Waiting

“My little brother is probably still alive.” Eda replied, after placing a cup of tea down in front of me. “We were lucky, because the college we went to had an underground shelter. It was made for a nuclear attack, but it worked for this, too.” I took a sip of the tea- Red Oolong. She eased herself into the chair across from me, leaning her cane against the table. 

    “Why didn’t you go in?” I asked, looking at the puckered red scars that spread across her face and down her neck, disappearing beneath her clothes. 

    “Oh, it was stupid, really.” She chuckled. “But the rest of my family was out here, and I wanted to make sure they were safe. I tricked my brother into going without me, and then I went to find my sister.” I scribbled some notes into the journal in front of me.   

    “Did you find her?” I asked, still writing. She hummed, eyes getting a little wistful.

    “No. She was a junior in college at the time. It was about a day's walk, and by the time I got there it had already been evacuated. I don’t know what happened to her. Might never know.” 

“What did you do after that?”

“My older brother lived in Colorado, but the phones weren’t 

working. I don’t really know what happened to him or his wife, and I probably wouldn’t have made it trying to walk to Colorado. So, I came home.”

    I took another sip of tea, looking her over. Her grey hair was pulled back in a loose bun, strands falling down around her face. 

    “What did you say this was for again, honey?” She smiled serenely at me.

    “The shelter that’s a few miles up the road has started a little newspaper- just a way to get back to normal, you know? So, I’m writing a piece about the people living outside.” 

    “I see, I see. So you’re a writer, then?” She asked kindly.

    “Yes. Well, I’m trying to be. I was raised in the shelter, so this newspaper is a good opportunity for me.”

    “That’s good, then. If writing is your dream, you should follow it. I don’t know much about life in the shelter, but before all this it was very hard to follow your dreams. Our society was such that you had no worth unless you were working yourself to death.” The bitterness in her voice was clear.

    “Did you have a dream?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat. She smiled at me, a little sadly.

    “Probably. I don’t remember what it was.” We sat in silence for a few moments, before I picked up my pen to continue with the interview. 

    “So, you were saying you came home?”

    “Ah, yes. My parents were on vacation in San Diego, and I already explained about my siblings. I figured, though, that if they could they would eventually come back here. So this is where I stayed.”

    “How did you survive the chemical waves?” 55 years ago airborne chemicals had started flowing across the planet in waves. In the beginning it had wiped out a lot of the population, and destroyed parts of the environment. Shelters had been set up in strategic locations, where the soil was still viable and sources of water were nearby. They were considered the only safe places to live, until a few years ago when information about people on the outside was starting to surface. That’s why I decided to write the article. I was born and raised in the shelter, so the thought of living outside was as bizarre as it was intriguing. 

“As you can see, I’ve not been completely able to escape.” She laughed, waving a hand at her face. “I was lucky enough that we have a crawl space under the house. I have a shelter set up down there. Over the years, I’ve gathered a hazmat suit, tarps, other protective gear.” I hastily scribbled, trying to keep up with her words.

“In the beginning, I only had a mask. Though, I was lucky to have that, since it kept me from breathing in the chemicals. My skin was still burned, though. It was only thanks to the medical training I had, that I was able to keep myself alive during those days.” It was amazing to me, that she had been able to survive this long when so many others had not. I was 22 years old, the same age she had been when this all began, and I couldn’t imagine surviving on my own in such conditions. In any conditions. 

    “Is anyone else here?”

    “This neighborhood is empty, but there are a few people in the next town over. We get together to talk and trade every few weeks.”

    “How do you survive out here?” 

    “I grow my own food, purify the water. I trade with the girls for wool and other fabrics to make clothes. Occasionally I get to a secured zone to trade for medicines and such. It’s a bit too much of a hike for me, nowadays, but I get my exercise.” Her dog, a greying and matted old thing, padded over. He rested his head in her lap, vying for attention. She stroked her hand across his fur, smiling down at him. His tail slapped happily against the floor.

    “How long have you been waiting here?” 

    “A long, long time. Truthfully, if anyone was going to come they probably would have by now. Still, this is home. At this point, why leave?” 

“Isn’t it lonely?” He asked, distressed. “I can’t imagine living in such a dangerous world all alone. Without my family, and the others at the shelter…” he trailed off. She reached across the table with a scarred and wrinkled hand to pat his own hand. 

    “The world has always been dangerous. Besides, I have old Gus here to keep me company, and people such as yourself stop in every once in a while. I have the trees, and the wind, and the birds.” She pulled back, looking out the window.

    “It’s funny, you’ve just reminded me. I think, if I were to have a dream, it would have been something like this. A simple, quiet life. Despite the danger, I think these days are some of the happiest I’ve seen.” He had nothing to say to that. Instead, he gulped down the rest of his now-cold tea and closed his journal.

    “I really appreciate you talking to me.” He said as he gathered his things to leave. 

    “Anytime, dear.” She grabbed her cane, getting shakily to her feet to walk him to the door. Gus followed at her side, wagging his tail when I bent down to pat him goodbye. I stepped out onto the porch. It was high noon, which meant I would make it back before dinner. Another chem-storm wasn’t supposed to arrive for over a week, but I’d brought my travel pack just in case. After ensuring I had everything, I paused.

    “Maybe I could come back some time. I could bring you some things from the shelter. Some books or music, maybe? And, you could tell me more stories. About your life before all this.” I asked hesitantly. She smiled at me once more.

    “I’ll be here.” Waiting, as she always was.