by Lamb, Lynn
Then, it happened. A long, steady stream of siren-like warning signals came from the San Francisco station that had been providing us with the most up to date information. At that moment everything began going black in my head, like when you attempt to stand up after being in bed, sick, for several days. I concentrated hard to keep from going under and Mark grabbed my arm and steadied me on the stool.
Why am I surprised that it had come to the West Coast? My rational mind knew it would. I was preparing for it, for heaven’s sakes.
Before I knew it, we were all holding each other’s hands. We were squeezing tightly, as I blurted out, “I love you guys.”
I know that they were replying, but I can’t even remember what they were saying. I was in my own world. Is that what comes when you know that your death is emanate?
After a couple of minutes, Mark tuned the radio off. But the sound had not stopped. It was coming from outside. We have a warning system in Monterey? Did I know that?
We are now just sitting here, on the couches, waiting. I grabbed this stupid diary, but I have no idea why. It’s not like anyone is going to be reading it now. But I need to do something, anything. Not Mom and Mark. They are just looking at… I am not sure what they are looking at. Maybe they can’t see anything at the moment.
Mom is sobbing, and Mark moved between us to hold us both… now they start getting along, go figure. And I am sobbing, too. Sobbing and writing.
Is that the sound of planes?
What’s moving?
I am going to throw up!
I’m dying.
A few days later, night
I am not really sure of time any more, without our cell phones working. Why don’t we have watches?
I am glad that my last thoughts were not about throwing up, at least not yet.
We are alive, all three of us.
And maybe the neighbors are alive, too. Talk about coming through at the 11th hour. I am so glad that I had told them about staying inside after the attack for at least a week, or maybe two after initial impact. It depends on what kind of attack it is. At least, that was the information on the CDC website. Many of the neighbors had been prepping, as we were. But some were not.
The bombs hit fast and hard. I was in the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco and it was a tap on the shoulder compared to this. Earthquakes only last for seconds. This event went on for what seemed like hours. I am not sure how many, and I guess it doesn’t matter.
Sometimes we felt shaking and sometimes it felt like the earth was literally buckling. For the first few seconds we sat, completely petrified. But then we were thrown into the air. I came down hard on the tiles with my hands and knees. Now, the room was pitch black, but I could feel the tile floor beneath me crack, as the sound exploded in my ears.
A few minutes went by when the next wave began. I have no idea what I was hearing, feeling and even smelling, but this time it felt like whatever was happening was getting further away. Is it possible, had I survived?
Not so fast, the earth said.
It all started again. The shaking resonated in my chest. It even made my teeth hurt. I don’t know how many times I rolled. I was crashing into what I could only imagine was furniture that had up-ended. Surely this had to be the end of it, of us.
But no, the next assault to my senses was smell now. I don’t know how it was so strong. We were hammered, duct-taped and tarped into our dark tomb and yet my nasal passages burned with a smell. I have nothing to compare the smell to in order describe it. It hurt though. And it made its way to my lungs, which were now trying desperately to expel it. So, that was the way I will go. I will asphyxiate, I vaguely thought.
I heard my mother scream out in a sound that made my heart break. But even worse was that I didn’t hear Mark at all. Was I making noises, screaming? I have no idea.
It was still going. And then I did something that, looking back, I am surprised I was able to do; I allowed myself to just roll with it. And, more surprisingly, I relaxed into peacefulness. It was my time, and I was willing to go. I would have no more pain, no more worry that brought bile up my throat, no more noisy thoughts of survival, just nothing more.
I woke from the blackness into more blackness as the earth continued to tumble. I was still here. Damn it! I was ready.
Seconds later, it ended, with a whimper.
When my head turned I felt dirt, or maybe dust, fall into my eyes. I groaned.
“Are you okay,” it was Mark. But he died, hadn’t he? “Honey, don’t move.”
Don’t go, I thought, or maybe I said. Everything was foggy. Come back… don’t leave me!
“Mom, can you move?” Mark asked my mother.
“Yeah, I think.” I heard my mother’s voice and I began to cry.
My body hurt as I sobbed and I kept telling myself that I needed to stop or it would hurt more. I could barely breathe. I felt like I was drowning and I was starting to panic. But the tears cleared my vision and I saw light. No, that couldn’t be. The pain was too much and I turned my head and threw up.
I saw a figure move in front of the light and I heard hammering. Someone’s doing construction? I was having the strangest thoughts trying to put it all together.
“Honey, the wood split on the window and the glass broke. I have to fix it before the contamination gets in. Just stay still.”
Not a problem. I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I think I blacked out again.
My head was so sticky and dirty, that much I knew. I was wearing one of the face masks, too. This time, when I opened my eyes, there was light. It was the emergency lantern.
I looked around the room and I almost didn’t recognize the very house I grew up in.
“You hear that,” I asked. “Rescued already?”
“No, Baby. No one’s here. You were really thrown around. Maybe you ruptured an ear drum. You are hearing things,” Mark said through his mask. He was sitting next to me now.
“Okay,” I said. But I could hear someone in the distance saying my name.
“Laura!”
“What the…” Mark exclaimed. I felt him get up from my side and move away.
