Free The Bombs That Brought Us Together by Brian Conaghan

when he was reading out the list of destruction.
    DEVASTATION OLD COUNTRY HAD CAUSED

    • Shopping Area: bombed to smithereens.
    • Train Station: bombed to smithereens.
    • Metal Factory near Station: bombed to smithereens.
    • Sports Stadium: bombed to smithereens.
    • Little Town’s Town Hall: bombed to smithereens.
    • Three Hundred and Twenty-Seven Souls (and Rising): bombed to smithereens.

    In his secret location the news guy shuffled in his seat. He then paused. The pause gave the viewers time to swallow what he’d told us. Once again we sat in open-mouthed silence. Mum puffed her inhaler and then put her hand over her mouth and shook her head. Dad’s eyes had a look of revenge about them. As always Dad broke the silence, but when he said, ‘Rotten murdering bastards,’ it wasn’t meant as a conversation starter.
    The news guy perked up once more and told us about the many things that weren’t bombed to smithereens but merely seriously damaged or semi-destroyed:

    • Some Schools: just damaged.
    • The Bicycle Tricks Park: just damaged.
    • The Big Supermarket: just damaged.
    • Mobile Phone Transmitters: disabled.
    • Six Hundred and Forty-Two Souls (and Rising): just damaged.

    All this info left me with some serious questions of my own to mull over:

    • With the transmitters down, how was I going to find out if people were OK? Mainly Erin F.
    • How were we going to be educated?
    • Where were we going to do bike tricks now?
    • How in the hell’s fire were we going to get scran in our bellies?
    • Who was going to help the relatives of the hundreds of poor souls with all their tears and pain?

    And the biggie:

    • Was The Big Man dead?

12
Monsters
    After the bombs came I didn’t get out of bed for two days except to watch news on the telly. Mum and Dad were glued to the sporadic news broadcasts, trying to find out as much information as possible. Apparently, Old Country soldiers were spreading through Little Town, but we hadn’t seen any yet. I read, slept, thought, shook and one time cried when I heard people wailing outside. It was probably all in my mind but the smell of everything crept into my room: a pungent mixture of burning, blood, dust and death. It dried my throat and latched on to my skin. I worried about Pav and his family, wondering if they were huddled behind a wardrobe, too scared to show their faces. Hungry. Exhausted. Terrified.
    I thought about Erin F and wondered if I’d ever get to seeher again. Tears filled my eyes. In fact, who would I get to see again? More tears.
    On the third night there was a thud. I thought I was still dreaming. The non-dream part was Mum telling me to stay in my bed, Dad saying through gritted teeth not to make a sound or else we’d be next. He didn’t say next though, he used another word.
    The first THUD made sure I wouldn’t be finishing my dream. The second THUD woke me up proper. And the third THUD shuddered my innards. I got up and went to see what it was. Mum and Dad were hunched together at our main door, listening to what was happening at the other end of our shared block. Directly outside Pav’s place.
    ‘Charlie, get back to bed at once,’ Mum whispered with her angry voice. It didn’t have the same impact as the bellowing voice she normally uses so I chose not to return to bed.
    ‘Keep that shut,’ Dad whispered, and drew a zip across his mouth. ‘If they know we’re in here listening, we’re done for.’
    That’s when I knew it was serious. So did my heart. I ran an imaginary zip across my own mouth and lobbed an imaginary key over my real shoulder. We were all huddled beside the door. Listening. It reminded me of Anne Frank again. Even our eyes didn’t move as we listened.
    ‘You. Stand there,’ said the voice from behind our door.
    ‘You. Stand there,’ the same voice said.
    ‘You. Stand there.’ Same voice again. But there was more than one person because we could hear them shuffling about. Maybe three.