The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (14 page)

She hadn
’
t learned to share the Californians
’
inordinate calmness about earthquakes. Every tremor, no matter how inconsequential, sent a wave of fear through her—as had the one this morning. When Ben was with her it wasn
’
t so bad. He
’
d laugh and hold her close until the shaking ended. But today she
’
d been alone, writing a piece for his alumni newsletter, when the earth began shifting. She
’
d forced herself to remain at her writing table through the ordeal. And it had ceased shortly.

Then, being too unnerved to continue, she had gone onto the patio and gazed out at the Pacific. It was a windless morning; the ocean was glassy calm. In all, the thick haze and stillness seemed to cast an ominous note over the day. The air had grown depressively heavy, she
’
d observed, and was about to return to the inside when the loud boom rocketed off the canyon walls below the house. At that sound an icy shiver had run the length of her body, raising goose bumps in her skin.

How had she known? Was there some mystical, other sense that flashed the warning to her? She was no believer in mystical powers and yet, as soon as the thundering racket had sounded, she somehow had sensed that this was the culmination of her most dreaded fear, that the sound was somehow connected with White Water. She had immediately run to the telephone and dialed the facility. For the first time, ever, the call did not go through. Then she knew.

It had taken her less than five minutes to confirm the awful truth. A helicopter unit patrolling freeway traffic had witnessed the destruction of the plant—the news was broadcast immediately by emergency frequency.  Then units were dispatched to broadcast from loudspeakers before they abandoned the task and the drivers fled the area as best they could.  The lack of electricity downed the  cell phone towers and internet servers.

Distraught and believing Ben could never have escaped, Sara had thrown herself onto their bed and wept until there were no more tears to come. She had gone through the remainder of the day much like a zombie. With no one to talk to, and the media broadcasting down, she had avoided considering what was to become of her....until the gardener, the thief, had slid surreptitiously into the house.

The shower stall opened and Ben stepped out. His cuts had turned pink and were curled at the edges; his skin was wrinkled and logged with water. With the grime removed, a deep red imprint of his dark necktie was embossed down the length of his chest. The pattern of his belt buckle was burned into his abdomen. Radiation damage was grossly evident.

“
Ben?
”
asked Sara, shaken.
“
Is it all right for me to touch you now?
”

Ben shook his head from side to side.
“
I don
’
t think so.
”
He dragged himself into the bedroom and gingerly lowered himself onto the bed.
“
It
’
s best if you don
’
t—for your own sake.
”

She hastened to him.
“
Don
’
t you think we ought to try to get you to a hospital?
”

He stared at her for a long moment before replying, slowly,
“
Morning will be soon enough, Sara. There
’
s no rush now. What
’
s a broken arm in comparison with the other?
”
He hesitated.
“
What
’
s it been like since the reactor blew?
”

She sat down near him, holding out a glass of juice she had prepared earlier.
“
Terrible.
”
Then she started telling him the story as she held the glass to his lips.

“
None of the stations from Los Angeles are broadcasting?
”
he asked, refusing more than a sip of juice and weakly stretching out on the coverlet.

“
No. But with no electricity we can't even get the distant ones. Everything I
’
ve learned has come from a van broadcasting over a loud speaker.
”

“
Are they giving instructions for evacuation?
”
he asked.

She nodded in assent.
“
But we can
’
t leave here, Ben. We
’
ve got to get you to a hospital.
”

Ben lay quietly on the bed.
“
You will have to leave here, Sara... without me.
”

She reacted instinctively.
“
No! I
’
m not going to leave you.
”
She reached out and wiped a wisp of dark hair off his forehead.
“
I
’
ll never understand how you could have possibly survived the....that force that destroyed the plant.
”

He was growing weaker as he answered,
“
Luck.. it was luck. Or no, maybe a miracle....I was blown between two retaining walls. They protected me.
”

“
But you
’
ve returned to me and that
’
s all that matters,
”
Sara said, reaching out to him, wanting to touch him.

“
Sara, for your own welfare, and the baby
’
s, you
’
ll have to leave here, get out of this. For me, it
’
s....there
’
s not much chance.
”

“
I
’
m not leaving, Ben. I
’
m staying with you,
”
she said, almost crying. Should she rely on his judgment as she had in the past? Was tomorrow soon enough to get him to a hospital? His eyes closed, a signal that the talk was ended.

Getting up quietly, Sara left the room and began to search for the first-aid supplies. She was able to collect only a pitifully small stock—several band aids, numerous cotton balls from her cosmetics table, and a nearly empty bottle of alcohol. There wasn
’
t enough even to afford minimal dressing of Ben
’
s wounds, nevertheless she returned to him and gently began bathing the raw cuts with the alcohol. He didn
’
t flinch, even as the astringent met the open flesh—a sure sign that he
’
d been overcome with utter fatigue, perhaps shock.

