CHAPTER 40
~T-minus 8:02~
The Patmos bomb shelter, that Cold War relic buried beneath the post office, was open for the first time in ages. It was the town's final attempt to soothe the town's terror in the face of a existential threat. Officially, no one acknowledged any real risk, but the powers that be knew that calmness was more likely to prevail if people knew their children were safe. By the time Will and Sam Scarborough reached the post office, the shelter was already nearly at capacity, the walls ringing with the fearful cries of children calling out for their parents.
As Will led Sam into the shelter, a reedy man in business casual stopped him. "Excuse me, can I have your name?"
"William Scarborough." He craned his neck, trying to look inside the shelter. "Look, I don't have time for this. I need somewhere to stash my little brother."
"Brother?" The man wrinkled his nose. "I'm sorry. We are reserving space for parents of young children. We're not going to have room for your brother."
"Are you kidding me?" Will stepped closer to the man, just inches between the two of them. "You're giving me the boot because he's not my son? I raised this boy, and you're damn well gonna take him in!"
Sensing trouble, a woman ran over to them, whispering to the man. "Maybe we can make an exception. An older child can keep the others calm."
The man took a step back. "Is your brother good with children?"
"Uh..." Will looked at Sam. "...Are you kidding? He's great with kids. Why, just yesterday...hey Sam, you're cool with kids, right?"
"I guess I can deal with them," said Sam.
"He's being modest," said Will. "This is the best storyteller in the world under the age of fifteen, right here. They'll love in."
"Very well," said the man. "We'll let him in."
"All right." Will gave Sam a gentle nudge. "Come on, bro, perk up. You're going to be fine."
The weeping of the children was even louder at the entrance to the shelter, each pitiful moan and whimper amplified in the small space. The town had brought in fresh supplies for an extended stay, a token effort to placate parental anxieties. What they didn't have was an adult on hand to care for them. Many pairs of wet eyes turned to Will and Sam as they stepped into the crowded space.
"This is where I'm staying?" said Sam.
"Look, I know it's not perfect, but it'll be safe. Whatever goes down, you'll be safe in here - just like I promised. Oh, I got some things for you." Will produced a bulging cloth satchel, draping the strap over Sam's shoulders. "Now, the sweets you're gonna want to share with the kids, and some of it's kinda boring and practical. But I also got something just for you."
Opening the satchel, Sam found a leather-bound notebook and a gold-plated pen. "I can't take these. Weren't they expensive?"
"Hey, don't worry about it. We were gonna get you something more durable, right? This notebook will survive anything, even the end of days." Will rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Look, I know you're scared. Just do what you've always done when you were scared. I want you to take that notebook and start a brand new story. By the time you've filled the last page, I'll be back, I promise." Will forced a smile. "Can you be strong for me?"
Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I'll be strong."
"That's good." Will backed out of the shelter. "Just keep writing. I'll be back before you know it."
Sam leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the floor. He wanted to cry, to wail like the children around him, but he wouldn't allow it. He had to be strong now, not just for himself or for Will, but for everyone. He opened the notebook, revealing a pristine page, an expanse of white limited only by his imagination. There would always be plenty to write, and there was no doubt as to what story had to grace those pages. Gripping the pen tightly, he took a deep breath and let the words spill out onto the page.
"It was the summit of noon, Patmos, Illinois, the rays of the advancing sun glittering magnificently in the lidless eyes of the cameras that lined Icaria Street..."
THE END