Just as Kim handed the papers to her and she was glancing through them, a booming noise resounded through the acoustical tile. There were no windows in the classroom, the theory being that four solid walls cut down on the distractions to the pupils, and she chose to ignore the sound. “I can see by these papers that some of you have decided there are things more important than an education.” She was going to make it a bad scene. Each failure to perform was a personal affront to her as a teacher.
She had just begun to warm to the subject with, “Perhaps you need an extra half hour after school to finish your assignment,” when distant sirens started blaring. Shortly the buzzing of the school’s own bell was added to the racket.
Althea quickly sorted the sounds out in her mind. The classes were required by the state education code to undergo one full-scale fire drill each month, and one duck-and-cover drill each semester. This was the signal for the latter. But they had had their practice for the semester only last week.
“All right, children! Quickly! Under the desks!”
She knew that in the event of an extreme emergency, such as an earthquake, the students were to drop to the floor and crawl under their desks upon hearing the special bell. Instructions required that the same procedure be followed for other emergencies—duck down and get under the desks and stay under them until the clear bell was sounded. But this obviously was not because of the earthquake. That shaking had lasted briefly and ended several minutes ago.
The buzzing of the school bell continued after the sirens stopped. Her knees were beginning to ache and she wondered if the young students’ legs fell asleep, too. In another room this might have been fun for them, but not here. She refused to allow any breach of regulations.
Eventually the buzzer also quit. There was silence in the room.
The whole episode was disconcerting to the teacher. A clear bell hadn’t been sounded yet. Someone up there in that office hadn’t learned to do his job properly. The clear bell always had to ring otherwise they’d be expected to remain here under the desks. Not knowing exactly what to do, Althea crawled to the intercom phone hanging beside her desk and dialed the office. No answer.
But as the school's back up emergency power generation system kicked in the intercom came to life with words broadcasting that had a coldly sobering effect. She had not even been born in 1945, but she vividly recalled the documentaries on TV, and pictures she had seen in a college classroom.
Coughing away the choking feeling, she finally got to her feet and faced the class. For a moment she didn’t know what to say to them, how to explain. Finally, “Children, there is a deadly poison in the air. The White Water Nuclear Power Plant....has exploded. All its terrible invisible wastes are up in the air we breathe.” Slowly she sank into her chair. “We will never forget this day.” Althea sat there, immobile, with a vacant expression, as if her mind were elsewhere.
Young faces peered at each other from under the desks, perplexed by Althea. Then realizing that she had forgotten them, they slowly climbed into their seats and sat quietly before her—motionless—their young faces pale. Failing to understand the incident, but aware of its uniqueness, and sensing the graveness of the occasion, they waited patiently until their teacher returned the day to normal. But she couldn’t, and she wouldn’t, for as far as she was concerned, the children had ceased to exist.
Thirty minutes after the cloud of dust was spotted in the northwest, the citizens of San Mirado continued to discuss its cause and consequences. The public announcement issued from the van cruising the neighborhood was indistinctly heard by most of the listeners, and those who received the message clearly were confused as to precisely what action, if any, they should be taking.
At first the message was believed by many to be a terrible hoax. Others, who were willing to accept the report verbatim, were disinclined to follow the advice to vacate their homes and businesses in a headlong rush to safety. After all, how would they ever become re-united with spouses, who were away on their jobs, or with other relatives? And what would happen to a house or business that had been left by the owners? Past experience had proven that a weekend was sufficient opportunity for burglars to denude a place of its contents. No, the people of this town weren’t about to forsake their worldly possessions in a mad flight toward some obscure safety. In the average mind, if this emergency wasn’t war then there couldn’t be very much danger. Certainly nothing to get too upset about this early in the morning.
Safety at this point meant different things to different people, but very few believed it meant driving as far south as you could go with no destination.
Ever since Flo walked off mumbling about getting her boy Rickey from school, Paula had been considering the same idea. She was lifting the garage door by hand, in preparation for driving to the school when she saw her daughter running down the sidewalk.
“Mother! Mother!” screamed the child.
Paula waited until the child drew near. “Kim, what are you doing here? Have they let you out of school?”
The child’s blond hair was a mess of tangles, an observation which momentarily irritated the mother. “What’s happened to you? You look like you didn’t even comb that mop this morning,” admonished Paula, her own hair neatly coiffed.
“There was a duck-and-cover drill at school and we had to crawl under our desks,” answered the girl in short gasps. “Mother, did you hear about it? The poison? Miss Carr was acting so funny in class, Mother.”
“Slow down, Kimberly!”
“But Miss Carr was really weird! After the sirens stopped she told us that some terrible thing had let a lot of poison into the air and we’re breathing it now.” Her lips started quivering as she spoke. “Mother, is it true?”
“Kim, have you seen your brother? Do you know if he was let out?” asked Paula worriedly.
“Is it, Mother? Is it true?” The girl was starting to cry with big, colorless tears rolling down her cheeks.
Paula grabbed the child by her thin shoulders and roughly shook her. “I don’t know what’s going on! As soon as Jerry gets home we’re all going to sit right in that house until your daddy comes in. He’ll know what’s happening. Now, did you see Jerry anywhere around the grounds?”
