La grande cite sera bien desolee,
Des habitans vn seul n’y demeurera
Mur, sexe, temple amp; vierge violee,
Par fer, feu, peste canon peuple mourra.
The great city will be thoroughly desolated,
Of the inhabitants not a single one will remain there:
Wall, sex, temple and virgin violated,
Through sword, fire, plague, cannon people will die.
Frank led me at gunpoint to the clearing, where Larry and the others stood laughing at my ineffective struggles against the rope that bound my hands behind my back.
“Han! Don’t hold back this time,” Larry screamed, still laughing.
Then came the beating I was powerless to prevent, but somehow it didn’t really hurt. Each time Han hit me, I jerked, expecting the terrible pain, and each time I felt nothing. It was amazing. I began to laugh with Larry and the others. Wasn’t this a grand joke? I was being beaten and couldn’t feel a thing.
Larry quit laughing and screamed, as blood began to pour from his shoulder. He pulled my knife from its sheath on his belt. “Actually, Leeland, it appears that your usefulness is at an end.”
Frantically struggling, I looked to my right and saw Edgar holding my arm with one hand. He used his free hand to rip a bloody shaft from his throat. To my left, Michael held my other arm while he bled profusely from a gaping hole in his chest. He gave me an eerie grin.
Larry slowly hobbled up to me on one broken leg and brought the knife toward my neck. Sunlight reflected blindingly off of the knife’s brightly polished surface. It came closer, getting brighter by the second, and I knew no one would save me this time. I struggled as the knife came closer, brighter, deadlier, until I slowly… finally… felt excruciating pain as it bit into my neck. I put my last breath into a desperate scream.
My scream awakened me, as well as nearly everyone else in the house. But concern over my nightmare immediately vanished as we all saw the intense light streaming in through the curtained southern windows-a glaring light, brighter than the sunniest summer day. I squinted at my watch-almost midnight.
“Everybody get away from the windows!” I ran through the house. “No one look outside! It’ll blind you! Don’t look!”
As I ran into the kids’ room, the light, which had been fading, seemed to pulse brighter. I realized that a second explosion had occurred. I burst into the room with two things on my mind. Don’t let them look out, and get them away from the windows in case the blasts were close enough for the pressure change to fling the glass into the room.
Megan was already stirring, sitting up in the bed. Zach still slept soundly. I snatched him up, and yelled at Megan, “Come on! Out of here. Get in the bathroom!”
The bathroom was the only room I could think of that was fairly well-protected and had no windows. Not that it would make much difference if the explosions were nearby, but we would know that within a couple of minutes, possibly seconds. And if they were that close, being in the bathroom would hardly be protection against the house coming down around us. If they were further away, however, and I was pretty sure they were, since the whole reason that we’d come to Rejas was because there wasn’t a viable target within a hundred miles, the most we had to worry about for the time being was flying glass and minor structural damage.
“Everybody into the bathroom!”
They all rushed in ahead of me, even as the light pulsed again. I handed Zachary to Debra and slammed the door behind me. Plenty of light streamed in from under the door, more than enough for me to check my watch. Eleven fifty-nine. We counted seventeen more pulses during the next two minutes. Then, the light under the door began to dissipate. The last thing I saw in the fading light was the toilet, and I couldn’t help thinking that rather appropriate.
I checked my watch. The phosphorescent hands had received enough light to glow brightly in the dark bathroom. Exactly midnight. “Okay, the explosions started a couple of minutes ago, so we should know within a few minutes if any were close enough to cause us any immediate problems.”
“How many is a few?” Amber asked from the darkness to my left.
I tried to calculate in my head, but my thoughts were too jumbled… all right, panicked. “I’m not really sure, but five minutes from the time of the first explosion should be plenty. That’s about two minutes from now.”
It was the longest two minutes I had ever waited, all of us crammed into that tiny, dark cubicle. I must have checked my watch at least thirty times, always amazed that so little time had passed. Finally, I saw the numbers I had been waiting for. 12:02.
“Okay, I’m going to go check out the house. I’ll be back in a minute.” I slipped through the door and closed it behind me before anyone could protest.
