Chapter Two: How to Survive a Fake Nuclear Fallout

A girl fidgeted nervously in front of an old TV set. She had chartered the time the rogue transmission appeared and she had found a pattern that had ran through the length of five years. By her calculations that she had perfected over the years, another transmission was due in this hour. The TV was on with something that she did not bother with when suddenly the screen turned into static and there it was - the phantom transmission. A baby being born, held in arms of his or her mother, the people celebrating, and the release of thousands of pinpoint of lights into the dark sky. The sight, even though she had seen a thousand times gave her that same feeling of awe. The pinpoints of light, against the complete darkness of the background, that she assumed to be called as the 'sky' gave a maddening panic as if she had been suffering from subconscious claustrophobia. After the ten seconds ended, the transmission was replaced by other visuals. She saw people in all sorts of situations, some she could connect into stories of her imagination but some were too sketchy to even be contemplated because the box did not have sound. She was guessing from the pictures but at most times she gave up because words were so important to her. The more she saw the visuals on the screen, the more she believed that the world is not on fire like Mother had told her.

Something wiggled itself out from behind a heap of old electric cables. It's the chameleon that she found in the shower a month ago. Somehow, the reptilian had slipped into the bunker when Mother made her entry when she returned from one of her trips to get provisions from the so-called Aid Centre. And the chameleon decided to stay close to water source, the shower.

"Hi, Pascal," she greeted the reptilian and held out her hand so it could climb to her shoulder and hide behind her long golden hair. She named the chameleon Pascal, after the French mathematician, physicist, inventor, writer and philosopher, Blaise Pascal. She had read about the prodigy in the series of encyclopaedia entitled 'The World Book' that Mother had provided her with. The encyclopaedia which consisted of twenty-six volumes contained the history and memorial remains of the old world before the nuclear holocaust, which had driven Mother to seek refuge in the underground bunker. And Mother had given birth to her in the bunker. So had she lived there for almost eighteen years now. She only had Mother for company, until Pascal came along. She knew from The World Book series published in the year 1990 AD that chameleons have the lifespan of roughly five years, so she guessed that she had company to last her three to four more years before another would come along , slipping through the bunker's entrance as Mother returned from her trip for provisions. Pascal made a repetitive whirring noise.

"What is it? Did I leave the stove on? The shower?" The whirring sound continued.

"Oopss! Mother's going to be here in minutes!" She realised and Pascal stopped its whirring sound instantly. The girl jumped and turned off the TV, unplugged the set and pushed the set back against the heap of other useless and battered electrical appliances in the storeroom.

"Mother must never know about the TV set," she muttered to herself and looked at the reptile. "And she must never know about you either. Because she said that the whole world is fried to a crisp. You're not supposed to exist." She walked to the shower and deposited him there.

"You know that you must do," she said.

The girl walked to the Main, where Mother made her experiments and record the results in the gigantic intelligence console consisting of screens and panels. She waited and saw the turning wheel on the door moved. Mother is home. She turned the wheel in unison and thus helped the woman make her entry. The airtight door opened and Mother stood there, a form totally covered in yellow biohazard suit. The girl unzipped the attachment at the neck and pulled it down. Mother pulled off her head gear-mask and shook her head, her magnificent mass of black curly hair falling to her back. She stepped out of the yellow biohazard suit and Rapunzel hung the suit in a see-through capsule attached to the bunker's wall. There was only one biohazard suit in the bunker. And she noticed that fact ever since she could remember. And she noticed how the suit never got worn out. Seventeen years had passed and Mother was still wearing the same suit.

"Oh, Rapunzel!" Mother's voice was deep and thick. She dumped a sack of provisions into the girl's arms.

"Hi, Mother!" The girl, Rapunzel greeted her mother.

"It must be exhausting having to turn that damn wheel every day for me."

"Oh, it's nothing, Mother," Rapunzel said.

"Then, I don't know why it took so long!" Mother grimaced at her. Rapunzel's face dropped. She didn't want Mother to feel upset after a tiring day outside.

"Oh, I'm just joking, darling! Why do you have to take everything so seriously?" Mother said and pinched her cheek. Rapunzel ignored Mother's theatrics and proceeded to empty the sack Mother brought home. Same old, same old canned sardine, canned peaches, canned spaghetti, canned beans. But she found a rarity - two red apples!

