The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival)
Page 14
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.
The armory was a cavernous building, flooded with lights. Cecil estimated that most of the able-bodied men of the town had signed their names, committing themselves to aid in the rescue effort.
“Bubba,” Jake said, nudging Cecil forward, “we got us another volunteer who wants to join us. Sign him up.”
“Sure thing, Jake,” said the boy with the clipboard. “Howdy, mister. I guess L.A. is going to need everyone it can get once we start rolling, it sure is nice of you to come along, since you’re a stranger in these parts. Uh, you don’t live around here, do you? Don’t remember seeing you before.”
“Yeager, here, is from just south of Los Angeles, Bubba. He was there when that reactor exploded,” offered the big swaggering man.
“Is that right? Jeezus! Why in the world do you want to go back there? If it was me, I’d have kept right on going—as far as I could get,” said the youth.
“Bubba, you still got that running-off-at-the-mouth disease. You simmer down some and try to get the vitals from Mister Yeager—we want to be sure he’s present and accounted for when we get up there. Yes sir, we sure don’t want our friend here getting lost in his own home town. Do we boys?” A chorus of assents agreed with him.
Smiling faces acknowledged Jake’s play with the boy and Cecil, and the men edged in closer to hear what was being said.
“You got any special kind of work that might be useful in rescue, Mr. Yeager?” asked the youth.
Cecil was cool in his reply. “I’m a chemist, but I doubt you people would have any demands for my skills.”
“A chemist?” said Bubba, “Gosh, I don’t know much...hey, the high school has a group from their science department that’s going in. Wait a second,” said the boy, as he dashed off toward a knot of men.
In a couple minutes the youth returned with a member from that group in tow. Assured that Cecil would be confronted by someone else, the others began drifting away, losing interest.
“You say you’re a chemist, huh?”
The man seemed eager to have Cecil a part of his group. “We could rig the apparatus for water-chemistry tests, if you think you could run them, Mr. Yeager. Clean water has got to be found.”
“I could do that, I guess,” Cecil answered indifferently.
“Good. I’ll get the equipment together for you,” said the teacher.
“I said I could,” replied Cecil, “but what will you do with the results—once we start recording? We would need to coordinate our findings with other testers. Do you have any plans for doing that?” High school teachers—what do they know, thought Cecil.
The other paused, briefly considering Cecil’s remark. “Oh, well, sure. We’d have to be able to feed our findings to someone, I guess.”
Cecil envisioned this shoe-string operation rushing headlong into L.A., with no greater scheme in mind than to simply get there. Once inside, they’d be largely ineffective, perhaps even hampering other efforts. “It’d be a good idea,” suggested Cecil, “if you contacted the national guard in San Diego. They’d line us up with communication points, I’d expect. Then our test results would be of some use.” The teacher was obviously not a thinker.
“That’s not a bad idea—as a matter of fact, I’d already considered doing that very thing. Only I was waiting to see if anyone showed up who could do the chemistry part. Of course I’m a teacher myself and could do it, but I’ll have my hands full with other jobs,” he said with importance.
Cecil replied without a trace of interest. “Then we ought to be able to work together.”
“Right. Say, do you know anything about Geiger counters? I think we can take the school’s along. We’ve one that we use in one of the labs, but we’ve never actually tried it out in the field.”
Cecil doubted that the teacher knew anything about the counter. “If it registers radiation in the classroom, it’ll do it on the outside, too.”
“I’m going to be in charge of this, but I’d appreciate it if you would sort of serve as second in command. Most of the fellows don’t know too much about this kind of maneuver, Cecil.”
Annoyed by the other’s attitude of superiority, Cecil asked, “How is it that you know so much about it—were you in the war?” He vividly recalled his own days of action in the war and the long dark months of therapy for shell-shock that had followed.
“No, I never made it to the military, but I’ve belonged to the guard for several years, and I’m chairman of my department at school. My principal calls me the best organizer he’s had on the staff,” said the teacher with pride.
“Well then,” answered Cecil testily, “you’re certainly equipped to handle this—with all your experience.”
The teacher beamed at the double entendre. “Call me Jim. Jim Thompson. There’s no need for mister with me, Cecil. I like to keep it on a casual basis, so long as everybody knows who’s in control.”
Cecil took a long leisurely look at Jim. He impulsively noted that this was one character he’d not easily forget, then he began making mental guesses at the age at which the teacher had surpassed his level of competence. “Your group will be moving in with the rest of these fellows, I suppose.”
“Yes, but we’re not actually in their unit. We’re more specialized,” Jim answered. “Sort of elite, I guess you’d say.”
“It seems to me that there should be a command headquarters in charge of the entire operation, Jim. Otherwise, how are we going to know which part to enter and what to do?” asked Cecil, showing some interest. “Our rescue squad could easily end up in the same part of the city as another unit, leaving some area unattended.”
“That’s true,” said Jim. “I think I’ll get right on the horn and check that out. It sure would be a mess if we moved in and another unit piled right in on top of us.”
Cecil was left standing alone as Jim hurried off to his errand. He wiped his brow, thinking of the monumental mess this could be.
“What do you think it’ll be like up there?”
“Huh?” asked Cecil as he found a scarecrow of a man at his side. He hadn’t noticed the man before. “Where?”
“Up there in the big city,” said the other.
“Probably chaos and confusion. It’ll be terrible, I’d say.”
