The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (6 page)

The fence, the dully metallic, heavy wire wall that enclosed the White Water facility was still standing. He could see it more clearly as he lifted his glance. A huge dark blob seemed trapped in the mesh of wire a short distance above the ground. The blob became no more distinct, however, as he laboriously closed the distance between himself and the fence. Then finally he was there, directly abreast of the elongated mass. By now it assumed human characteristics. Two arms thrown back in surrender. It was Mike Percy.

Mike had evidently been running across the parking lot after dashing out of the control room. His body was horizontal to the ground and about two feet above it. He had been blown into the chain link fence with such force that the metal links had sunk deeply into his back, firmly attaching him by the meaty shoulders, buttocks, and thighs. The charred features were barely recognizable.

Ben stared in horror. Unwilling to leave the corpse grotesquely snagged by the fence, he determined to pull it loose until it could fall to the ground. Suppuration and body fluids had plastered the clothing to the body. Selecting a hem of the dead man
’
s shirt, Ben closed his fingers weakly around it. The fabric crumbled into ash. Steeling himself, he placed his hand behind the nape of the neck and gave a short tug. The skin slipped. Indeed, the skin and the prickly hairs at the base of the skull slipped off into his hand, adhering its wet, yellowish pink tissue to his own flesh. With revulsion, he disgustedly slung his hand, throwing the sticky mass aside. It was no use. He simply didn
’
t have the stomach to pull Mike free. The heat had literally cooked the body to the point where flesh was beginning to fall from the bone.

Ben wanted to be sick. He felt his intestines churning and a hot bile-tasting odor rose into his mouth, but for some reason nothing came up. His parched lips and throat desperately needed water—but vomiting would only dehydrate him that much more. It was just as well if the regurgitate would stay down.

Stumbling along the length of fence, nearly blind with pain and fatigue, he finally found the opening. The journey to the freeway, less than two hundred yards, seemed interminable. Yet somehow he made it. His reasoning faculty had not been functioning well, for he
’
d thought that once he made it out to the highway, he
’
d be picked up and carried to safety. Now the six lanes were before him, stretching endlessly in opposite directions. But there was not a single vehicle, not a single evidence of people, in sight. Nothing moved. There were no birds in the sky and no glittering reflections from airplanes up in the gray overhead. It was almost as if he were the last man on earth.

Chapter Three

The Calmar Chemical Company was the nearest industrial operation to the White Water Plant. Situated thirteen miles directly south, it, too, was within a stone
’
s throw of the Pacific. At eighteen minutes until nine o
’
clock that morning the day shift had already been there nearly an hour.

Up front, in the administration section of the plant, sat Cecil Yeager, assistant director of marketing, in his tiny, glassed-in office. Cecil brushed his coarse hair back and pulled himself in closer to his desk piled with paperwork and glanced at his computer screen. It was at that moment, as he glanced outward, that he noticed Mr. Hargrove standing on the other side of the glass. Hargrove seemed intent on the young man before him. Cecil could see his boss
’
s lips move and imagined that he could hear the words. He continued to watch as the younger man broke into a broad smile and pushed his hand into an eager grasp with the boss. A knot twisted in Cecil
’
s gut. This was it. He watched as Hargrove clasped the other around the shoulder and turned to walk off. The bastard, Cecil murmured under his breath.

Instead of returning to his office, Hargrove, his face tinged with the redness from too many years of boozing and from the morning
’
s pleasantries with his young employee, pushed the door in and stepped into Cecil
’
s office. Calmly he withdrew a thin, dark cigar, held a flame to the end until he was puffing smoke, then looked Cecil squarely in the eye as he spoke.
“
Guess you saw that out there.
”

Cecil lowered his glance, without nodding.

“
Yeager, I
’
ll get right to the point. I
’
ve just had a talk with McCormick.
”

Cecil looked up, his eyes cool. Here it comes, he thought, that old fart is going to hand me a line of bull next....a lot of
‘
you
’
re a fine man, Yeager.
’

Hargrove puffed deeply, then continued,
“
You
’
ve been with us a lot of years....a fine, a really fine addition to our staff.
”
Hargrove paused, inspected the tip of the cigar.
“
I know you were next in line for promotion, Yeager, but the job went to McCormick.

A hot spasm of anger passed through Cecil
’
s body, but he sat unmoving.

Hargrove opened his mouth to continue when the shaking began. It was not a violent quake, hardly more than a tremor to Californians who had experienced many such rumblings over the years. But the man registered a trace of surprise and waited for the movement to cease. Within a fraction of a minute the quake was over.

Papers on the desk had shifted and Cecil scooped them back into a pile. As yet he had had nothing to say to his superior.

Hargrove cleared his throat.
“
Calmar, you see, is taking a new course in the advancement of its employees. We
’
re going toward younger men....men who have a lot of years to give us....men with new ideas, fresher drives.
”

Cecil lifted himself from his chair and went over to gaze out through the glass wall.

