One large, beautifully shaped succulent tomato hung from the nearest vine. Althea was too smart to succumb to the dictates of her intestines and eat, but she thought of the pleasure it might bring if she could just hold the heavy globe in her hand. Reaching forward, she slid her palm in under the fruit and very gently closed her fingers around it. As she exerted the minutest degree of pressure, the plump tomato ruptured with an ease unnatural to it, and dripped down between her fingers. She stood, holding the soggy mess, and looking at it in surprise. The tomato had been literally cooked in the field, such was the extent of damages done by radiation on the cells of the vegetable.
In disgust, she threw the mess aside and wiped her palm against her dress. It had left a feeling of revulsion in her—the rupture of the tomato. It was to remain long in her memory as the symbol of the devastation that would occur from this disaster.
The road stretched out before her, its dusty path leading back to humanity, she hoped. Each step sent out a little cloud of dust particles as she walked along. The fine granules settled into her shoes, shoes that she had selected for their comfort, but had now rubbed blisters on her heels. Bending down, she removed the brogans and enjoyed the luxurious sensation of the powdery soil against her bruised feet.
A movement up ahead caught her attention. As she drew nearer, she discovered that there were people around, after all. Indeed, a dozen or so men, women, and children had invaded the field of vegetables and were busily intent on filling their buckets and baskets with the soggy food. Lacking the energy to do anything in haste, Althea slowly walked up to them and spoke to the nearest woman. “You’re not going to eat that, are you?” she asked.
The woman glanced hesitantly at Althea, then dropped her head. “Yeah,” she answered. “What’s it to you?”
Althea was not perturbed by the sullenness of the woman. White migrant workers were usually ill at ease around Negroes, she imagined. “It’s dangerous for you to eat this food,” she said. “It will make you sick.”
“Huh,” sneered the woman, “there ain’t nothing wrong with this. All’s you’re worried about is that you won’t get your share,” and she continued to fill the basket.
Althea protested, “No, it will make you...very, very sick.”
“Won’t neither,” answered the woman. “We’ve been eating this since the day of the blast—since Tuesday. And ain’t nothing happened to any of us yet.”
By now several others had come over to hear what was being said Althea closely observed a child peeking from behind the woman’s dress. The youngster, like the adults, had an unusually ruddy complexion. The skin of his face and hands was covered with tiny inflamed splotches, lending a sunburned cast to them. From what she had read, Althea knew that this redness was temporary, and because it would go away, the people would wrongly assume there was no connection between the inflammation and the irradiated food. Unfortunately, within a few days, the erythemas, with continual exposure to radiation, would begin to form huge seeping ulcers—ulcers that would be a fertile bed for cancerous growths. “There is no reason for you to believe me,” she said quietly, “but that food should not be eaten.”
The woman’s husband stepped toward Althea threateningly, “You better take your advice somewhere else, sister. Me and my kids are hungry and we’re going to eat!”
She realized that trying to convince them was a useless waste of energy, and started turning sadly away. Then she remembered her own objective. “Would you happen to know where Glenview Community Hospital is located?” she asked.
“What’s that?” asked the husband.
“Glenview. It’s a hospital.”
The man obviously viewed Althea with distrust. Her manner was too smooth, her voice was too warm, too soft. “What are you doing out here?” he asked suspiciously. “There ain’t no hospitals around this neck of the woods, woman.”
“You’ve never heard of Glenview?”
He shook his head. “Naw. We ain’t got no use for sick places.”
Althea sighed and resumed her journey toward the distant houses. There was no response to her 911 dialed on her cell phone. The Navigation system pointed her hopefully in the right direction.
“Lou Ella, you can’t drink that! You know it’ll make you sick.” Jess hated to reprimand his weakened wife, but she shouldn’t have done it. She’d mixed the sugary, orange-flavored powder with tap water and was sitting at the table drinking it.
“Humph. I don’t care anymore; I don’t care one tiny bit,” the old woman answered.
