“What about going into your own business instead of working for somebody else?”
“Yeah. But that takes money and I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Yeah, I guess you can do that when you don’t have a family and can scrape along as you build the business, but it’s difficult once you have a family.”
“That was some Christmas, though. The year we worked in Vegas. Some Christmas! This Christmas we’re just going to buy for the baby and each other. Nobody else. And maybe we’ll just eat at our house; doesn’t matter who comes and who doesn’t.”
“What about your wife’s daughters by her first marriage?
“Oh, them. He wanted them, he got ’em. Not that my wife doesn’t try to see them sometimes. But he can afford them, so he takes care of them. Oh, we’ll buy them something, too, sure, but not anybody else.”
“How old are they?”
“Twelve and fourteen. But my wife talks to them. Talks to them whenever she can. Not like Dody. Dody never talks to his son. Nothing can get him to do it. His wife talks to her daughter; she has a daughter by her first marriage. Thaw, that’s Dody’s son, is her step son. And Dody’s missus even goes to visit her daughter. And Dody’ll talk to the daughter. But he won’t talk to his own son. My wife’s not like that. How’d it feel if you had a parent and that parent refused to talk to you? Just because you used drugs and stuff. I wouldn’t care what my kid did. My kid would be my kid and I would talk to him. No matter what. How do you think Dody’s son feels with his dad refusing to talk to him? I mean maybe if he talked to him, showed a little care, maybe he cuda helped his son work through his problems. Don’cha think? But Dody won’t talk to Thaw. Refuses to see him. Doesn’t talk about him. Doesn’t want to hear about him. It’s like he’s dead. If I were Dody, I’d talk to him. Wouldn’t you?”
“How old’s his son?”
“Nearin’ forty.”
“Still uses drugs?”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Lots of time young people stop using drugs as they get older, but Dody’s son has not?”
“I don’t know. But Dody won’t talk to him.” Neville went back to his painting.
Lost in thought, half waiting, half watching, Martha did not move away immediately.
Neville did not look up from his work. “I’d talk to him though. If I were Dody I’d talk to him,” he said.
15. Jason Mobilized
Jason and Marty stood frozen at the window as Jason mentally reviewed the situation: If the fires were within three miles they had to evacuate as there was a good chance they might spread and reach their home. But if they were that close it would suggest the explosion was not at The Plant. That would probably mean terrorism. But if the glow came from The Plant, they could expect radioactive fallout. However today was windless. They were more than thirty miles from The Plant. There was no evidence of falling ash such as there would be if the first phase of the fallout had already arrived. If that were the case, his mom and dad had said he had to hunker down…not go anyplace for at least forty-eight hours or until the dosimeter levels dropped low enough for them to run. If the fallout had arrived already, he knew better than to try to hitchhike out. His dad had explained how a vehicle would afford no protection. They knew that Time. Distance, and Shielding were the basic aspects for protection from radiation. The roof and windows of a car or even a large truck were not thick enough to provide adequate shielding. Nor were the roofs and windows far enough from the passengers to prevent the damaging effects of radioactive fallout. The wood room was below ground level, windowless, and insulated by dirt, stones and wood on all sides. If they stayed there they would have to keep the heavy wooden door closed tight in order to lessen the radiation effects from outside the house.
So Jason knew that if the fires were, in fact, from an explosion at The Plant, he and Marty could hunker down for forty-eight hours and wait for any soon-to-arrive ionizing radiation in the fallout to decay to a reduced level and dissipate. That would be the best plan. That is if he could be sure the fires were not closer and that his mother and father would be there to keep Marty calm and to drive a car when it was time to take off. But Jason Matters knew his parents not only were not there, they probably were not coming. They had coached him on this, so he knew. The possibility of its being another large industrial cite was out of the question as only residential areas stretched between them and The Plant. The possibility of arson among the homes did not occur to him.
Marty was the first to speak again. “So Jase, what do we do?” He knew if either of them were to come up with a plan, it would have to be Jason. Hadn’t he heard them talking quietly more than once about something about…so then you know what you have to do. Just be sure you have Marty in tow. And afterward, just stay put until we can talk. And when he had tried to enter into the conversation, they had sent him back to watch television with comments such as, “Don’t worry about it. For now this is Jason’s responsibility.” Or, “Yeah. When you are older.”
“I’m thinking.”
Marty knew this really meant, wait, be quiet. So he was quiet. And he waited, all the time watching the fires and wondering if the wind was coming their way.
Jason imagined that at this time everyone aware of the fires—and the probable meltdown—would be scrambling, unsure of what to do and wasting precious time in the process. But he was different. His parents had taught him well: assess the situation, make a judgment call on what is found, and then decide. He knew there were only two choices: hunker down or run.
Their father had reminded Jason that as they were in the path of the Westerlies, any winds either up the river bed or eastward would, if there was any, carry fallout. Ariana was some twenty-five miles in from the river, so the plan was that if they were to run, they were to head north. If they could make it an hour north and beat the fallout, they’d be safe. Even if they could make only another thirty miles in the hour, they would be sixty miles from The Plant…that was assuming The Plant was Ground Zero. And it would put them at least forty miles from any fires, if they were just fires. Jason made his decision. They would flee now and figure it from there…wherever in an hour they might be.
