Fallout

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I wake to a hand on my shoulder. Dad’s voice is urgent. “Get up, Scott!” The light in the bedroom is on, and I squint up into his face. Dad’s eyes are wide, and he’s shaking me hard, not gently, the way he usually does when he wants to wake me.

“Up! Now!”

I rub my eyes. An inner clock tells me that it’s the middle of the night. My heart starts to race with alarm. “What…?”

“We’re being attacked.” He swivels to my little brother Sparky’s bed. “Edward!”

Attacked? As my brain claws toward alertness, I hear sirens wailing in the distance. Not the melodic bursts of code directing volunteer firemen to a fire. These are shrill swooping wails.

Sparky groans and tries to roll over. Instead of arguing, Dad scoops him up, blankets and all. “Put me down!” Still half asleep, Sparky kicks as Dad cradles him and turns to me.

“Come on!”

Barefoot, heart heaving with panic, I race after him out onto the cold hall tiles, where we nearly crash into Mom, who’s carrying an armful of things she’s just gotten from the kitchen.

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