The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (23 page)

Everything fell into place. Cecil could see himself in a dingy underground dungeon awaiting a trial that might never occur.

“
Nobody sells a beautiful car like that for five hundred dollars—not unless he has a very special reason to get rid of it quickly. And with California tags on it, too. We are not so dumb as you must think, Mister Yeager.
”

“
Look, I didn
’
t know about this. I swear I didn
’
t. I sold it because I needed the money, that
’
s why.
”

“
We do not wish to have you sharing your new...
”
the officer paused, searching for the right word,
“
molester with us. We do not wish to have your malady in our country, Mister.
”

“
I meant no harm to anyone, officer. If you think it
’
s best, then I
’
ll just leave.
”
There were other cities beside Ensenada.

“
Yes. You will leave. But you will not only leave Ensenada, you will drive your car out of Mexico—back to the States.
”

Cecil
’
s mind was working rapidly. The car was a hazard to him.
“
Well, the car is pretty radioactive. I
’
d just as soon not spend any more time in it, if you don
’
t mind.
”

The official glared icily at Cecil.
“
The vehicle is very dangerous, just as you are dangerous, Senor. We wish you out of our country immediately. You will drive your car north to the border crossing, and pass back into the United States!
”

Accepting the order as a lesser evil than being thrown into jail, Cecil reached out in an offer to shake hands with the official. The man recoiled at the proffered palm.

“
No. No. Do not touch me!
”
he snapped.

The fright registered on the other
’
s face gave Cecil a momentary feeling of satisfaction. Perhaps it was because of the tequila, but now that he realized how afraid this man was of the strange radiation, he suddenly wanted to throw his arms around the other, locking them about his body, forcing him to absorb the mysterious rays.

Refusing, wisely, to give in to the foolish impulse, Cecil moved over to the machine and took his place in the driver
’
s seat. It was not until he pulled out from the compound that he understood there
’
d be a police car escorting him on the long drive to the border.

At the border crossing all eight lanes were closed to traffic. Both in-coming and out-going vehicles were prohibited except for Cecil
’
s, of which, he assumed, they had been forewarned. He chuckled to himself that for once the guards were not in the least interested in checking the car for contraband. He
’
d seen an automobile of a couple of hippies ripped apart once, on the belief that the trunk, or motor, or something, must be hiding sacks of marijuana. After an hour of searching and nothing was found, the hippies were permitted to enter the U.S. But their car was a shambles.

He had been expected, it seemed. The accompanying patrol car veered to the curb, coming to a stop before the guard station. The barrier had already been removed so that it required nothing more than a single wave from the guard to send Cecil into his homeland.

Driving the freeway between Tijuana and San Diego was a fifteen minute trip—one that he
’
d made several times in his younger years. He knew San Diego well. He
’
d been stationed at the naval base as a staff officer for two years. It was a lovely city. He remembered the bright blue skies and cool ocean breezes, the white stucco buildings and the gray ships anchored in the harbor. Climatically, San Diego was a little pleasanter than its big sister to the north, Los Angeles. It didn
’
t have industrial wastes fouling its air, and the serpentine highway systems didn
’
t have to carry thousands of people daily. In comparison, San Diego was still a small city, growing only spasmodically over the past twenty years, and without the constant, sustained enlargement of its sister. But now its beauty was marred by the flood of refugees that had descended upon it. The masses had become bottled up, the Mexican border preventing them from dispersing any farther southward.

Cecil had often wondered why he hadn
’
t chosen to make his home in San Diego instead of northward. As he drove, darkness obscured the fields to his right and left, but he was aware that stretching along the route were huge plantings of tomatoes and peppers. Later, in the cooler months ahead, the tomato fields would have expansive plastic sheets protecting the tender vegetables from the chill night air.

There was a subtle blending of two cultures within these few miles. The Mexican influence was keenly felt by citizens north of the border and vice versa. Tijuana had blossomed into a sizable town with the advent of military personnel in search of good times and inexpensive items to buy. Toting a pocket full of cash, the marines and sailors found the village an exciting place until military orders finally posted it out-of-bounds.

From such an atmosphere Cecil had just been ousted. What a contrast. Before, the gringoes were beckoned and cajoled into touring their Latin neighbor. Everything was designed to lure the greenbacks out of the wallets and into the chinos. Exiting visitors were pursued right to the gates at the border with promises of
“
very good watch for little money.
”
Rapidly, it had all ended. For a second Cecil speculated on what the Mexican shops would do until conditions were restored to normal and they once again had customers. Take longer siestas, he thought bitterly before returning to the question of where he could go now—in  his search for safety.
 