“No, don’t leave me,” I squeezed out the loudest I could, but it was nothing more than a whisper.
I was feeling so confused.
“Laura, are you okay? Annie, Mark, are you okay? Over.” This time I was sure I heard someone.
Mark retrieved one of the emergency back packs. Just that morning Jill had given us one of her camping walkie-talkies. She had the other and made sure they were both on the same channel. I never had the chance to tell Mark it was in there.
“It’s Jill,” I told him.
“Oh my God. Jill!” He screamed her name so loudly my ears went back to ringing again for a few seconds.
“Mark? It’s me. Are you okay? Laura, Annie,” she asked.
“Yes, we are okay. Laura’s hurt. I think Annie broke her wrist. I am treating them. I had first aide in the Army. We got pretty roughed over here. We rolled a lot, too. How are you? How is Joseph?”
“Fine, we are fine. Joe got away from me a few times. But I caught him. All in all, the house held up mostly. Built right, you know?” She scoffed at her own joke. Of course it held up, she built it. “I wish I could come and help you guys.”
“No, stay! At least one week, okay? Please don’t move. We can stay in touch, but right now I need to help them.” He turned his head and whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Warm tears rolled down my face and my teeth began to chatter loudly. Could Jill hear them? What was I thinking?
“Baby,” Mark lifted my feet and inched me carefully into a sleeping bag that he already had out. “I think you are in shock,” he said.
I couldn’t get any more words out. I was shaking hard and everything in my body hurt. Just then I felt something warm, rough and wet on my face. What was Mark doing? It felt weird.
I opened my eyes to see my sweet Hershey. I remember thinking, my dog looks co
ncerned. I must be really bad.
“Hershey, sit,” Mark commanded. Hershey moved to my feet, but never went very far from me.
“Honey, lift your head. Open your mouth. I found some of your painkillers in the emergency pack from when you hurt your back. Now drink this and swallow.”
I choked on the pills the first try. I spit them into my hand and then I turned my head and I threw up again. I took a breath and I got them to my throat, but it hurt so much getting them down. I must have been hit in the neck somehow. When they finally went down, I started to drink the water greedily. I was so thirsty. I choked again, and Mark pulled the bottle away from my begging lips.
“Just put your head down,” He moved my head into his lap. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” I knew he was trying to convince himself of it. I wasn’t so sure, though. But he stroked my hair and kept reassuring me.
I don’t remember much after that for a while. I could hear my mother becoming frantic, though. She kept asking Mark if I was okay until he finally snapped at her. “Annie, stop! Let me help her.”
I finally opened my eyes the best I could. Were they swollen shut? I peeked out to see my husband’s worried expression. My mother was on the couch, trying to crane her neck to look at me.
Mark looked tired and scared. I have never seen him scared before. I summoned my strength and lifted my hand to his face. He smiled weakly, and I could see he was relieved at that small gesture. “I’m okay, Baby. Don’t worry,” I said. He started rocking me in his arms. It hurt to move like that, but I said nothing. He needed me to be fine and for him I would be.
The next hours, maybe days, went both slowly and quickly somehow. I heard Mark speaking quietly to my mother. I know he was trying to soothe her, and I was grateful. Periodically, I even heard Mom and Mark speaking with Jill and Joseph. They were our only connection to the outside world. And we were theirs.
A few hours later
I am not sure how long it had been since the explosions, but I am overwhelmed with grief thinking about my family; those who aren’t here. Of course, when I began to think of Amanda and Brianna the tears came. They were slow at first, but the more I imagine what they must have gone through, the faster they come. The flood gates are opened and I am not sure that they will ever end. They are like my daughters, maybe even closer, if that is possible. I am squeezing my eyes closed and willing myself to stop. I hope that they went quickly, in the arms of my brother to comfort them.
But I have more loved ones and I might never know what became of them. My best friend, Penny, and her parents, who were like my own, my brother’s second wife and her kids, and my cousin back east. I can only imagine they are gone, along with almost everyone else.
Why do I have to still be here? Certainly, living is the cruelest fate. But I know that we might not have to endure much longer. We have no idea what actually happened, and if the air in here is really not contaminated. There are just way too many variables, too many things we don’t know. And too many things we may never know.
We still are not really sure how much time has passed. Our best guess is that it has been a couple of days, at least. We decided to ask Jill when she called to check on us next. She will know.
I am lying on my side in my sleeping bag, with my head propped up, writing by the dim light of the lantern. I am thankful that we have plenty of batteries, water, and some food to get us through until we can go outside.
Mark was able to gather the pages of my diary. I think he knows that I need to keep busy or I will go mad, stuck within my own mind.
Mark is smart. His life might have been in preparation for this. He has created a tent with in the living room to keep in our body heat. We can’t use even one of our three fireplaces due to carbon monoxide. There is no place for it to go since we fortified ourselves in to our tomb.
I have called what was our home our “tomb” and my mother scolds me every time. It does feel like it though; like some ancient pyramid we have ensconced ourselves in. But we are still alive. If you can call this living. I am still in a great deal of pain. I think that the heavy sideboard Mark found me under pushed my rib into my lung. It’s hard to breath and it is painful on the right side. I don’t think that my lung is ruptured, though.
