Fallout

DISCLAIMER: CONTENT MAY BE DEEMED INAPPROPRIATE BY SOME READERS

"Oh my God! Oh my God!"

Jagged chunks of steel had pierced the basement; as banquet tables were strewn like toys in a child’s room. On a business trip from Atlanta, Ryan had chosen the small Hotel Beazley to get away from the other conventioneers. But unlike the glass-and-steel box that the other small appliance retailers choose, the 91-year old structure couldn’t within the quake. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the outline of others scattered around the supply room. Slowly, they too began to rise, and begin to cycle through the emotions in the wake of the devastating earthquake.

The group of five gathered in the center of the room, clutching one another, and voicing their appreciation for surviving the initial ordeal. One man used a lighter to survey the room. There was no food, but several votives and liquid wax lamps. The room was soon lit with candles strategically positioned about the wreckage.

Their first group decision was the most logical: Find an escape. They randomly selected sections and began searching for an exit. The lone door had caved in during the fall, and the walls and ceiling were constructed from cement. They shouted ‘hellos’ and ‘helps’ in an effort to attract attention, but from the basement, the outside world sounded as silent as a cathedral on Tuesday morning. One by one, the group returned to the middle, gathering around their central fire, made from beverage napkins and the remnants of a small wooden table.

"You might as well save your breath," Damon exclaimed in the direction of the last man still shouting.

"My friends warned me about this," Krystal said as she lit a slightly crushed cigarette off the nearest candle. "Fucking earthquakes."

"Someone will find us. We’ll be out of here in no time," Carol said. "We’re fine, but I can’t help thinking about the other folks in the building."

"Were you staying with anyone in the hotel?" Ryan asked her.

"No. I came here on my own to visit my sister." She paused. "Does anyone else have anyone… anyone out there?"

"No," the group said collectively, something Carol deemed to be a blessing.

Jack stood up and walked over to Krystal. "I don’t usually, but would you mind?" he asked, pointing to her cigarettes.

"As long as you don’t mind Virginia Slims."

"That’s my favorite brand," he joked half-heartedly, fetching a votive from the floor. Exhaling forcefully, he turned to the others. "I guess introductions are in order. I’m Jack. Jack Halson." Wearing a rumpled gray suit jacket that twisted awkwardly around his torso and pants that long since gave up trying to contain his generous stomach, Jack was not a small man. The 40-year old lumbered as he moved, breath audible with every extrusion. His face, though, was drawn and thin, offset by large expressive eyes and remarkably white teeth, even in the candlelight. Introductions instinctively went clockwise like an AA meeting.

"I’m Carol McCormick. I’m a homemaker from Dallas." Her response was well-rehearsed, as though "homemaker" was the pat answer for the unintentionally difficult question often asked of what she does for a living. With her short blonde hair, and wearing in a hand painted sweatshirt, Carol looked out of place outside a minivan. She wore white walking shoes that she periodically cleaned with her thumb.

"Any kids?" Ryan asked.

"Two. Boy and a girl," she replied with a distressed expression, as her mind went to her children.

There was a short pause as the group watched Carol withdraw. Taking his cue, the next followed suit. "I’m Ryan Ebertine. I’m an accounts manager for the largest small appliance retailer in Chicago. I came here for the convention." 51-year old Ryan wore Dockers, a golf shirt, and a permanent comb over. He made a concerted effort to nod to each person during his introduction.

"An accounts manager. Huh." Damon said with only a partial understanding, "Jack, you didn’t mention what you do?"

"I’m a marketing consultant for an electronics supply chain."

"Sounds interesting… My name is Damon Smith and I’m a bartender here in the city," Damon said, skipping his turn in line. "I was in the hotel visiting a guy who works in the restaurant directly above us. He wasn’t there though." He paused. "Shit. At least I hope he wasn’t." Mid-twenties with a faux hawk and $120 T-shirt, Damon carried himself as though everyone else was watching at all times. Supremely cognizant of his appearance, he would often constrict his abs under his shirt repeatedly, and always performed butt-flexing exercises in the elevator. "And you," he said, turning to his right.

"My name is Krystal," she said, knees tucked against her chest. "I’m a dancer." At 19, she was the youngest person in the room. She had a dancer’s build, complemented by her low-rise jeans and crop top, and wore her fiery red hair slung over her left shoulder.

