#31

Wind on Our Backs

Against the farthest wall, dozens of clear plastic tubs are stacked on top of each other, showing the contents of each. About half of them contain cans, the other half appears to hold bottles and boxes. Far from five star cuisine, but food nonetheless. On the right side of the room stands a large, open doorway, which I assume to be some sort of latrines. Finally, on the left side of the room is an entire wall of bunk beds aligned vertically, one in which lies Danielle, sound asleep. I guess today wore her out pretty well. I can relate. Who knows how long it'll be until I forget about today's terrible escapade.
I step off the school bus and take a deep breathe in, smelling the familiar, homey scent of cattle and sheep. A bright breeze brushes through the fall leaves, rustling them as I approach a light blue farmhouse with two rusty pickup trucks resting in the driveway. The perfect image of home. I walk in through the garage door, and to my surprise, find my aunt and uncle sitting in the living room, faces in their hands, crying.
I drop my backpack on the floor and rush over to stand in front of them "What's wrong?" I ask, suspecting the death of a horse, or possibly a family member. My aunt picks up her head and looks at me with tears rolling down her cheeks. We've just been declared the target of a nuclear strike." My pitiful expression fades, and in seconds I turn the same shade of white as they are. "By who?" I respond, my voice unwaveringly monotone. She sniffs and wipes her eyes, "Russia." My mouth drops open and I leave reality for a moment. Russia? They've been threatening us like this for years, there's no way they're serious this time. "Okay, but how long have they been telling us that? What makes this the special occasion?" She matches my tone of voice and replies with a stern look. "The missiles are about to hit the major cities, but we have a couple hours until they get near us. It's all over the news, people are already running for safety." With that being said my uncle stands up, tall and broad, his grey hair shimmering against the sunlight. "Your Aunt Pam and I are gonna go gather up the cows, I want you to take your sister to our fishing hole, you hear?"

I nod, confused and already frightened.

"You've heard us talk about the shelter up there before, now it's your job to find it. It'll be right up in that meadow." He motions to my aunt to be on their way and she stands up. "We'll come soon, don't worry." They walk out the door, their boots clomping on the hardwood floor as they leave. Danielle walks out of her bedroom and down the hallway to stand next to me. Her short, brown hair bobs as she walks, and her usual bright, happy face has been replaced with one of fear. "We need to go now," she demands. Being two years her senior, my sister religiously looks up to me, but even she can sense the graveness of the situation. I nod, my mouth still hanging open. I close it and swallow. I have never seen uncle Keith cry before... not since my mother's funeral, anyway. I've always idolized him. So strong and supportive, I couldn't have imagined him to cry, not even because of something like this. It must be more serious than I think. I look at my younger sister worriedly, before walking down the hallway and into my bedroom to gather my things. I change my clothes into a pair of work Wrangler's and a button up shirt, adding on a heavy black coat afterward. I reach under my bed and pull out a backpack that I had already prepared in the case of a natural disaster. This ought to be close enough. I unzip it and pull out a large, black handled hunting knife. After hooking it to my belt and pulling the bag over my shoulders, I walk back out into the living room. I take Danielle by the hand and we walk outside to begin making our way down the road, the wind pushing on our backs, reminding us not to return.