World War 4: Sticks and Stones

Frank: Part Two

About three years in, I felt a state of depression and anger and stuckness that ripped me apart. In fact, we all did. We hated ourselves, we were sick. We were at that point where we had to strap ourselves to furniture during points of the day to hold ourselves from leaving the bunker and killing everyone. Rosemary was even more of a confederate, Karen, dirt bag, jerk face than I knew her to be before. Or maybe that was the babies talking. Ben was now ten years old. He was young, but he was no child. He had seen, heard and tasted things that no child should. He was never around much. He liked to hang around some girl named Eliza. I liked Eliza. She was a soft, sensitive girl, who had just about the only shred of kindness left in our little humanity. In the evenings, Eliza would come to my little corner where I would listen to the radio. She asked me why I did it. "Why I did what?" I replied, only half interested in the conversation and fully invested in the radio. "Why do you listen to that stupid radio? It's the same awful shit over and over and over. Nothing changes. It only gets worse and none of it even affects you anymore." Her strange optimistic pessimism made me furious. I wanted to scream at her, but instead I took a breath and responded. "You don't understand." She understood completely. I, on the other hand did not understand how unimportant what was going on outside was to our situation. However, that didn't change anything. I listened to that radio daily with that wave washing over me again and again and then dissipating. Her wisdom meant nothing to me. Nothing meant anything to me anymore, except for survival, which was a lost cause at this point.

The lack of enthusiasm for life grew deeper and wider as survival became more of a joke. My life was lived half asleep, as was everyone else's, regardless of how tired we were at the moment. I was only awoken to full capacity at about one in the morning at a loud "Bang!" and then a triplet of "Bang!" There was a shooter. My survival instincts immediately kicked in. "Where is my son!" He was with Eliza. I knew this, but I yelled again anyways. "Ben! Goddamn it where are you?" My survival instincts must have been broken because I ran towards the noise. As I ran, I saw the most horrified, yet content faces that I had ever seen. As I got closer to the last "Bang!" that i heard, I saw bodies. Some lifeless, some squirming to contain the last sliver of life that they had. Then I saw the shooter. The face was pale, lifeless. Not angry, but unfeeling. Then, I saw Ben, hunkered down with Eliza in such a way that if their wad was to be shot, he would take the bullet. For a moment, I felt pride in my son, but then it faded to a call to action. I ran as fast as I could towards the backside of the shooter. He noticed me, but it was too late. I ducked down and tackled him by his legs. He dropped his weapon. I had an unbearable urge to shoot him in the face and kill him, but instead, I pistol-whipped him to knock him out. Ben, however, did not ignore that urge. "Give me the gun, dad." He said through his teeth. "No. You will be nothing more than him if you kill him." "We already are nothing more than him." His words took me back for a second and in that second, he ripped the gun out of my hands and aimed it directly at the face of the shooter. "Click." Nothing happened. The gun was out of ammo. After the incident, the council that remained ordered every gun cabinet to be raided and every weapon to be destroyed. I objected to this, saying that in the case of an assault, or if we were to get out of here and meet hostile parties, we might need them. Everyone, even Rosemary voted for the gun removal and my opinion was void.