Paula heard her son yelling as he came bounding across the street. A sophisticated ninth grader, he was enthusiastic over the unexpected freedom.
“Hey, Ma, our teacher said he didn’t know when we’d be having school again. Great, huh, Kim?” Seeing his sister’s red eyes and hearing her sniffles suddenly sapped some of the boy’s fervor.
“Hush, Jerry. I don’t want to hear another word from you until Frank gets home from work,” Paula commanded.
Now that her brood was together, she herded them inside the house. Pushing the two children toward a sofa she ordered them down as she sat across from them. The mother rarely lost patience with her children. In fact she usually took great delight in hearing her handsome, young son sound off. But not today. It was one of those days when everything seemed to be going wrong. Paula let her thoughts wander—maybe she should have stayed in bed that morning. Nothing had gone right, not since she had scorched Frank’s shirt collar ironing it before breakfast and he had been late leaving for work. Sighing, she looked over at the shattered window, and tried to think where they’d get the money to replace it. Slumped down, she brooded that the day had overtaken her.
Within the quarter hour the door burst open with a giant heave and Frank Waring stood in the middle of the room. His sudden appearance was a shock to the wife and children.
“Frank! Did you hear anything about...?”
“Paula, we’ve got to get away from here!” He was agitated and in great haste. “Come on!”
“Wait....Frank. What in the world is going on, anyway? Did they let you off from work or...?”
“Calmar has shut down, Paula. According to one of the execs we’re free to leave the plant. Right now we’ve got to worry about saving our hides and getting the hell
out of here!”
Frank Waring had known Cecil Yeager only remotely since the first day of his employment at the chemical plant, but since Yeager had said this was dangerous business, then it was. No matter how others might spurn the chemist’s admonitions, Frank respected his intelligence.
He was about to speak again when Flo burst in the door behind him. She was obviously upset and her husband Harry was trailing concernedly behind. Immediately she started to speak. “Oh, Paula, Frank....we can’t find Rickey!”
Harry tried putting his arm around his wife but she brushed him off. He frowned, his brow wrinkling as she turned to the Warings.
“I knew it was a mistake to have given Rickey the motorbike. I argued and argued with Harry. He’s too young to handle a machine at his age, and now he hasn’t come home from school!”
Harry stepped up softly behind her. “I tell you, Sugar, there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be home soon.”
Flo shrugged helplessly, looking at Paula. “Your children were home long ago. Weren’t they all let out together? The school couldn’t tell me anything.”
Jerry pulled himself up from the sofa where he was sitting with his sister. “I saw Rickey and Lesley White on his bike, Mrs. Winton.”
Flo turned to the boy. “Do you know where they were going, Jerry?”
“Yes ma’am. Rickey said they were going all the way up to White Water to see what had happened.”
Frank gasped. “White Water. Jerry, why didn’t you say something about this sooner?”
“Well, gee...I don’t know.”
“Oh Jesus,” moaned Flo. “Harry, we’ve got to go up there and get him.”
Frank reached out toward his friends. “Now wait....you can’t go up there! That whole area is hot with radiation!”
Harry peered around Flo to speak to Frank. “I don’t think it’s that bad. Sure, maybe there’s some radiation but not all that much.”
Frank stepped up closer to Harry and spoke softly. “Listen. It’s suicide for you to go north. Hell, man, it’s suicide for us to be right here.”
Harry shook his head. “Aw now, Frank, it could be worse.” Grabbing Flo and shoving her toward the door, he said over his shoulder, “Don’t worry so much about all this bullshit. We’ll get in the car and go find Rickey. Everybody’s in an uproar over this thing but I tell you it’s just not that serious.”
Paula watched her neighbors leave and then turned, confused, to Frank.
“Get some stuff together and let’s go!” he said to his wife.
“Where, Frank? We can’t just get in the car and start driving. Where are we going?” asked Paula.
“East—to Arizona,” he answered.
Paula didn’t oppose Frank’s decisions, at least not often. But this seemed senseless to her. “What about the house? It’ll be stripped of every solitary thing we own,” she protested.
“Look, woman, we may not ever come back to this house. We may never see it again. And if we don’t, it won’t make a damned bit of difference to us if everything is stolen.”
“Frank, we’ve spent years making just the home we always wanted. Now you’re ready to throw it all aside and run screaming because of some rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor, Paula! Less than one hour ago a nuclear reactor went up in dust—and it’s not but a few miles from us. If we hang around here, we’re going to be dead ducks!”
Paula hesitated over the statement then looked at the children who had become alarmed at their father’s words. Kim’s face was stained with a fresh onslaught of tears. She moved over to comfort the girl.
“Frank, are you sure it’s dangerous? I don’t see how this could happen. Harry doesn’t think it’s serious.”
“So what! I’m not going to stand here arguing with you any longer, Paula. I’m leaving and the kids are going with me. If you want to stay to protect your possessions, then that’s your choice. But it’s a damned foolish one, I’ll tell you that!”
