Free Fallout by Todd Strasser Page A

refuse can. Dad relents about using water for something other than drinking. For a sponge and towels, Janet tears off the bottom part of her robe. After the rags are used, they also go into the can.
    When they’re finished, Mom is lying on her side with her bare bottom and legs exposed. Dad takes the sheet from the upper bunk and tears it in half. He and Janet tuck it around Mom, who is as still and quiet as before.
    My stomach growls, but I know we need to ration the food, so I keep quiet. Ronnie, me, and Sparky, who’s now wearing a little loincloth Janet made for him, have played about a thousand games of checkers. Dad comes over and suggests we switch to Parcheesi. He makes the slightest gesture with his head toward Paula, so I say, “Want to play, Paula?”
    With his back to her so she can’t see, Dad smiles and nods.
    We four kids play Parcheesi, but all I think about is food. Since it’s impossible to tell whether it’s day or night, people climb into the bunks when they’re tired, but now it’s more like we take long naps rather than sleep for one extended period. Mr. McGovern snores. Sparky grinds his teeth. Mrs. Shaw talks in her sleep. Once she said, “Ronnie, stop that right now!” and another time it was, “I hate this.”
    But no one sleeps for long; hunger keeps waking us.
    â€œIs it time to eat, Herr Kapitän?” Mr. McGovern asks.
    Sparky looks up curiously. “What’s that mean, Dad?”
    â€œHe’s making a joke,” Dad says.
    â€œWell?” Mr. McGovern doesn’t sound like he’s making a joke.
    Dad points at the remaining cans on the shelf. “I only stored enough food for four. Now we’re ten. At this rate, we’ll use it all up by the end of the first week.”
    â€œAnd you’re the one who decides when we eat?” asks Mr. McGovern.
    â€œIt’s my family’s food,” Dad points out.
    â€œMaybe it was . . . before what happened,” Mr. McGovern says. “But now that we’re all in this together, shouldn’t it belong to all of us?”
    Dad and Mr. McGovern face each other.
    â€œYou know,” Dad grumbles, “none of us would be alive right now if it wasn’t for me. Did it ever occur to you to utter two very simple words like ‘thank you’?”
    Paula’s dad glares. “Thank you, Richard. However, don’t forget that if you’d had your way, the rest of us would be dead.”
    Dad narrows his eyes. “Yes, I tried to keep people out, but only to protect my family. It was horrible and something that’s going to haunt me for a long time. But how was I supposed to know how many people were up there? What was I supposed to do? Let everyone in? How’d you like it if there were twenty people in here right now? Or thirty? You might as well be up there.”
    â€œI think I’d rather die than know I was responsible for the deaths of others,” Mrs. Shaw says.
    I’ve never seen Dad argue or fight with our neighbors before. Except for the disagreements my parents sometimes had, I’m not sure I ever saw grown-ups get cross with one another before.
    Now Dad turns to Mr. Shaw. “You want to tell her or should I?”
    Mr. Shaw gazes up at the ceiling and lets out a long breath. “Steph, after I got you and Ronnie down here, I . . . ” He trails off and lowers his head.
    â€œHe helped me keep the others out,” Dad finishes for him. “I couldn’t have done it without him.”

Once he’d gone around the room with a yardstick and knocked the pencils out of the ceiling, Mr. Kasman made all the boys stay in for lunch detention.
    â€œWhat was the point of that?” he asked us.
    No one answered.
    â€œRonnie?” By now Mr. Kasman had figured out who the likely ringleader was.
    â€œIt was interesting,” Ronnie said.
    â€œHow?”
    â€œJust to see if you could do it.”
    â€œIt