressed the
side of my head against the door, listening for any clue as to what was
happening outside. Whatever had caused the earth to rumble and make mushroom
clouds burst in the sky seemed to have stopped. That had to be a good sign, but
I couldn’t hear a thing.

“Dad, you out there?”

Come on, knock. Please!

Silence.

Callie stood at the edge of the bed and stretched, arching
her back. She stared at me and began a string of non-stop
meows.

“Shush, I can’t hear.” She needed to be quiet, just in case,
but she kept right on at it.

A part of me wanted to unlatch the door and fling it open,
check everything out and see for myself, but I’d promised I wouldn’t.

The darn cat wouldn’t shut up.

“Okay, okay.” I climbed back down the ladder. She was still
a baby after all and probably hungry. As for using the litter box, I hadn’t
thought of that when I’d brought her down here, but I’d need to figure
something out quick or I’d have quite the mess on my hands.

As for Dad and Toby, I’d have to stay awake and make sure to
really listen. If they’d come and I had missed it, I knew Dad would wait and try
again.

I scooped up the kitten in my arms. “I guess it’s time to
figure out what we’ve got down here to eat, huh?”

She nuzzled against me, but kept on with her incessant
howling.

“Okay, we’ll find something for you.”
And maybe a little
something for me while we’re at it.

There were MREs in both mine and Dad’s bags, but the very
idea of cracking any of them open seemed appalling. There had to be something
better. Dad had installed several shelves, and lined them with various sized
cans, along with toilet paper, hygiene products, medicine, and vitamins. The
endless supply of cans overwhelmed me, but I grabbed a small tin can I recognized.

“How about some tuna for you?” I put Callie down and she
followed at my feet as I searched through the various cupboards and drawers for
a can opener. Dad had thought of it all, and to see his preparedness not only
gave me even more admiration for him, but scared me a little too. He’d seemed to
have planned for everything, and that couldn’t have been a happy way to
live—fearful of the worst.

He’d supplied the place with food, a small fridge, a stove,
a sink, a toilet, a trash compactor, and a television with shelves of DVDs and
board games. There was even a CD player and dozens of CDs to choose from. In
one drawer lay crayons and coloring books—princess and Barbie. He’d been
putting things down here for years. He must have forgotten I wasn’t ten anymore
and didn’t color, but it was nice of him to consider my boredom.

I opened the can and sat it in the middle of the floor.
Callie dipped her face right into it and the
meowing
stopped as she started
eating.

A sigh escaped my lips as I took in my new surroundings,
trying to figure everything out. I turned on the sink faucet and water poured
out.
It works.
I quickly shut it off, not wanting to waste a drop.

I took more time looking through every drawer and cupboard,
and opening every storage bin to see what supplies there were, though I didn’t
intend on staying down here long enough to use most of them.

Each of the mattresses hung over the edge of the beds and
when I lifted them, saw a good three inch deep storage area under them, the
entire size of the bed. Dad’s clothes filled one, Toby’s filled another, and a
third bed held my clothes—underwear, socks, sweatshirts, and pants. Remembering
the coloring books, I suspiciously plucked out a pair of jeans, shocked to find
they were my exact size. So what was with the coloring books then? It didn’t
matter. I tossed the jeans back inside and lifted the fourth mattress.

Thick winter coats, several sleeping bags and blankets,
hats, and gloves, and to top off the stash, a huge stack of porn magazines in
the corner.
Seriously?
The very idea of my dad or Toby looking at them
gave me the creeps.
Yuck.
They looked brand new, but still.

Well, if they didn’t come back soon, I’d put the dirty
magazines to use and let Callie do her business on them. I mean, my bed was
right across from theirs—what were they thinking?

I lowered the mattress and noticed the latches all along the
floor boards, so I bent and lifted one. Underneath the entire floor, lined from
one end of the bunker to the other, stood fifty gallon barrel drums, presumably
filled with water. There had to be thirty of them.
Good to know.