"A dancer?" Carol said, intrigued. "That’s wonderful. I wish I could dance."

"What kind of dancer are you?" Damon asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Ryan immediately honed in on the direction of the comment. "What kind of question is that?"

"It’s alright," Krystal said. "I’m not ashamed. I’m an exotic dancer at the Club Teddy."

"Oh," Carol replied quietly, as she returned to shining her Keds.

For the next few hours, the five forced small talk. Jack and Ryan quoted lines from Caddyshack and Carol entertained no one with tales from her children’s lives. But these benign conversations were often interrupted by long periods of silence, occasionally to listen for rescue efforts, but mostly to reflect. It wasn’t until the evening that Carol mentioned what everyone had been thinking about: food.

"I am so thirsty," she said, "It reminds me of this trip we took to the Grand Canyon…"

"Thirsty, hell, I’m hungry," Jack interrupted. "I can’t believe we can’t find any food. We are right next to the kitchen for Christ’s sake."

"That’s assuming that the kitchen is still there," Ryan said.

"Well, there’s no use in thinking about that now." Damon interjected. "So why don’t we play a game? You know, take our mind off of everything. I know a drinking game that might be fun."

"Oh yeah, mention drinking," Ryan said. "Man, a cold beer watching the Cubs…"

"Anyway, it’s the ‘Name Game.’ Anyone ever heard of it?" Krystal raised her hand slightly.

"It’s simple. I’ll say a name of a famous person, and the next person has to say a famous name whose first name starts with the first initial of the other guy’s last name. Got it?"

"I’m lost" Carol said, "And how is this a drinking game?"

"Well, if you can’t come up with a name, you’d have to drink. But that’s not important now."

"But if I were playing a drinking game, wouldn’t I want to drink?" Carol asked.

Frustrated, Damon lowered his head, and exhaled hard. "Okay, we are really getting off track here. Let me give you an example. If I said ‘Michael Jordan,’ you might answer ‘Joe Louis.’ You see?"

"Who is Joe Louis," Krystal asked.

"He’s a boxer," Damon answered, "Which brings up another point. At least one other person in the room has to know who the person is."

"So how do you win?" Jack asked.

"Normally, it’s whoever is sober enough to drive to Denny’s. But in this case, we’ll eliminate each person until we get down to one. We’ll start with a practice round. Counter-clockwise. Ready?" The group collectively nodded.

"Michael Jackson," Damon said.

"Joe Louis," Krystal said with a smirk.

"Louie Armstrong," said Ryan.

"Albert Finney," said Carol.

"Who?" .

"Albert Finney. He was the guy in Annie."

"She’s right," Ryan said.

"My bad," Damon said. "Continue."

"Finney, Finney… Franklin Roosevelt," said Jack.

"Robert DeNiro," said Damon.

"David Letterman," said Krystal.

"Leonard Nimoy," said Ryan.

"Niles Crane," said Carol, "from Frasier."

"He’s not a real person," said Jack. "Does that count?"

"I didn’t explain that part. For this round, it’s only real people. Let her go again."

"Okay, how about Nicholas Cage?"

"C…C…" stuttered Ryan. "I can’t believe I can’t think of anyone."

"So then you would be out of the game," said Damon. "Alright, everyone got it? Let’s start."

Damon emerged as the winner. After an hour, requests for subsequent rounds were met with groans.

* * * * *

The evening crawled into the morning, and the day into a week as the five became progressively weaker and less hopeful.

Restless fits of sleep were greeted with pangs of malnutrition and bursts of tears. The remaining candles were on ration, and the air was thick and stagnant. Still, the five remained in the circle, retelling stories and inventing new ones. They tried to keep the conversations upbeat and shallow, but inevitable introspection crept in.

"Hey Jack. What’s the one thing you wish you did in your life, but never did?" Damon asked.

"What a morose, depressing question. I’m trying not to focus on mortality right now."

"No, it’s not depressing. All I meant was, what’s that one thing you saw yourself doing, but never had the chance."

"For example?"

