Radiation Children

6

We were about a mile down the road when Lucia finally let go of my hand. 

What used to be a paved street had become a pockmarked, disheveled mess of asphalt rocks barred by fallen tree branches. The fields on either side of the road were charred black-gray; what was left of the tobacco stalks rustled in the sulfur-sour wind. The sun was setting behind a curtain of heavy black clouds and smoke, and darkness crept up on us in layers of longer, deeper shadows. I knew we couldn't walk forever; I also knew Lucia couldn't walk as long as I could without getting tired. We needed a plan. We needed a car. 

So when Lucia pulled her sweaty hand from mine and wrapped her arms around her body, I knew that it was time to cheer her up with some good old science. I squatted down beside her and said, "Did you know that walking releases these chemicals in your brain that make you happy?" 

She scrunched up her sweat-slicked face. "You made that up." 

I held my hands up defensively. "I promise it's true." 

"I don't feel happy." 

"Well, you have to give it a few minutes." 

"We've been walking for a lot of hours!" 

I laughed and straightened, turning back to the long stretch of road ahead of us. We had been walking for half an hour. "It feels like a long time, but if you keep on walking, you'll start to feel happy. I know it." 

"Can you at least hold me?" 

"The effects of the happy chemicals won't work if I hold you. Besides, you're too heavy." 

"Okay, but you're sweaty, so I can't hold your hand anymore." 

"I'll tell you what: we'll walk until we get into town. You can make it that far, right? Those happy chemicals will really be working by then. We'll find a place to sleep for the night." Maybe we'll find a way to get to D.C in an apocalypse, in a world devoid of people. Maybe Markus's voice will ring through the radio. Maybe Mom, Dad, and Luka are looking for us, too. 

Lucia raked her teeth across her dark lower lip, black hair wipping like a curly banner in the wind. "Okay," she agreed. 

We walked on. 

We reached town in another hour, right when the world was getting hard to see because of the approaching night and Lucia had started whimpering that she felt sick. The heat was bristling; my back was soaked in sweat and my legs were burning. I made sure Lucia drank an entire bottle of water and had her munch on peanut butter crackers to keep her energy up. As we approached the familiar strip of fast food restaurants, gas stations, and hair salons, the strangeness of our new world hit me like it did when we had first emerged from the storm shelter: everything looked like a black shipwreck in the twilight, hulking and broken and haunted. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road and parking lots, hunks of metal ripped from their outsides. The stores and gas stations were obliterated. Entire uprooted trees torn away from the initial blast poked out of caved-in roofs. Telephone lines blocked the entrance to many entrances, their severed wires tangled together like black spaghetti. Small, wicked-bright flames twinkled in some of the building's open windows. 

Save for the low growl of distant flames, everything was silent. No bugs, no cars, no people, no hum. 

Nothing.  

The back of my neck prickled. 

We walked to a Pilot gas station that coupled as a McDonalds on its right side. We had to duck in through a good-sized hole because the door was barred by a fallen tree that was twice the length of a school bus and half the height of a grown elephant. Glass crunched beneath our feet as we moved along the darkened aisles. The shelves are overturned, and the floor was a mess of spilled snacks, candy, and granola bars. We settled on the far side of the store in a cozy little nook next to the bathrooms. I wadded up an extra jacket from my backpack and sandwiched it between the wall and my neck. Lucia used my lap as a pillow.