Roots To Branches Anthology:

After two months underground, everything in this bunker is perfumed with the same musty stench. The saffron-yellow dress I chose for my shower has a faint bloom of mold along the bodice. Suzie had worked overtime to buy it for me. My big sister knew we couldn’t afford the extra cost with the wedding so close. 

Freddy had shaken his head but didn’t question when I’d rushed to my closet at the first siren blast. I’ve never owned anything so lovely and I wasn’t about to leave it at the house. Freddy and I hauled our emergency supplies into the bunker. We comforted each other with the certainty that one day our grandkids would listen to stories about the time Nana and Papa survived a nuclear disaster.

I uncoil my braids, limp waves sticking to my clammy cheeks. Freddy loves my long hair. Each day, before this room became our world, Freddy would undo my kindergarten-teacher-bun, brushing while I regaled him with classroom drama.

He’d combed through my thinning strands five days ago, the night before he left the bunker. We’d shared the final sips of water. He whispered a kiss against my cracked lips, promising to return with more.

The girls had planned Champagne, sushi, and chocolate-covered strawberries for my party.

I open the last package of Twinkies and arrange them on a drawing Freddy had done of sunflowers, my favourite. 

The damp room wobbles like a funhouse mirror. I slip on the dress and stretch out on a wooden bench. I count the days. Six more until we say our vows. 

I hum along to a tune I haven’t heard since college. I force open my heavy eyelids. Ex-roommates and work friends appear in the cement room. My childhood best friend stands on the other wooden bench, eyes closed, arms raised, swaying like the preacher’s wife at a Baptist revival. “How’d you get here?” I whisper. “Turn up the music.”

Their laughter fills my empty belly. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for these women.

I squint at a familiar figure in the corner of the bunker. My heart lurches. Suzie. She leans against the wall watching the other girls dance. Suzie hates parties. A wide grin splits her face when we lock eyes.

My sister glides across the room, perching on my bench. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” My hoarse voice belongs to someone much older.

“It’s time, baby bird.” The nickname covers me like the sun-kissed blankets Mama would bring in from the clothesline.

Panic rises in my throat. “Not without Freddy. Our wedding is Saturday.” Her hand is warm on my cheek, I lean in. “I love him.”

“He knows.” Suzie scoops me up, cradling me like a newborn. “He’s waiting for you. With Mama and Daddy.”

The girls draw closer, their laughter buoys me. Shrouded in yellow fabric, I float in my sister’s arms. The bunker fills with ethereal white light, though the hatch remains closed. 

For the first time since the sirens began, I’m at peace.