The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (30 page)

“
Dinner. Din-din. You
’
ll have din with me tonight.
”

Of course. The man was a nut—a screwball. Had he escaped from some institution, she wondered.
“
Uh, uh,
”
she gasped in a low stammer, an affliction that haunted her whenever she was overly tense or alarmed, but normally controlled well.
“
Perhaps you should stop right here. I
’
ll walk the rest of the distance.
”

Instead of halting, he accelerated.
“
Oh yes,
”
he said soothingly,
“
you
’
ll like having dinner with me. First I
’
ll take you to that place—where was that place, again?
”
he asked, twisting his face in concentration.

Althea suddenly noticed that they weren
’
t headed in the right direction.
“
To Glenview Community Hospital, but you
’
re going the wrong way. Glenview is north!
”
she said loudly.

Suddenly he burst out with enthusiasm,
“
Listen, I
’
ve got an idea. There
’
s this really beautiful section of town you should see.  It
’
s such a nice day for a drive, wouldn
’
t you like to take a drive?
”

Internally Althea was quickly becoming a shaking mass of human tissue. Perhaps she could play it up until she could get him to stop the car.
“
Oh, I....I....I wish I could but I really don
’
t have the time today,
”
she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

The car raced wildly along the thoroughfare. Tall date palms with their bark hanging in slivers flashed before her eyes, reminding her that they were going away from her destination.

“
You know,
”
he remarked,
“
I always wanted to get on one of these streets and really open her up.
”
He was still accelerating.
“
Isn
’
t it exciting? No cops to pull me over.
”
He quickly resumed his humming.

Keeping them placating, but adding an edge of sternness to her words, Althea said,
“
Listen, mister, if you don
’
t slow down you
’
re going to kill both of us. Now, why don
’
t you stop and let me out, then you can drive as fast as you like.
”

He whipped the steering wheel sharply to the left and the car made a short turn onto a bumpy asphalt stretch of roadway.

“
Hey, where are you going?
”
she asked with added alarm.

His face smiled dreamily as he ignored her.

The road changed to a rut-filled dirt lane that suddenly dropped into an empty river bed. The long, arid summer and fall months had left the bed rock-dry and perfectly passable, but with the exception of bicyclers, nobody ever came here. Arriving in the middle of the river bed, he headed the car directly up its length, intent on a spot that existed only in his mind
’
s eye.

Althea began to formulate a scheme for getting away from this madman. She tightly held onto the door handle, planning to yank it open and tumble out if the fool ever slowed down to a less hazardous speed....or even if he didn
’
t.

“
It
’
s lovely, isn
’
t it?
”
he asked.
“
Just think, Margaret, we can follow the river forever. Forever....
”
he said dreamily.

A freeway overpass was above them, casting its shadow on the crusty floor below as the car raced through it. There was no point in waiting longer. Taking a firmer grip, she pulled the lever and pushed outward. In the next second her body was catapulting over and over the gritty surface of the ground. Contacting the earth momentarily stunned her, but without allowing her body to come to a complete standstill, Althea got her feet under her and began running. She glanced back, expecting to see him behind her. Rather than being pursued, though, she was all alone, racing toward the river bank—a bruised, frightened woman intent on escape from what God and everyone else would judge a lunatic.

The car was nowhere in sight. Having already rounded the bend of the river, it was hurrying away, leaving tiny puffs of dust as evidence of where it had been.

This new area was unfamiliar to her. Pausing at the edge of the bank, she observed a territory so unknown that she may as well have been in the midst of a foreign city. After brushing dirt from her abraded knees and arms, and from her dress, she tidied her fallen hair, then gazed more closely about her. Unaware of how much or how little time she had actually spent within that speeding car, she could only assume from her surroundings that she was now in the Outer fringe of the county—far, far from home. In two directions, as far as she could see, were fields of crops. The last remnants of summer vegetables were still on the ground, awaiting the moment when the human harvesting machines would stalk through the fields, stripping the fruit from the vines. A narrow, dusty road passed between the agricultural blocks, and Althea started off along this road toward the distant houses.

The tomatoes and beans had a peculiar wilt to them today, she noticed—a wilt attributed to both the desiccating heat and to the constant rain of radiation that fell from the sky. Walking over to the margin of the field, Althea stared glumly at the ripe, juicy red globes of food. Continual radio broadcasts had warned against ingestion of irradiated foods, particularly those growing in open spaces. Once they were taken into a body, the radiation would be absorbed by internal organs, eventually accumulating into massive doses that resulted in radiation sickness for the individual. And if sufficiently radioactive, the foods could be as lethal as any poison to a human being.