After exploring the toilet and figuring out how to use the
darn thing, and checking the emergency hatch on the opposite side of the
shelter, I grabbed a can of peaches from the shelf, opened it, and flopped down
on the couch to eat.

What’s going on up above?

Thirty-six hours.

I paced from one end of the shelter to the other. They
should’ve been back by now and since they weren’t, I had no idea what to do.
Dad had said to stay put, but a large part of me wondered if they were in some
kind of trouble—hurt or injured—and needed my help.

Go? Stay? I didn’t know which option was right, or even where
I would begin to start looking for them.
What’s happening out there?

I picked up Callie, cradled her in my arms, and sat on the
edge of my bed. “Should we go?” I asked the wiggling kitten. “We could pack a
bag and some food, and go look for them. We could always come back if we had
to. This place will still be here.” I stroked her fur, which seemed to please
her and she purred and settled in my lap. Going seemed the best choice, because
staying made me feel helpless and afraid. Not knowing what was going on caused
my mind to imagine the worst scenarios.

“After lunch we’ll leave.” I included the little cat in my
plans, because I couldn’t leave her alone in case I found my brother and dad
and couldn’t get back to her. It would make things tricky, carrying a kitten
around, but she was my responsibility. I’d begged for a cat until Dad had finally
given in. It only took a few tears and threatening to pierce my tongue to get
him to cave. If it came down to it, piercing my tongue was never an option.
Hangnails hurt so I couldn’t even imagine deliberately forcing a piece of metal
through the floppy muscle I used to eat with. And besides, I liked food. I
wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that.

At first, taking care of the defiant little creature had
taken a lot of work and patience, and I’d even planned to give her back to the
animal shelter at one point, but now I was so grateful to have her. Especially
down here in the belly of the earth.

I would make sure to leave a note for Dad in case he came
for me and found me gone.

“Yep.” I continued to pet the kitten. “We’ll leave after
lunch.” Perhaps the more I said it out loud, the braver I’d become. Hopeful
thinking.

Callie swiped at my hand, her sign she’d had enough, so I
stopped, and she jumped down from my lap. I sighed.
We’ll leave after lunch.

While an individual serving of macaroni and cheese warmed in
the microwave, I grabbed my bag and added more supplies to the already bulky
thing—food for Callie and extra water for the both of us. I included an extra
wool blanket and a few winter items to keep the weather from kicking my butt.

I couldn’t find any paper or pens anywhere, so I used the
crayons and ripped a page out of the coloring book to write on, drawing all
over Sleeping Beauty’s face.

WEDNESDAY 10:00am

Dad,

You said to wait, and I stayed as long as I could, but I
started to get worried. I left to go looking for you since you took forever to
come for me, but I will be back on Friday, in case you came back while I’m
gone. Stay here. I WILL be back. Unless I find you, then ignore this.

Love, Tess

P.S. Don’t be mad at me. You were supposed to be here by
now, so technically this is your fault.

I placed the note on the counter, propped against the
microwave so it could easily be seen. After giving Callie some condensed milk, I
sat down on the couch to eat my lunch.

The idea of leaving scared the crap out of me, but the idea
of not knowing what was going on scared me even worse. I ate my lunch slowly.

The kitten started with her incessant meowing. She had food.
She had milk. She’d already used the litter box.

“What do you want?” I lowered my fork to my bowl.

She arched her back and stared at the open door between the
decontamination area of the shelter and the living room, then kept
meowing
,
which was strange for her. She hadn’t behaved like this before.

“You want to play? Is that it?” I waved around a pair of
balled up socks, a homemade toy I’d made out of Toby’s supplies—the jerk—but
even when I threw it for her, she didn’t bother to go after it like she
normally did. It rolled across the floor and came to a stop in the far corner.

I placed my bowl to the side, scooped up the cat in my arms,
and started petting her, trying to calm her. “You okay? What’s going on, huh?
You nervous too?”

She twisted away from me—giving me two fresh scratches on my
arms for my effort—and disappeared under the couch. She kept right on meowing
.

“You know, sometimes you remind me of my brother.”
Weird
cat. Whatever.

