The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (4 page)

She took the glass and lifted it toward her mouth, paused, then returned it to the table.
“
It
’
s a foul-smelling substance,
”
she said.
“
No, Ben, as strange as it may sound, the doctor prescribed an alcoholic drink three times a day, so I thought wine would be the easiest to take this early in the morning.
”

“
He prescribed it for a woman during pregnancy? He must be insane, Sara. You
’
ll have to find another obstetrician,
”
Ben said.
“
You
’
ll never have a child if you listen to some nut like that.
”

Sara reached out for his arm and pulled him toward his chair.
“
But you don
’
t understand, Ben. The doctor says that small amounts of alcohol will slow contractions of the uterus. He thinks premature contractions could be the reason why I lost the first one.
”

“
You
’
re only three months along—that seems pretty early to worry about contractions,
”
he said as he watched her pour the coffee. She did it gracefully, as she did everything.

Smiling, she pushed the toast toward him.
“
You wouldn
’
t allow the doctor to tell you how to run White Water, dear. I would imagine that your qualifications in medicine are as limited as his in nuclear energy. So perhaps it would be best if we did this his way.
”
Shifting the conversation, she asked,
“
What were your visitors like yesterday?
”

“
Who? The senators? They were all right, I suppose. One, the older fellow, a short, snoopy little guy, was kind of irritating. He came on fast—interrupting to ask something, then switching off to another interest of his—without waiting for the rest of the group. For a while I thought that he was being too curious, like he had some ulterior purpose for being there. But then I decided it was my imagination. The other one was a nice guy.
”

“
Did you find out why they were there?
”
she asked.

“
Visiting—or at least that
’
s what I was told. You know how politicians are, always trying to get a finger in the pot.
”
He was reluctant to tell her about the flare up over the shutdown report, and about his earlier suspicion that the senators were inspecting the facility as a result of a request from the Southern California Society of Environmentalists.

“
They must have been there quite a long while,
”
she said.

Ben knew that she had obliquely referred to his arriving home at a very late hour.
“
Actually, they weren
’
t. I had anticipated them spending much longer in the plant, but Senator McCauley seemed anxious to be on the way.
”

She was silent, apparently waiting for him to explain his delay more fully.

“
After the politicians left, Pettengill decided we should have one of his infamous meet and confer sessions. On the spur of the moment he decided on it. When I phoned you I had no idea of being as late as I was.
”

Raising her eyes to his, she replied,
“
It must have been a very important meeting.
”

He had no wish to assuage her curiosity by explaining that the S.C.S.E. letter had filtered down to Pettengill, and the long hours spent in conference were in regard to that.
“
Routine business, just routine,
”
he said off-handedly.
“
What are your plans for the day?
”
he asked.
“
A meeting of your sorority alumni club, isn
’
t it?
”

“
No, I
’
m not going to those gatherings anymore. Didn
’
t I tell you about the last one I attended?
”
she asked.

He shook his head,
“
I don
’
t recall. But you didn
’
t say you weren
’
t going back.
”

“
Well, no matter. I
’
m not. It
’
s the same thing all the time.  Vacationing.
’’

“
Videos?
”

“
Yes, camcorder home made videos. Sue Anna
’
s vacation to Hawaii, and Joan
’
s last trip to Europe, and Debbie
’
s three children in their pool—and those because they haven
’
t been able to afford to go anywhere since they built it. It
’
s just all so inane.
”

“
You
’
re bored with them.
”

“
Yes, I suppose. But what I really would like is to find them on some subjects that are meaningful, instead of discussing the color of tea napkins. Just once.
”

“
Whatever you think, Hon. I
’
m sure you have every right to be bored with that group.
”
Having other things on his mind, he glanced at the clock above the sink.
“
I
’
ve got to go. Must get a backlog of paperwork done before this day ends.
”

“
So soon?
”
she asked wistfully.

“
Maybe I
’
ll manage to be home early this evening. How about it?
”

“
I
’
d like that,
”
she answered softly.

For the briefest second they-stood close with their arms around each other. His very tall, lank frame dwarfed her as he held her to him. Her wan, porcelain skin was in marked contrast to his dark complexion. Releasing  her, he turned and walked out the door.

It was a beautiful morning. Later, there would be smog creeping in to blanket the sky; but as yet, it was a day free of the troublesome, tainted air. Out to the right the ocean was clearly visible, a sailboat bobbed gently up and down on the calm blue water.

Edging the German-made sports car deftly into the parking slot, Ben grabbed his briefcase, and with a dozen long strides, stepped into his office in the front of the control room.