“Sweetheart, everything will be all right. Wait and see if it’s not,” said the old man soothingly.
“Where’s Althea?” asked his wife. “She’s been gone the whole day and half the night. She should have been back by now...unless something's happened to her.”
Jess Carr also worried about his daughter’s absence. She had been gone much too long.
“How is it that the police can’t do their jobs anymore?” asked his wife. “Jess, I think you ought to go down to the police station and report her missing.”
In his many years of life Jess had never found policemen particularly helpful. Actually, he and most black people he knew felt they had good reason not to trust cops. “No, Lou Ella. I don’t think I should go out. You know what Thea said about us staying inside. Besides, there won’t be anyone at the police station.”
Lou Ella shut her eyes tightly, a device she’d always used to relay to her husband that she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
“We’ll have to sit and wait, sweetheart,” replied the old man. “She’ll be in, you’ll see, and she’ll have your medicine.”
His reassurances fell on deaf ears. “No, I want you to go report her missing. I can’t stand thinking of my little girl out there alone in the night.”
“But Lou Ella....it won’t do any good. I tell you there’s nobody at the police station.” His wife was a quiet woman by nature, one who made few demands on her husband. And because she seldom asked anything of him, he was inclined to grant her wishes when she did ask. This, however, was directly against his better judgment and Thea’s command.
He peered at her through the dimness. She sat unmoving, her eyes closed. “Did you hear me, Lou? I said there’s nobody at the station.”
A tiny droplet squeezed out from under one lid and rolled down her cheek. He saw the shiny tear and was moved. Lou was a strong woman—she never cried, no matter how bad it got.
“Don't worry,” he whispered. “I’ll go look for her.” He felt impelled himself—he couldn’t rest, not knowing where Althea was or what had happened. Maybe she was somewhere near and he’d find her. At least he’d be making some effort and that was better than sitting still.
Jess got up and removed his windbreaker from the closet. He slipped it on and zipped the front. To others the night would seem warm but he chilled easily. Going to the door, he cast one look back at his wife. She was motionless, but she’d heard his response, he was sure of that. “Fasten the latch after I’m out,” he reminded her, then stepped cautiously into the darkness.
Sometime during the waiting Lou Ella dozed off. When a feeble pounding at the door intruded on her, she was instantly alert. Sliding the latch aside, she cautiously peeked into the darkness. “Jess? Is that you?”
From the opposite side a weight pushed against the door, forcing it open. Althea lurched toward her mother, clutching at her. Her feet were bare, showing huge puffy blisters across her heels and soles. The dress that had been tidy in the early morning was now grubby with filth. A tiny vial of a colorless fluid fell from her fist as she slowly sank to her knees on the floor, completely exhausted.
“My gracious, girl, we were worried sick about you,” said her mother. The little woman strained at lifting Althea to her feet. “What in the world happened to you?”
“Mama, your insulin—don’t step on it,” said the daughter.
The bottle was retrieved, inspected briefly, then dropped into a pocket. “That
’s not very much they gave you, Thea, not for having gone all that distance to get it.”
Althea pushed her mother’s hands away, refusing to be helped to her feet. “I’ll have to go back when this is gone. They wouldn’t give me more at one time.”
“Oh, Thea, you look so tired.” Lou Ella again tried to lift her daughter.
“No, Mama, let me rest here on the floor.”
Lou Ella rushed to the kitchen and filled her glass with the orange powder and water. She stirred it quickly and returned to Althea. “Here, take a swallow of this....you must be thirsty.”
Without realizing, Althea opened her mouth to receive the orange fluid, and felt its deliciousness cascade down her throat.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it, honey?”
The daughter dumbly nodded, then gasped, “Mama, no! You know it’s not safe to drink the water! How could you?”
Tears welled once more in the tired eyes. “I got so thirsty I couldn’t stand it anymore,” Lou Ella whimpered. “I had to drink it.’’
