by Joey Davidson
We’ve been stuck down here for years.
Actually, it’s been 1,181 days exactly since Maggie called home from the grocery and told us to make our way down into the shelter.
“Get out of the house and into the bunker, Roger. We’re being attacked.” I’ve heard her voice saying those words over and over since she hung up.
She’s the one that insisted on building the damn thing. Her paranoia got the best of the argument one day, and we wound up digging a massive hole in our back yard.
Then came 1962. Kennedy was dealing with the Cuban Communists as they argued over whether or not the island had missiles trained on our cities. They did. And as my wife Mags rushed to a payphone that afternoon to call us at home, the Reds must’ve gotten tired of talking.
My daughter and I made it into the bunker. Maggie did not.