At 8:28 a.m. the huge reactor was already underway, splitting the U235 atoms and producing tremendous amounts of heat. Ben smiled to himself, the self-satisfied smile of a man who had complete understanding of the complex working of this monstrous unit. It gave him a comfortable feeling to be in this dust-free room, with computerized control boards and buttons, and with the ocean less than six hundred feet away.

Donning his lab coat, he picked up a clipboard and began making his rounds as he routinely did each working day. This would be the last round he
’
d make for a month. His vacation began at the end of the day. He casually nodded to his colleagues as he checked his readings against previous records and dutifully noted them in the proper spaces. The main control center was a sterile, ultra-modern room, its control consoles in white and the men in white lab uniforms. All screens, indicators, buttons, and levers for the normal and emergency operations of both the reactor and the generating plants were contained within these four, heavily-insulated walls. The plant represented the finest in engineering design, the ultimate in construction. The facility was built on the beach because of the need for vast amounts of cooling water for the reactor. No other spot had been feasible in arid southern California. The area was laced with old fault zones, the San Andreas fault itself being nearby, but the structures were created to withstand the most violent earthquake.

The reactor was housed apart from the control center. Dome covered, the reactor building was equally well constructed to take the shakings from the earth without being split or damaged. Inside, the reactor core and its thousands of fuel rods were protected from the incoming coolant by metal jackets within their steel reactor vessel, which was completely encased by a thick, steel drywell.

It was an extremely efficient operation and Ben appreciated that efficiency as much as any physicist. He wasn
’
t blind to the potential dangers of nuclear energy, but he knew that so long as the machinery functioned properly, and there was no human error, and no accidents, then there was no way that the enormous quantities of radioactive poisons could escape into the environment. True, every two years the fuel rods would have to be removed and transported to a reprocessing plant for cleaning, removal of plutonium and burial of the remaining radioactive wastes; but again, it was simply a matter of everyone doing his job properly. It was over a year ago that White Water had been refueled last. Ben remembered getting a queasy sensation in his stomach as the diesel truck, groaning, had pulled onto the freeway with its heavy load of radioactive fuel rods en route to the reservation. But the two year accumulation of radiation was well contained. Nothing short of sabotage could release its deadliness to the air.

Glancing at the clock Ben noticed that the time was 8:42 a.m. Precisely at that moment, the cement floor began to slide under his feet. His head snapped around in surprise as he instinctively reached out to steady himself, grasping onto the edge of a console. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, perhaps twenty-four inches apart, yet he felt like he was on a large skate board as his body was thrown first forward, then backward. Attempting to regain his balance, Ben dropped his papers and held firmly to the console with both hands.

     Across the room, Michael Percy had been cast broadside into the front of the master control board. Scrambling to latch onto something stable, Mike
’
s hands frantically waved over the instrument panel.
“
Jesus Christ!
”
he yelled,
“
what
’
s happening?
”

    
“
Mike,
”
Ben shouted,
“
it
’
s an earthquake! But watch it! Get your hands away from that panel!
”

     He didn
’
t think Mike heard him. The man seemed to be yelling, his mouth wide open and his face contorted in shock.

     Desmond Anderson, the third member of the crew was lying partially under a desk, his back and feet exposed, but his head securely protected.

     In what seemed like minutes but was actually less than sixty seconds, the shaking ended. California experienced numerous earthquakes each year and, as would be later determined, this one was not particularly forceful. To the three men frozen in the control room, however, the trembling seemed quite intense. After all, this building had been especially constructed to withstand the most violent rigors, and yet their bodies had been flung about with the swaying motion like tiny rag dolls.

     Finally tearing his hands loose, the knuckles as pale as the console to which they had been firmly attached, Ben switched on the scanning screen to the reactor building. No one was in sight. Strange, he thought, there should be someone down there. Snatching up the intercom speaker, he began calling, expecting any minute to see white coated figures moving about. Ben
’
s absorption in the eerily empty picture before him was interrupted by a shout from Mike.

    
“
Ben! There
’
s something wrong! The reactor temperature
’
s rising!
’’

    
“
Shut it off! Drop all the control rods.
”
Ben
’
s command was instinctive as he wheeled away from the screen and strode over to the master control board. He quickly checked the instruments for the cause of the problem, eyeing the temperature-gauge needle. Mike was seated at the other end of the board intent on the switches in front of him. About to speak to him, Ben was distracted by the crackling sound of static from the intercom switching on. Then a voice came through the speaker, a voice filled with fear.

    
“
A coolant pipe has cracked! We
’
re getting flooded with water over here!
”

     Ben spun toward the screen in time to see the floor of the reactor building take on a shiny, liquid glaze.

    
“
That may be hot!
”
he bellowed, grabbing the microphone.
“
Get out of there!
”