He gave the command. “Downstairs!” The two moved as one.
Making their way through the dim light of the cellar, Jason entered the wood room. He grabbed a flashlight, turned it on, and handed it to Marty.
“Here. Hold this.”
Marty automatically showed the light wherever Jason’s hands reached. Jason pulled down a backpack for each of them. He opened the KI and poured half of the white 130 mg tablets into his own backpack, screwed the top back on and shoved the bottle into Marty’s backpack. He handed Marty a sweat suit and grabbed one himself. “Put everything I give you into your backpack.”
Marty felt reassured. Jason seemed to know what he was doing. Jason handed Marty flip-flops, soap, half a box of band aids, a bottle of water, half of a bottle of vitamins, about twelve very small tin cans of food with pull-up seals. Marty knew they were mostly canned meat and fish. Jason also handed him a roll of toilet paper. Whatever he gave to Marty, he also took for himself except, given he had a larger backpack, he took three bottles of water instead of one. The last things he took for himself were a map, a battery-powered flashlight/radio that could be cranked to generate electricity, his dad’s dosimeter, and a supply of batteries. Then, reaching onto the highest shelf, he pulled out a small envelope. Inspecting its contents, he confirmed that it was filled with various denominations of cash. He closed it and shoved it into his front pants pocket. Standing a moment, he reviewed his actions to that point. It confirmed he had done all that his father had said he must do at such a time as this. Zipping his backpack and slipping it over his shoulders, he instructed Marty to do the same. Finally, he handed Marty a poncho.
“Put this on. We’re going. Mom and Dad told me what to do. We could wait a couple of days, but since we’re not driving and will have to hitchhike, I think we need to
go now. We may be too close to stay because of the fires. But there’s no wind today, so maybe we have time. If we can get fifty miles from here in an hour, we’ll be fine. If anybody asks, we need to get to our parents in Waxton. And whatever you do, do not leave my side.”
Marty decided not to query about the time thing. If time was important, no sense in wasting it. “What about Prissy?”
“Prissy is fine. She’s smart. She’ll live on birds and field mice until we get back. If the fire comes, she’ll jump in the stream. Taking her will slow us down. We’re not Prissy. We need to find another house for us to sleep in until this is over.” They headed up the stairs.
“Where’s Prissy?”
Jason recalled the cat leaving the house. The words spewed out firmly. “I said we’re not taking her.”
But Jason persisted. “I know. I just want to be sure she’s outside.”
Jason continued to hide from Marty the likelihood that Prissy would probably be better off in the basement where she would be better protected from fallout. But now was not the time to stop for a cat at the risk of their own lives. “She’s outside. Remember how she passed us going out as we came in?”
“Yeah. You’re right. You sure she’ll be okay?”
“I’m sure.” Despite the flood of guilt he felt over his own duplicity and the good possibility that they had seen the last of Prissy forever, Jason breathed a sigh of relief.
It occurred to Marty that Jason was becoming a bit difficult. Still, he persisted. “What about Mom and Dad?” Marty felt like he was talking to Jason’s back.
Jason’s voice came hurriedly over his shoulders as he pressed forward in his effort to quickly leave the area. “They told me if this ever happened not to worry about them. They’d be fine.” Close behind him, Marty was now talking to Jason’s backpack.
“But the fires!”
“They said you were to come with me and not to worry about the fires. They’d figure it out.” They had reached the front door. Jason stopped pointedly, turned so that the younger boy had to look up at him. He spoke confidently and assertively from his height. “Anyway, I think they work on the other side of the fires and so they won’t be able to get through until the fires are out.”
Lying had never been Jason’s strong suit. He was surprised at how easily he was able to do it now.
“Oh,” said Marty.
Marty waited as Jason locked the front door. Then the two of them set off down the road. The street was deserted. The adults had not yet returned from work and Mike and Carl, their neighbors, had rowing practice.
Jason regretted not having greased their bike chains on an earlier date. But then Marty did not have Jason’s stamina and two on a bike might not have been the answer. Under Jason’s direction, riding Indian style, with Marty in the rear, they headed for the old road north.
Jason’s mom and dad had suggested that even if the traffic moved more slowly, in a time of panic, it might be less likely to be jammed on the secondary roads. If they moved quickly they might reach the old road in ten minutes. Jason had never hitchhiked before. Firstly, he had never had a need to do so. Secondly, his parents had taught him that it could be dangerous. And although they had also cautioned him against carrying a weapon for protection, today he’d put his father’s scout knife into the outer pocket of his backpack…too complicated to get if he needed to defend himself or Marty. Still, it comforted him to know it was there. Well, if push came to shove, he knew his feet were fast and sure. He had used them enough in soccer. If he had to, he would use them for escape. Or for protection.
