Nuclear bombs can kiss my ass.
In a fireball with a radius of one-point-nine-one miles, not only would everything in the fireball's path be vaporized—reduced to mere atoms—but when that explosion hits the ground, a three hundred foot deep crater is formed. The radiation radius is seven-point-six miles, which means that every human and animal in that range is violently damaged beyond repair and will die in the following month. Fifteen percent of the radiation survivors will die from cancer.
Destruction, destruction.
The numbers above are estimated for a one-megaton bomb.
One-megaton bombs don't exist anymore because everyone likes bigger, better, the best, so every nuclear weapon in the world is over ten times larger than one-megaton. That multiplies the numbers above by ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty.
There aren't enough bomb shelters in the world to save us all, so if you aren't near a blast site when the nukes go off and you're not filthy rich or extremely lucky, welcome to your new reality for the next seventy-two hours: vomiting, bloody diarrhea, tremors, seizures, death.
Don't forget about nuclear fallout. Or the irradiated shriveled-up monsters lurking through the hazy aftermath. Or the assholes who launched the bombs in the first place—they storm the streets, perfectly immune to radiation and fallout, looking for kids to kidnap like in a horror story.
Those assholes took everything from me. My family, my life, my world.
I can't get my world or my old life back, but I sure as hell am going to get my family back, because I plan on making some explosions myself.
But I'm going to get it all back, because I plan to make some explosions myself.
* * *
I have a talent: I can read anywhere, while doing anything: walking, showering, eating, playing soccer...it's a talent I've cultivated since birth, a skill that led Mom to ban books at the dinner table and Dad to say, "I just don't care" every time I walk into a wall or slip in the shower because I'm not paying attention.
The morning the bombs went off was the morning that I was so sure my world was going to end if I failed my upcoming biology exam. I used one hand to balance my biology textbook against a sturdy vase of sunflowers and stirred my cereal with my other hand. The house around me was a cacophony of normal morning madness: Dad flipped bacon in a pan, the Keurig ground out Mom's coffee, and my older brother slammed doors and closets upstairs.
"Bio?" Dad asked as he sat down across from me at the kitchen table with a plate of bacon and strawberries.
"Yes," I said without looking up. "Test on DNA replication today."
"You're crushing your Cheerios with your spoon, sweetheart." Mom leaned down beside Dad and snagged a piece of bacon. I lifted my spoon out of the dregs of my milk and saw that she was right; Cheerio dust swam through the milk. I sat the spoon down, picked up the textbook, and lifted it close to my face, trying to press out the sounds of Luka's bristling anger and the smells of bacon and coffee.
Helicase breaks the hydrogen bonds holding the contemporary bases togeth—
Luka banged a door so hard that the entire kitchen table shook, making my baby sister squeal with laughter. I snapped my textbook shut, irritated, "What is he looking for?"
"Take a guess," Mom said. She sat at the table beside Dad with her coffee mug and sighed. "I'm gonna put a cowbell on that phone of his."
"I'd still lose it," Luka grumbled as he bounded into the kitchen with his backpack slung over one bony shoulder. He moved the canisters of sugar and tea sachets. "Has anybody seen it?"
Welcome to the Witheree Family Morning Routine: normalcy sprinkled with Luka's frantic search for his phone. He lost it all the time. I don't know how—Mom set out a special box for him on the kitchen counter to put his phone in when he wasn't using it, but Luka isn't even responsible enough for that. Dad consistently tells him with flippant indignation that a community college student shouldn't lose his phone every morning, My little sister Lucia laughs so hard about the situation that she ends up spitting out her applesauce. I just tease Luka the whole time, and Mom taunts me back by reminding me that I read in the shower and have ruined half my books doing so, so I have no room for teasing.
Beside my bowl, my own phone buzzed. At the same time, Mom's dinged, and Dad's whistled. Another phone buzzed across the table near Lucia.
"Gotcha!" Luka announced, making a beeline for Lucia. My five-year-old sister laughed and shoved her hands through her black curls. "I don't have your phone. It's hiding."
Luka growled, "You'll be receiving a visit from the Rain Man."
"No!" The smile faded from her face. "Not him! He hates me!"
Luka poked around her seat and retrieved his phone from under her leg. "That's the point. He takes little girls who take their brother's phones and keeps them locked—"
"Luka," Mom warned. "Lucia, what did I tell you about taking your brother's phone?"
As Luka bit down another half-hearted threat, I grabbed my phone to see one of those breaking-news notifications everyone gets at the same time—amber alerts, tornado warnings, hurricane watches...the sort of alerts that send shivers down your spine after you read them.
Breaking News, the article linked to the notification read in big bold letters, Senator Allahay releases information on the TB-81 vaccination law required for all people born after 2001. The vaccine was created, Allahay said in an exclusive interview with TIMES, by scientist and leader of CORPALARKI, Alison Corpalarki Vega.
My hands went cold. Alison Corpalarki Vega was one of the household names I grew up hearing about in whispers and shrill conversations. Alison Corpalarki Vega's name appeared on newspaper headlines, on the six o'clock news broadcast every Monday night, and on stupid memes of mad scientists my classmates throw around like rumors. All I really knew about her was that she hates the way things are going in the United States right now, and that she wanted to make a change, but I never put too much thought behind her or her name. Politicians bored me with their worldwide let's-change-the-world talk, partially because it's impossible for a single person to change the world and partially because I don't have time to think worldwide when a biology exam could determine if I get into AP chemistry next year.