“But Mama, you’ll have to try! You’ll have to steel yourself against temptation!” Arguing with the elderly woman was pointless and only sapped Althea’s energy. And now she’d hurt her mother by shouting at her. “I’m sick, Mama....awfully sick. But promise me that you and Dad won’t use the water, will you?”
The tears freely flooded Lou Ella’s cheeks as she dabbed at the wetness. “Althea, what are we going to do?”
The daughter had been plagued by recurring vomiting since evening. Her body was now weakened by the loss of energy, and a fever was beginning a slow climb, leaving her full of aching misery. “I’ll lie here on the floor for awhile, Mama....just leave me here. Maybe I can think of something later.”
Sniffling her tears, the old woman mumbled, “Thea, I sent Papa out to report you missing to the police. We didn’t know but that something awful had happened to you.”
In disbelief, Althea stared at her mother. “Papa is....Mama, there’s no police. How could you have let him go?” She felt her body going numb, but she asked, “Why, for Lord’s sake?”
“We were worried about you, honey. He should be back by now, though...! guess he just took it slow.”
No matter how strongly Althea wished to stay awake, he body refused. She slowly sprawled out on the floor and slid into unconsciousness, murmuring “Papa....Papa....”
As his daughter approached the house from one end of the block, Jess turned the corner at the opposite end. He made his way carefully in the blackness, stepping slowly and feeling the firm concrete before putting his weight down. The short walk had made no unusual demands on him, yet, his body was no longer responding to his will to go on.
The pain slammed into his chest like a sledge hammer then raced up his neck and along his left arm. Beads of perspiration rapidly formed and poured down his face. Clutching his chest, he kneaded his fingers into the bony rib cage, trying to work the pain out. But the ache only intensified. “Lou Ella,” he whispered, just before he collapsed on the empty sidewalk.
Light was filtering under the shade. It was the soft, diffuse sunlight of early morning. Althea blinked away the sleep, and listened closely for sounds. The house was still. The air was heavy. There’d been no wind to disturb the quietness outside the frame bungalow just as there were no movements to interrupt the quietude inside.
“Mama?” she called tentatively.
She had laid on the hard floor throughout the night—in the same spot where she had collapsed in an unconscious faint. Her body was sore and stiff, but it was not until she pushed her weight up on swollen, raw feet that she gasped with the pain. It was a metal-hot, searing pain that swept along her body. On trembling, shaking legs, she leaned against the wall and attempted to clear her head. The house was inordinately quiet. “Mama? Mama, where are you?”
She treaded painfully toward her parent’s bedroom door and called again. “Mama, are you all right?” Shoving the door ajar, she saw the elderly woman curled on her bed. “Mama, why didn’t you answer me?” The old lady’s eyes were open. “Didn’t you hear me call?” asked Althea anxiously. The grey head made a slight barely perceptible movement on the pillow.
“Where’s Papa?” Why hadn’t he awakened her, she wondered. At that instant she remembered that he’d been gone when she returned during the night. She moved to her mother’s side and took the frail, wrinkled hand in her own. She slid her fingers to the underside of the wrist. Faint pulsations irregularly passed into the delicate receptors of her fingertips.
Hastily, the daughter poured alcohol onto a cloth and bathed her mother’s neck and chest. Fumes sent the mother into a small fit of coughing.
“Althea,” Lou Ella finally said, “your father is out on the sidewalk....we must go get him.” Her voice was tired and weak, almost inaudible, but she attempted to arise from the bed.
“I’ll get him, Mama. You stay right here and I’ll go call him,” said Althea moving toward the door.
“No, you don’t understand. Last night when I sent him...” her words trailed off and became momentarily lost. At last they resumed. “When I sent him down to the police station to report on you, he didn’t come back.” Her voice weakly drifted off again.
“He didn’t....what?” Althea grasped her mother’s shoulder and gently shook it. “Mama, what are you talking about?”