"Okay. I wish I had rebuilt a car." Damon replied. "I loved cars since I was a kid. My dad and I used to spend hours in the garage, just working on them. And I always wanted to restore one from a salvage yard. My dad and I used to argue over which one we should choose."

Damon got uncharacteristically solemn and stared off into the middle distance. The absence of his voice made the silence feel like a vacuum.

"Which car would you choose?" Ryan asked.

"1933 Ford Coupe. I’ve always loved that car."

"Beautiful car," Jack offered. "Tough to find an original one anymore."

"What’s it look like?" Krystal asked.

"Like the ZZ Top car," Damon said.

Krystal perked up. "My mom said she knew one of the girls in their videos. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be in one of those."

"So is that your big regret?" Jack asked.

"No. I guess I wish I had started a family. You know, a few cute babies, maybe a husband that would have a job, and love me. But obviously where I work isn’t the best place to find a guy. I thought about doing something else, but...."

Krystal leaned to one side to retrieve her last cigarette from her purse. She took two puffs before offering a drag to Jack. "I guess I listen to mothers talk about their kids and it just sounds so perfect."

"I wouldn’t say that it is perfect," Carol said. The group looked at her. "Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my life, and I love my kids, and I miss them both so much right now. But that doesn’t mean that it’s not a struggle - and a challenge, and quite frankly, a pain in the butt - to raise a family. But it is worth it. And I wouldn’t give it up for the world."

She looked at Krystal and smiled. "So I can understand why you wished for a family. And I’m sure that you’ll have an opportunity at some point."

"So what about you Carol?" Ryan asked. "Are you saying that you don’t have any regrets?"

"I wouldn’t called them regrets so much, but I wish I has traveled to Europe. I always told myself I would go after high school, backpack across several countries, stay in youth hostels. But in college I never went. I told myself I would go after I graduated, but I got married my junior year and never finished. Soon, my kids came along and I just never had the time. I guess it would have been fun." Carol shrugged as she stared back off into the candlelight. "What about you, Ryan?"

"My dream was to be a painter. There’s just something amazing about someone that can come up with pictures in their head and just draw them."

"Have you ever tried?" Damon asked.

"Yeah, I took painting in high school, a few art classes in college. But I told myself that I was meant to work with numbers. It kind of runs in the family." Ryan ran his palms along his slacks. "Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made a decent living. I almost have my house paid for. And two cars. I will admit that I considered trying to paint after my wife left. I thought about taking some night courses. But in order to really dedicate myself to it, I think I would have to quit my job and live in some small, bohemian apartment. I guess I never wanted to take the risk and fail. You know, end up broke and a failure verses being rich and not caring about it as much."

He paused. "So about you, Jack? What did you want to be when you grew up?"

"I always wanted to sing. I used to all the time. I mean, I didn’t want to become famous or anything, just sing in some clubs on the weekends, maybe make a CD for a few friends."

"So what stopped you?" Krystal asked.

"I think my biggest thing, pardon the pun, was my weight. I’ve always been a large guy, but I’ve put on some major pounds over the last few years. I honestly think I don’t have the nerve to stand on a stage and sing."

"Oh c’mon. Your not that bad," Krystal remarked.

"Would you sing something for us?" Carol asked, straightening up a bit. The group chimed in as the reluctant Jack searched his mind for the right song.

"Alright," he says, slowly taking to his feet. "Willie Nelson wrote this, but I like the B.B. King version." He cleared his throat and sang:

When that evening sun / Goes down
Yeah, you’ll find me / Hanging around
Because the nightlife
It ain’t no good life
But it’s my life.

"Very nice," Damon offered. "I am impressed."

"Yeah, my mom always thought I should sing opera, probably because of my weight, but I always loved blues."

As the last of the applause died down, the room dropped silent.
"I tell you what," Damon said. "We need to make a pact to meet back here in one year, just to see how everyone is doing."
Everyone agreed.

"And don’t worry," he remarked. "I’ll find us a better hotel next time."

As the last of the conversations burned out along with the remaining candles, the five laid on the basement floor for the last time.

* * * * *

Light pierced the room in brilliant streaks as chunks of the concrete wall were removed. "Hey, I think I see some people over there," the rescuer shouted. "Oh Christ. I can’t believe it. Get the ambulance, I think some of them might be alive!"

