The Hush

Chapter 2

Jenna
"Jenna?" Millie stands behind my closed curtain. Through the yellow fabric, I can see her silhouette clearly.
"Yes?" I roll onto my side, not happy to be awake.
She walks into my space, then lies down next to me. We're face-to-face and if it weren't for her eyes being a shade of blue and our eleven year age difference, I'd swear we were twins. Looking at her is like looking into a mirror. She's exactly what I looked like when we closed ourselves into this hell hole.
We're similar in height, primarily now because Millie has legs longer than half my body. Our body structure is mostly the same, small boned yet just curvy enough so that our clothes fit okay. We both have a few freckles across the bridge of our nose, our hair is long mahogany with natural streaks of red from the summer sun. I swallow my distaste at the thought of never seeing those streaks of red in Millie's hair ever again.
"I'm sorry I was a bitch to you," Millie mumbles, her eyes listless.
"Millie," I castigate her. "Don't say bitch."
"Why not?" she asks me. "It's not like it matters anyway."
I sigh, seeing her point so clearly. "What's going on?" I implore her, genuinely wanting to know.
She shakes her head subtly, then closes her eyes. "I'm just tired," she admits, curtly. "I'm tired of this. This isn't a life. This isn't living. What's the point of staying alive if you can't live?"
Putting my arm around her, I pull her closer to me. There's nothing I can say because I feel exactly the same way.
We lie in companionable yet depressing silence for a while, both seemingly giving up in our own way, both realizing that there really isn't much that either of us can say to alleviate the pain and the loss. This war has cost us everything. Our lives as we knew it, our families, our friends, our access to education, our freedom and for me... it cost me Sam. There is no greater price I could have paid.
"I started my period today," she reveals, breaking our silence.
My eyes widen in understanding of her previous mood. "Oh Millie," I breathe. "I'm so sorry."
"I remember when you started," she tells me. "Momma was so excited, she went on and on all day long about how you had finally become a little woman." She turns onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "There's no point in me being bitter about it, but I guess I still am a little. I just want a life, Jenna. A real life and I know I'm never going to have that. Today was just an ugly reminder of all the milestones that will come and go with no significance whatsoever."
An errant tear slides down her temple. "We're not living, we're just existing."
"You don't know that it will always be like this," I counter, "Maybe one day we will leave here and discover that there is a world waiting on us out there. Maybe we're being too cautious and eventually everything will be just the way it was before."
Sarcasm laces her laugh, "I appreciate your effort but I know that you don't believe that yourself."
I offer her a smile, but don't argue. She's right, I don't believe it myself. Not really. I think the world as we knew it is gone as if it never were and anything in our future will fail in comparison. Nothing will measure up to the freedom, the technologically convenient luxuries, the structure or the fluidness of our former world. Despite the issues that seemed to blanket our society, our life and our normal was pretty great. I can't imagine how life after the destruction of war could get any better than that.
"How do you cope with this?" she asks me. "I mean, don't you miss Sam?"
The mention of his name sends a chill down my back. We don't talk about him. He was a major source of contention before we closed that bunker door for good. I couldn't understand why he couldn't come with us. His whole family could have fit comfortably down here. Our shelter has more than enough room for three more people, my father was just selfish and insisted that his family fend for themselves as we were. I knew the real reason, but he'd never admit it to be true.
It wasn't as easy for them. They weren't wealthy like we were. Sam's parents didn't employ an entire staff of men to build one of the most secure bomb bunkers in existence. They were just your everyday, middle class family and it's likely that they didn't survive.
The thought of Sam no longer existing turns my stomach violently.
"Yes," I admit cathartically. "I do miss Sam. Every day. He'll always be a major part of who I am. Sam and I learned a lot from one another. He was my first love and likely my last."
I swallow back my painful memories. "But," I turn her face towards mine. "Dwelling on what we miss and being hyper-focused on the negative won't make our existence any easier. We should be thankful that we're still alive and that we're still together. There are families who didn't make it through the war. And, I'm sure there are families that were separated and suffered the loss of those they loved."
"But isn't this the same?" she argues. "We lost too, Jenna. You lost Sam and I lost – "
A loud banging snares our attention. Both Millie and I sit up suddenly, hearing the banging again echoing off the steel walls of our home.
"Dad?" Millie and I join our parents in the main room, right below the vaulted door that separates us from the outside world. I gasp, as I hear the sound of my name being shouted through the echo of each brutal blow to our bunker door.
"Dad? Is that a person outside? Did they just say my name?" I turn to my dad for the answer, because he always has them. His brow is furrowed, the crows feet on the sides of his blue eyes are deeper than usual. His eyes meet mine as he pushes his dark, mostly grey hair away from his face. He's confused, concerned and for the first time, without an answer.
