text: Finally, a moment to close my eyes and listen to Elvis play on the record player. Love me tender, love me sweet. Gosh, he makes my heart soar. What a dreamboat. For a few songs I can pretend that everything is normal. I imagine I’m laying on my fluffy white comforter from before. Our record player is one of the only luxuries left. My aunt got it for me last Christmas, it's one of those neat, new portable ones that doesn’t need to be plugged in. The sound isn’t as full, but it’s so swell to be able to listen to some music and relax for- “Amelia! Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.” If I acknowledge him maybe he will shut up, “What Carson? What?” Eight year olds are so unnecessary. “Ethan says he feels sick again.” On second thought, maybe they are slightly necessary. In one swift movement, I grab a bucket, dampen a washcloth, and slide on my homemade mask. Here’s a quick how to on my “do it yourself” mask: Take an empty orange juice bottle and cut off part of the side, place a few coffee filters around the spout, poke a few holes in the cap, and slap a giant rubber band around it, you've got a homemade gas mask. Like magic. Other helpful hints for surviving after a Nuclear war: keep occupied- being bored will drive you insane, ration everything you have, block all windows with mattresses, don’t drink water that comes from outside, don't eat live food from outside, don't go outside. Outside is dangerous. Outside is radiation. Outside means sickness. The only way you'll survive is by having sufficient shelter with enough to food and water that has been completely sealed off from radiation. Even then, you probably won't survive. I booked it into Ethan's room with just enough time to get the bucket under him and catch the last meal we fed him. His room is the darkest in the house, our “house” being the basement of my and Carson's former home. I say former, because the aftershock of an atom bomb making contact somewhere under 10 miles away sent our home into complete ruins. Our father was a wealthy man, and he blessed us with our giant 4 story home which is, was, in Pasadena, California. Father was a successful stock broker and Mother stayed at home to raise Carson and me. They liked to spoil us and when we begged for an entertainment room, we got it. Father furnished the basement and separated it into four rooms. A bathroom, a guest room, an entertainment room, and the bar. The largest room is complete with a carpet, couches, a pool table, and a television. Lucky for us survivors, the fridge in the bar made for my father and his colleagues was stocked with food and drinks. But when three people live off of the nutrients inside an average sized icebox, the things we needed most desperately disappeared just a week into our first nuclear winter. When we were down to the last 10 water bottles Ethan told us he was going to go outside. In our entire 4 year relationship Ethan never took charge, I was the one who asked him to go steady. So when his eyebrows set in so close together and with his voice deeper than usual, I took him seriously. I knew he was right anyways. When Ethan got back from his grocery store mission, he was shaking. Horrified, he told me about the sky raining ash. Saying over and over that the only bodies in sight were laying motionless on the ground, a white fungus like substance covering their mangled corpses. He was holding a bag full of food, medicine, and water. The bag hung on his arm. His red arm. His arm was bloody. I hadn’t planned for that. I had given him a mask. But I hadn’t planned that a metal rod sticking out from the ruins of a building would tear his skin open. I didn’t consider the possibility that the radiation would take over his body despite all of my precautions. Now I wish it had been me who went outside, so I could be the one who is sick. I can't stand seeing his honey brown hair scattered on the floor when it used to be so slick on his head. He didn't like greasing it too much but I thought it looked so rad when it was greased and combed. His chocolate brown eyes, that once sparkled at the mention of rugby, are dull now- lifeless and forever searching for something that's not there. Skin so translucent, it is easy to see the community of blood cells working hard to keep him alive. All symptoms of radiation poisoning are in full effect on my lovely, wonderful, caring boyfriend. He and Carson are the only people I have left. I bet you were wondering how we survived and my parents didn’t. It was complete luck, if you could describe our situation as 'lucky', that the three of us were in the basement when the bomb hit. My parents were upstairs. I don’t even want to know what the shock of the attack did to their poor, clueless bodies. Lucky they died together though. Lucky because nobody could’ve seen it coming, and who would want to die alone without even knowing it? And here we are, I estimate it has been 4 weeks. My once lovely, wonderful, caring boyfriend, now nearly a corpse. I use the damp cloth to cool him off. Ethan keeps dry heaving, like he needs to throw up, but this time all that comes up is blood. I yell for Carson, this hasn’t happened before. Carson comes running in. Without a mask. Ethan looks up and more blood spews, splattering on my stupid, naïve, little brother’s unmasked face. He stands there in awe. We are frozen, as if the radiation is a T-rex dinosaur and if we stay still long enough it will not attack. Ethan is crying and apologizing. And retching, retching, retching. After a few moments, I have enough sense to run and get a paper towel and gloves. I