"How did you get these, Mother?"

"They managed to grow a new batch of crop and voila! The apples are ripe for the picking and it's just your luck that I managed to get two for you," Mother said cheerfully, in reaction to her daughter's expression of gratitude and awe.

"Does this mean that it is already safe for me to go outside?" Rapunzel popped the question. As sudden as a crash of thunder, Mother's cheerful expression turned dark. Rapunzel suddenly regret her question. She should have kept quiet! But she couldn't help it.

"NO!" Mother yelled. But as soon as it was let out, Mother seemed sorry. She moved towards her and held her shoulders.

"Do you know what happened to me today, child?"

Rapunzel didn't dare to say a word to that question.

"A man with six fingers on both his hands groped me in the Aid Centre! He said how beautiful I was and he wanted to be as perfect as I am!" Mother trembled as she reminded herself of the story. Rapunzel's eyes widened.

"The world isn't as terrible as it used to be. But the people affected by the nuclear fallout are coming out to the public. They were birthed by mothers who were carrying them during and after the fallout. They are terrible people. Poor them. It's not their fault, I know! But they're like monsters! Men with pointy teeth. Men who act like cannibals and savages just because they look like cannibals and savages. And if they know what you can do, they will take you."

"I can help these people get better, Mother. If that's what you mean."

"Oh, you're too naive, Rapunzel!" Mother wiped her forehead, as if she was about to faint.

"Do you think they will stand in line, in orderly fashion, to wait for you to wrap your mutated hair around them and cure them of their diseases?"

"Won't they?"

"No! They will take you and keep you for themselves. You'll be torn apart like a ragdoll in the hands of an evil child. They will imprison you and hurt you for your ability."

Mother ended her tirade with a hug. Rapunzel suspected that there is very little truth about what she had been feeding her for years and years. But a part of her wanted to believe Mother. Why would Mother lie to her if it isn't for her own good? Why would Mother want to lie to her at all? And to lie with a set up so elaborate while Mother could have continued living a normal life outside the bunker? What if what Mother said is true? What if all her hypotheses about the truth of the nuclear fallout was just because she felt that she is mature enough to go outside instead of it is SAFE enough to go outside. But she knew what it was. It was the things she saw from the television, of beautiful men in their straight form, their shoulders and their torsos linked together like a question mark. Their acts of touching their lips to the womenfolk's and giving them ecstasy. She wanted to know the truth of the world, nuclear holocaust or not, with her own eyes. And of course, about the hundreds of thousands of lights in the completely dark night sky. What are they? Will she ever be able to see them?

Mother slumped on a spinning chair, visibly upset, her hands holding the bridge of her nose. She looked older, more tired. Rapunzel pitied her, despite of the burning questions in her mind. Silently, she walked to Mother. And she closed her eyes as she concentrated her mind on a task. She was singing a song in her mind, a song of healing and restoration.

As she closed her eyes, her long blond hair, which was three times longer than the length of her body, began to move like snakes. The thick flow of hair draped itself upon Mother's shoulders and it began to glow like fluorescent light in the bunker's hallway. When she opened her eyes again, Mother was smiling and her mood improved greatly. Mother had regained her youthful and revitalised look.

"Oh Rapunzel, what will I do without you? You're special. Transferable regenerative ability isn't the best phrase to describe you. You're a miracle. An angel is disguise in this hellish, dark world," Mother said, hugging her.

That night, Rapunzel lay in bed. The glass ceiling above her was unhindered in sight. She could see the brightness of the night. But it was not from the natural satellite called the Moon. It was something else. The constant brightness at night that blotted out the stars. Mother called it the nuclear afterglow. Radiation. But she knew better. Nuclear radiation does not radiate. Nuclear radiation isn't about light. What she saw from the glass partition was not radiation because nuclear radiation cannot be seen with the naked eye. She knew what she saw was light. Light that continued radiating through the night that it blotted out the stars and the constellations immortalised in the World Book.

But she still didn't know why would Mother lie to her, if she was truly lying to her?

Postscript: I know what you must have been thinking. A Tangled sci-fi? That is a sure-fire fic-writing disaster. But this story will grow on you. CommanderNemo, thanks a lot, man!