The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (12 page)

Althea got up to go into the kitchen for a glass of water. She moved with the grace of a lovely black swan.
“
What are we going to do,
”
asked her father.

She returned with the glass. Without replying, Althea picked up the telephone and dialed. There was much static and interference on the line but she finally got through to her number.
“
Aunt Bertha? This is Althea... .yes, in L.A.....No, we
’
re all right, all of us. Aunt Bertha, we
’
re going to have to get out of here....yes, soon.
”
Althea paused to listen.
“
Well, naturally St. Louis is a long way off but when we leave here we need to have some destination in mind.
”
Again she listened.
“
Driving in the car will be our best chance....What?
”
For what stretched into a minute Althea listened. Then slowly she hung up the phone.

Her mother stood at her elbow, a small portable radio in her hand. Lou Ella was an inveterate listener of the box. Television was interesting but that was for evening. A radio was kept tuned in during the whole of each day. When her chores carried her away from the console in the living room or away from the kitchen and the pink Emerson that sat above the refrigerator, then Lou Ella pocketed the little transistor and carried the news and music with her. Standing beside her daughter she asked,
“
What happened, Althea?
”

Althea let her gaze wander around the room before she finally returned to her mother. Exasperation and anger filled her voice when she answered.
“
Aunt said we should not come to St. Louis, Mama. They
’
ve been told that anyone from this area will be contaminated with radiation and would pollute everyone we come in contact with. Pollute, can you beat that! It make us sound like some kind of garbage.
”

Lou Ella, surprised, threw her hand over her mouth.
“
My very own sister....Bertha said that?
”

Jess caught his wife and laced his arm around her.

“
Ohhhh,
”
moaned Althea,
“
of all things.....Well, we
’
ve got to get out of here anyway.
”
Grasping the phone determinedly, she said,
“
I
’
m going to make one more call. Maybe the airport....
”

Los Angeles International Airport had had a typical, weekday early morning at the busy terminals. Passengers hastened to flights, to luggage centers and to ticket booths in preparation for arrival and departure.

George Kingsley, making the best use for the hour lay-over between Dallas and Tokyo, had walked down the concourse to the souvenir stand in the front of the terminal. He paid his dime and folded the copy of the Los Angeles Times under his arm. He had just turned and was about to thread his way to the coffee shop upstairs when a shrill sound from the public address system screeched through the air, immediately followed by the announcement .

“
Attention all passengers! Attention all passengers! All flights are canceled. Repeat. All flights are canceled until further notice!
”

Travelers stopped and listened intently, shocked looks on their faces. The announcement continued.
“
Due to an accident at White Water Nuclear Power Plant radiation has been released into this area. All air traffic in and out of Los Angeles is discontinued until further notice! All passengers and air personnel are advised to seek shelter for the duration of the emergency!
”

The people were clearly stunned by this news—though not so much by the announcement concerning radiation as by cancellation of the flights. For many, and especially for those stranded between flights, this was more than simply inopportune. Where could they take shelter? Some could quickly return to their homes, but what about those caught between destinations?

The people stood fixed for a long moment, exchanging glances of bewilderment at this sudden development. Then a man broke ranks and began walking rapidly, breaking shortly into a run. That one person was the catalyst for the rest. Nearly everyone began hurriedly moving, then running, shoving and pushing those still immobile out of the way.

It was readily apparent to George that the sudden rush of people breaking toward the street indicated they had absorbed the impact of the news and were abandoning the airport. In an instant there was a mob around him, a bulging tide of bodies headed toward the exterior. He felt himself being pushed backward and reached out for leverage. Failing to grasp firm footing, the mass of moving people lifted him off his feet and hurled him into the concession stand and across its counter. Suspended over the counter, he saw the mob grow in the rush to the outside. In their frantic haste, the crush of people swelled at the double exit doors until it became a huge knot of squirming flesh. Only a few broke through and raced into the street, others piled into the congestion, making exit to the outside nearly impossible. Then stamping like stampeding cattle they pushed and kicked at each other until screams began to fill the morning air.

George heard the cracking of the thick floor-to-ceiling windows in tandem with agonizing screams. The forefront of the mob had been shoved through the wide windows and beyond the jagged glass. The wounded staggered about on the sidewalk, their cuts bleeding profusely, as more and more were swept through the gaping hole, pushed from behind.
       It was a scene of madness.