clean my boyfriends’ blood off of my brothers’ face. Scrub, scrub, scrub until his skin is raw and red. I scrub until he begs me to stop. We can’t continue to live this way. We are going to run out of food soon. And I am going to run out of people soon. I decide that if Carson gets sick, we will leave. There is no point in waiting until the two people I love most die, just so I can die alone. We will go out and find someone who can help us. There have to be some people out there. There has to be someone, right? In between being asleep and being awake, I see Ethan. He is playing rugby. Elvis sings, Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true. When I fully come around my heart drops. Instead of a dream that was once my reality, I awake to a nightmare. Carson is sitting on his couch holding a clump of his curly blonde hair. My eyes sting but I manage to choke out, “We can’t stay here anymore. We are leaving in an hour.” I walk into the guest room where Ethan is. “Ethan, do you think you can walk? We are going to find someone to cure you.” He responds and says he feels strong today. I know he is lying, but in the dim light I see him smile. He’s still in there. It’s that weak smile that makes me believe that someone might be able to cure him. If someone is so powerful to create the bomb that made this mess, aren’t there scientists with the knowledge of how to undo its destruction? In under an hour, I have fashioned head to toe protection from the radiation. A nuclear winter must be cold, so I grab all the jackets and sweaters that we have stored in the basement. Carson has gathered packaged food, water, and other necessities in a duffle bag and placed it at the base of the ladder to the exit of the basement. Getting Ethan out of bed wasn’t easy, but with my radiation ‘suit’ I could sling my arm around his waist without worrying about my bare skin making contact with any of his body fluids. Outside, the light is pale. It’s dark but a powdery snow covers the ground reflecting the dim light. Dark ash falls intermittently with the snow, and Carson complains that it burns his skin. Ethan still looks awful... but how should I even know? Last summer, I took a first aid class so I could be a life guard at our local swimming pool, but they never covered anything like this. They didn't even cover this is class when they discussed the possibility of a nuclear attack during the spread of communism. All they told us was that in case of this emergency, we should hide under our desks. They made is sound like an atomic bomb was the equivalent of a small earthquake. Surviving is different in this kind of war though, its every civilian for themselves, nobody is fighting for you. Nobody is looking for you. When a war starts like this, it becomes a battle against nature. A fight against your own body. But how could our teachers tell us that if a nuclear war did happen, the last thing we would want would be to survive it, all alone. We trekked on through the light and the dark, snow and ash, Ethan leaning on Carson and me. I notice that Ethan’s face is gaining color. Maybe the movement is good for him. He begs me for water. I know that if I give him too much he will just lose it 10 minutes later. I absolve to giving him 3 sips. He says his skin is burning too, it’s not the color returning to his face. He’s being sunburnt. But from what sun? We have been walking all day. With an 8 year old and a very sick young adult, I can only make it so far. I start looking for a good place to sleep. This area looks familiar, it might be Glendale. It’s really hard to tell, everywhere looks the same now. Ashy, barren, dull. I find a segment of a building that looks pretty reliable. I force some cold canned soup down my throat and give what’s left to Ethan. Carson says he isn’t hungry. He looks pale, withdrawn, and in just one day he looks as if he aged from 8 to 30. As they get settled in to sleep, I go look around. A few months ago it must’ve been highly populated, it kind of looks like a business district. This might’ve been where father came to work. I search for any sign of life. All I return to the boys with is some dry packaged fruit and a blanket that looked fairly clean. I fall asleep with ease and wake up only to the sound of Ethan retching. When he is done, the light suggests it is morning. “Ethan, are you well enough to travel?” He nods, wiping his mouth. Lie. I let Carson sleep a bit more as I gather our things. When I’m done, he wakes up reluctantly and I see that his almond shaped eyes are blood shot, pupils dilated. We walk in silence and I start to hum Hound Dog to break the tension. This makes Ethan giggle. He’s still there. He always makes fun of me for being another girly Presley fan. We pass hundreds of ruined buildings. I imagine that each of the buildings were for something really swell, something like fashion or music. Maybe one of them was a candy factory. When Carson asks for something to eat, I smile and some of my energy comes back. I give the dried fruit, it is nutritious, filling, and sweet. To make the time pass more quickly I start to tell them stories. I tell my boys stories I have never told anyone. I tell them about the first time that Annabelle and I stole liquor from her parents cabinet and we drank until we believed we sounded as good as Elvis himself. I tell Ethan that he is the loveliest boy I have ever met, and if we can make a home in a post nuclear war setting, I want him to be my husband. I don’t even need to fib. It’s true. I tell Ethan that I know I will never love a boy, person, animal, or thing as much as I love