“
You
’
re an excellent chemist, Yeager, and you
’
ve done all right in marketing, but,
”
Hargrove flicked the ash from his cigar,
“
we need someone who is, well....more personable for public relations.
”

With his back to Hargrove, Cecil replied,
“
McCormick is an ambitious young man. He won
’
t disappoint you.
”
And he
’
s a butt licker to make it after less than two years, he didn
’
t add.

“
Yes....well, I
’
m glad you understand.
”
Hargrove drew a short puff on his cigar.
“
What
’
s best for Calmar, eh, Yeager?
”

Cecil saw Hargrove
’
s reflection in the glass as the man reached for the doorknob.
“
Yes sir. Calmar,
”
he said to the departing form.

Returning to his chair, Cecil sank down into it. His palms were wet and he dried them on his trousers before starting up the marketing program and beginning his work. He hadn
’
t time to get to the second tab  on the screen when suddenly a terrific boom sounded.

It was much, much stronger than the occasional sonic booms that people had grown used to. In the older wing, in the packing department behind the administrative offices, the windows high on the stucco wall shattered, sending splinters of glass raining down on the workers feeding the assembly line. At the same instant the south wall of the thirty-year-old building began to buckle and chunks of mortar cascaded through the haze of mortar dust to the floor.

Immediately conveyor belts ground to a halt, lights went out, and the ventilation system shut off. Within seconds the entire operation at Calmar had ceased.

For the space of two or three good breaths the only sound was falling mortar and workers scrambling to take cover.

Clerical workers and officials of Calmar drew themselves into a tight group on the main floor of the newer part of the building. Cecil, feeling the shock to the structure, rushed from his office into the large central room. In the dimness of the interior, it was apparent that many of the staff were frightened. This was no ordinary sound reverberation, and following so quickly on the heels of the quake, it seemed ominous.

Hargrove pushed his way through the group until he reached Cecil
’
s side.
“
Here, Yeager,
”
he said, shoving a small bullhorn into Cecil
’
s hand,
“
find out what
’
s happening in the packing department!
”

Holding the bullhorn, Cecil watched Hargrove rush across to a telephone with intercom and start yelling into the speakerphone. It was dead.  The phones were down. A dark thought passed through his brain as he saw the older man
’
s concern. So where
’
s your fair-haired McCormick, Cecil wondered, as he started down the corridor to the back of the plant.

At first the darkness of the older wing and the accompanying quietness sent a wave of fear through Cecil. Had they all fled—or was it worse?
“
Now hear me,
”
he yelled.
“
Are you there? Is everyone all right?
”

His voice, strangely hoarse in the bullhorn, loosened the tongues of the workers. Questions were hurled out amidst isolated moans and more than a few, near hysterical screams. By this time everyone who could was frantically talking at once. It took several minutes for the din to die out so that Cecil
’
s voice could be heard again.

“
Folks, try to stay calm! We
’
ve got to stay calm!
”
he commanded.

“
What the hell has happened?
”
yelled someone from the darkness.

“
Is it the Russians?
”
shouted someone else.

“
Or the Red Chinese?
”
bellowed another.

Calmar employees had been shuffled about some by the shaking four minutes earlier, but recognized the source of the movement. Once they had regained their equilibrium, they had calmly gone on with their chores. This new jolt though—this was something entirely different.

“
It
’
s the Japs again! I knew this would happen,
”
came from one of the older men.

“
Naw. Not them. They own half of California by now,
”
someone snorted.

“
Listen! People! Take it easy! This is Cecil Yeager speaking. As soon as we know, we
’
ll tell you, but right at this moment, we don
’
t know what has happened. Please vacate this department and meet out on the parking lot.
”
He stared at the south wall which seemed likely to collapse at any second.
“
Just gather in the parking area until I get back to you.
”

“
Well, that
’
s that,
”
someone remarked as the workers quickly moved outside.
“
They may as well let us go home because there won
’
t be any work done in that wing for a while.
”

Assured that everyone was out of the damaged wing, Cecil hurriedly returned to the office area. The workers there still milled around the center of the floor, speculating on where the explosion had occurred. Having no knowledge of the collapsing wall in the rear area, they were loudly expressing their views but otherwise showed less concern than the packagers.

It was Hargrove dashing wildly into their midst, yelling and flailing his arms, which brought the group to quietness.
“
Listen! Listen! It was at White Water....there
’
s been an accident at White Water!  A car just stopped out front for a moment, then drove off.
”

“
The explosion?
”
Cecil asked.

“
Yes, yes! White Water has been leveled! There
’
s radiation everywhere!
“
Hargrove started off again, then hesitated momentarily as he passed Cecil.
“
Yeager,
”
he ordered,
“
tell the people in the packing department that we
’
ve got to get out of here...
’‘
He moved off before the words were finished.