I immediately noticed that the house wasn’t as dark as it should have been. Turning to the southern window, my throat tightened as I saw why. Across the clearing to the southwest, the sky above the trees glowed orange, a sign that, two hundred miles away, much of the area around Houston was now a raging fire storm. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stumbled blindly to the kitchen, where I knew Amber kept one of those magnetically attachable flashlights on the refrigerator.
Quickly retrieving it, I checked the windows and walls for damage, but it appeared we had made it through unscathed. Apparently, the explosions had been quite far from Rejas. Houston had probably been the closest, and it was nearly two hundred miles away. Good news for us, bad news for anyone still around Houston.
As I headed back to the bathroom, I felt a faint rumbling, as the house began to vibrate. Distant thunder.
I checked my watch. Twelve-oh-three. We had gone into the bathroom at approximately eleven fifty-seven. That meant between six and seven minutes had passed between the initial explosion and the arrival of the sound wave. I would have to check later on the specifics, but I was fairly certain that indicated a pretty fair distance.
I opened the bathroom door and shined the flashlight inside. “Okay, the coast is clear.” I stopped them as they started to exit. “Hang on a minute. There are a couple of things everyone needs to know. First, if you see any more bright lights, don’t look at them and get away from any windows! Immediately!”
Everyone nodded agreement, and I backed out of the way. “Next, we have to get started on a shelter… right now.”
I anticipated protests, but they just waited for me to continue. “It took just over six minutes for the shockwave from the closest explosions to get here. I don’t know offhand just how far away that means they were, but I’m pretty sure they were a fair distance. Judging from the view outside, I’d be willing to bet Houston was the target.”
That silenced everyone, everyone but Zachary. “They blew up Houston?”
“Not all of it, I’m sure. Just parts of it.” It sounded inane put like that, but we didn’t have time for drawn-out explanations. “Don’t worry about it right now. Okay?”
We didn’t have time for much of anything, including building the shelter we were soon going to need so desperately. I cursed myself for sleeping when we still had so much to do, but I’d been so tired after the day’s events. We all had. Unloading the van had taken half an hour. After that, everyone had been exhausted. Besides, I had figured a few hours of sleep really wouldn’t matter. Surely, nothing would happen that soon.
But it did, and I couldn’t afford to waste more time kicking myself now. Digging a good shelter with picks and shovels would take all of us working hard, nonstop, for at least twenty hours. If those explosions had been the death knell of Houston, we could only hope the wind blew from another direction. If not, we’d be lucky to have three or four hours before the fallout began to drift down upon us.
“Amber, what direction has the wind been blowing lately?”
She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually pay attention to things like that. You worried about radiation?”
“Yeah, prevailing winds in this part of the country are from the west.” That was one of the things that made Rejas a good choice for a survival retreat. But just because the prevailing winds were from the west, didn’t mean they always blew from the west. “If they’ve shifted to the north, we could be in for some major trouble.”
My mind raced as I tried to find some solution to our predicament.
“How long do we have?” Debra asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It depends on the direction of the wind, dammit!” I was immediately ashamed. “Sorry, but if the wind is blowing fallout this direction, then we just don’t have enough time to dig in before it gets here.”
“How long do we need?”
“With the tools we have… at least a day.”
“What if we had a backhoe?” Amber grinned in the light of the flashlight.
June 14 / 12:24 p.m.
It turned out that her neighbor ran a construction company. Luckily, this neighbor lived a mere half-mile away. I left Debra and the kids to get things organized at the house, packed Amber in the van, and drove rapidly out to meet Kenneth Simms.
We pulled into his drive to find a middle-aged black couple sitting in their nightclothes on a front porch swing. As we got out of the van, the man rose and came to greet us. “Hello, Amber. I see we weren’t the only ones the light show woke up. You think this is it?”
“Depends on what you mean by it, Ken.” Amber turned to the woman on the porch. “Morning, Cindy. I want you two to meet my son-in-law, Leeland. He’s the best one to tell you all the details. Sort of an expert on this stuff.”
Kenneth’s attention shifted to me. “Hello, Leeland. Pleasure to meet you, though I’m sure the circumstances could be better.”
