Fallout Read Free Page B

won’t work. There’s no electricity anymore.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    There’s a clunk and Dad grunts, “Damn it!” as if he banged his head.
    â€œAre you okay?” This time it’s Mrs. Shaw who asks.
    â€œYes.” But he sounds even more frustrated. Sometimes when he got this way in the house, I would hide in a closet.
    â€œWhy isn’t there electricity?” Sparky asks.
    â€œBecause the bomb blew everything up,” I tell him.
    â€œI didn’t hear a bomb,” my brother says.
    â€œBe quiet,” Dad snaps. “I’m trying to think.”
    â€œBut I didn’t hear a bomb,” Sparky whines, his voice breaking. “Just turn on the light.”
    â€œQuiet!” Dad bellows.
    Sparky starts crying again. Fearing Dad will get angrier and yell even more, I pull my brother tighter to me and shush him the way Mom would. More clinking and scratching follows. Then, finally, a click and a light goes on.
    It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, then I see Dad near the bunks, shining the beam from a long silver flashlight on Mom, whose head is on Janet’s lap. My breath catches; there’s a big red stain on Janet’s robe. Mom’s hair is dark and gummy, and in the dim light her skin looks almost gray.
    â€œMom!” Sparky wails rawly. He bursts out of my grasp and flies toward her, but Dad catches him.
    â€œShe’s going to be okay,” he says, swinging the flashlight beam away. I bite my tongue not to say what I’m thinking, which is that she doesn’t look like she’s going to be okay. Dad has to wrestle Sparky, who’s still struggling to get to Mom. “We have to leave her alone, Edward,” he says softly. “We have to let her get better.” He holds my little brother gently but firmly.
    â€œListen to your father,” Janet tells him.
    â€œBut what’s wrong with her?” Sparky asks anxiously, craning to see around Dad.
    â€œMr. Porter, is there a first-aid kit?” Janet asks.
    Dad aims the flashlight at some shelves. “Get it, Scott.”
    I rise, and that’s when I notice Mr. McGovern and Paula near the shield wall. Paula’s curled in his arms and weeping miserably. Mr. McGovern hugs her, his eyes glistening.
    They’re half a family.
    It’s . . . horrible.

“Run!” Ronnie yelled.
    We sprinted around the Lewandowskis’ station wagon — past the astonished faces of Mrs. Lewandowski, Linda, and the rest of the brood — and out into the sunlight, where there was no sign of Freak O’ Nature. I didn’t understand why we were running. Mrs. Lewandowski had seen us. Lest there be any doubt, she now stood at the mouth of the garage and called, “Ronnie? Scott? What’s going on?”
    Being a dutiful child who’d been taught to answer grown-ups, I began to slow, but Ronnie grunted, “Don’t stop!”
    So I sped up again.
    With the cheesecake box tucked into the crook of his arm like a football, Ronnie led the way. On the sidewalk ahead of us was Freak O’ Nature, who’d abandoned his lookout post and was walking home with the transistor radio pressed to his ear. For a moment, I wondered if Ronnie was running after him, angry that Freak O’ Nature had gone AWOL. But he ran right past him and kept going.
    As I sprinted past Freak O’ Nature, he asked, “Where’re you going?”
    â€œWe got caught!” I gasped.
    Ronnie ran another hundred yards and then slowed to a jog. I would have gained on him, but I was winded and slowing as well. Soon we were walking about fifteen yards apart. A stitch had started to cramp in my right side.
    â€œWait.” I gulped in pain. “She saw us. She called our names.”
    But Ronnie kept going — down the sidewalk . . . across Freak O’ Nature’s front yard . . . around the side of his house . . . and into the backyard, where he plopped down under a