If someone is outside, saying my name, that must mean that we can come out of hiding. That must mean that the war is over and it's safe outside this shelter. Every shred of hope that was gone comes surging back in a rush.
"Jenna!" my name is shouted, followed by more banging. "Jenna! Are you in there?! It's Sam!"
I blanche.
Sam? My Sam?!
It's suddenly hard for me to breathe. Instinctively, I step forward, towards the door and open my mouth to yell back, only to be forcefully jerked back into the arms of my father.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" he seethes at me.
"Dad, it's Sam!" tears coat my eyes. I'm breathless and flooded with tears for the first time since I last laid eyes on Millie's calendar.
"Jenna Williams! Jenna Marie Williams!" he continues banging against the steel door. "Are you in there?"
"Dad we have to let him in!" I try to push forward, only to be jerked back again.
"We will not open that door," his voice is calm, but very firm and alarmingly resolute. "You don't know what the world is like out there. Nuclear bombs dropped all around us, Jenna. Can you really be that senseless? There is still radiation out there. You can't go anywhere near him."
"What?" I'm reeling. This can't be happening. "Dad, no! It's Sam! We have to let him in!"
I'm becoming hysterical.
Irrational.
If Sam is banging on the door of our bunker, it's because he needs help. Because he needs me. We've been separated for so long that I've doubted that he'd remember me in the same way that I've remembered him, but it's clear that I was wrong. He is here, he hasn't forgotten me.
"Mr. and Mrs. Williams! Please! Please open the door! Please let me inside, I have nowhere to go!"
My heart plummets. "Sam!" I shout his name hysterically, forcing my way out of my father's grasp. "Sam!" I screech, my hands shaking as I reach up to wipe the tears off my face.
My dad's arms are locked to tightly around me that I can barely breathe as he pulls me away from the door. I kick and thrash against him, screaming through gritted teeth, "We can't leave him out there! We can't!"
Tearfully, Millie leaves and hides behind the purple curtain that separates her area from the rest of this bunker. This is too much for her.
"Why are you doing this?!" I'm incredulous, my voice shrill. "Why?!" I demand.
"I am saving your life," he barks at me. "I cannot open that door, Jenna. I cannot. I know that you loved Sam and I'm sorry that we have to leave him out there, but I will not risk the lives of my entire family for the sake of that boy."
"That boy?!" I shriek, using all my might to break free from his hold. I whirl around to face him, my adrenaline pumping wildly, my nerves shot and spent.
"We're still on that? I'll have you know that that boy is the only thing in my previous life that made me happy. It wasn't your money, or the big house or of the guilt-induced materialistic things you showered us in because you couldn't give us actual love and attention." I wipe the snot off my face with my shirt sleeve. "That boy taught me more about life and about love and compassion than you ever did!" I sneer at him. "Just because his parents weren't bathing their selves in dollar bills doesn't mean that they are beneath us. His parents were hard workers and so was he! You never thought he was good enough for me. Never! Why? Because his father's resume doesn't look like yours? Not everyone is born into privilege!"
He stares back at me, nonplussed, speechless and apparently stunned at my candor. Sam's efforts to communicate have quieted, so I retire myself to the minimal amount of privacy available to me and bury myself beneath my covers.
I cry for a long while as silently as possible, purging my pain into my pillow. I'm still in shock and completely unnerved by my father's completely lack of compassion. How could he be so cruel and cold?
"Sweetheart?" my mother's meek voice doesn't surprise me. She has enough compassion in her heart for all of us. She can't bear for Millie and I to suffer like I am now. I knew it was only a matter of time before she found herself at my bedside.
"Not now," I mumble curtly into my pillow. It isn't my intention to sound so clipped, or to push her away, but I haven't a shred of energy left within me to talk about how I'm feeling right now.
She sits down next to me, her gentle fingers brush my hair behind my ear. "I'm so sorry, honey. Really, I am."
I know she means it. I turn to look up her, not surprised to see her brown eyes swollen and red from crying. Even with a tear stained face, my mother is beautiful. She's aged so well, likely from the lack of UV's penetrating her skin. Her hair is the most beautiful shade of chestnut, cut short and framing her heart shaped face. We share the same nose and too-wide eyes. I hope that when I'm pushing fifty, I look as naturally beautiful as she does.
"I'm sorry I've upset you so much," I tell her, meaning it. "I didn't mean to behave so dramatically. It's just ..." I pause, my chin trembling. "It's Sam, Mom." I shake my head as more tears spill over and onto my face.
She shakes her head with me, cupping my face in her hands and wiping away my tears with her thumbs. "Don't apologize for me. I'm crying because my heart breaks for you and for Sam. I wish so much that we could open that door and let him inside. But, your father is right. As selfish as it may seem, it's to protect us all."
I lean into her outstretched hands, falling apart and breaking even more. While I do understand, I can't accept it. She pulls me into her arms, letting me heave against the beating of her heart until I've depleted myself entirely.
I drift off to sleep lying on my side, my back against her chest, her arm around me and holding me together.

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End of Chapter 2!
Chapter 3 will be posted 1 week from today.
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