Tinman

They came on a moonless Summer night while the world slept, speeding one by one, silently across a star spangled sky leaving golden streaks that will be forever embedded in my mind. I saw them first. Then Mom saw my face and followed my upward gaze. I’ll never forget the sound she made, half scream, half shudder. That sound alone brought me to the realization that our lives would never be the same. Not for me. Not for Mom. Not for the kids at school. Not for anyone. She held me close as we watched from the hallway window. I could feel her shaking.

"What are they Mom?"

"Death." She whispered.

"Death?"

"I’m sorry it worked out this way Tinman."

Those were the last words Mom ever spoke to me. I could feel the wetness on her face as the first one exploded. She pushed the basement door open and threw me into the darkness below. Pain seared through me as I tumbled down the steps and for just a moment there was a blinding light above. Then blackness.

The faint smell of Mom’s perfume perforated the darkness. I opened my eyes amazed to see sunlight streaming through what used to be the basement door.

"Mom?"

No answer. I knew in an instant that Mom was gone. Her perfume still lingered from when she’d held me. I tried to stand but was rudely reminded of my fall down the steps. After several attempts I concluded that nothing was broken but I was covered with bruises and burns.

‘’Mom?!’’ I yelled again.

No answer. The pain of my injuries paled next to the pain of my loss for Mom. She was right. Death had come. It took her but had cruelly forgotten me. I cried then slept. Slept then cried. Three times the sun came followed by darkness. Even worse than the darkness was the silence. Which was then followed the worst pain of all. Hunger. Hunger has a way making people brave. I looked up the charred steps at the fading sunlight and gathered my courage.

Global Thermal Nuclear Warfare is the technical name for what happened. But for a twelve year old kid who finds himself standing in the shell of his home staring at his Mom’s scorched skeleton, there are no words. I thought I’d prepared myself for what I might find at the top of the steps, I was wrong. Once again I cried for the loss all I’d ever known. I cried until the hunger commanded me to my feet to face what was left of this empty meaningless world.

I found myself walking slowly along what used to be Interstate 95. Where I was going I didn’t know. I don’t think I cared. Occasionally I would pass a burned out car with blackened corpses staring out at me but mostly there was just ashes and soot where once green trees and grass had grown. Mom’s words echoed in my mind over and over with each agonizing step.

"What are they Mom?"

"Death."

Death. I stopped to listen. Not a sound. Not a bird in the sky or even the buzz of a mosquito. Nothing. Dead silence. Death.

* * * *

By the grace of God or maybe by his wrath, I survived the nuclear holicost of 1999. I traveled alone for months eating cold food from cans I found in the trunk of a burned out car or an ancient forgotten supermarket that had withstood the explosions. Each time I entered I hoped that I’d find someone else alive and each time I found the same thing. Death. People or what used to be people lay in a macrobe pile in the isles or clumped together at the checkout line with stacks of soiled green paper in their hands waiting for all eternity to pay for their groceries.

"Will that be paper or plastic?"

"Paper will do just fine thank you."

As I left I would always give a courteous smile and a polite wave. It was the same in every building in every town. Countless nameless bodies stopped dead in their tracks. I knew that each pile of scorched rotten flesh was once a person with a name. A life. Brothers and sisters. Moms and Dads. Wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, hopes, dreams, ambitions. All of them silently shouted the same question to me. Why? I wished I knew.

"I don’t know!!"

No matter how many times I shouted it they were never happy.

"Why? Why? Why?"

Every time I went into a building for food I found myself running out screaming at them to leave me alone. It wasn’t my fault that they died and I didn’t. But they didn’t care. They just stayed where they were. Waiting for me to come in for food so they could ask me again. Why? I decided that I was going to find the answer for them. Where should I go? Washington?

Yes. I would go to Washington.

I changed my direction and headed North and East. For the first time since the bombs exploded I had a purpose. I had a reason to live. At first I tried to find someone else alive. Anyone. But as the months passed I realized that was not going to happen. Now only one question burned in my mind. Why?

Why did this happen? I had to find out. For me. For them. As I travelled I noticed they didn’t scream at me any more. Instead they seemed to be smiling with their shapeless faces. They knew I was going to try to find the answer. They watched me with their hollow eyes and cheered me on.

"Go Tinman. Hurry. We want to know what happened. We want our lives to mean something. We want to live even if only through your eyes. Help us Tinman."

On a sunny spring day I dropped my backpack on the White House lawn and stared for a long moment at the crumbling building. It had taken me two months to get to this place where the man who pushed the buttom lived. The President. I couldn’t wait any longer. I ran as fast as I could and climbed the White House steps two at a time. When I pushed on the huge front door it let out an eerie moan to welcome me. The two secret service agents with machine guns in their hands met me at the door.

"Come on in Tinman," they said. "We’ve been expecting you."

I walked right past them and searched each room until I found the one I was looking for. A large wood stained door had a dusty plaque on it that read, "Oval Office." I didn’t hesitate. I went inside.

"Hello, Mr. President," I said.

"Hello, Tinman."

"What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me why you killed everyone, Mr. President."

The president stared at me for a long moment with his dead hollow eyes.

"Well, Tinman, it wasn’t an easy choice. You see, Suddam Hussan had secretly made allies of Russia and China and was going to take over the world. It was either us or them."

"So you decided to kill everyone?"

"I’m sorry it worked out this way, Tinman."

My heart jumped up in my throat. Those were Mom’s words. How could he? How dare he? I took my gun out and aimed it at the President’s skull. I wanted to shoot and watch his head explode but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I slowly reached over the huge desk and took the President’s crumbling hand off the red button. I gave him one last look and turned to walk away.

"And the children shall inherit the Earth," the corpse said.

I turned and looked at the man in disbelief. "Wrong, Mr. President. There’s none left."

"It was a mistake," he whispered.

I didn’t bother to answer. Instead I walked out past the two piles of muck that were once Secret Service agents and stood at the top of the steps. I felt the cold steel of the gun still in my hand and tasted the carbon on my lips. I never felt the bullet enter my brain as I tumbled down the steps. I thought for a moment I saw a blinding light then the blackness swallowed me.

* * * * * * *

A hundred or maybe a thousand years later I stood with my Mom and watched out the hallway window while she held me close.

"What are they Mom?"

"Life," she answered. I could feel her shaking.