The body lay stiffly in the entrance. The question was where to grab it. Not the arms. She couldn’t bear to touch it. Settling on the shoes, she grasped one in each hand and began to pull.
It was heavy. She’d never known whether Ben had recognized this man or not. Not that it mattered now. The gardener was dead. Would the authorities have construed the gardener’s death to have been murder? Or merely self-defense? But then, Sara wasn’t really bothered by the legal or moral issues. These were exceptional circumstances.
Dragging the weighty, lifeless form along, she finally had it out of the house and onto the rear lawn. What to do with it? California houses had garages but not basements. Finding the right spot to store a dead person was a problem. Police would undoubtedly want to claim the body—eventually. Meanwhile, though, it had to be put out of sight.
Sara found plastic drop cloths which had been used by the painters and folded them over the form. Then bending down, she began rolling it first one way and then the other, until she had it neatly encased in the sheeting. Satisfied at last, she left the gardener’s body securely wrapped and reposing in a far corner of the lawn.
When next she entered Ben’s room, she was carrying broth and juice. Against his protests, she gently fed him the nourishment.
Then he dropped into a light sleep.
Sara found the tiny black radio that ran on batteries and carried it into the den before switching it on. She heard the last of the running broadcast on radiation “...can not be seen nor felt. These invisible particles travel at varying rates of speed and that speed determines how far the rays can penetrate into your body. But the dangers are not solely in the rays going through the skin to the organs; eventual damage will show up on the skin itself. These particles will stick to plant life. Do not, repeat, do not eat vegetables that are now growing outside! They are contaminated. Do not, repeat, do not drink fluids that have been exposed to the atmosphere! Above all, people, you risk contamination by your presence in the area. Going outside your house results in irradiation of your body. If you remain in the area, stay as far removed from the outside as possible. If you plan to evacuate, you must do so as quickly as possible. Major routes believed still open to outgoing traffic are....” Sara shut it off.
Her annoyance began to surface as she thought of the broadcast. God, the fools didn’t tell you that hiding in the bedroom wasn’t going to shield you from the intense rays. Those rays were unavoidable in any chamber short of the old, thick-walled concrete fallout shelters which no longer existed. There was no safe place while the radioactive materials releasing radiation were hanging overhead. They were all exposed by now—some to lesser degrees than others—but every single person within the reach of radioactive dust had begun receiving dosages at 8:46 a.m. on the morning of the accident. It would continue until the poison had blown away or decayed.
She couldn’t know how her area was affected. Being seventy miles north, perhaps it would escape the heavy dust. Nevertheless, Sara was incensed that the citizens weren’t being told the truth. Maybe that was politics. Or ignorance. Whichever the case, the public never seemed to be given the facts. Had they really known, would the people have accepted theory and gambled on the impossible odds that there’d never be a major accident in a nuclear reactor? Would they have allowed the plant to be constructed regardless? But of course the public’s view—informed or not—was rarely heard. Or, if it was, it too often was ignored. Whether from lack of knowledge or overpowered by utility forces, the people had giant nuclear reactors sitting on their doorsteps now. Each one was a potential cataclysm, awaiting a moment of human error or machinery malfunction. Which had White Water been, she wondered.
“Sara?” His call was weak, almost a whisper.
“Yes, Ben,” answered Sara, rushing to him. “What is it, darling?”
“I wanted to see you—wanted you here.”
His forehead felt abnormally warm to her fingertips again.
“Are you feeling all right?” Ben asked feebly.
“Yes.” She placed the wet towel on his brow. “Ben,” she asked hesitantly, “what happened at the plant?”
For several minutes he didn’t respond. She feared that she had asked the wrong question.
At last he said, “I don’t know, Sara.” He recalled that Mike had believed he had accidentally caused the controls to be retracted during the shuffle of the earthquake a few minutes before the explosion, but he saw no need to admit this to Sara. It was only a week or so ago that he’d remarked to his wife that possible human errors had been eliminated by recent technological improvements on reactors. Knowing the fears she had for his personal safety around the reactor, he’d continually reassured her, always attempting to allay those fears.
“Ben, you’ve always insisted that an explosion simply could not occur in a reactor. You’ve said every authority in the field holds that belief,” she reminded him. “You must have some notion about what went wrong.”
He lay there in the bed, listening as she probed for an explanation. Weakened by the pain and fever, he could not satisfy her curiosity—for he had no answers. In his exhaustion, he could only close his eyes and reply from his inner darkness, “I just don’t know, Sara. It all happened so fast that I hadn’t time to think about it.”
She bathed the swollen tender skin, the tissues now festering with a seeping yellow fluid as it drained away from his battered ear. “I don’t understand it,” she persisted. “After the assurances that the plant was perfectly safe, how could this have happened? Was that a ploy to keep opponents of nuclear energy plants silent? After all, nobody in his right mind would want a reactor near him if there was the remotest chance it would someday destroy itself.”
“Sara,” he answered softly, “I honestly don’t think anybody ever expected one to explode—not in a million years.”