“That they could, Mr. Simms.” His handshake was firm, his grip carved from a life of hard work.
“Ken,” he corrected. “So, what can we do for you two at this hour? I imagine it has something to do with all the fireworks.”
“Yes, sir, it does. I’m pretty sure those lights were Houston being rearranged.”
“Interesting way of putting it.” He licked his lips nervously. “So, this is really it? Nuclear war?”
“I’m afraid so. Listen, Mr. Simms-sorry, Ken-we’re going to need some help from you. And I think we can help you, too.”
Ken listened as I explained, and he was at once all business. “The equipment is in the back. Shall we get started? Amber can go back and get your family and provisions.”
I shook my head. “We need to do it at Amber’s. She has a spring on her land we’ll need for uncontaminated water… afterward.”
He agreed immediately. “All right, then I’ll need more details on this fallout shelter of yours.”
“Ken, there just isn’t time. We need to get on it right away. Even minutes could make a difference.”
“And that’s why I need more detail now. If we plan properly to begin with, we’ll end up saving time in the long run.” He could see I wasn’t totally convinced. “Look, I’ve been in this business for a long time. How much time would we be saving if I had to come back and get another piece of equipment?”
He was right. “Okay.” I squatted down, drawing sketches in the dirt while Ken held the flashlight. “Basically, it’s like this. We’ll need a trench at least six, preferably eight feet deep, by about four feet wide. My books say we should have at least three feet of length per person. Again, if we can get more, great. We’ll need supports for the walls, covers for the roof, piping for ventilation, and a way to bury the whole mess under at least three feet of dirt.”
He studied the sketches for a minute and nodded. “How much time do we have?”
“I don’t know for sure. Two hours at least.” His eyes widened. “Or it could be two days,” I added. “We won’t know until the fallout starts dropping on us. All we can do is keep track of the direction of the wind and watch for fallout.”
“Watch for fallout? How do you watch for something you can’t see? Especially when it’s not even daylight.” I reached under my shirt and handed him the necklace I had put on as soon as we had unloaded the van. Debra, Amber, and the kids each wore one as well.
“What’s this?”
“PRD. Personal radiation detector. When the white disk in the middle starts to glow green, it’s time to find cover. The brighter the glow, the heavier the fallout.” I hesitated a moment, then told him, “Keep it. I’ve got a few dozen of them. Besides, if you’re going to help out with the shelter, you’re going to be staying with us. And as long as you do, we’ll all have to treat each other as if our lives depend on one another. Like a family.”
I thought again of my Dad back at the shop, and my mother… some friends who were as close as family. I had left behind a lot of people whose fates I didn’t know, and probably never would, a lot of people I would probably never hear from again. “Family is going to be a lot more important from now on, Ken. I intend to do whatever it takes to help keep mine safe.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t. I appreciate the gesture, but that thing is like gold right now, even if you have dozens of ’em.” He started to hand it back.
“No, I’m serious. I want you to keep it. I know it’s valuable. I’m counting on it being valuable. But I really do have plenty of them!” I chuckled. “And they’re worth a lot more now than when I bought them. I figured they might be a good barter item after this is all over. Think about it. People will be worrying about radiation for a long, long time. In their food, water, soil, rains, strong winds… a long time.”
I hung it back around his neck and continued talking, never giving him a chance to protest. “These things are waterproof, and they have an indefinite shelf life. I bought them ten years ago for fifteen bucks each, so don’t sweat the cost. Just don’t lose it. It has a chemical base, so it won’t wear out like a dosimeter will, and EMP won’t affect it.”
“EMP?”
“Electromagnetic pulse. It’s a vicious surge of electricity that’s released by the explosion of a nuclear warhead. It’s the reason that your power has been out all day, and your car won’t run if it has an electronic ignition.” A thought struck me that caused my heart to pound. “Your backhoe doesn’t have an electronic ignition, does it?”
Ken smiled. “Not to worry. All diesel engines.”
My surge of panic subsided, and we spent a couple of minutes altering the sketches on Ken’s advice. When we were finished, he asked, “Do you think you can drive a backhoe? I don’t mean operate it. Just drive it to Amber’s.”
