Wild Girl of Chernobyl

by Thomas Porter

Wild Girl of Chernobyl

  Thomas Porter

  Copyright 2015 by Thomas Porter

  To my daughters

  BOOK 1

  THE UKRAINE

  Chapter 1

  The internet video was 2:57 long. The first minute was out of focus and shaky and showed a group of trees about 100 yards away. They shielded a street and three buildings across from it, each about eight stories tall. At the 1:20 mark, the cameraman ran toward the trees. His heavy breathing was the only sound and the camera shook violently. As he ran, the camera revealed another street perpendicular to the first, and three more buildings across from it. After several seconds, still about 50 yards from the trees, he stopped. His heavy breathing continued and the camera lens heaved up and down in rhythm, showing the surrounding field overgrown with weeds and saplings. After about 5 seconds, the camera focused on the trees. At 2:10, several wolves ran left to right through them. They moved quickly but smoothly, separating to pass around trees but then melding back together. Among them, near the center of the pack, ran a naked, dirt-covered figure with short, wavy black hair. It was hunched over and moved with them fluidly, as if melted into the organism, part of it, moving as one with it. At 2:14, as the pack moved through the trees, the figure veered very slightly leftward. It was an almost imperceptible movement that most viewers didn't notice. A fraction of a second later the surrounding pack, as one, shifted with it. At 2:18 the figure, then the pack, shifted left again, floated across the paved area surrounding the office building, and disappeared through the broken glass of the double wide doorway. The man holding the camera ran again. When he arrived at the trees and stopped running, the camera stopped.

  The title of the video, apparently posted by the man filming, was “Wild Girl of Chernobyl?”

  The first time she watched it, anthropology PhD candidate Janice Grayson did notice the figure's subtle shift to the left, followed by the pack's. In fact, on that first viewing, at the 2:14 mark, she involuntarily sat upright in her chair and cried out in surprise before catching herself. Rather than questioning the video's authenticity or wondering how someone could survive as a wild animal in the radioactive city of Pripyat, next to the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, she replayed it again and again.

  A girl in command of the group, and I can prove it.

  On February 8, 2008, three months after the video was posted, it had accumulated 3,459 views and Janice Grayson had her doctoral thesis.

  Chapter 2

  At 6:30 a.m. on April 27, 1986, Mila leaned over Helle's crib to pull the girl out.

  “Let her sleep,” Gregorii said, still lying in bed. “I'll take her in. Don't have to be there 'til 8 this morning.”

  “Thanks, love. Bottle's in the fridge,” Mila told him and left the bedroom.

  Gregorii worked at the Chernobyl Power Station as a firefighter. His shift started at 8 this morning and Mila's building, where 18-month old Helle spent her days while her parents worked, was on the way.

  Mila retrieved her coat from a hook in the apartment's entryway. It was thigh length and pink, with fake pink fur trimming the bottom, and it swung gently side to side as she descended the four flights of stairs to the street. She buttoned her coat as she walked one block to the street car stop, where she waited with several others, mostly women, also on their way to work. They pushed their way onto the street car when it stopped and opened its doors. All remained silent as the streetcar bell rang and resumed its glide along the rails.

  At 6:48 a.m. Mila exited the street car and walked diagonally across the main square, which was bordered on three sides by Pripyat city government buildings. As she approached the glass doors of her building, she heard a police siren behind her and she turned around. It pulled in front of the street car and stopped, blocking its path. Mila stopped walking momentarily and watched two policemen in green leather rush out and enter the street car. When they left her sight, she walked the few remaining feet to the entrance and, at 6:50 a.m., entered. She walked through the small foyer, past the hallway leading to the child care room where Gregorii and Helle were destined later, then opened the large wooden door of the staircase.

  The walls of the staircase were covered with tin squares and each stair was a thin slab of stone.

