Page 7 of Resistant

I return to the basement to check on the boys. The radio is still on and I listen as the disc jockey continues to talk.

“The earth has been enveloped in a nuclear winter. A blanket of smoke and fog is all we can see from the station. Temperature drops are being recorded all over the world. A newly formed government science team is working to obtain images of the earth from space. Again, it’s important to stay indoors to avoid radiation poisoning. As of this broadcast, there are no accurate reports of the death toll. Large cities including New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Miami, Atlanta, St. Louis and more have been completely destroyed. Wildfires have broken out in many areas adding smoke to the plume. All nuclear power reactors which were running in the United States yesterday, have been destroyed. I repeat, stay indoors to avoid radiation poisoning.”

I shiver and tie my robe tightly around me. I know I’m not remotely absorbing the devastation that has transpired overnight.

I try to keep myself busy and our minds occupied. I’m terrified to go outside, and the boys are beyond restless.

I try reading aloud to them from old classics, something more difficult to keep up with and engage their minds. I want to stay distracted, so I don’t freeze up or panic. It would be so easy to give in to panic. I push away my macabre thoughts. That would be the easy way out, and Wyatt would never forgive me if I gave into the hopelessness crawling through my brain like a spider.

A thick gray film of smoke continues to settle over the woods near our house as the world starts to burn. At any time of the day, we can smell the smoke and see the plumes. They intertwine swirling through the air. I can feel the change in the air, it’s heavy like breathing acrid humidity. The smell of burning vegetation is all over, it sticks to my skin and the back of my throat. I can’t escape it. The smell seems to have taken up permanent residence in my nostrils.

We peer out the windows of the house unable to see far, and it’s as if the world is closing in on us, a mist that envelops the yard, trees and house in its wake, sucking the landscape away.

The weather channel reports several volcanoes have erupted, and tsunamis are drenching many coastal regions in the West.

They also report that the winds are carrying radiation over long stretches of the country, they name towns and cities nearby that I’ve heard of, but I don’t know how far they are away from our house.

The boys and I dig through books and papers looking for maps; we don’t find any. I’m making guesses as to how far the radiation is from us, but it might already be here.

I don’t know it yet, but these are the first days of the Gray, the beginning of real starvation, and desperation for people who do not pledge themselves to the New Reform.

I find myself living through a new type of numbness, working to survive until the next moment and not examining our situation, or planning for the future. I don’t see the point,what kind of future could any of us have?Currently, my motivation is only about survival.

I go through the motions. I’m trying to be strong for my boys, but I spend many nights clutching Lily to my chest and crying myself to sleep. She licks my face as I suffer panic attacks in my bathroom.Who am I now that my husband is gone?I had defined myself as his wife, his partner, and part of a team. I’m angry with him for leaving us here; I’m a poor substitute for a Dad. I berate myself for being weak, I know I have more strength, but I feel like I set it down somewhere for safekeeping and I can’t remember where I put it.

A year ago, my days were filled with sunshine and laughter and now all my moments are blurred into the Gray, my only solace are my children.

I don’t know who I am anymore. At some point, I’ll have to force myself to find some grit and lead my family into our new future. But the hits keep coming and I don’t have the fortitude to put my big girl panties on, yet.

I’m packing items in backpacks for a quick getaway. I’m not excited about running, I’m exhausted and terrified and have no idea what we should do next. But we may have to leave, and prepping seems to calm me.

I hear a splat and glance up. I gawk at a rivulet of water as it slides down the windowpane and out of view.It’s raining. The drops are fat and burst against the glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the old rotary phone and absently plug it back into the outlet.

I call out to the boys, the rain is great news. Rain is supposed to clear out the radiation. Rain means that the end of the Gray is upon us.

I watch from the window and when the rain stops, I hustle outside with Lily. The boys follow us, and we have about 25 minutes with the sun shining on our faces.

Nathan, David, and I run around the yard, and I ignore the voice in my head telling me we shouldn’t go outside, there might still be radiation. We play together, Lily running around like a crazy dog.

I lay spread eagle with my arms wide trying to let the sun kiss all my skin. My backside becomes uncomfortably damp, and I squirm while Lily takes an opportunity to lick the drops off my face. The sun warms me, and I’m filled with hope.

We decide to harvest the remaining food we have grown and sit on the porch with all our pots plucking lettuce, snapping beans, and pulling tomatoes off the vines. Loud, rumbly trucks approach our house and Nathan and I glance at each other over the pots.

A caravan of military vehicles trek down our dirt road. The foggy plume obstructs our view of them until they are right in front of the house. They pass slowly and two men get out and approach us.

I watch as six men jump out of trucks and march in different directions towards other houses. They are heavily armed, and one asks if I am the owner of my house. Nathan stands behind me, in a show of force that I’m not sure they are remotely concerned about.

One man stops in front of me. He smiles. He is a tall reed of a young man, clean-shaven with kind eyes and the name Bennett stamped over his fatigue shirt pocket. He looks too young to be in the military.

His partner, who is more average in height, looks muscular and intense. His sleeves are rolled showing off his biceps. He is exceptionally handsome with a goatee and mustache, and it’s odd for active-duty military to have facial hair.I guess the rules are being relaxed. He looks too refined for a soldier, possibly my age. Streaks of gray sweep back at his temples, and his skin is bronzed and smooth. He doesn’t look at me. His eyes scan our property continually looking for threats. He stands straight and relaxed, his gun held loosely in one hand, confident the situation is under control.

I glance at him often as the other soldier approaches, certain he is the person in charge.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you Brynn Evans?”

“Yes.”

“Our records show you have two children, and your spouse is of unknown designation. Is that correct?”

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