“I can drive a forklift. If it’s anything remotely like it, I can do it.”
“Close enough. It looks like we’re going to need a backhoe and a bulldozer. It’ll be faster if we just drive them straight down to Amber’s, rather than load them on a trailer and tow them. We can leave the women here to load the food and supplies in your van. You drive the backhoe, and I’ll drive the ’dozer, and we’ll get started on this shelter of yours as soon as I get dressed.”
“Good!” I clapped him on the shoulder and rose. “Let’s tell the ladies, and we’ll get things rolling.”
“Hey, Leeland,” he said softly, as we walked to the house. I turned, and he raised the detector up from his chest. “I appreciate it. Thanks.”
Twenty minutes later, Ken had the beginnings of a good-sized trench started about fifty yards behind Amber’s house. The rest of us grabbed flashlights and started working on some of the other projects that would be needed for the shelter.
Megan and Zachary pulled the gutter spouts off of the house for use as ventilation pipes, while Debra and I began construction of an accurate fallout meter. The little PRDs were fine for actual detection of fallout, but they weren’t calibrated to accurately measure the amount of exposure. I had precise plans for the making of a calibrated fallout meter out of a soup can, aluminum foil, wire, cellophane, and various other household items.
An hour and a half later, we had finished the main trench. It was better than I had dared hope for, at twenty-five feet long, ten feet deep, and four feet wide at the bottom, with a slight taper up to about a five-foot width at the top. Ken had started a dogleg addition, as well. Once he finished the trench, the rest of us dropped the other projects we had been busy with and got busy covering the sides with plastic sheeting to help waterproof what would likely be our home for at least the next few weeks. We also worked on shoring up the walls with some of the lumber Ken had brought.
I quickly saw that the small quantity of wood we had would never be enough to shore the walls and cover the top of the entire trench. It wouldn’t even come close. But even as I started to worry, inspiration struck.
I remembered seeing plans for a fallout shelter that had a roof covered with doors taken out of a house. That would solve our problem, if there were enough doors in Amber’s house. I quickly grabbed a flashlight, ran inside, and started counting. Closets, pantries, bedrooms, bathrooms, and the actual entry doors in front, back, and garage amounted to eighteen doors, each one almost three feet wide by six and three quarter feet long.
Obviously, they would have to be laid lengthwise across the top in order to span the top of the shelter. Eighteen doors times their three-foot width meant fifty-four feet of roof. More than enough!
I ran back outside. “Debra! Where’s the toolbox?”
“I put it in the garage.”
I left before she could ask what I was doing. Armed with a screwdriver and hammer, I removed the pins in the door hinges with as much speed as I could muster. I pulled down only the interior doors for the moment. Fifteen doors were still forty-five feet of covering. Twenty-five feet for the main trench left us with twenty extra feet of covering. Heading out to tell Ken how much leeway he had, my heart began to pound as I saw light filtering through the trees, then slowed again almost immediately as I realized that it was nothing more than the sun rising, oblivious to the destruction mankind had wrought upon himself.
I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes after six. I had been working on the doors for half an hour. We had all been on the go since the blasts just before midnight, even after a grueling day relieved by less than four hours of sleep. Fear was a truly remarkable incentive.
Two hours later, we were nearly finished with the shelter. The doors, covered with layers of dirt, plastic sheeting for waterproofing, and more dirt, sealed the trenches. The only way in or out of the shelter was through one of two entrances at either end, which we would cover with improvised blast doors, one of which we had already made. Megan, Amber, and Cindy had also constructed and installed a ventilation system, complete with a simple air filtration system, following plans in an old survival article I had dug out. Ken and I assembled the second blast door. Debra had finished the fallout meter with Zachary’s help, and they began work on a makeshift electrical system out of the car batteries, wiring, and twelve-volt lights.
As Ken and I finished up, he suddenly stopped and stared at me, stared at my chest rather.
“What’s wrong?”
For an answer, he reached under his shirt and pulled out his PRD. My spit dried in my mouth when I saw the faint green glow. I lifted the detector dangling from my neck.
“Debra! Get that fallout meter.” I scrambled to my feet. “Zach, Megan… Everybody! Get in the shelter. Now!”