I held my empty bowl under the sink spigot and pumped a
little water to rinse it out.

Banging on the square metal hatch caused me to drop the bowl
in the sink. It clattered and I spun around.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

Muffled yelling and even more banging followed, then the
sound of a shovel scraping against metal, like nails scratching a black board.

I stiffened, didn’t move, and hardly breathed.

Dad?

A large part of me hoped it was him, but a greater part of
me knew he would have used the code.

Callie’s meowing grew louder.

Voices, definitely male, were forceful, frantic, but their
words were indecipherable. Chills ran down my spine and the hairs on my neck
and arms stood erect.

When rapid fire bullets ricocheted against the door, I dove
for my bed. Lost in the shadows, I covered my head with my arms, trying to
block out the machine gun sounds. Not the bravest thing to do, but the
only
thing I knew to do.

My heart thrummed and my chest heaved with frightened
breaths.
What do I do? What do I do?

The gunfire ceased briefly, replaced by more banging. In a
moment of courage, I managed to run from my safe place and slam the door shut,
separating the decontamination area from the living area. My hands shook, but I
latched the lock into place. Even if they managed to break through the metal
square door—highly unlikely—they’d never get through the bomb door. Still, fear
continued to hold me in its grip.

I ran to the opposite side of the shelter and crawled up the
tube toward the escape door and found relief at seeing it secure. No one banged
on it or fired bullets at it. Perhaps they had no idea it even existed. Dad had
hid it quite well.

The crazy noise, now muffled by the bomb door, seemed to
carry on forever. Dad should have stayed with me. He shouldn’t have left me
alone here. What would happen if they got inside? What did they want? Would
they take everything I had? The supplies? The food?

Would they kill me?

I wanted to cover my ears with my hands and refuse to listen
to the men’s crazy efforts as I’d done before, but I forced myself to slide to
my knees in front of my bed and reach for my duffle bag. My fingers shook as I fumbled
around inside, wrenching out all the things I’d packed earlier, scattering the
contents around, until I found what I was looking for.

My gun.

I planted myself square in the middle of the bunker, aiming
toward the door. My arms shook and my breathing quickened. I pulled back the
hammer and the gun seemed to weigh a ton, heavier than it had ever felt before.

My training had only been at the local firing range and with
black and white paper targets. Nothing threatening. Nothing real. Could I shoot
a person if I had to? I didn’t know. I wasn’t the violent type— more like a
wallflower when it came to other people and to confrontation. I was more likely
to walk away than throw a punch.

But this was different.

I’d become so used to the on-and-off-again machine gun fire
that when it ended for good, the surrounding silence felt loud in my ears. The
voices fell away to nothingness. The quiet of it all engulfed me, but I refused
to lower my gun. My courage had budded to the surface just moments before the
silence, a burst of adrenaline, and now it wouldn’t fade so easily, even though
the threat appeared to be over.

I don’t know how long I continued to stand there with my
arms straight, the gun pointed at the door and my head swimming with horrible
images of what might be happening above me.

Was this it? Was this the end of the world Dad had prepared for?

Maybe it was better not to know. At least that way, I still
had some hope.

Callie rubbed herself against my leg, purring like a
completely different cat than the maniac animal she’d been earlier. I ignored
her until her tiny claws pierced the material of my pants and pricked my skin.

I pushed the hammer back into the safety position and tucked
the gun in my waistband. My heart still thrummed, but I picked up Callie and
held her tight.

“So what do we do now?”

She purred a response, and I buried my face in her soft fur
and cried. After several minutes of my holding her, she wriggled free and went
back to exploring our tiny home, walking along the counters and the back of the
couch as though nothing had ever happened.

I grabbed my crayon scribbled note and read it over several
times.

Please be okay and please come back for me. Please.

I closed my eyes, angry for being left alone and not being
strong enough or brave enough to go after them or to simply be on my own
either. I sank my teeth into my trembling lip in an effort to stop more tears
sliding down my cheeks, then crumpled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it
away.

Callie bounded after it and proceeded to rip it to shreds.