Mom Makes the Best Supper

 

After the first terrorist nukes exploded in downtown Manhattan and Moscow at 10:53 a.m. eastern daylight time, respectively, it was pretty much downhill from there. Not until all the world's leaders got their itching, twitching, all too eager trigger fingers on their nations' respective “LAUNCH” buttons — sending their retaliatory responses by way of flying missiles of their own — was the truth discovered.

By then, it was too late.

Briefcase bombs, reports later claimed. Portable Armageddon.

There were four souls in the Tummelson family. Jack Tummelson — a devoted, loving father and husband to his wife, Lily — Ritchie, their seventeen-year-old son, and, Spaz, the family's dog. Now, only Lily, Spaz, and her son remained. Jack had been at the office when the shit storm hit.

“Mom, you think Dad's out there... tryin' to get to us?”

Lily cradled her son's soot-streaked face in both hands, while mustering the most reassuring tone she could under such grim circumstances. She glanced around at what was once their beautiful suburban neighborhood, breathing out a heavy sigh.

“I'm sure your dad is doing everything he can to get back to us, sweetheart. Don't worry, he'll be okay.”

 

***

Weeks passed — still no signs of Jack. Spaz became increasingly sick; they'd gone through their meager assortment of food and supplies. No one had prepared for this sort of emergency. Ritchie and his mother now resorted to what Ritchie jokingly referred to as the 'R&R diet' — rats and roaches. After piecing together a make-shift living area in their fruit cellar, his mother gutted and cleaned countless rats with jagged pieces of glass from their homes ruined windows. The acrid air and dust-laden atmosphere — coupled with the often violent winds that sprung up from virtually nowhere — made trekking across the countryside into the city to find Jack practically impossible. It was best to stay put; Lily reasoned. That was the only way Jack would know how to find them — if  he'd made it through.

***
 

“Mom, that was delicious. Where's Spaz, by the way. Have you seen him? Ritchie belched contentedly, then stared at his mother.

Lily stood facing the earthen wall of the cellar, her back to him. She couldn't bear to tell him that Spaz was dead, and had just become their latest meal.

“Uh, no, honey. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen that mutt all day.” Lily made a half-hearted attempt at laughter while trying her best to conceal the lie.

It wasn't working. The quiver in her voice betrayed her.

“Okay...where did the meat we just ate come from? That didn't taste like rat. Mom?... Mom! Where did you did you get that fucking meat?”

Lily's eyes grew heavy with tears. She'd never been a good liar.

“Ritchie, hon...I, uh...”

Ritchie's eyes widened — his face grew ashen. “Mom, no...no! Please, tell me that wasn't Spaz. Please...”

Lily hung her head, then turned to face her son.

“Ritchie, he was very weak... and we were both so hungry. He wasn't going to make it, you and I both know that.”

Ritchie collapsed onto a filthy foam padding, and cried. The contents of his stomach rebelled, then spewed from his heaving gut.

Lily went over to Ritchie, kneeling down to console her sobbing son. Hugging his heaving body close, she did her best to provide some comfort by way of an explanation. “Honey, I know he was your friend. But we have to make it through this. We have to eat. We're going to need all the strength we can get.”
 

She felt something sharp and jagged tear through the soft flesh just below her chin, while a warmth streamed down her chest in gushing rivulets, then dripped to the dirt floor below....

 

***

 

“Ritchie!” Jack Tummelson ran to his son, hugging him as if he hadn't seen the boy in years. He'd finally made it home.

“Dad, I...we thought you were... “

“No, Rich, I made it! It took some doing, but I'm here...I'm okay.” Jack's stomach growled as he caught the aroma of meat cooking and sizzling in the fire.

“That looks delicious, son. I'm starving!”

Jack grabbed a pointed stick laid out by the blaze, then jabbed it into a sizzling piece of singed meat. Taking a huge bite, he smiled in approval.

“Go-o-o-o-d, boy-oh,”, Jack crooned. This is delicious. By the way, where's Mom and Spaz?

Ritchie smiled, looked at the meat on the stick hovering mere inches from his father's gaping mouth, then kicked at the dusty earth.

“Oh, you know, Dad. They're...around.”

“Good,” his father managed, devouring another bite of meat. “Ya' know, your mom aways did make the best supper.”

Ritchie's sparkling hazel eyes darkened, and he smiled.