TWO Rising Spring
1. Truth’s Aftermath
Bain, a city of some 80,000, prided itself on containing the campuses of both the New Carlton State Capitol and Nick-Sue. There were few factories, with most people employed in service areas, government, and education. Spreading out from the governmental area, those employed in the non-professional service areas tended to live in the city in tenements and apartment buildings, blurring the line between cosmopolitan and urban poor. With education and hard work, as city-dwellers income levels rose they took their homes beyond the city limits, eventually taking over woods and farmlands where they marked the building lots with expansive somewhat vapid housing. Generally, little effort was made to preserve even the largest and healthiest of trees as developers cleared the way for homes built more to impress than to accommodate. And as the cost of building on the flat was significantly lower than building in the mountains that encroached just beyond it, the wetlands were quickly filled and prepared for further building. Environmentalists bemoaned the threat to wildlife, including birds, fish, otter, and rabbits on the flatlands, and deer, mountain lions and bear that fed in and at the foot of the mountains. Urban sprawl became an issue worthy of debate, however, among the general populace, few heeded the call.
Still environmentalist groups and animal rights activists became increasingly vocal and eventually the governor and the mayor called for the expansion of the City Planning Department and the addition of an Inter-County Planning Department. This latter idea was hailed as cutting-edge thinking. Part of the reason for this was that on the west bank of the James River people prided themselves for being urban and cosmopolitan while the inhabitants of the east side of the James thought of themselves more as landed gentry. Eastsiders tended to maintain city homes in Worthington and strong ties with Aesopolis through a number of Aesopolis brokers, lawyers and doctors in their families. They provided for themselves and their extended families a number of large estates used for horse breeding, causing Miriam, a small town about twenty-five miles outside of Worthington, to boast the highest percentage of millionaires and billionaires in the state. The problems of Bain concerned them only when in the unlikely event that their portfolios were threatened. As such they remained disdainful of the growing Worthington ghetto where poor whites and minorities, unable to find housing in Bain, crowded into tenements housed in abandoned and then gutted glove and leather stitching factories that had been converted into low cost housing by HUD developers.
Natalie, a rabid environmentalist since college, was cognizant that to eat one had to have some marketable skills to accompany one’s zeal. Given the skill she had exhibited in mechanical drawing and mathematics in high school, she decided a way to go would be city planning. With a Master’s degree from Aesopolis City University she had immediately upon graduation applied for a position with the Bain City Planning Department. At the time, the department had five employees. Since then it had grown to fifteen and Natalie’s years with city planning permitted her to now often assume a leadership role in new projects as they occurred.
Her typical week there was filled with meetings, dinners, presentations, and the constant review of maps and proposals related less to protecting the environment from the people than the people from the effects of changes in the environment. Driven by the metropolitan area’s growing population, the city planning department was regularly forced to seek creative ways in which to expand inhabitable areas through the redevelopment and regentrification of older, more run down ones. The balancing act began when such plans ran counter to the need for the expansion of low-income housing, and when push came to shove, regentrification generally carried the day. This fact had become a steady source of frustration for Natalie and it was that which initially encouraged her to think toward finding employment elsewhere. So when the creation of the Inter-County Planning Department was announced, Natalie had jumped at the opportunity and submitted her resume. Her application had gone in a few weeks ago, but she had not as yet heard back from the search committee of the governor’s office.
Thinking of the upcoming Friday, on Tuesday night, Natalie called Thaw. Partly because there had not been the opportunity, and partly because neither of them knew what needed to be said next, Thaw and she hadn’t really talked in any depth since her Melanie outburst.
“Thaw? It’s me. Nat.”
“Natalie! I’m so glad to hear your voice. How a
re you?” The pleasure in Thaw’s voice bounced across the miles.
“Thaw, I’ve been thinking.”
“Isn’t that what you are always doing?” Thaw offered half jokingly.
“Yes. But this time it’s different.”
He noted the levelness of Natalie’s voice. “Oh.”
“Thaw, I think we need to stop seeing each other for a while.”
Thaw paused to grasp what Natalie was intending. Perhaps his passionate plea about how they had more than just chemistry, about how he loved her, was not as effective as he had thought it had been. “You do?”
“Yes. I need to sort out some things…decide what I am doing with my life. Maybe my friends are right. Maybe I need a change.”
“You’ve met someone else?”
“No. I just need a change. You understand.”
Thaw did not, but he did not want to upset her further. “Well, yes. And no.”
“Well, I don’t really understand it myself. That’s why I need some time. I’ll call you when I’ve thought it over.”
“How about if I call you?”
“Please don’t. I’ll call you. It might be a while. But I’ll call you.”
“Okay, Nat. I love you, Nat. But okay.”
Natalie hung up the phone. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Had to do it. Had to do it. She pulled a tissue from the box near the phone. But what am I going to do now? What am I to do? What’s a thirty-four year old Jewish Princess involved with a drop-dead handsome, financially strapped and afraid-to-commit woodsman-artist to do? What? Natalie wiped her eyes, blew her nose and began idly to thumb through the stack of mail she had absentmindedly placed on the telephone table as she passed it coming in from work earlier in the day. Electric bill…Amnesty International…NARAL…Environmental Defense Fund…Office of the Governor of New Carlton…“Office of the Governor?!!”
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