C17 It Is Hard to Live

Horace's heart jolted as if pierced by a needle, overwhelmed by a sense of despair, but his rigid body finally relaxed. Whether it was a person or a spirit, it had indeed departed.

It was only then that he became acutely aware of the piercing cold. He noticed that his back was drenched in sweat without knowing when it had happened. He set aside the telescope, intending to retreat indoors, but when he tugged at the sliding door, it wouldn't budge.

Oh no! The sliding door was locked and could only be opened from the inside... Horace had inadvertently locked himself out on the balcony, without a mask or a heavy coat, exposed to the frigid night air still laced with radioactive rainout.

He tapped on the sliding door without any hope of being heard. It was double-glazed and soundproofed, and his son Frank was a deep sleeper, tucked away in the adjacent room—rousing him seemed nearly impossible.

His gaze shifted to the dense stainless steel bars of the security net. There was a small window intended for emergencies, but it was secured with a hefty iron lock, far sturdier than the bars themselves, and the key was inside the house.

There was, of course, the option to smash the window glass, but that would render the house uninhabitable. Where would he find someone to repair it?

The immediate crisis had passed, but another loomed.

Horace's fear had subsided, knowing that in the exposed nuclear environment, radioactive iodine took eleven to twelve hours from inhalation to reach the thyroid. Thus, taking an iodine pill four to five hours after inhaling radioactive rainout would still be effective.

He resolved to endure the ordeal, waiting for Frank to awaken.

In the deepest chill of the late night, Horace was confined to his own balcony, pacing back and forth like a caged animal to fend off the cold, while the wind whistled over the river, marking the hours of a truly endless night.

Come morning, Frank, who seldom woke without an alarm, became his unwitting savior.

To avoid alarming his son, Horace kept the true reason for his predicament to himself.

He drank two cups of hot water and swallowed two iodine tablets to recuperate, but there was no time for a nap. He needed to start the day's health routine with his son, Frank.

First on his agenda upon waking was to draw back all the curtains, flooding the room with the dim morning light, before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

Frank was on the toilet, straining with difficulty to pass a bowel movement. His stools were alarmingly thick, requiring his father to use a stick to break them up so they could be flushed away.

Horace's bowel movements weren't much better. Lacking access to green vegetables and fruits, they were fortunate to manage any relief at all. He had heard tales of survivors who had been constipated to death; surviving the apocalypse was truly a challenge.

To conserve water, they only wiped their faces with a damp cloth and brushed their teeth every three days. They strove to maintain some semblance of normalcy in a world that was anything but.

After their morning routine, they sat at the dining table for a simple breakfast of water, compressed biscuits, and vitamin tablets.

Post-meal, Horace played a piano tune on his computer. Accompanied by the gentle music, he and Frank walked around the living room for half an hour, aiding digestion and promoting bowel movement.

Following their slow-paced exercise, they moved to the study, which doubled as a gym, and completed a series of exercises including push-ups, sit-ups, and leg stretches, committed to their daily physical training.

After thirty minutes of exercise, Frank enjoyed ten minutes of free time.

Meanwhile, Horace fought off waves of fatigue and the irritation of a routine life in an unraveled world. He went to the kitchen, bent down, and retrieved a large teapot from the cabinet. He filled it with a handful of mung beans and poured in a cup of water from the siphon tap.

For the next three to four days, he would need to change the water in the teapot daily, keeping the process shielded from light. Exposure to light would turn the sprouting mung beans red and bitter, ruining their taste.

Growing green bean sprouts is a skill every survivor must master. In a world where uncontaminated fruits and vegetables are worth their weight in gold, these sprouts are the only affordable, safe source of essential vitamins and amino acids.

Despite Horace's attempts to vary the menu—boiled, stir-fried with vinegar, mixed with luncheon meat, and even stewed with fish—both he and his son Frank felt nauseated at the thought of another green bean meal.

After his duties as a makeshift farmer, Horace had another critical daily task: tutoring Frank. He was not only his son's life coach but also his primary educator. The nuclear blast had robbed four-year-old Frank of a formal education, leaving his father to shoulder the responsibility.

Today, however, the teacher was clearly distracted, yawning endlessly. Frank, ever thoughtful, suggested, "Dad, if you're sleepy, go take a nap. I can look after myself."

"No, it's okay. I'll sleep after we finish the lesson," Horace replied.

Frank had a knack for language, and his vocabulary surpassed that of his peers, thanks in part to the educational value of films. Horace firmly rejected the defeatist attitude among some survivors that learning was pointless in a post-apocalyptic world. Without education, one couldn't even comprehend the instructions on survival supplies.

Besides, he planned to show Frank the world, to find a haven. Knowing an extra language could mean the difference between life and death.

Having fought off the worst of his drowsiness, Horace was still restless, glancing outside now and then. The mysterious creature from the previous night lingered in his mind. He had to investigate his territory to put his mind at ease.

With the teacher's focus elsewhere, the student's attention also waned. Children are keen observers, and Frank, following his father's gaze, excitedly exclaimed, "Dad, why is that window across from us open?"

Horace, who had been contemplating how to address the issue with Frank, seized the opportunity and said, "Since you've noticed something's up with that house, I'll go check it out myself."

Feeling appreciated, Frank's excitement surged, thinking he was about to embark on another adventure outdoors.

However, Horace had no intention of taking his son with him. Leaving the house was a hassle, requiring him to don a disposable coat and hood. Besides, if any issues arose within their own community, he could quickly return home.

Their home's security door had been fortified, rivaling the newly discovered "third cave."

Noticing the look of disappointment in his son's eyes, Horace assigned him an "important" task to make up for it: to monitor the house across the street from the balcony with a telescope, and to report any suspicious activity to his dad via walkie-talkie.

Frank was finally content, giving a somewhat imprecise American-style salute: "Yes, Sir!"