by Lynn Lamb
Another important thing we accomplished was to talk to the director of the local Elk’s Lodge, Ed. I already forgot his last name. The Lodge is a one story building with a giant parking lot, a kitchen, offices and meeting rooms.
“Can we use your building if we need to and it’s still here?” I asked, bluntly. I had nothing to lose.
“I don’t care,” said Ed No-Last-Name. “I’m headed home to Seaside. No one is here now, and no one’s coming back, is my guess.”
Okay, Ed No-Last-Name. Thanks for your concern and cooperation.
~~~
Annie was again perched in front of the radio. We had just joined her when we heard something we had never heard before.
“Wait,” Annie said, as a steady high pitched beep emanated from what was now our only source of information. “Sometimes this channel goes out.” Wow, she was really getting good with the radio, or has it become an obsession?
We sat for what might have been the longest two minutes of my life. I started to feel light headed when I realized that I was holding my breath. I was lucky that I hadn’t passed out.
Then, it happened. A long, steady stream of siren-like warning signals came from the San Francisco radio 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 was I surprised that it had come to the West Coast? My rational mind knew it would. I was preparing for it, for heaven’s sake.
Before I knew it, we were all holding each other’s hands. We were squeezing tightly, and 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 imminent?
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, as I am writing this, 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. Annie and Mark are just looking at… I am not sure what they are looking at. Maybe they can’t see anything at the moment.
Annie 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
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.
Maybe the neighbors are alive, too. Talk about coming through at the eleventh hour. I am so glad that I 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. I wondered how they were, or if they were at all anymore.
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. Then, the room went 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, or even smelling, but this time it felt like whatever was happening was getting farther away. Is it possible? Had we 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 to 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 we will go. We 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, right? “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 began to panic. The tears cleared my vision, and I saw light. No, that couldn’t be. The pain was too much, and I turned my head to throw up.
I saw a figure move in front of the light, and I heard hammering. Someone’s doing construction? I remember 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 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 as loudly as I could, but it was nothing more than a whisper.
I was 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 said.
&n
bsp; “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 up 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. She is Wonder Woman. “I wish I could come and help you guys.”
“No, don’t. At least one week, okay? Please don’t move. We can stay in touch, but right now I need to help them.” Mark 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’re 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 concerned. I must be really bad.
“Hershey, sit,” Mark commanded. He moved to my feet, but never went very far from me.
“Honey, lift your head. Open your mouth. I found some of your painkillers from when you hurt your back in the emergency kit. 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 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 said. 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. 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, or 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 Annie and Mark speaking with Jill and Joseph. They were our only connection to the outside world, and we were theirs.
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 imagined what they must have gone through, the faster they come.
The flood gates are opened and I am not sure that it 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, and my cousins 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 calls 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 whole life might have been preparation for this. He has created a tent within 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 the smoke to go since we fortified ourselves in 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 breathe, 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 the 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 lungs.
“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 pulling the nails 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, either. 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 eighteenth. And it is about three thirty in the afternoon.
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.
~~~
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 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.” 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 a 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 contaminants in our air. I suspect there are both, by the way. So, to make the makeshift toilets cute, I added a “# One” to one of them and a “# Two” to the other. Mark helped me attach a toilet seat on each. I am really glad we figured that all out beforehand.
We were just as smart with the water. Having been a military family, we 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 placed inside, as well. Thank God my Annie’s house is really big.
We spent a lot of money preparing for this. Well, Annie 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 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.