Ever since the shooting incident, Ben was nowhere to be found. In the few instances that I did see him, he was off with Eliza on some sort of excursion. He might once in a while whiz by as I stood in the corner listening to the radio. I didn't think he had some hatred of me because I wouldn't let him kill that man, but maybe that's what it was. In the days forth that I thought about that, I started to connect more and more with Ben's opinion on our savagery. I went to where we kept the shooter today, which was quite literally behind a couple of book shelves in an end hallway. I, of course, asked him why he did it. I did not ask it with malicious intent, but rather I was actually quite curious. He said in the calmest tone that I had ever heard, "I was bored. I needed something to shake life up a bit." I tried my hardest to not identify with this man's reasoning, but for some reason, I completely understood. I asked his name. It was Peter. It took a second with how pale and lifeless he had become, but I recognized him eventually as the shy, but intelligent mechanic from a couple doors over. I then introduced myself as Frank. He recognized me. He used to barbecue with us. I sat with him for a while. I continued to question him, but soon enough, we began to catch up. He told me that his entire family was dead, that he was all that was left. I told him that Rosemary had made it and then we shared our hatred of her. We laughed when I told him how badly I had cried when I first saw her after the explosion. I didn't know if he actually believed me. And then we shared silence. This, however, was not the silence of despair, but the silence of contentment that neither of us had felt in years. After our silence, I quickly realized that I had shared a moment with an aggravated murderer, who was within seconds of being able to kill my son. I screamed at him, saying that I still had something to lose even if he didn't. He seemed hurt by that sentiment, but after a couple seconds of contemplation, he realized that the gun was empty at that point anyways, so he wouldn't have been able to kill Ben. I don't know why that comforted me, but it did. I relaxed myself and sat back down. We continued to talk for a while until I told him that I should really go back to the radio. He told me that the radio thing was stupid, but that he understood. I shook his hand and left.

There I was once again standing strangely in the corner of Rosemary's basement with a radio, listening for whatever it was that I was listening for. This time, Rosemary came over to listen too. "After three long years of death upon death upon death, we can now officially say that every nuke, meganuke, and every bomb in between has been used up. America is nearly no longer habitable. If somehow, you are outside at someplace in the U.S.A. GET INSIDE. The radiation will spread and you will die. In other related news, scientists have used up all available resources to conduct their experiments. In order to inhabit almost the entire world, societies must wait for the natural half lives of the radiation to allow people to go outside again. That's it folks. Society is dead. We all lost. This will be our last announcement. Good night and good luck.

"Well shit." that was Rosemary's reply, but that was my opinion as well. To be fair, with how downhill everything felt, I don't understand why I felt so invested in that damn station. Rosemary and I once again found ourselves discussing a plan. This time, it was about how to break the news, rather than how to eat infant children. This plan was a lot more sane than the other, yet the council had found it harder to accept. Initially, they didn't want to break the news to the rest of the people, but they knew in their hearts that if for some reason it just got around, they might be overthrown for their ignorance. I decided that I would be the one to do it. I was the one who cared the most about this kind of news. It just felt weird to me if someone else said it. "Folks. I have some news." After a bit of persuasion, I got most people to pay attention. We had found a megaphone in a junk bin in one of the basements, so if they weren't paying attention, they would hear it anyways. "Society is... uh... Society's dead. We lost. I'm sorry." Nobody seemed to care. It's as if they already knew. I cared. I cared so much that I could barely say that it was true. I sat down and cried. I cried for society and then I cried that my son would no longer pay attention to me. I cried that Peter lost his way. I cried for every single body that laid there with holes in them and for the people that we couldn't save. I cried that they didn't get proper funerals. I cried for my wife, who I loved so dearly and I wished she was there every fucking day of my life. Then I cried for every child's soul that I had devoured and for Diane who was a young lady who had her whole life ahead of her. She was supposed to live in a rural area with her wife and kids. Where did that fucking dream go!? Then I just cried. For no reason. I felt the wave of frustration and distress once more, but this time it did not go away. it lingered like an itch that only festers the more it is scratched. I scratched and scratched and I cried and cried, but the more I would cry, the more I felt the gates of Hell surround me.

My screaming and crying like an infant child did not go unnoticed. Ben and Eliza joined me with their hands on my shoulder. They were not crying too, but rather, they consoled me. I felt pride in my son again. Eliza whispered into my ear, "There was nothing you could do, Frank. We have been stuck in here for over three years. You are no warlord, you're a plumber just trying to do what's right for your son." I once again became frustrated by Eliza's way with words, but she understood. She kissed me on the cheek, stood up and then lent a hand to my aching body. I stood up for only but a moment.

I walked a step or two, but then I came crashing down in agony. I do not know if it was the heartbreak or the impact that ended my life, but all I know is that I fainted and it killed me. My survival instincts do so wish that I survived, but alas...

this is not my story.