“We don’t even have any cash in the house,” she replied sullenly. “How far do you think we’ll go without money?”
That was a fact Frank had not considered and it stopped him momentarily. “All right,” he answered shortly, “we’ll go by the bank and draw out what we’ve got in there. But get in gear, for Christ’s sake, Paula. We’re wasting precious time!”
“What’ll we take?” his wife asked.
“I don’t know, for crying out loud. Just grab some stuff. Some clothes. But hurry!”
Frank left them to their own as he rapidly selected a couple items he wished to take along. The M-1 carbine was illegal to have, but law or not, the wartime souvenir was picked up. Filling his pockets with the long, pointed bullets he re-entered the kitchen to help his wife.
And there she was. The ancient tea set that her grandmother had given her was sitting beside the door. A black Persian Paw stole, in its bug-proofed bag, was parked next to the silver pieces.
“Frank, I need you to carry this to the car,” Paula said. “Be careful and don’t drop it, it’s an antique.” With that she extended the old, hand-carved clock that had sat in the center of the mantle.
Frank glared at her. “You’re unreal, Paula. I’m worried about saving our lives and you’re dragging out every broken down piece of junk in this house. We’re not taking any of it!”
She scowled at him and clutched the clock close to her.
Snatching up the tea service in exasperation he stalked outside and threw it into the trunk. “Let’s go!” he shouted.
They tumbled into the car, Paula delaying until she was positive the door was securely locked.
Frank was a masterful driver. He whipped the vehicle into the street and had crossed the two blocks to stop in front of the bank before his family had settled down and fastened their seat belts.
He dashed from the car to the yellow stucco building of the only local bank in San Mirado, a small business with no branches. Because it was local it was popular. But in a flash he was back. “God! Wouldn’t you know it! They’ve closed up the damned place! There's no people there and no electricity so the ATM doesn't work.” He threw his body into the seat.
“Daddy, can’t you write checks in Arizona?” Kim asked.
He threw a disgusted look at Paula. “And who would be in this bank to honor the checks, huh?
Chapter Five
After the students had been dismissed, Althea Carr began her own preparations to leave. The school administration had released the students prematurely—she thought in fact the manner in which the school day abruptly ended had reflected disorganization on the part of the staff. The children should have been kept in the classrooms until it was deemed safe to let them go, or until their parents were notified to pick them up. But then, she was simply a teacher, not an administrator, nor a maker of decisions regarding emergency policy. She was frankly amazed at the lack of established procedure. The school had numerous instructions on what to do in case of fire or earthquake—just as there were instructions regarding a high ozone count in the smog—but nothing existed within the school which outlined the procedure for this sort of crisis.
Although she had cautioned her pupils to run straight home and not tarry along the way, she wondered how many of them got the message and did her bidding, or were even so instructed by other teachers. At this moment the children could be loafing in the open air, observing the huge, dusky cloud which was still forming overhead.
Althea Carr was in her thirty-fifth year and had already learned a lot about life; enough at least to put priorities in proper perspective. She was one of a minority, in her native California, and had been born and raised in Los Angeles. Her parents lived there still, and that was her destination—big, sprawling L.A.
A meticulous woman, Althea smoothed her hair back, fastening a loose strand in her chignon. Her brows were plucked in arches, and the pale lipstick—her only make-up—blended with the tailored dress to define an image of a serious woman. Without looking she knew she was in or
der....now. After that first message of the disaster, she’d almost lost control, momentarily at least, but now she had her nerves calmed and her emotions restrained.
With a last glance around the room, she picked up the batch of homework papers and placed them neatly in a manila folder. She had them tucked securely in the crook of her arm and was reaching for her handbag when she realized what she’d done. She dropped the folder on her desk. There was no need to grade those papers.
There were two cars left on the lot as she hastened to her coupe. Fastening the doors tightly and locking them, a habit she’d developed years ago because of driving alone, she guided the vehicle under the freeway and then onto it, traveling north.
Under optimum conditions the trip from San Mirado to her parents’ home 70 miles away in Los Angeles was a good hour’s drive. But these weren’t optimum conditions today. The near absence of traffic coming from the Whitewater direction told her that the horrors of the disaster lay visible on the route and all traffic was detouring that area. A few cars still cruised northward in the direction of White Water and Los Angeles. Was it possible that these people had not yet heard the word? A shudder raced down her body at the thought of what would be found should she travel past the site. Should she do that....go by to see what had happened? But the impulse to satisfy a morbid curiosity was extremely weak, and she turned the car onto an off-ramp and headed due east for several miles, leaving the coast behind.
When next Althea entered the freeway system, her lanes of the freeway were empty. The lanes with traffic moving in the opposite direction were packed. People were pouring out of Los Angeles panicked, unaware they were also headed toward White Water. She mashed the gas pedal to the floor and grasped the steering wheel tightly, as if to steel herself to enter the city that everyone else was deserting.
In the lanes approaching Althea, cars were moving at a slow creep, almost pushing each other. The heat from the blacktop, the honking of the horns, was unnerving to these other drivers. All it would take would be one irrational person to convert a traffic jam into a free-for-all.
The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) Page 6