  On the fourth floor, she opened the green metal door and entered the reception area of her office, which managed the distribution of large equipment to the various agencies that maintained public facilities around the city of Pripyat. She took her coat off, hung it on a free-standing metal coat rack near the desk, and sat down behind her desk. Her morning routine including pulling a small mirror from the top front drawer and putting on her makeup, which she kept neatly lined up on the right side of her desktop, the side nearest the window.

  The reception area overlooked the main square. On that side of the room, the top half of the wall was a series of windows set side by side. They were closed and the sirens outside were muffled but audible. The bottom half was gray tile that contrasted violently with the yellow-green floor tile.

  At 7:30 Mila's boss was due but he didn't show. At 7:45 a.m. the phone rang and Mila put the mirror down on the desk. The voice of her friend was frantic.

  “What are you still doing there?”

  “What do you mean, what am I still doing here?” Mila asked.

  “You have to leave. Everyone has to leave. The power plant. You don't know?”

  “Don't know what?”

  “I've got to go, Mila! Get out of there! Did Gregorii go to work today?”

  “I think so. He was still in bed when I left. What's the matter, Stasi? Really, you're scaring me.”

  “We're being evacuated. Everyone. The whole city,” Stasi said and hung up.

  Mila put the phone back on its cradle, ran to the door, pulled it open, and went into the hallway. Empty. She ran across the hall to the stairs, opened the door, used her foot to push a rubber wedge under the bottom edge to prop it open, and listened. The building was strangely silent. She looked at her watch, which read 7:50. She retreated to her office and called home but there was no answer. She dropped the phone onto the floor and ran back to the stairway, through the door, and down the stairs as quickly as she could without falling forward. Her left hand skimmed along the tin wall as she descended.

  At the bottom, she sprinted down the hallway to the glass-walled child care facility. The lights were on but it too was empty. In fact, Mila could not think of a soul she had seen since entering the building an hour before. She ran back to the foyer and stopped. Where to go? What to do? Mila was frozen in indecision when a police car drove across the main square. The policeman in the driver's seat spotted her, said something to the driver, and the car stopped. Both men got out and ran to Mila.

  “Come with us,” the first man through the door said.

  “What's going on?” Mila asked them loudly.

  “Come with us, please. The power plant. The city is being evacuated. You need to get in our car.” The second man didn't enter the building, but instead held the door open while the first spoke.

  “What about the power plant?”

  “Come with us or we'll have to take you.”

  “I have to get my daughter. My husband works at the plant. He has her.”

  “You don't have time. If he has her, he's taking her out of the city with him.”

  “No! He wouldn't leave. He works there! I'm getting my daughter!” Mila said as she rushed past the first man. The second man, the one holding the door, grabbed her left arm and held tight. She screamed, “Helle! I need to get Helle!” The first man took her right arm and the two carried her to their car, opened the back door, and forced her i
nside. They shut the door, silencing the screams that were echoing in the empty square.

  ~ - ~ - ~

  At 7:20 Grigorii finally got out of bed. He lifted Helle from the crib, placed her on the bed, and changed her diaper.

  “Your mother doesn't pay me enough to do this, little girl,” he told her as she stared up at him. He carried her into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle from the fridge. He warmed it for a few seconds in a pan of water on the stove, tested its temperature on his wrist, and handed it to Helle. She eagerly grabbed it and he set her on the floor.

  At that moment, the phone rang and Grigorii answered it.

  “You are needed at work. Right now,” the voice told him.

  “Peter?”

  “Yes. This is Peter. There's been a meltdown. Very bad. If the streetcars are still running, get here now.”

  “If the streetcars are still running? Seriously, a meltdown?” Grigorii asked.

  “Very serious. Catastrophic. Evacuation of the city was just started. Fires at reactor 1 are still burning and we need all men. All men now,” Peter said.

  Grigorii had trained for this phone call but the urgency of Peter's voice ran his blood cold. He looked down at Helle, who was toddling awkwardly back into the bedroom. “I've got my daughter.”

  “What are you doing with your daughter? Can you leave her with someone?” Peter asked.