* * * * *

One year later, the five returned.

One by one, they journeyed to a quiet bistro down the street from the now-infamous hotel. As the coordinator, Damon arrived first, sporting a flashy Mercedes. He had let his hair grow long, and constantly used his fingertips to tuck it behind his ears. As he grabbed the chair facing the entrance, Carol walked through the door.

"Wow, look at you," she squealed as she made her way to the table. Damon stood up to give her a long hug, making sure not to crush her belly.

"Look at me?" he replied. "Look it you! How far along are you?"

"Seven months," she answered. "And I guess I don’t have to ask you what you’ve been up to. Wow, I can’t even turn on the TV some days without seeing you."

"Yeah, it’s been a wild year, but… but let’s wait for the others before we start telling stories." Damon said, as he flagged the waitress down for another scotch.

"Okay," Carol agreed. "Although, I have to ask one question. I saw you on Letterman. He’s seemed kind of weird. Is he like that in real life?"

The conversation remained surface as they waited for the others. Jack was next. He, too, had pulled up in a luxury sedan. Nearly unrecognizable, Jack had dropped over 120 pounds and received rave reviews from the others. Ryan came next, stopping off at the hostess desk to leave a package. His appearance reprompted the gauntlet of hugs and handshakes. The last in was Krystal who first apologized for her tardiness before greeting everyone. She looked exactly the same, right down to her jeans.

Several drinks and appetizers later, Damon tapped a fork on the side of his rocks glass. "I would like to say thank you to everyone for showing up. This is truly a great day."

The group toasted, with Carol making due with her Evian. "So, tell us about your life," Carol asked Damon. "I’m dying to hear about it."

"Well, as you all know, I wrote the book, Trapped Inside, once we were freed. And although I can appreciate the desire to shun the media and going on with our lives, for me, the book was cathartic. I thought it was a story that needed to be told, and I just hope that you all feel I did a decent job."

Everyone nodded, raising their glasses in half salutes. "Although I admittedly did use some poetic license on a few things."

"Yeah, I will admit having us rescued by Spiderman was a bit much," joked Ryan.

"And from there, everything has been simply amazing. I’m still on the bestseller’s list. I ‘m meeting important people, hanging out with celebrities. It’s been absolutely the greatest experience."

"So, no more bartending," Krystal asked.

"Nope, no more bartending. I got rid of all my bottle openers."

The conversation continued to revolve around Damon’s new world for a while. He fielded questions about the eating habits of different celebrities, about living next to Charles Barkley, and about the upcoming TV movie based on his book. The five then playfully speculated on which celebrity should play them.

"Hey, you could be a celebrity name in the ‘Name Game’ now," laughed Krystal, as they gathered their belongings and headed to Damon’s suite for a nightcap. On the way out, Ryan grabbed the package.

"What’s in there?" Damon’s asked.

"I’ll show you when we get to the hotel."

Settling in, the five instinctively pulled the loveseats and sofas around in a circle. Damon uncorked two bottles of Dom and one bottle of sparklingly grape juice for Carol.

"You are so thoughtful," she cooed. "Thank you."

"So Carol, what have you been up it," Damon asked, eyeing her belly, "Besides the obvious."

She smiled as she returned her glass to the table. "Well, nothing as exciting as your life, that’s for sure. Although I did ride in a float and cut the ribbon on a supermarket when I first returned. It was fun for a while, but now my life has basically returned to normal. And I’m having a boy! He looks healthy and everything."

The group congratulated her with another toast.

"I guess that’s my story. I’m just happy I’m still alive."

"No kidding," Jack replied. "Not a day goes by I don’t think that exact same thing."

"So what about you, Jack? What’s been going on with you?"

"Well, after I got back, things at the firm just exploded. I got two raises in one year. Next month, my wife and I are moving to this gorgeous place. Large two-story with a three-car garage. It’s pretty great!"

"And what about the weight?" Damon asked. "You skipped the biggest part."

"Oh yeah. I just cut out a few things each week. Like first, I stopped eating fast food. Then I stopped eating after 7 pm. Then no soda pop. And on and on until I was eating healthy. Not to say I don’t splurge now and again, but basically I just changed my lifestyle." He smiled confidently.