Althea faced her parents. Their looks of expectation were plainly written on their faces. They were waiting for her to set some order to this....to their lives. She was the educated one, she was one who
’
d know how to cope with such as this. Even as a little girl Althea had shown her difference from other girls in the neighborhood. She
’
d absolutely refused to have her hair put in corn braids and she was only six at the time. Before she was ten she already knew that she wouldn
’
t be scrubbing some white woman
’
s floors as Lou Ella had done. No ma
’
am, not Althea. Althea was going to be a school teacher.

She heaved a short sigh.
“
Mama...let
’
s get a few things together. Here, I
’
ll help you,
”
and she started off toward the bedroom.

Jess called out,
“
But what are we going to do, Thea?
”

Althea hesitated before she answered him. She didn
’
t have to worry about whether the airlines would take her credit card—or whether or not she and her parents could even get on a flight. A recording had answered her call to the airport. It had repeated the word 'closed' over and over again. She turned to reply.
“
We
’
re leaving the area. To where I
’
m not sure, yet...but we
’
re getting away from here.
”
She walked out of sight.

The older couple followed her into the bedroom.
“
What can we do?
”
asked Jess.

Thea glanced at her father with concern. Would his heart stand up to this?
“
Papa, do you feel like loading the car?
”

“
Sure. What goes first?
”

“
Anything we have that
’
s of value....anything that
’
s small enough to be carried along.
”

She watched as he started away.
“
Papa! Do you have a good supply of digitalis?
”

His tired face formed a soft fleeting smile as he nodded.
“
I got plenty.
”

Lou Ella caught her breath.
“
Thea,
”
she whispered,
“
I
’
m nearly out of insulin.
”

“
Oh, Mama, no!
”

The older woman
’
s dark skin suddenly turned an ashy gray.
“
I didn
’
t know this was going to happen. I
’
d planned to buy it when I did shopping in the morning.
”

This recent crisis loomed before Althea with fierce intensity. She closed her fist and pounded it once against her forehead. To her mother, who was severely diabetic, the insulin was as essential to her life as food. But would there be a pharmacy open to dispense the precious hormone?

Jess returned to where the two women stood. He
’
d overheard the conversation.
“
I
’
ll go down to Cole
’
s.
”

“
But what if they
’
re closed, Jess?
”

“
Then, Lou, I
’
ll just go upstairs to where Mr. Cole lives and get him to open up for me.
”
The pharmacy was four blocks away and since the Carrs had traded there for years, there was no doubt in anyone
’
s mind that Mr. Cole would provide the needed insulin....if he were around.

“
No, I
’
ll go,
”
said Althea.
“
You two stay here and get things ready to throw into the car when I get back.
”

“
I can drive down for you,
”
offered the father.

Thea shook her head.
“
Uh uh. I
’
ll do it.
”
She didn
’
t want either parent exposed to the air any more than necessary.

In the order of importance, Althea knew her mother
’
s insulin ranked first as she headed the car toward the neighborhood pharmacy. There was no way of knowing how long this relative calmness would remain before all hell tore loose—which was sure to happen soon. Once everybody was convinced that this was genuine, panic and havoc would take over. And she wanted to be well removed from here when that happened; but they had to have the insulin.

Turning left toward the store, Althea looked at the changes that had occurred in the neighborhood, in this once strictly-white area. As it had aged, many of the old homes were claimed by businesses; now residences sat next to commercial structures. And with the aging process had come the lowering of values that allowed her people to move in.

     Allowed....she grimaced at the thought. They hadn
’
t been permitted to live here when it was new. Althea knew all the reasons why. Her education had made her acutely aware of the total black problem, not just what was going on in her community. But her friends had accused her of trying to forget their cause, of trying to forget she was black, when she had moved to San Mirado to teach. San Mirado was almost totally white. But her friends didn
’
t understand her motivations. They didn
’
t understand her at all.

Her old Uncle Linc, God rest his soul, had kept a protective mantle around his niece as she grew up. His advice to her was always stern and unending—and always the same.
“
Thea, never trust a honkey, girl, never trust a honkey.
”
And he
’
d been right she
’
d learned over the years, partially right, anyway. She
’
d learned her lesson so well, in fact, that she didn
’
t trust any man— black or white. No, it was men who went to war, men who raped and plundered. In a confrontation, it would never be a case of a woman matching her wits against a man. No, it had to be physical; and for the woman, attractive or not, she
’
d be the one to lose. Linc was right—there was no man to be trusted....except for Edward.