Things are calmer now. We don’t feel like we have to make conversation. Is it because we are not sure what to do next, or is it that we just don’t have energy to talk? Maybe it is the grief. I am not sure. Maybe I should break the ice.
A Half of a Day Later, Maybe
Hours ago, we were startled awake by a new explosion. At least that’s what it sounded like, but of course we can’t see the outside, so we don’t really know.
Mark thinks it was a building collapsing. That is as good of a guess as any.
I immediately tried to call Jill on the walkie. I know she is going crazy being stuck inside for so long with Joseph.
“Jill, are you all okay? Jill,” I waited a few seconds. “Come on, answer Jill.” I started to get worried.
“JILL!”
“I am here, Laura. I’m here.” I let out a long breath and winced as the air evacuated from my bruised lung.
“Are you guys alright?” I asked.
“Yes, sorry. Joseph was trying to get out to somehow see what was going on. He tried to start removing the nail from the wood around the window. He’s losing it. If he were not in that chair we would be in a lot of trouble. It’s like cabin fever on steroids.”
“I couldn’t find the walkie for a while there. I put it in the kitchen. It is funny how I keep going in there and realizing there is nothing I need to do. All of our food is with us in the basement in the small kitchen we added in the renovation. Seems pretty foolish to add a kitchen to a room used in emergencies, huh? But it doesn’t stop me from going in there and just looking around until I realize I don’t need to be there. It’s like a muscle reflex, you know?”
“Yeah,” I lied. I am not really that mobile yet. “Hey, Jill, how many days has it been,” I finally asked.
“I have been trying to keep track, and I am pretty sure it has been three days. That would make it
July 18th. And it is 3:40 PM.
Thank God Jill was the only person left with an actual watch rather than a cell phone to tell the time. That makes me wonder if the clock on our bedroom wall made it through. I have not even seen that room since, well, you know.
July 18, Very early morning, probably
I am glad that Mark worked some construction in Japan. At some point while I was in my unconscious state, Mark took inventory on the state of the house. Miraculously, there was no terminal damage to the structure of the house. Of course, we are a long way from where we were before, but we are safe for now. When we are able to get outside, we are going to have some work. Of that, I am certain.
I only get up from my sleeping bag, which is now on the love seat next to my mother’s couch, to use the “restroom”. Ha! Mark has been sleeping on a space he made on the floor next to me. I know he is worried about my injuries. He holds my hand while we sleep.
I should explain about the “facilities”. We have two large, hardware store buckets. One is for “solid” waste and one for liquid waste. They each have small amount of sawdust at the bottom that we replenish as we go. I read that was the way you can compost the waste later. All I really cared about was that we could control the smells and sanitation during our internment. Not long after the East Coast was hit we devised a system. We are living down stairs and the wrap around balcony upstairs has a wooden shed covered by more tarps placed flush to the sliding door area. This creates a small room where we (by we, I mean Mark, as he is the only one able enough) pour the waste into a large tub. That way the person hauling it up there and pouring it out, won’t get sick if there is either nuclear radiation and/or biochemical contaminates in our air. I suspect there are both, by the way. And to make the make-shift toilets cute, I added a # One to one of them and a # Two to the other. Mark helped me attach a toilet seat on ea
ch. Smart, aren’t I?
We were just as smart with the water. Having been a military family, we have moved often. This last time, when we moved into my mother’s place, I bought twenty three plastic containers to use instead of boxes. It helped with the moving breakage problem. The day New York fell, we purchased twenty more. We filled them with gallons upon gallons of water. They are being stored with the food supplies in the laundry room and in the middle of the house, windowless rooms and spaces. We also purchased two large rain barrels that we place inside, as well. Thank God my Annie’s house is really big.
We spent a lot of money preparing for this. Well, Mom did. I had her put it on her credit card. After the first couple of days I was pretty sure she was not going to be getting a bill in the mail. If nothing did happen and things remained as normal we could take most of it back, I reasoned with her. I am so glad now she decided to go along with me. And she didn’t hurt her impeccable credit.
The Geiger counter we purchased is secured in one of the emergency pack packs next to me. If Mark had been there while we gathered supplies, I think he might have thought me ridiculous for this pricier item. Now, I think he will be happy to see it. When I can get up for more than a couple of minutes, I will test the areas around the windows and doors. Here is what the box says:
Two separate channels for Beta-and Gamma-validation (increased precision);
Normal Measurement Cycle of 26 seconds;
Range of indications of 0.05~999.0 mcSv/hr;
Detects Beta-, Gamma-, and X-rays.
So, those are a few of the things we bought in the days leading up to the end. And now we are finding out what comes after the end.
July 19, 2:50 AM, we found a clock in the rubble
It’s so quiet. Before (that’s what I am calling everything before the attack on the East Coast, when we were all just living our lives ignorant if what was to come), there was never real silence. I realize that now. Our computers hummed, televisions blared out our entertainment, video games bleeped, crashed and blasted, and don’t even get me started on our phones.
