The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (26 page)

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.

A slight flickering of his eyelids brought her attention to him.
“
Can you hear me, Ben? Ben, are you all right?
”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

She bathed his body with wet towels once more. God, how she wanted to cry, to lean forward and bawl her heart out. Instead she kept bathing him. The aspirin she
’
d fed into him wasn
’
t doing an adequate job of holding his fever down. What had she read about constant high body temperatures and their results? She couldn
’
t recall.

“
You did fine, honey,
”
he murmured weakly.

She was startled by the unexpected sound of his voice.
“
Ben, are you all right? Lord, I thought I
’
d killed you.
”

He barely nodded in response.

“
Listen, I
’
m going to fix you something to eat. Food will give you strength. Will you be okay while I
’
m gone?
”