him. I say that even if he doesn’t know it, he has completely ruined me and recreated me all at once. I go on and on about how much I hate one smelly boy from my mathematics class, and if I ever had a chance to be a big, famous singer I would take it even if that meant I wouldn’t get a normal life. I would love for the paparazzi to follow me around, wondering what I had for breakfast or where I got my blouse. Begging me for just one photograph. When I notice that Carson is starting to slouch I tell him that even though he’s my younger brother, I have always looked up to the way he loves school. I tell him he is going to graduate top of his class, and go to Harvard Law. I tell him that he will probably also be the starting quarterback on the football team and the girls will all vote for him for Homecoming king. I talk for hours, my words paint the bleak ruins into a beautiful sunset with bright pinks, oranges, and yellows. I feel lightheaded. I don’t know if it’s from the talking or lack of good oxygen. I stop talking because I see something out of the corner of my eye. It’s a mouse. It darts underneath a garage door. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.” I tell the boys. I go to the garage where the mouse went. With every bit of strength I have I pry the door up. It’s a car. My cheeks feel wet. It’s an amazing automobile in a garage and it is still completely intact. I search the ground frantically for keys. Then I see them already in the key hole. I open the car and get in the drivers' seat. I have only driven once. Just down Ethan’s street after he first got his car. I wasn’t so bad, just driving forward like that. I put the key in the ignition. I close my eyes and turn it. A low grumble. It’s on. I pull forward out of the garage and help the boys into the back seat. I don’t know where I’m headed but I drive forward, the only way I know how to. The building ruins start to fade away and I realize I’m on some highway. “Amelia what are we gonna do.” Carson's’ little voice pipes up from the back seat. I don’t need to answer him, he is aware that I have no idea. I keep driving fast until I see houses again, still partially standing. Wherever we are, we must be at least 70 miles from where the mushroom was. I slow down and look for signs of life. For 10 or 15 blocks, there is nothing. Then, I see more than just a sign of life. I see a sign for life. A giant piece of metal has one word on it. “SURVIVORS” I begin to cry. I yell at Carson and Ethan to look out the window. To show them they are saved. We are saved. The gas runs on empty. I drive towards the metal sign. The boys are sleeping in the back. They need the rest. They need to rest so they can be cured. So they can get better. Sleep it off and someone will fix me. Them. Someone will fix them. “Amelia!” Love me tender “Amelia.” Don’t be cruel “Amelia.” Love me sweet “Amelia.” To a heart that's true. Ethan's voice. Is he singing Elvis? Is that just in my mind? My eyes are so heavy. It's like that one time when I went to the sock hop with Ethan, and after he drove me to the beach and we got milkshakes. It was 3 in the morning on the best night of my life, and I was trying not to fall to sleep in the passenger seat because if I did, the perfect night would be over. As Ethan drove us up the coast, however, playing his soft rock and smiling his soft smile, I couldn't help but drift off. My eyes were heavy like that now but it was the opposite. They were so heavy that I couldn't open them, I didn't want to wake up. But his beautiful voice sounded so worried and so far away. “Amelia.” Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away. “Amelia, it’s Ethan.” I listen anyway. “Carson is right here too. He’s fine. The sickness you have is not contagious through the air. It’s something that has to go inside of you. Don’t worry I make sure he wears a mask and gloves and covers his body anyway, just like you asked. We talked to a guy we met outside. He said his dad was a scientist. He knows about these things. You were right. It’s radioactivity. The ozone layer is depleted from the bomb. The sun burns, the ash is acidic, and radiation is in the air, in everything outside. You look miserable. I’m so sorry, I should have never let you go to the store, it should be me. I should be the sick one and you should be surviving this hell. I’m so sorry.” What is Ethan talking about, I’m not sick, he’s sick. Wait, is he crying? Don’t cry Ethan, I try to tell him. But my mouth is so dry and my muscles so sore and the taste so bitter, I can’t even move my lips. I feel my face drenched with sweat. I feel Ethan place a damp cloth on my forehead. “I love you so much,” he says. I feel a bandage on my arm over where the wire from the building on the way back from the store cut me. My skin burns where the ash touched it. There is no hair tickling my neck. I taste blood. Nobody ever told us anything about radioactivity. Nobody mentioned this wouldn’t be like regular warfare, where they kill from the outside. This kind is slow, a bullet from the inside. I figured it out the hard way. I don’t hate many things, now I’m filled with the hatred of people I never met and never will. People that used this hatred to build the instrument that started the world’s shortest war. Their hatred floats around my body, carried on the backs of my blood cells. Ethan tells me they want to go with this guy they met. He says he might know where a bunker is. He says I can come too. “Only if you feel up to it. If not, I will stay here with you. I will stay here forever.” Either way, at least I won’t die alone.