Aftershock: A Collection of Survivors Tales by Valerie Lioudis, Kristopher Lioudis

and sobbing. Mother turned to look at me. I tried really hard to look into Mother’s eyes, I really, really tried, but I ended up looking at her mouth instead, just like I always do when somebody looks at me in the face. I saw her mouth make the words “I love you William.” I said “I love you to Mother” because that’s the proper thing to say. She bent her head down and said something to Father, and then she kissed him on the head. I think she got confused and thought that Father’s gun was a telephone because she put it against her ear like she was going to make a hello-phone call. Father moaned and cried like something really sad had happened on a television program. I had seen Mother cry like that watching her stories while Father was at work. I was about to tell Father about the two people coming up the street, they were walking funny like they had had too much to drink. Sometimes, Father and his friends would watch football games in the garage and they would drink beers. Father never had too many, he said that getting drunk was not proper. But sometimes his friends would have too many and they would walk around like the people coming up the street now. They swore and yelled and smelled bad too. Just as I was about to tell Mother and Father about the people coming up the street, I heard the loud BOOM of Father’s gun again. Then I heard Father yell louder than I have ever heard him yell before. Only he did not sound mad, at least I do not think he did. It’s kind of hard for me to tell sometimes. Father was crying which I know means sad. The people saw us and started moving closer. I did not want another hug so I called out for Mother and Father to “let’s go in the house.” I was hungry and Mother had promised me a marshmallow sandwich with peanut butter for lunch. Marshmallow sandwiches are almost as delicious as Mars bars. Mother did not answer so I ran over to Father and started tapping him on the shoulder.
    “Father, there are more people coming,” I said, “Can we go inside so Mother can make me my sandwich?”
    Father would not get up. I tapped harder. I tried to get Mother to move too, but she just laid there. Her face looked gross. Almost like she had been hit in the face with a cherry pie like on those funny shows on TV. Father says they are funny when they smack each other, but I am not funny when I smack him. I do not understand this, but Father says it is rude to smack someone. Maybe someday I will be on TV. Then it will be funny if I smack someone with a pie.
    I just kept tapping Father on the shoulder but he would not move. He just kept crying. I did not want the people to try to touch me. I did not want to talk to anyone today and I wanted my sandwich. I told Father I was going inside and started walking toward the house. I got to the door and turned around. I saw Father get up and start running toward me. The people were trying to grab him; it looked like he did not want a hug either. I asked him about Mother and he just shoved me into the house and slammed the door.

 
     
Amy
     
     
    The house rumbled with a sound I thought I would never hear again. I knew it was a plane, and a big one at that, but who was in it? The children panicked and fled behind the furniture. I am pretty sure they thought we were all going to be destroyed by the sound alone. It has been a long time since we heard anything but the sound of the dead trying to get through our defenses. Living this way has made us all a little jumpy to say the least. The rumbling was over fast, and I worked my way to the hole we bored through the roof. This is our safest way to see what is going on in the neighborhood. When we aren’t using it for a lookout, we collect the rain that comes in with the passing storms.
    The sky was littered with papers. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t that. They rained down like confetti in the sky. Curiosity was killing me, but none of the papers fell within my reach on the