Edward? She set the thought of him aside. This was no time to entertain daydreams. Before this was over, before she got her parents and herself to safety, she was going to need her mind well in order. She had no one to rely on but herself, she knew; help would come from no quarter but her own.

Braking the car, she pulled it over to the curb and peered
through the side window. Cole
’
s Drugs still had a light on inside. How long, she wondered, before the older generators gave out and the city would be without electricity? In the darkness of night there
’
d be hell to pay in this neighborhood.
     
The store seemed deserted to her. Nobody was visible from where she sat in the car, but the front door of the pharmacy was open, hanging strangely askew on only one hinge. As she looked at it closer she saw the glass had been knocked from the door
’
s window and lay in small fragments scattered over the sidewalk. Mr. Cole must be there, then, she thought.
      Althea grasped her purse firmly and slid out of the seat. Always a creature of habit, the events of the day had shaken her normal routine. As she walked across the short distance to the store
’
s entrance, the proof of this was left behind—the car keys were dangling from the ignition.
     She had only taken one step inside the pharmacy before she stopped. Instinctively she knew that something was terribly awry. The shelves were stripped, their bottles and boxes lay piled in the aisles. Noises behind the high counter were proof that someone was here—but who?
     She called out timidly,
“
Mr. Cole? Are you here?
”
Then louder,
“
Mr. Cole....where are you?
”
     A cold metal tube was suddenly pressed into her neck. A crazy laugh rang out.
“
Hey man, look what I got here!
”
     Althea froze with fear. Her intuition and the cold metal told her that this was a gun. She held her breath, afraid that the slightest movement might jar the gun into action. The man
’
s laugh changed into a giggle as he stepped into sight. He was, she discovered, a youth in his early twenties. He grinned sardonically, his eyes feverish from what could have been illness—but she guessed it to be drugs.
     A second youth stepped from among the prescription shelves. He, like his partner, carried a sawed-off-shotgun, and like his partner, he too was ablaze from the pharmacist
’
s stock.
“
Howie, what a chick!
”
     Howie forced the gun deeper into her neck, inching Althea forward.
“
Yeah, man!
”
     The second youth
’
s eyes rapidly jumped around as they flitted from Althea, to Howie, and back to the spoils in front of him. He wasn
’
t interested in Althea for long and he rapidly began filling his pockets with capsules as Howie backed Althea against a wall.
     Althea kept her attention on Howie while he drew closer and closer to her. She glanced over at his dirty finger wrapped around the trigger of the gun, as Howie extended his free hand to Althea
’
s hip and fondled the soft curve.
     She kept her face expressionless. Better not to show fear to the little creep. But, then, neither could she take much more of him. Every muscle in her body was taut with revulsion. Pounding through her brain was the single thought of what she could do to get the muzzle of that gun off her neck.
     His hand started up her back, pulling her nearer to him. Turning her head away, she caught a glimpse of the other youth stealing toward the door. His action was furtive as he cast a look back over his shoulder in Howie
’
s direction, then darted for the doorway. If she was going to take a chance it was now or never!
    
“
Look!
”
she shouted.
“
He
’
s leaving!
”
     Howie whirled Althea around.
“
Jimbo! Stop, you son-of-a- bitch!
”
     Jimbo whipped his shotgun in Howie
’
s direction.
     It was obvious he was going to fire. Summoning a surge of energy, Althea sprang out of Howie
’
s grasp and lunged behind a shelf.
     The first charge was released from Howie
’
s gun and the front of Jimbo
’
s face disintegrated into a thousand miniscule pieces of flesh.
     Althea screamed, holding her hands over her ears.
     The second explosion from Jimbo
’
s gun followed before the first died, almost as an after-shock. The pellets peppered Howie but failed to catch him in the full of its blast.
     By now Althea
’
s screams had stretched into one long continuous wail. As Howie stumbled toward her, she jumped to her feet and fled around the end of the shelves. There, crumpled on the floor, was the pharmacist, his chest a mass of drying blood. She knew from the glaze of his eyes that he was dead. Leaping his form she swept over him and toward the dying Jimbo. There was no time to question Howie
’
s intention should he catch her, so Althea charged around Jimbo, leaving him twitching from what must certainly be the throes of death, and sped out the door.