The beady black eyes stared out from above pock-marked cheeks. “Reckon there’s been much looting?” he asked.
“Well, I....sure,” said Cecil. “There’s always somebody who wants something for nothing.”
“Yeah,” the man agreed. “Reckon there’s been a lot of rape going on, too. What with all those women scared, and not knowing what’s happening.” His voice carried a wistful sound as he stared into an empty transport truck, not meeting Cecil’s gaze. “How do you feel about stuff like that?” asked the scarecrow, giving a leering grin that bared broken, yellowed teeth.
“What?” Cecil asked, not at all sure he hadn’t caught the other’s drift.
“You know—taking things that other folks have run off and left behind. I mean, they’re not going to use it anymore, so there’s really nothing wrong with hooking onto it, Right?”
“Personal possessions, things like that?” asked Cecil.
“Yeah, that’s it. That kind of junk is bound to be carted off by somebody. The way I figured it, it’s there for the taking. Two good men could make a bundle. All they’d need to do is pack it away in a couple choice hiding places. Before long, they’d get hold of a truck,” he grinned. “Maybe old uncle Sammy’s even, and haul everything out.”
Cecil was now fully aware of what was in the other’s mind. “What would you do with it?”
“Heck, I wouldn't have any problem. I’ve got a shed that’s four walls and a roof, nothing inside. It’d hold a whole truck load of things—a fortune in goodies,” he said, still grinning.
“If you got caught, you’d be arrested,” Cecil warned. “You could even be shot for something like that....besides, everything is radioactive.”
“Oh, I’d have to have a partner—someone who’d keep a lookout for me just as I’d do for him.” The scarecrow looked directly at Cecil.
His intimation was becoming crystal clear. Suspiciously, Cecil said, “You’ve already got somebody in mind.”
“Yeah. From what I’ve heard, you ain’t too popular around here. Me and you, we could work it as a team....and have a little fun on the side, too. Hell, all those chicks ain’t going to be dead when we get in there.”
Cecil’s fist shot through the air, connecting with a soft, thin nose. He felt the gristle crumple under his knuckles as they pushed their way into the flesh. Two small geysers erupted, sending red juices squirting down the scrawny chin of the scarecrow.
Cecil was astonished at his reaction. In his entire life, he had never aggressively attacked anyone. He wasn’t a violent man, yet something had just snapped in him, sending him into a low rage.
Backing out of Cecil’s reach and using the tail of his shirt, the man started sopping up the blood. “You had no call to do that,” he accused. The man’s voice became louder and high-pitched as he talked. “A coward....that’s what you are. You bastard! You’ll be sorry for this!”
Cecil watched as the man staggered farther and farther away from him, still yelling obscenities.
The teacher had returned, catching the last of the action. “What was that about?” he asked.
“Nothing,” answered Cecil. “Say, who is that guy?” he asked as he rubbed his bruised knuckles soothingly.
“I don’t know him, but I heard someone refer to him as Carter,” answered Jim. “He’s part of the unit.”
“Carter,” murmured Cecil. “Is that his first or last name?”
The teacher shrugged. “Who knows. He’s just a fellow who is waiting to go along with the rescue squad.”
At last the man, holding his shirt at his bloody nose, crept out of Cecil’s sight behind a troop truck, leaving the chemist to stare at the olive drab vehicle. That ma
n, Carter, bothered him. Not only was he an unhealthy looking specimen, but there was something furtive, something evil about him. Others might regard Carter as a sniveling sneak of a man, but Cecil viewed him as that and more. He was dangerous. Turned loose in Los Angeles, the man could cause inestimable damage.
“This is it,” said Jim, interrupting Cecil’s thoughts. “The gear is here and ready to go.”
Reluctant to leave his consideration of Carter, Cecil finally turned his interest to another problem that had concerned him. “Jim, has some provision been made for food and water for us?” he asked.
“Gosh!” said Jim, snapping his fingers. “It’s a good thing you mentioned that. It slipped my mind.”
Cecil wasn’t surprised. In fact he had expected this. “Then I think we ought to plan to carry our food and some extra water. Let’s try to get some water barrels stored on a couple of those trucks. We’d better be as prepared as we can.”
He wasn’t exactly sure why, but Cecil felt himself being caught up in the efforts of the rescue movement. His thoughts drifted to the incidents of the past days—of what Calmar Chemical had done to him and how he had tried to even the score with their money, looking out for himself instead of the company for a change. He thought of the Mexican who had been intent on taking all he could get, offering Cecil only $500 for a new car—but Cecil had known the car was radioactive. And Carter, that vulture, perhaps it was the encounter with him that had changed his feelings. Earlier he’d thought of himself as being forced to return to Los Angeles against his wishes. But that was no longer true.. not now. He suddenly wanted to help, to be of assistance.
Chapter Ten
Ben, can you eat something? A tiny bit of food?” Sara pleaded. What else could she do for him beside nourish him? The best she could do for her husband was try to keep him living—at least until she could get medical aid.
He weakly refused the food, just as he had done earlier.
She resignedly left his bedside. She had to get the corpse out of the foyer. Strange..... how methodically her mind was working today. Sara Harrington had been only a typical, passive housewife, content to prepare the meals, do cleaning, and make a good appearance in public. It was important that Ben be proud of her. Decision-making? That was Ben’s responsibility. Now suddenly, he could no longer make the decisions. He was totally helpless. If they were not to perish it would have to be through Sara’s design.