     The topic in the hotel lounge dwelt ominously on wind patterns—what would happen if the wind turned southward?

   
“
It usually does this time of year. Here, look at the map. See, the wind can sweep down from the Pacific northwest, swoosh across L.A., travel eastward for a short distance, then break southward, coming right down the coast.
”

   
“
Yeah, but a lot of times it
’
ll blow from the east. If that happens, everything will be dumped out over the Pacific.
”

    
“
Couldn
’
t it go straight eastward?
”

    
“
Only if there
’
s a storm with it. Isn
’
t that right?
’’

    
“
Lordy, imagine that—fallout being spread across the whole damned nation, from coast to coast.
”

    
“
Aw, it wouldn
’
t get the northern states.
”

    
“
Naw, but it
’
d sure salt down half the country, though.
”

    
“
What do you think, buddy? You were up there when the plant blew, weren
’
t you?
”

Cecil resented the nudge in his ribs.
“
I don
’
t know what the wind will do—provided it ever blows.
”

“
Oh well, you don
’
t have any sweat. You
’
re home safe. Right?
”
The big man was becoming obnoxious, as was his custom when around intellectual types, and Cecil certainly wasn
’
t a blue collar.
“
Right, pal?
”

Cecil smarted from the innuendo.
“
What do you mean by home safe?
”
he asked.

“
Well, you know, you got the hell out of there fast, didn
’
t you?
”
he asked, a malicious smirk on his face.

“
I did what everybody was trying to do,
”
retorted Cecil.

“
Looks kind of like running, doesn
’
t it? You get in your own car and drive out—just you. You didn
’
t even latch onto one other person and bring him along, did you?
”
asked the big man as he stepped in closer to Cecil.

“
You
’
d have done the same thing if you
’
d been in my shoes.
”
Cecil
’
s reply was firm.

“
Nope! That
’
s where you
’
re wrong, pal. I
’
d have run, sure....but not by myself. I
’
d have loaded that little old buggy down with my folks and friends before I left.
”

The room had become very quiet. No one talked, no one moved.

Cecil had a sensation of standing in one of those mirrored cubicles that he
’
d found at the carnival. Every way he looked he felt eyes staring at him. Every face was turned to him—coldly awaiting his words.

Huge, hairy arms were folded across the man
’
s chest, biceps flexed.
“
Hell, you didn
’
t have time for anyone else. You hopped in your jalopy and took off, and be damned with everyone.
”

“
It wasn
’
t like that! There wasn
’
t any time to go around gathering up passengers,
”
said Cecil with a hint of nervousness.

“
What? You mean there wasn
’
t anybody, not a single soul, who was searching for a ride out? Why, that
’
s hard to believe,
”
the man said sarcastically.
“
Ain
’
t there lots of old-folks homes up there? I
’
ll bet some of those people would have been happy to keep you company.
”

Aware that the open antagonism of the other could lead to an angry scene, Cecil replied,
“
Listen, mister, I don
’
t have any quarrel with you. Now why don
’
t you drop the subject?
”

“
Naw, I don
’
t think so. There
’
s a squad forming at the armory, getting ready to go to L.A. when it
’
s safe to move. They
’
re taking volunteers, pal, and I think you ought to offer your services, don
’
t you? Hey, fellows, don
’
t you agree? Shouldn
’
t this yellow-belly come along with us?
”

“
Yeah, sure, Jake. The dude
’
s going to go right over to the armory,
”
yelled someone from the crowd.

“
No you don
’
t, by God. I
’
m not going to that place again!
”
said Cecil as he saw the men begin to advance slowly toward him. He felt himself being lifted off the sofa by strong arms.
“
Wait now! What if the wind shifts down this way? We
’
re all going to be targets,
”
he said, trying to free himself of the arms.

“
A bright boy like you figured that out alone, I
’
ll bet,
”
said the man named Jake.
“
Well, we won
’
t be able to do a damned thing about the wind pulling that radiation over on us, but there
’
s one thing we can do, though, buddy, and that
’
s sign you up for duty!
”

Cecil
’
s heart dropped. He had eliminated the idea of staying in San Diego just because of the wind factor—the possibility that the radiation would be carried southward when it was swept away from the disaster zone. Instead of stopping in San Diego he had traveled deep into mountainous country. There wasn
’
t much to the small town, but at the time it had seemed well protected in the hills among acres of avocado groves. And now here he was, trapped once more. They pushed him out the door, prodding when he resisted. The lounge of the dingy hotel rapidly emptied, leaving its clerk wide-eyed and speechless after the confrontation.