She sighed at the futility, “But wouldn’t someone surely have questioned that likelihood? My God, with all the brilliant scientists in this world, you’d think someone would have foreseen this.”
The conversation was taking its toll on the man, but her desire to know and to understand was gnawing at her. Ben, even in his infirmity, was asking himself the same questions, searching for answers. He had often wondered what those pilots of the large commercial birds thought when they realized they were going to crash. They had believed in their craft—they continually staked their lives on them. What went through their minds when, in a moment of malfunction, they saw themselves heading toward certain death? Ben thought he knew.
He weakly lifted his hand to Sara. “It’s natural to be...confused...we should have been..... prepared, somehow.”
She placed her lips against his bony fingers and murmured, “Well, it’s unfortunate, but it can’t be changed now. We have to live with it, don’t we?”
Los Angeles is a mushrooming giant among American cities. It sends its branching hyphae far south into Orange County, eastward toward San Bernadino and north to Santa Barbara. Thus, metropolitan Los Angeles with its eighty-eight satellite cities and several unincorporated areas encompassed a sizeable portion of the almost forty million residents of the state.
By noon of the day following the devastation of White Water Nuclear Power Plant, the news had thoroughly permeated the densely populated region. Unknown by the residents of the area was that the possibility of a major nuclear reactor accident had seemed so remote, so unlikely to ever occur, that there had been no plans formulated to meet such an emergency. By this hour the fact of total unpreparedness was apparent to all—to every woman, child, and man. No single agency—local, state, federal, or otherwise—had been designated to take charge in the event of a catastrophe of this magnitude.
What was the magnitude? The nuclear fuel which fed the reactor had been cleaned over seventeen months ago. In the ensuing period long-lived radioactivity had accumulated inside the reactor, every particle of which was released at the moment of the accident. The exact amount was impossible to measure; however, it was
possible that the eight hundred megawatt unit had spewed forth as much radiation as fifty bombs the size of that dropped on Hiroshima. The radioactive dust was now in the atmosphere, waiting to settle out. The environment that received this fallout material would be contaminated with heavy doses of radiation—people, livestock, drinking water, plants, every living and inanimate object.
In addition, a large amount of radioactive materials had melted through the floor of the plant in a liquid form. These would sink hundreds of feet into the earth releasing radioactive gases, much of which would also escape into the atmosphere, adding more lethal potential to the fallout clouds above.
The scattering of scientists combing the area fringes with Geiger counters were recording extremely high readings, much beyond the maximum limits of safety and well into the lethal range. Compounding the problem was the presence of a weather condition which tended to stall the radiation in one place. Without winds, the radiation would not be dispersed.
As a consequence, the southwestern U.S. would receive sufficient radiation to become contaminated. Crops in the fields would be useless as food. People in immediate and nearby regions had reason for rapid evacuation, provided there was someplace for them to go and someone who would be willing to accept the radiation victims. Of the half million who were heavily exposed, over a thousand would die of the direct effect of radiation. Of the remainder, many would develop long-term effects that would gradually be evidenced in increased rates of various cancers and genetic aberrations in generations to come.
Within twenty-seven hours the populace had acclimated its thinking toward one common goal—survival.
Nobody tended shop, made food deliveries, or printed newspapers. Commercial and home utilities were discontinued for lack of supervision. Water still ran through the pipes. However, since the area received its water from open reservoirs it had fast become polluted. Fire stations failed to respond to fires, policemen considered their own personal safety over completion of assigned patrols.
The citizenry was beginning to panic. Fear of insufficient food supplies drove them to plundering the markets. Unable and unwilling to keep their employees on the premises, large supermarkets had their doors barred and managers took refuge with their families.
Food is a major necessity and it was for food and medical supplies that Sara Harrington was torn away from her husband’s bedside.
The huge building now had little left of its glass front since frightened mobs of looters had literally kicked their way in. The giant market was still being ransacked as looters propelled themselves forcefully, leaving pain and suffering in their wake. When reduced to basics, individuals become snarling, snappish animals, deadly in their pursuit. Being greedy in their fear, they stripped the products from the shelves, leaving nothing behind.
It took great strength and will to join the melee, but join she did. Sara steered in the direction of the medical supplies and began filling a bag with those objects she wanted. Working quickly, she moved through the aisles, never pausing to select, but reached out and grasped any recognizable foodstuff. Getting jostled and shoved, she lost her footing and ended up piled on the floor. The paper bag split, letting her collection roll out into the aisle. Spectators dived into the assortment and by the time she was back on her feet, the only item she’d salvaged was a box of gauze bandages. Furious, she began pushing her way through the mob once more when a fist closed on her bandages and pulled them from her grip.
The place was being wrecked, and the people took their own share of abuse. An elderly gentleman bent over to retrieve a package and was shoved from behind. His prostrate body was kicked, stamped, then discarded by the mass of pumping legs.
