The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

asked. “I assume there’s no electricity in here.”
    “In case of atomic attack, electricity will not be functioning,” Veronica said. “We are relying on battery-powered lights. Because of the limited ventilation, we can’t use lanterns that burn fuel. They give off noxious fumes.”
    “So you need a lot of batteries,” someone said.
    Veronica shone her light on a box that was labeled “BATTERIES” in black crayon on the side. It was an impressive setup. She had answers for everything. Well, there were a few unanswered questions, such as how six people could get along together for two weeks in this cramped space without killing one another, especially since the lights would have to be turned off most of the time to save batteries. And how you would know when it was safe to venture outside. And what would you do if you were the only survivors in this part of the world?
    “How do you communicate with the outside world?” Ed asked, before I had a chance to.
    “We’ve ordered a special radio that should work when we hold it near the ventilation opening. And we can send up an antenna. We expect to receive it within a couple of weeks.”
    A few minutes were all that most of us could stand being inside the shelter. We soon filed out, and Veronica closed the door. She locked the padlock and said, “Did anybody see what happened to the key? I thought I left it in the lock.”
    Nobody answered, and she said, “That’s okay. It will turn up. And we have another one in the house.”
    ***
    It was fun to hobnob with students who were smarter than average. I found myself having animated conversations with a number of boys and girls. Time passed swiftly, and before I knew it, most of the people had left, including Dr. Graves and Barney. Only a few of us remained, in a small group, which included our hostess, Veronica.
    Veronica’s mother called to her from the house. Veronica said, “I have to go. We’re driving to Canada tonight, and we’re about to leave. I guess the party’s over.”
    We said our thank-yous and good-byes and headed for our cars. Ed and I got into my car, and we drove away.
    We had gone about ten miles when Ed said, “Shit. I left my jacket there.”
    “Your jacket?” I glanced at him. He was wearing a sweater, just as he had been most of the day. I did vaguely remember that he had started out with a jacket.
    “I took it off when it warmed up this afternoon. It’s sitting on one of the tables. Can we go back and get it?”
    I wasn’t particularly anxious to add twenty miles to the trip, especially since it was approaching late afternoon, but I didn’t see any alternative. If the jacket hadn’t already been picked up, it would sit there at least until Veronica’s family came back tomorrow evening. Or it might be stolen, and Ed couldn’t afford that.
    I reluctantly turned the car around and headed back to the estate. When we arrived fifteen minutes later, everybody had left, including Veronica and her family. There were no cars in sight. I stopped the car in the long, circular driveway, intending to wait while Ed went and retrieved his jacket.
    “Come with me,” he said. “In case I have to look for it.”
    Ed was beginning to get on my nerves, but I turned off the engine and got out of the car. I followed him down the sloping lawn toward the picnic tables and the bomb shelter. The jacket was right where he had predicted it would be, sitting on the bench seat of one of the tables. I was relieved. I’d still get back to the farm in time for dinner.
    Ed put on the jacket and wandered over to the door of the bomb shelter. He had his back to me, but he appeared to be fiddling with the door.
    “Come on,” I said, walking over to him. “We’ve got to get going.”
    “Look,” he said. “It’s unlocked.”
    He pushed against the door of the shelter, and it swung inward. I distinctly remembered that Veronica had locked it when we came out. What the hell was going on? Ed disappeared into the shelter. I was getting really irritated. I had to retrieve him and get on the road. I went to the doorway of the shelter and peered inside, but I didn’t see him in the dark.
    “Ed,” I called. No response. I walked into the shelter, trying to adjust my eyes to the dim light that was coming through the doorway. I didn’t see him immediately, so I walked a few feet farther inside and called his name again.
    There was a noise behind me. I turned around to see Ed coming out from behind the