  “Mila's gone to work. Maybe a neighbor but that might take time.”

  “Bring her with you. Do something. Just get over here now,” Peter said, louder than before.

  “I'll try a neighbor. Can you send someone if the streetcars aren't running?”

  “Forget the streetcar. I'll send a driver,” Peter said. “Wait outside your building. He'll be there in 5 minutes.”

  Grigorii rushed back into the bedroom, picked up the clothes he had dropped on the floor yesterday, and quickly put them on. “Come on, Helle. Change of plans. You want to go to work with daddy today?” She had climbed onto the bed and he scooped her off it, carried her to the entryway, and set her back down as he put his boots on. He picked the diaper bag up off the floor, ran to the fridge and retrieved another bottle, and stuffed it into the bag.

  “Off we go, Helle. Someone at the plant will watch you for a little bit while daddy puts out a fire, okay?

  “'Kay,” she said as he left the apartment. “'Kay,” she repeated as he stopped in the hallway. Several people from the neighboring apartments, many of whom carried bags of all sizes, rushed toward the stairwell. He followed them down until he was outside the building, where he waited anxiously for the car sent to pick him up. He paced on the cobblestones near the entrance while Helle repeated, “'Kay. 'Kay.”

  “Okay, Helle. You're right,” he told her. Several minutes later, a car sped across the cobblestone and stopped. A women behind the steering wheel waved for him to get in. Still holding his daughter, he placed the diaper bag on the floor and got in.

  “Is that your daughter? What are you thinking?” the driver, Angela, asked.

  “I don't know what I'm thinking. Peter said there's a meltdown and Mila's already left for work. Can I leave her with you?”

  “Oh, no! Not with me. Anyway, everybody, even admin staff, are supposed to help put the fires out, so I'm going with you when we get back there.”

  The car jerked forward and Grigorii tightened his arms around Helle.

  “'Kay,” she said.

  Angela steered the car onto the road, then turned right toward the power plant.

  “Alright, I'll hold on to her. What do I know about putting fires out, anyway?” Angela said as she drove.

  “You sure?”

  “You know how to put those fires out. Peter wants to put a shovel in my hand, he's that desperate.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” Angela said without turning her head.

  A few minutes later Angela aimed the car through the gap in the plant's chain link fence and stomped on the brake pedal. The wheels skidded a few inches in the gravel and stopped. Grigorii hopped out of the car at his first opportunity, then turned back and placed Helle on the passenger seat.

  “Thanks, Angela. There's a bottle in the bag. I'll get her as soon as we get this fire out,” he said and ran into the two-story brown stone building.

  “If we get the fire out,” Angela said after he'd gone.

  “Kay,” Helle said.

  As Angela pulled on the door handle to get out, Peter emerged from the building.

  “Get a shovel and go to building C,” he said as he approached the car.

  “Can't. Gregorii left his daughter with me. Do you know Helle?”

  “You need to get a shovel. I'm not asking.”

  “I can't shovel and watch Helle. What are you thinking?”

  Standing outside the driver's window, Peter hesitated. “Tell you what. Sveta is coming back any minute. This minute. I'll send her out to get Helle. Is that her bag on the floor?”

  “Yes. You sure?”

  “Sure about what?”

  “Sure about Sveta? Sure she's coming back this minute? I can't leave this girl alone out here,” Angela said.

  “This minute. I'll go get her now. Building C with a shovel, yes?” Peter said. It was not a question.

  “Okay,” Angela said as she exited the car and spun around. With her right hand on the car roof and her left hand on the top of the door, she leaned into the doorway and said directly to Helle, in a softer tone, “Sveta will be out to pick you up, okay Helle? Do you know Sveta? Sveta?”

  “Kay,” Helle replied.

  Turning to Peter, Angela said, “Sveta needs to get out here this minute.”

  “Right away. I'll go get her right now,” Peter said. As he walked back to the building, he said, “Building C, yes?”