From her position Sara could see the old fellow slide his hand from under his face in an attempt to regain support, and at that instant a thick leather heel came down on his fingers. She heard him moan but saw the futility of trying to fight her way to help him.
A brawl had broken out behind the meat counter. The antagonists each wanted the last hind-quarter of beef as it hung suspended from its rack. Both were husky men, and there was a steady rain of dull thuds as fists met flesh, inflicting raw bruises. The two were evenly matched until one fastened his hand around the handle of a meat cleaver. Sara saw the glint of steel as the ax was hefted high in the air. She shielded her eyes to the downswing. When she again looked, the victor was hoisting the meat to his shoulder. A hind quarter of beef weighs more than the average man can easily handle, but this mighty ant was moving off with his winnings as though it was a cargo of fluffy cotton across his shoulder. He left a trail of bloody footprints behind.
Cartons of food lay about the floor, their sides crushed and contents spilling out. Arms heavily burdened by the weight of booty made last efforts to pile on one additional prize before leaving. What couldn’t be carried was often mashed and stamped on the floor. Sara remembered the hose at the gas station, gushing its precious fluid onto the tarmac.
Returning to her task, Sara worked in feverish haste to collect items she needed. Quickly she laid claim to an arm-load of supplies. Cautiously she then wove a path toward the exit. En route she lost several items she’d chosen but finally she made it to the outside and experienced momentary relief to be free of the mob. She glanced at her booty and felt fortunate to have made it out of the building with anything.
Not everyone shared an unreasonable contempt for danger. Some were plainly too panic stricken to force themselves into the wild-eyed mob. Denying their desire to participate in the loot-taking, they stood on the sidewalk watching, then dejectedly walked away.
The building was fast being picked clean. its once full shelves were now the glistening ribs of a fallen animal. Nothing had been spared. Cosmetics, automotive supplies, paper goods—these went as quickly as food.
Sara viewed the sight in amazement. By what manner of reasoning would people select spark plugs and face cream over food? What sort of loss did this represent to the owners? The loss mattered little to her, she decided. Her complete occupation was to see that Ben was cared for as best she knew how. Anything less was beyond her concern.
Noises from somewhere within the house kept urging Ben’s brain to awareness. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since Sara had left his side. He could feel himself slipping into blackness again. Struggle as he might, he couldn’t seem to avoid it. It was a frightful thing, this sliding into the depths. It carried him closer to death. He began counting to delay the inevitable sleep. The numbers came out of sequence. He started over with number one, and again the numbers spilled out in disorder.
“Ben?” Sara whispered, caressing his hand.
“Sara?” She had returned. She would help him think clearly.
“Yes, darling, I’m back.” She touched his forehead, fearing the heat.
“My arm—Sara, we have to do something.”
The limb looked like a log in its grotesqueness. The fractured bones were excruciatingly painful to the flesh....his fingers tumescent sausages protruding from the palm.
“We’ve got to splint it,” he gasped.
Sara blanched. She had expected this but had hoped, even so, that help would come before it was necessary. Steeling herself she left the room to make preparations. When she had collected her materials and convinced herself she was ready, she put the two slender boards and the strips of sheeting on the foot of the bed. She gently took the thick helpless fingers, taut enough to burst, in her own hand. She earnestly forced herself to put away her fear and loathing. She had no choice. He had only her.
He had been watching her closely. “Don’t worry about the pain, Hon.” His attempt to reassure his wife resulted in a dismal failure as his pale lips began to quiver. The wan, weak smile he intended was aborted.
Strengthening her clutch on his hand she slowly and steadily began to pull the limb straight.
“Oh God, Sara,” he panted. “Do it fast! Please!”
Commanding every thread of courage in her body, Sara
firmly and quickly lengthened the crooked arm.
“Aeeeiiii!” he screamed as the bones slipped into place.
Whether real or imagined, she heard the jagged ends of the shafts being realigned within the hot flesh. A wave of revulsion shot up her throat.
Ben succumbed to the pain. He lay there without feeling, unconscious and oblivious to the hurt. Huge beads of perspiration rolled steadily off him.
It took a moment for Sara to acquire composure to finish. God how she ached for him! While he was unaware was the best time for completing her task, and with the boards in position she started wrapping the cloth clumsily around the arm.
As a child she’d never played nurse as her little friends had. She’d always had an aversion to medicine, to doctors, to shots. She detested pain and had been a very cranky patient during her one major illness. Now, suddenly, she was faced with the possibility of doing just the wrong things for Ben’s comfort—ministrations that would be harmful and damaging to him. How long would it be before the rest of the nation realized the inhumanity of these conditions and sent rescue squads in? For the first time in her life she was solely responsible not only for her own welfare but for that of a mutilated, helpless man—her husband—and the odds were against her succeeding.
As Sara kept her vigil the hours passed into late afternoon. She was disturbed that he had not come out of the faint. Was this abnormal? Was he suffering? There had been brief periods when he seemed on the verge of awakening, but then he would relapse into the deep sleep.
The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) Page 15
