Read Online Dust by Jacqueline Druga-marchetti - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacqueline Druga-marchetti
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“The human body can only withstand 100 roentgens an hour before getting sick. It is advisable that in order not to get sick, a person is exposed to no more than six or eight roentgens per day. The body can repair the radiation damage, if it is received over a long period of time in small does. Any dose over 350 can be lethal. So ... ” Craig sang out the word in a long breath. “Handing out some math trivia. If we are at 15 rads per hour. How many hours would Burke have to be exposed before Burke ... dies.”
“Asshole.” Burke shut off the radio.
“You deserved that,” I told Burke. “Why do you let him get to you?”
“Can’t he say anything else?” Burke asked.
“Familiarity breeds ... ”
Suddenly, surprising us all, Matty spoke up. “Twenty.”
Matty still wasn’t speaking more than a few words a day, so this was a breakthrough. Shocked at her speaking, but curious as to what she meant, I looked at her. “What honey? What was that?”
“The math trivia,” she said. “Twenty hours. If Burke goes outside twenty hours he will die.”
“Matty,” I wisped out so excited. “Oh my God, very good.”
Burke shook his head. “Swell.”
“Look at the bright side.” I told him. “You got her to speak.”
“To calculate my death.”
“Perhaps incentive works.” I shrugged.
Burke grumbled. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and walked away, probably to find Dan, sit by him and try to have a conversation. Burke was well aware his presence rattled Dan, maybe that was the reason Burke sought Dan’s friendship so diligently.
I, on the other hand, sought something else.
Solace.
It’s hard to imagine, that with seven people in that basement area, a quiet corner would be a feasible scenario. It was. My basement looked like something from the depression era. Bed sheets and old curtains made up separation walls; they gave us sanctuary when needed.
Matty found herself not needing to hold onto my hip quite as much. Still, I could not be more than a few feet from her. Her and I sat in the first partitioned area by the cold cellar. A place we would eventually become very accustomed to calling ours.
A singer named Helen Reddy recorded a song in the 1970’s called, ‘Ruby Red Dress’. The telltale chorus blasted out, ‘Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone.” I had to explain this to everyone, and even sang a sample of the song, because they were curious as to why I hung an old red sweater on the entrance curtain to our area.
Basically, if the sweater was hanging for them to see, it meant, ‘Leave me alone’. The look on their faces all but said they thought I was ridiculous. But I needed to assure privacy, and the red sweater was my fair warning to them. If they entered the area while I sought peace, it meant war. It was as simple as that.
Understandably concessions would have to be made all the way around. Managing problems before they arose was one of the reasons I sought my privacy. I had some thinking to do.
Not that I didn’t expect it, but Burke added an odd flavor to the soup of people in the basement. Sort of the spice that stood out, one that after a while would blend in. Burke was a great guy. When he worked on something his presence was hardly noticeable. When Burke was restless, he grew loud. He hadn’t even been with us twenty-four hours, and he was outside firing off his shotgun. Not at anything, just firing it off. A few shots. He argued that it was a way for him to relieve tension, plus maybe it would draw out other survivors. I totally disagreed; telling him that if I heard someone firing a gun, the last thing I would do would emerge from my safe basement to see who was shooting. Burke probably sent the entire surviving members of my neighborhood into a frightened tizzy. Causing them to dig in deeper, because not only had a nuclear weapon gone off, but ground war had erupted as well.
Managing Burke within the current shelter state was not where my concern lay. It
“Asshole.” Burke shut off the radio.
“You deserved that,” I told Burke. “Why do you let him get to you?”
“Can’t he say anything else?” Burke asked.
“Familiarity breeds ... ”
Suddenly, surprising us all, Matty spoke up. “Twenty.”
Matty still wasn’t speaking more than a few words a day, so this was a breakthrough. Shocked at her speaking, but curious as to what she meant, I looked at her. “What honey? What was that?”
“The math trivia,” she said. “Twenty hours. If Burke goes outside twenty hours he will die.”
“Matty,” I wisped out so excited. “Oh my God, very good.”
Burke shook his head. “Swell.”
“Look at the bright side.” I told him. “You got her to speak.”
“To calculate my death.”
“Perhaps incentive works.” I shrugged.
Burke grumbled. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and walked away, probably to find Dan, sit by him and try to have a conversation. Burke was well aware his presence rattled Dan, maybe that was the reason Burke sought Dan’s friendship so diligently.
I, on the other hand, sought something else.
Solace.
It’s hard to imagine, that with seven people in that basement area, a quiet corner would be a feasible scenario. It was. My basement looked like something from the depression era. Bed sheets and old curtains made up separation walls; they gave us sanctuary when needed.
Matty found herself not needing to hold onto my hip quite as much. Still, I could not be more than a few feet from her. Her and I sat in the first partitioned area by the cold cellar. A place we would eventually become very accustomed to calling ours.
A singer named Helen Reddy recorded a song in the 1970’s called, ‘Ruby Red Dress’. The telltale chorus blasted out, ‘Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone.” I had to explain this to everyone, and even sang a sample of the song, because they were curious as to why I hung an old red sweater on the entrance curtain to our area.
Basically, if the sweater was hanging for them to see, it meant, ‘Leave me alone’. The look on their faces all but said they thought I was ridiculous. But I needed to assure privacy, and the red sweater was my fair warning to them. If they entered the area while I sought peace, it meant war. It was as simple as that.
Understandably concessions would have to be made all the way around. Managing problems before they arose was one of the reasons I sought my privacy. I had some thinking to do.
Not that I didn’t expect it, but Burke added an odd flavor to the soup of people in the basement. Sort of the spice that stood out, one that after a while would blend in. Burke was a great guy. When he worked on something his presence was hardly noticeable. When Burke was restless, he grew loud. He hadn’t even been with us twenty-four hours, and he was outside firing off his shotgun. Not at anything, just firing it off. A few shots. He argued that it was a way for him to relieve tension, plus maybe it would draw out other survivors. I totally disagreed; telling him that if I heard someone firing a gun, the last thing I would do would emerge from my safe basement to see who was shooting. Burke probably sent the entire surviving members of my neighborhood into a frightened tizzy. Causing them to dig in deeper, because not only had a nuclear weapon gone off, but ground war had erupted as well.
Managing Burke within the current shelter state was not where my concern lay. It
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