I scrolled through the article, and I didn't have to look up to know that Mom and Dad were exchanging worried glances across the table. The article said that Vega bribed seventy senators to pass the law stating that all kids had to get a vaccination in 2001. Federal agents arrested her this morning after Senator Allahay confessed about the bribes. Trial dates were listed, along with a close-up shot of the middle-aged scientist casting a glare across a crowd of spectators as she was being led by officers into a squad car in D.C.
"Why did Vega want to pass the vaccination?" I asked.
Mom fingered a dark curl and looked at Dad. Dad set his fork down and folded his hands together. "The law says that when kids are born, they have to get that vaccine to protect them from a particularly nasty airborne infection that causes warts on the hands and feet."
"My phone was in Lucia's pants, in case anyone was wondering," said Luka, stuffing bacon into his mouth.
Lucia laughed and lifted a chubby brown fist in the air. "I saved it from mutual destruction!"
I opened my mouth to ask why it's such a big deal that Vega wanted to protect children from hand and foot warts, but Dad said, "You've gotta get to school" and Mom chided Lucia, "How do you know what mutual destruction is? You've been listening to your brother's video games."
I thought about pressing my question for a fraction of a second, but then decided it wasn't worth it. I scraped my biology textbook and phone into the backpack beside my feet, shrugged on my jacket, and grabbed my car keys. I was halfway out the door when Dad said, "If you do good on your test we can go to the lab after I get home from work tonight!"
"You'll take her even if she gets an F," Luka snarled with a shark-sharp grin."Daddy's girl."
"Irresponsible loser," I called back.
Mom screeches, "You're letting cold air in, Eliza!"
I shut the door with a snort.
Typical Witheree Family Morning Routine.
* * *
The day brightened into one of those colorful fall days, bitter-cold in the morning but not unbearable by noon. Yellow leaves shivered as they dangled off mostly-bare leaves, and sunshine spilled in rippling gold waves through floor-to-ceiling windows. By lunchtime, jackets were slung over arms or stuffed in backpacks, and afternoon plans were being made to visit downtown Aspen coffee shops and parks. It was our first day of sunshine in over a week, and everyone seemed a little peppier because of it.
It was lunchtime, and I was still studying for bio. Heidi, James, and Markus crowded in around me. Aspen Oliver High School does not have large tables in the cafeteria, and when you cram four seventeen and eighteen-year-old people around a table with lunch boxes and Styrofoam trays, you either have to read by looking down at your lap or not read at all. I couldn't possibly stuff any more DNA replication facts into my brain, but merely holding the textbook in my lap was comforting.
"Okay," James said through the buzz of slightly-more-energized-than-normal kids milling through the cafeteria, "I have a new movie idea: healthy bacteria that turns into zombie bacteria and eats people alive."
"You've had better ideas," Heidi scoffed. She stood stiffly beside our table with her arms folded. She hates cafeterias. Germs! she often scolded, shaking her head in disgust. So many damn germs and so many damn people do not make for a good combination.
Markus argued,"I want to make a movie about zombie bacteria."
"I also want to hear about it," I said around a mouthful of carrots.
James was the science-fiction guru of our group. He came up with crazy fantastical ideas and combined them with science before crafting them into award-winning short films. Markus, who wasn't as enthusiastic as science fiction but was extremely enthusiastic about technology, did all of James's audio and video work. Heidi, who freaked out about the school's germy props and Markus's germy camera equipment, made sure everything was clean. I fact-checked everything behind James' ideas—last year, I saved him from crafting a very unrealistic scene involving a computer sobbing as it broke up with a girlfriend by reminding him that it was impossible for computers to have feelings.
"Quick," Heidi said in mock despair, turning to me, "let's go to the library before we have to hear about zombie bacteria."
"Zombie bacteria is interesting." I stuffed another carrot into my mouth.
"DNA replication is also interesting. Getting a 105 on the test is even more interesting." Heidi grabbed my hand. I grabbed my turkey sandwich, wrapped my arms around my textbook, and shrugged to the guys in apology.
"Have fun studying boring DNA!" James called after us; Heidi was already tugging me away from our table.
"Have fun failing the test!" Heidi replied, but her response was lost in the hum of the cafeteria.
James stuck his tongue out at her; Heidi flipped him a rude gesture. We entered the main hall, which basked in silky strands of gold. The library was on the opposite side of the aisle.
"Since it's finally not raining outside," Heidi asked, "do you want to stop by Rookie's after school? We can work on our project."
"I'm always up for ice cream out of a food truck." My phone buzzed in my pocket. It buzzed again—and again—and again. Heidi's own phone exploded into an Ariana Grande song. We fished our phones out at the same time, and all the while, it didn't stop buzzing.
They were all text messages. All from Mom, Dad, and Luka.
Dad: Lize you need to get home right now they won't wait for you
Luka: i'm so sorry i didn't know this was happening they're going 2 take our phones
i don't wanna call u u may be hiding
i love you
Mom: I love you, sweetheart; stay safe.
Heidi was telling the person on the other end of the phone something in fast Spanish by the nearest window. I called my mom, pulse thundering in my ears. She answered on the first ring.
"Eliza," Mom said. There's was static in the background, like she was in the middle of a mall or a busy restaurant.
"Mom?"
"Are you okay? What's going on over there?" Her voice was shaking, thick with tears. A little sob slipped through her lips.
"Nothing! Why? What's happening at home?"
"They're taking us. The terrorists are about to—"
Suddenly, Heidi dropped her phone and screamed.
And then the sound was sucked out of the world.
If you're reading our book, drop a comment telling us any quirky things you do in your morning routine so we can get to know you and thank you for reading! Also, if you have science-fiction zombie-nuclear-apocalypse loving friends, tell them about Radiation Children!
-Stephanie, Rachel, Alison, & Clary
- "I drink two cups of coffee before school every morning and another one after school." -Stephanie