  “Alright, building C with a shovel,” Angela said and turned in the opposite direction, but not before looking over her shoulder one last time. Helle had climbed onto the floor. The only thing Angela saw as she walked away was the little girl's wavy, black hair.

  Chapter 3

  Janice drove the windowless rental van toward the Kiev airport international parcel facility. It was 8 in the morning but she had just arrived from Atlanta and her body said it was late afternoon, June 21, 2008. Bradford sat slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed. Before they pulled out of the parking lot, Irwin had changed the language on the GPS to English and now he sat on the metal floor in the back, just behind the gap between the driver's and passenger's seats.

  “Here it is,” Janice said as she slowed the van and turned in to the paved area in front of the parcel facility.

  “I hope they speak English,” Irwin said from the back.

  These two guys must think I'm stupid, Janice thought before asking them, “Why would they not?” Neither of the undergrad students replied.

  Inside the building, Janice placed the paperwork, which she had printed three days ago using a Louisiana State University anthropology department computer, on the counter.

  “This is for seven boxes you should have. I confirmed that they're here online before we left,” Janice said.

  The lady behind the counter looked at Janice's face and shook her head. “No English,” she said.

  Janice said, slower and louder, “You have seven of our parcels, shipped from Baton Rouge, don't you?”

  “No English,” the lady repeated.

  Janice glanced at Irwin and rolled her eyes.

  The man standing in the doorway stepped forward, picked up the paperwork, and looked it over. He made eye contact with the two undergrads and waved them to a loading dock outside, then into the warehouse. They quickly found the seven boxes shipped three weeks earlier and carted them to the loading dock. Janice had backed the van up and the three men loaded the boxes into the back. The lady from inside brought the paperwork, mounted on a clipboard, to Janice as she sat in the driver's seat. Janice signe
d it and awkwardly said, “dakoyu,” thank you, the one Ukrainian word she memorized for the trip. The woman smiled.

  As Janice pulled away, Bradford waved out the passenger's window.

  Janice stopped at the parking lot exit, fished through her purse, and pulled out a small notebook. She flipped it open, found the address to the Intercontinental Kiev, and handed the notebook to Irwin.

  “Please?” Janice said. As the van idled, Irwin leaned forward between the seats and entered the hotel's address.

  “You sure they have wifi?” he asked as he tapped the screen.

  “I should hope so, for $250 a night,” Janice replied.

  Forty five minutes and several wrong turns later, Janice stopped in the hotel's pull-through outside the front entrance. A uniformed doorman stepped quickly to her door and pulled it open. He said something in Ukrainian but when Janice said “Thank you” he switched seamlessly to English.

  “This way, please,” he told her as she stepped out of the van.

  “Stay here,” she said to Bradford and Irwin. Several minutes later, she emerged from the hotel holding three paper satchels.

  “Yes, they have wifi,” she said as she got back into the driver's seat and handed each man a satchel. “We're on the same floor but the rooms aren't next to each other. Hope that's okay.”

  “What about this stuff?” Bradford asked.

  “There's parking under the hotel so we'll just have to keep it locked up in the van. The guy who checked me in said it's very secure, though. Did you know they charge extra for parking?”

  Irwin looked at his watch, which he had changed to local time during the flight, and said, “Can we get into the rooms? It's early to check in, isn't it?”

  “Yeah, but the guy said we're okay. Rooms are clean.”

  Two right turns later, Janice pulled into the underground parking garage, descended the ramp, and found a spot near the elevators. A few minutes later, as the mirror-lined elevator doors slid open on the 11th floor, Janice said, “Alright, you guys. We made it. We start tomorrow morning, which shouldn't be a problem because it's really like tomorrow afternoon, right? I'll see you in the lobby at 8, okay?” As they walked to their rooms, the two undergrads assented to the meeting time.

  “Buenas noches,” Irwin said as he pushed open the ornate, heavy wooden door and disappeared into his room.