Yet, hungry stomachs were unreasonable organs, and Althea felt her own empty gut objecting to the absence of food. It had been many hours since her meager breakfast and her throat was parched. The quart-sized organ sent out its volleys of pain and discomfort, disregarding the commands of her brain to be disciplined, to be patient. Without so much as water to stretch its elastic walls, the stomach would continue this until either the desire was satisfied, or the nerve receptors grew too weak to respond.

One large, beautifully shaped succulent tomato hung from the nearest vine. Althea was too smart to succumb to the dictates of her intestines and eat, but she thought of the pleasure it might bring if she could just hold the heavy globe in her hand. Reaching forward, she slid her palm in under the fruit and very gently closed her fingers around it. As she exerted the minutest degree of pressure, the plump tomato ruptured with an ease unnatural to it, and dripped down between her fingers. She stood, holding the soggy mess, and looking at it in surprise. The tomato had been literally cooked in the field, such was the extent of damages done by radiation on the cells of the vegetable.

In disgust, she threw the mess aside and wiped her palm against her dress. It had left a feeling of revulsion in her—the rupture of the tomato. It was to remain long in her memory as the symbol of the devastation that would occur from this disaster.

The road stretched out before her, its dusty path leading back to humanity, she hoped. Each step sent out a little cloud of dust particles as she walked along. The fine granules settled into her shoes, shoes that she had selected for their comfort, but had now rubbed blisters on her heels. Bending down, she removed the brogans and enjoyed the luxurious sensation of the powdery soil against her bruised feet.

A movement up ahead caught her attention. As she drew nearer, she discovered that there were people around, after all. Indeed, a dozen or so men, women, and children had invaded the field of vegetables and were busily intent on filling their buckets and baskets with the soggy food. Lacking the energy to do anything in haste, Althea slowly walked up to them and spoke to the nearest woman.
“
You
’
re not going to eat that, are you?
”
she asked.

The woman glanced hesitantly at Althea, then dropped her head.
“
Yeah,
”
she answered.
“
What
’
s it to you?
”

Althea was not perturbed by the sullenness of the woman. White migrant workers were usually ill at ease around Negroes, she imagined.
“
It
’
s dangerous for you to eat this food,
”
she said.
“
It will make you sick.
”

“
Huh,
”
sneered the woman,
“
there ain
’
t nothing wrong with this. All
’
s you
’
re worried about is that you won
’
t get your share,
”
and she continued to fill the basket.

Althea protested,
“
No, it will make you...very, very sick.
”

“
Won
’
t neither,
”
answered the woman.
“
We
’
ve been eating this since the day of the blast—since Tuesday. And ain
’
t nothing happened to any of us yet.
”

By now several others had come over to hear what was being said Althea closely observed a child peeking from behind the woman
’
s dress. The youngster, like the adults, had an unusually ruddy complexion. The skin of his face and hands was covered with tiny inflamed splotches, lending a sunburned cast to them. From what she had read, Althea knew that this redness was temporary, and because it would go away, the people would wrongly assume there was no connection between the inflammation and the irradiated food. Unfortunately, within a few days, the erythemas, with continual exposure to radiation, would begin to form huge seeping ulcers—ulcers that would be a fertile bed for cancerous growths.
“
There is no reason for you to believe me,
”
she said quietly,
“
but that food should not be eaten.
”

The woman
’
s husband stepped toward Althea threateningly,
“
You better take your advice somewhere else, sister. Me and my kids are hungry and we
’
re going to eat!
”

She realized that trying to convince them was a useless waste of energy, and started turning sadly away. Then she remembered her own objective.
“
Would you happen to know where Glenview Community Hospital is located?
”
she asked.

“
What
’
s that?
”
asked the husband.

“
Glenview. It
’
s a hospital.
”

The man obviously viewed Althea with distrust. Her manner was too smooth, her voice was too warm, too soft.
“
What are you doing out here?
”
he asked suspiciously.
“
There ain
’
t no hospitals around this neck of the woods, woman.
”

“
You
’
ve never heard of Glenview?
”

He shook his head.
“
Naw. We ain
’
t got no use for sick places.
”

Althea sighed and resumed her journey toward the distant houses.  There was no response to her 911 dialed on her cell phone.  The Navigation system pointed her hopefully in the right direction.
 

“
Lou Ella, you can
’
t drink that! You know it
’
ll make you sick.
”
Jess hated to reprimand his weakened wife, but she shouldn
’
t have done it. She
’
d mixed the sugary, orange-flavored powder with tap water and was sitting at the table drinking it.

“
Humph. I don
’
t care anymore; I don
’
t care one tiny bit,
”
the old woman answered.

“
Sweetheart, everything will be all right. Wait and see if it
’
s not,
”
said the old man soothingly.