“I waited all night, maybe I slept some, but by morning I knew something had happened.” Large tears again pooled under the swollen lids. “You wouldn’t wake up, Althea, so I went out by myself... looking for him.” The tiny dams burst and salty drops spilled out.
“You shouldn’t have....oh Mama, you...,” began the daughter.
“He was dead. There, on the sidewalk—like his heart stopped beating and he just died—not even a block from home. My poor Jess... .Ohhh, my poor Jess.”
They cried together, the mother and daughter.
“It was my fault, Althea,” she said at last. “I made him go out—he didn’t want to.”
Through her sobs, the daughter said, “It wasn’t your fault, Mama. Papa’s heart was bad.”
“He tried to tell me that there was no use in...Oh, Thea, why did I do it?”
“Please, Mama. We can’t help it now....he’s gone.”
Realizing that neither really consoled the other, they finally dried away their tears.
“I carried a blanket and put it over him,” explained Lou Ella. “I couldn’t leave him to lie on the pavement in the hot sun. He suffered so from the heat.”
Althea knew what must be done. Walking on aching feet, she managed to get out onto the sidewalk and around the corner to where her father lay. She saw him, exactly as her mother had described him, the yellow wool blanket still covering his body.
The old man weighed only slightly more than his daughter. Yet, positioning him so that she could pull him to the house required most of her meager strength. With the blanket securely wrapped around him and tied at his feet, she worked intermittently, tugging and resting, tugging and resting, until she succeeded in moving him to his own lawn. There, under the shade of the ragged hedge, she left him.
There seemed no end to the pain falling upon her. Now her father’s death. How much more could she take? Then she wondered how much more the frail old woman could take. After fifty years of marriage, what happened in the heart of the one who was left? Althea painfully made her way back inside.
“Did you cover him up real well, Althea?” Lou Ella was propped on her pillow, more alert than before.
“Yes, Mama.” answered the daughter.
“When will we get help, do you reckon?”
“Soon....very soon.”
“The wind isn’t blowing, though, is it?”
“No, Mama. Not yet. But it will soon, I know it will.”
The daughter leaned close to her mother to dry the perspiration on her face. Then she noticed it—a sweet odor to the older woman’s breath. “Mama, you took your insulin yesterday, didn’t you?�
� she asked in sudden fear.
She received a nod in the affirmative.
“Are you sure, because your breath smells sweet.” Althea knew the odor indicated improper sugar break-down by the body. For some reason her mother’s body chemistry was out of order. But why? “Could you have forgotten to take it?”
“I took it, Thea, only maybe it’s not doing much good anymore. The diarrhea is really bad,” murmured the woman.
Althea looked straight into the sad pitiful eyes of her mother. “You’ve been drinking the water, haven’t you?”
“I’m so thirsty that I can’t help myself, Thea.”
Of course. A diabetic’s insatiable thirst when the body is not in tune....she’d naturally need fluids. “Oh God, how long will this go on?” moaned Althea. The radiation sickness caused vomiting. “Mama, have you been vomiting?” Lou Ella slowly shook her head. “Nooo, but I feel so terrible... my poor Jess.” What was wrong with the old woman? Thirst, yes, but why were her body signs so depressed, wondered the daughter. Althea rushed from the room. Stacked in a pile in a bureau drawer were the pamphlets given to her mother by the doctor. She scanned the print, searching for a definition of these symptoms. The black letters jumped at her from the page. Any circumstance which causes a diabetic to rapidly undergo loss of body fluids may quickly bring on coma. Well, now she knew. Mama’s body signs were depressed because of the diarrhea—a symptom of the radiation. To forestall a coma, the body’s fluids would have to be immediately restored and insulin given. At a hospital the fluids could be intravenously fed directly into the bloodstream, but here, in the house, what could she do? The water. She must get all the water into her mother that she could. This was no time to be concerned with the radiation. And insulin—she had to give her mother more of the precious hormone.
The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) Page 18