No one wasted time asking questions, immediately hustling inside. Ken and I dragged the partially completed second door to the opening at the other end of the shelter.
“How long do we have?” Ken kept his voice controlled, but fear was in his eyes.
I tried to reassure him. “The indicators are barely glowing, and there isn’t much wind. I’d say we’ve probably got at least a few hours. We’ll know more once we get a reading on the KFM.”
“KFM?”
“Kearny fallout meter. It’s a homemade fallout meter made out of a soup can and strips of aluminum foil.”
“You’re shitting me!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “As crazy as it sounds, it’s real.”
As if on cue, Debra popped her head out of the opening. “Here’s the meter.”
“Got the tape?”
She silently handed me a roll of scotch tape and held up the stopwatch we had brought with us, all the while, her expression telling me what a stupid question I had asked. After all, she was the woman who never forgot.
“Tape?” Ken asked.
“Just watch.”
I set the KFM on the ground and quickly unrolled about a foot of the tape two inches in front of the charging wire. “Ever noticed how scotch tape creates a static charge when it’s unwound?” Ken nodded. “Well, we’re just taking that charge and putting it to good use.” I moved the freshly unwound tape about a quarter of an inch away from the charging wire and slowly passed the full length in front of it. The wire accepted the charge, and the aluminum foil leaves on the inside of the soup can instantly separated.
“Time,” I called, and Debra started the stopwatch. I quickly measured the distance between the bottom of the two leaves. “Seventeen millimeters. Give me four minutes.”
“Got it.” Exactly four minutes later, she called, “Time.”
I took another reading. “Thirteen millimeters.”
We checked the chart together. “A difference of four millimeters in four minutes. That gives us a reading of…” I ran my finger down the reference chart on the side of the can, “point eight rems per hour.”
I looked at the second chart on the other side of the can. “According to this, we could stay out here for more than five days, if the radiation level stays the same. Unfortunately, there’s not much chance of that happening. It’s bound to go up.”
“But for now…” I stood and patted Ken on the shoulder. “We can count on having at least another hour before things get critical. So let’s wind all this up and get in the shelter as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll go along with that.”
“Debra, you think you know how to read this thing?” I pointed to the KFM.
She pursed her lips and frowned. “I guess it looks easy enough. When should I take the next reading?”
The chart displayed five columns, one each for fifteen-second, one-minute, four-minute, fifteen-minute, and one-hour readings. “Take a four-minute reading every fifteen minutes. If the results start climbing, use the second column on the chart with a one-minute reading every five minutes. If you reach the point to where you lose the complete charge during your one minute timing period, yell out. Then take a fifteen-second reading using the first column on the chart.” I grabbed Ken. “Come on, let’s get everything inside and cover up this hole.”
We herded as many goats and chickens as we could find into the house and covered all of the windows and attic vents with plastic sheeting to hopefully protect the livestock from fallout and ensure that we would have a source of food when we came out. It wasn’t a lot of protection for them, and it was sure to create a major cleanup problem, but it was better than leaving them outside. The chickens, at least, were supposed to be fairly resistant to radiation; I couldn’t find any statistics on goats. Now all we could do was hope.
Just over an hour later, we scrambled for any last minute items we could think of, then sealed ourselves into the shelter. During that time, the fallout had risen to six-point-two rems per hour.
After we finished latching down the blast door, Ken turned to me. “Now what?”
“Now we pray.”
“Dad, Megan hit me!”
“You farted in my face! What did you expect me to do, you little sh-”
“Megan!” My tone shut them both up. “Don’t hit your brother.”
Zachary smirked at his older sister. “And, Zach? You do that again, and I’ll fix that little butt of yours where farting in someone’s face is the last thing you’ll want to do.”
His smirk evaporated and he trudged back to his hammock. “Don’ know why it matters anyhow. This place stinks like farts all th’ time.”
Debra raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. We were both too tired to worry about another spat between the kids. It had only been a week, but we all felt the pressure of living in a darkened, confined space. And, Zach was right. The place did always smell like farts-or worse. There were seven of us living in less than three hundred square feet of dimly lit tunnel, and around the corner at one end of that tunnel was what passed for our bathroom. There was no way the place couldn’t stink, but usually I managed to block it from my mind.