To Sara, Ben seemed on the brink of death, stretched as he was along the length of the bed, his normally tanned skin angry and red. The terrible fear she
’
d had of losing him, and the idea that his presence now was only a brief reprieve, weighed like a stone on her. And it was only this very morning that she had complained about getting something meaningful from those meetings with her sorority. How dense of her. The meaning to her life was this man on the bed.

Outside, night had fallen over the land. Inside, the flickering of the one small candle lent an eerie glow to the sickroom. Sara blew out its soft light and sat there in the darkness. Fighting away her tears, she whispered,
“
God may separate us, Ben, but I shall never.
”

She could hear the thrashing of his body. His restless, tormented sleep was a reflection of the horror and pain of the previous day. Unable to bear the whimpers that rose from her husband, Sara leaned over and tenderly laid her hand across his brow. It was feverishly hot.

She awakened him as she placed a cool wet towel over his forehead. There was no ice, but the coolness of the moisture caressed him, sapping the heat from his body. Soon he was calmer. The towel quickly dried, and Sara was replenishing the moisture from the basin when she heard his retching begin.

There was nothing in his stomach to mix with the juice he
’
d swallowed earlier, but the retching continued—long after the last bit of fluid came up. The convulsions racked his body, each spasm taking its toll in energy. He was growing more feeble. Between regurgitations Sara poured more water down his throat. She knew the vomiting had to be controlled. This must be the earliest symptom of the radiation poisoning; he
’
d need all his energy to combat the later symptoms that would arise. As time dragged slowly on, the vomiting subsided and Ben
’
s fever began to drop.

His condition soon became critical in the other extreme. As the fever disappeared, Ben
’
s normal body temperature also began to drop, until shortly he was radiating more heat than his body could safely lose. He started to shiver. The rigors coursed along his trunk, his limbs; even his head began to quiver. His skin became cold and clammy.

Sara hastily covered him with blankets, yet his shuddering became even more uncontrolled. She piled on more blankets but the violence of his shaking seemed to increase, again, as the blankets weighed on his lacerated flesh.

Desperate, she whipped the thick layers away from his body and stretched herself alongside him, pressing close to warm him. Then she spread coverlets over the two of them. They stayed, entwined, until the first streaks of dawn crept into the room.
 

     During the long night, Sara had stayed awake, a living barometer recording the changes that were occurring within her husband. As he had grown warmer, she had moved away, allowing the coolness of the air to soothe him. When he
’
d become too cool, she had snuggled in closer, sharing the heat of her body with him. He had unaccountably lived through the night. Would he make it through another?

At some point during this time Sara
’
s fears and apprehensions had become determination. For once she, Sara Harrington, had full responsibility for another person. She felt that responsibility acutely. Ben
’
s condition would guide her through these next days. His life—or his death—would in all probability depend on her actions.

“
Ben,
”
she whispered,
“
we
’
ve got to get you to the car.
”

He seemed to comprehend for he stirred in a movement of rising. There was no registration of the pain that accosted him— his defense system had blocked the sense receptors of his nerves. He was in shock.

Supporting the greater portion of his weight, Sara moved him off the bed, out of the room, and toward the door. The gardener
’
s corpse, white in death, lay sprawled in the foyer, the side of its temple a mass of dried blood. She led them carefully around it.

Ordinarily the drive to the nearest hospital took at least fifteen minutes. Today it was much less. There were no traffic lights to observe, no traffic, in fact. There were no pedestrians attempting the crosswalks. The thoroughfare was empty of human life. Sara was mystified at the absence of people. Had they all evacuated? Had she been in the proximity of the freeways, she
’
d have seen the evacuees
’
vehicles inching forward at a snail
’
s pace, bumper to bumper as the occupants
’
tempers grew shorter with the snarl of traffic. Everyone with a means of traveling and gasoline had already left.

Sara steered the car into the emergency entrance of the hospital. There were no personnel in sight. No ambulances, no sign of life. The facility looked as dead as the corpse in her foyer.

Quelling the thought that even the medical personnel had evacuated, Sara jumped from her car and ran to the double doors at the emergency entrance. Her shove against them was met with resistance; the doors were locked. Clenching her fists, she pounded on them, calling out in a loud voice. For a moment it seemed there really was no one inside, then abruptly a face appeared through the tiny window to stare at her.

“
What do you want?
”
inquired the mouth.

“
Help!
”
she yelled back.
“
My husband needs help. Open the door!
”

“
What
’
s wrong with him?
”
asked the face.

What difference did it make, Sara was thinking.
“
He was at White Water yesterday morning during the explosion. He is terribly sick and needs medical attention!
”

“
I
’
m sorry, lady, but we
’
re locked up.
”