Thanksgiving From a Can

We sat in a circle on the stone floor of the bunker. I looked at the calendar. November 28, 2099. Two months since the first bomb dropped. It was Thanksgiving now, but I knew it would be like none we’d ever had -- and not in a good way. My father finished opening up the canned foods and preserves then we joined hands to pray.

“Father God, we thank you for this food and for the protection you’ve given us in this terrible time. We ask you continue to keep us safe and healthy and guide those outside. In your Son’s holy and precious name we pray amen.” he concluded.

“Amen,” we all answered. Mom took the canned mystery meat off of the hotplate and passed it around for us to each take a scoop out and onto our tin plates. I popped a chunk of meat into my mouth. This certainly was no Thanksgiving turkey, but it wasn’t bad. Then the disgusting, terrible, wretched canned green beans. I didn’t like green beans on a normal day, never mind two-year-old ones from a can. My younger brother waved them under my nose. 

“Come on Liza, eat one!” He taunted me. He took his fork, put it in his mouth, then opened his mouth to me as her chewed showing the green mush go around and around. 

“Ew, gross!” I nudged him away from me. I snatched the can out of his hand as he laughed uncontrollably. I put two or three on my tin plate just to be polite then passed the can to my mother. 

“Come on Liza, you need more veggies than that! How about some canned corn kernels? Maybe some baby carrots? They’re not the freshest, but they’re still okay.” She stuck the corn and carrots out to me. I gagged. Again, vegetables aren’t my favorite normally, but old rotten ones where a whole other world of awful. Still, I put some on my plate. 

“Now for the best part!” I heard the pop of a can. “Cranberry sauce.” My brother and I clapped in excitement. 

“I wish we had mashed potatoes so could mix them together.” Jack said.

“Why do you even like that? Would you put jam on your french fries because that’s basically what you’re doing?” I told him. He shrugged.

“I’d just be happy to have French fries again. I miss hot food. I miss milkshakes and ice cream and candy and tacos and…” He drifted off thinking of our old life. My mother kissed the top of his head. 

“We will soon. We just have to be patient. The army and responders are a long way from here, so it takes time.”

“But it’s been months. We’re almost out of food and water. I’m beginning to think they forgot all about us.” He told her.

“Yeah. The cat was smart enough to run away to go di...” I stopped dead in my tracks when my father made a silent motion, reminding me about my brother. Jack had autism and couldn’t stand loud noises or lots of noises, but most of all he couldn’t handle death. The mere mention of death made him flip out. We first learned that when he was in Sunday school and the teacher explained how Jesus was crucified and died for our sins. He cried and cried and kicked and screamed for an hour after that. We just thought the teacher was too gory with the details, but we quickly discovered it was just any mention of it. Telling him his beloved cat, Petunia was probably dead or turned into some disgusting radioactive zombie animal would throw him into a major hissy fit. Jack gave us his worst when the bombs dropped, which was understandable since it was all of his triggers happening at ounce. Death, screaming, crying, bombs and fire in all directions. He managed to wedge himself under his dresser, clutching Petunia in his arms as he hollered. We barely dragged him down here in time. I wrapped my arms around him.

“Mom’s right Jack. We’ll be fine. Besides, now we don’t have to go to school.” I explained. He gave a meek little smile. “We get to play games and read without worrying about homework.”

“How about we play a game after we’re done eating?” My dad asked him. Jack nodded. We silently ate, the static on the radio and rain hitting on the top of the now exposed bunker being the only sound. We were all saying we would be okay, but I was almost certain we’ve lost all hope. The last time we saw another person was when this weird hobo man knocked on the bunker asking if we had a corkscrew. My dad told him no and he went on his merry way singing and skipping. I think he wanted that corkscrew so he could open up another bottle of alcohol. Who could have a happy attitude about the end of the world without using something like that? My thoughts were interrupted by dad’s old ham radio.

“Hello? If anyone is there? Over.” It said through a sea of static. My dad darted over.

“Yes! Yes, we’re here! Over.” He said into the microphone. We all huddled around.

“This is James Lindsay. I’m with the US army and we’re looking for survivors. Please state your name or names and where you currently are. Over.” The soldier said.

“This is George Michael Williams.” He passed the microphone to my mother.

“This is Patricia Jane Williams.” She handed it to my brother.

“Hello! This is Jack Keith Williams.” He finally passed the microphone to me.

“This is Elizabeth Nicole Williams. We’re all at South Herman Street in Milwaukee Wisconsin.” I took a deep breath hoping they were still there. “Over and out.” We waited with anticipation as the radio crackled. I heard my mother whispering a prayer. I was doing the same but silently. Then the radio came alive with his voice.

“This base is only in the next town over! We’ll do our best to come and find you. Do you have enough water and food for the next three days? Over.” The soldier asked. We all nodded, so excited we forgot that he can’t here motion. “Are you still there? Over.”

“Oh yes we have enough. Over.” My mother replied.

“Great. We’ll see you then. Over and out.” Then the radio fell to static. 

“Halleluiah!” My dad yelled out. “We’re going to’ be okay!” He picked up my mother and swung her around, then he picked me and my brother up and planted a big kiss on our heads.

That night no one slept, and the night after that, and the night after that. We waited anxiously for the soldiers to find us. After longer than we had hoped, there was a knock on the doo… well more like hatch, of the bunker. Dad climbed up the ladder and unlocked it. One of the soldiers looked in.

“You called for help?” he jokingly asked. Mom and Dad packed the few possessions that we had into the Jeep the two army men brought. We were all overjoyed that we would be out of this stuffy metal box and into a place with other people to talk to, well everyone but Jack. Right when we were about to leave, he just disappeared. Mom, Dad, me, and even the two soldiers searched for Jack. We just couldn’t understand how you hide in a 12 foot by 12-foot room. After an hour, I finally found him hiding in the coat closet disguised as a sleeping bag. 

“Jack?” I asked. 

“Mhm.” The sleeping bag replied.

I unzipped my brother’s cocoon “We have to go buddy. What are you doing in here? Aren’t you excited to move out?” I asked him. 

Jack shook his head “I want to leave but I want to go back to the way everything was before. I don’t want to see dead…” He clasped his hand over his mouth as tears welled up in his eyes. I could tell one of his famous freak outs was coming, so I wrapped him up in my arms and rocked him back and forth.

“I know Jack, I know. I’m scared too. Everything is going to be different than the last time we were outside, and I can’t change that, Jack.” He let out a wail which cause me to squeeze him tighter. “I can’t change it, but I won’t let anything hurt you.” Jack wiped the boogers from his nose as I wiped the tears from his eyes.

“You promise? You promise you won’t let anything hurt me?” Jack asked me.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you save.” I raised my right hand “I promise, on my word as… as your sister, I will keep you safe.” 

“Okay, Liza. I believe you. I’m ready to go now.” So, I carried him up the ladder and out of the bunker. 

“Keep your head low Jack:” I put him on the ground and made the sleeping bag into a scary shield for him. “Eyes on your shoes. See, this isn’t bad at all.” I wish I could do the same. Every building was either a pancake or a bunch of burnt toothpicks. There was death in every direction. Finally, we reached the Jeep. I still kept the sleeping bag around him because I knew it wasn’t going to get any better.

“Thanks Liza.” Jack said as he seat-belted himself.

 “No problem. We’re family.” I explained. As the car sped along what was once our beautiful neighborhood, I knew I couldn’t protect Jack from everything. Even when this tragedy was over and the world began to build itself back up again, the noises would still be around and death would still be around but I would do everything in my power to keep him safe. This was my family and “family” means no one left behind.