"It’s okay to smoke in here, right?" Krystal asked as she fished one from her purse. Damon nodded. "So what about you?"

Krystal shrugged. "My life has been pretty much the same. I’m still dancing. The owner actually used the whole thing to promote the club. He had me come out and dance in a fireman’s uniform. But he did have my picture outside for a while. It was cool. I made a ton of money those first few months."

"So that only leaves Ryan."

Ryan sat up a bit, clasping his hands together. "Well, I got back and something just didn’t feel right. So I quit my job, sold my house and moved to New York."

"Wow," Jack exclaimed. "That is a change."

"I’m working two jobs right now, as a line cook in a restaurant and a barrista at a coffee shop," Ryan said. "The jobs are fine, but they afford me the opportunity to do what I always wanted to do: Paint."

"I remember," Damon remarked. "Good for you."

"Yeah, I think our discussion kind of changed everything. I mean it’s nothing incredible or anything. Just a few pieces. There is a small gallery by my house that displays several of my paintings. I haven’t sold any yet, but I love the fact that they are out there" Ryan smiled. "Sometimes I go visit them."

"I remember that discussion well. I debated on whether to put it in the book," Damon recalled.

"Oh yeah," Carol said. "Did you ever rebuild that car?"

"Well, I just didn’t have time. After the book was published, I never had a spare minute. I had to reschedule three things in order just to be here today."

"Do you wish you had?" Krystal asked.

Damon paused. "Yeah, I guess. But now I’m rich. I’m on Oprah’s Book of the Month club. Shit man, that’s pretty good."

"So what about you, Carol?" Damon asked, passing the focus. "Did you ever get to travel?"

"Actually, no. Once all the excitement wore down, I was pregnant. And with the new baby and all... I figure I’ll get to it when the kids are grown."

"Krystal?" Damon asked.

"Kids, right? Nope. There was this one guy I met afterwards. We dated for a while, but he wanted me to quit dancing. And at that time, the money was still good. I mean, really good. Better than I’ve ever made in my life," she said, growing defensive.

The conversation was clearly having a distressing effect on Ryan. With every answer, he grew more anxious.

"What about you, Jack?" Ryan inquired. "You must have been singing. I mean, look at you. Surely you not worried about getting up on stage now."

"Boy, I guess I haven’t sung since… well, since that night."

"So then sing it again," Ryan implored. "We want to hear you." The others clapped in as Jack stood center stage.

And he sang:

When that evening sun / Goes down
You will know me…

Jack stopped. "Wait a minute. That’s not it. ‘You will...’" he exclaimed with an embarrassed chuckle. "I guess I don’t remember it. I never thought I’d forget that song." Ryan sighed.

As the evening progressed, the five began to fall asleep, one by one on the hotel couches. Carol was out first, followed by Jack and Krystal. As an intoxicated Damon situated himself on the sofa, he looked over Ryan, still sitting up, hands folded in his lap.

"Hey, I’m really proud of you," Damon remarked casually. "Sounds like you are doing what you want." Ryan sighed, looking at the others sleeping around the circle.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Hey, we never got to see what was in that package."

Ryan walked over to the front hallway. Unwrapping the brown paper quietly so as not to wake the others, he produced a painting. "I’m especially pleased with this one," he remarked. "I don’t think I’ll ever sell it."

The painting revealed the five huddled around a basement floor, amidst a mass of candles and debris. Crushed cigarettes at Krystal’s feet, children’s photos at Carol’s side, it was a snapshot of their final moments.

"Wow, that’s amazing," Damon remarked. "Truly incredible."

He looked again. "But I have one question. Out of everything to remember from that whole ordeal, why focus on one moment we were all asleep?"

* * * * *

Light pierced the room in brilliant streaks as chunks of the concrete wall were removed. "Hey, I think I see some people over there," the rescuer shouted. "Oh Christ. I can’t believe it. Get the ambulance, I think some of them might be alive!"

The ambulance drivers squeezed through the hole in the wall, feverously running to the first person they found. But with each discovery, the rescuers’ heart sank. All except for one.

The only survivor spent nearly two weeks in recovery. But when it was all over and the release papers were signed, Ryan stopped on his way home from the hospital to buy a canvas and some watercolors.