The first few days had been pretty bad. Everyone was scared, uncertain about what kind of world we would emerge into-uncertain about when we would be able to emerge, or if we could ever emerge without certain death being the outcome. On top of that, I’d been putting off a particular conversation.
I’d waited at first to try and find the right time to tell Deb and the kids about Dad, but I finally realized that there just wasn’t ever going to be a “right time.” So, on the third day in the shelter, I sat them down and told them what had happened. After the inevitable tears from everyone, the conversation took a turn I hadn’t anticipated.
“Dad, do you think Grandma…” Megan hesitated. “Do you think she’s still alive?”
Evidently, that hadn’t yet occurred to her younger brother. “Whaddya mean? Gramma’s all right!” He turned to me for reassurance. “She’s okay, right, Dad?”
I sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, Zach. There’s no way for us to tell.”
“But you said you left her a note, an’ you told her to come here when she got home, right?”
Megan interjected before I could figure out what to say. “She didn’t have time to get away from Houston, Zach.”
“She did too!” Zachary turned back and forth between his sister and me, his quivering voice practically begged for reassurance. “Dad?”
“No she didn’t.” Megan’s voice took on a bitter tone. “No one who was still there got away. Everyone we knew is gone.” She looked at me, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Aren’t they?”
I couldn’t help it. My own eyes began to fill at the thought of my father, and the likelihood of my mother also being dead. No! Time enough for that later. Trying to be discrete, I coughed and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” Pulling Zach onto my knee, I wrapped my arms around him. “We’ll probably never know. All we can do is hope.”
Debra leaned over and put an arm around Megan, who buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “Josh is dead, isn’t he?”
I felt two feet tall. I’d completely forgotten her boyfriend, and things had moved so quickly that I’d never thought to talk to her about him. Debra answered, “I don’t know. It’s like your dad just said, we might never know.”
Zach turned his face up to me, suddenly realizing the further implications of what we were saying. “What about Jeremy. Or Kenny?”
Ken spoke from his hammock. “I have a brother in California. He lives in the mountains, in Sierra City. I wonder what happened there.”
Zachary turned his attention to Ken as Ken sat up and smiled kindly at him. “I like to think he’s over there on the other side of the country in a nice cabin in the mountains. I’m sad that I won’t ever get to talk to him again, but I think he’s probably okay.”
“Why won’t you get to talk to him again?”
Ken came over and sat on the dirt floor next to us. “You remember how the electricity went out before you came here to see your nanna?” Zach nodded. “Well, if what your daddy says is true, I think the electricity probably went out all over the country, even in California. And without the electricity, a lot of things won’t work, things like the telephones, and radios, and a lot of cars and gas stations. There’s just a whole lot of stuff that got broken and, without that stuff, I don’t have a way to talk to him anymore.”
“But you think he’s okay?”
Ken nodded. “I’ll bet he is. I bet he’s up in the mountains wondering if I’m okay, and sorry he won’t get a chance to tell me.”
Zachary got up from my lap and hugged Ken. “We’ll find a way to talk to him again.”
I caught Ken’s eye over my son’s shoulder, and mouthed, “Thank you.” Ken just nodded.
Things were pretty reserved for the rest of the day but, after another day of moping, the kids had adapted as well as could be expected. We all knew we had to keep ourselves occupied to keep from dwelling on our losses, so we found different ways to entertain ourselves. We took turns reading our favorite authors aloud by the light of twelve-volt bulbs hooked to the car batteries. It turned out that Cindy was an avid reader of Nostradamus’s prophesies and had searched his works for portents of things yet to come. By her estimation, things didn’t look too good.
“Here’s another one,” she proclaimed one evening. “Quatrain number ninety-one in the second book of Centuries translates like this:
At sunrise one will see a great fire,
Noise and light extending towards Aquilon
Within the circle, death, and one will hear cries,
Through steel, fire, famine, death awaiting them.”
Her voice rose in pitch as she tried to convey the importance she placed upon this prophesy.
Ken groaned. “And I suppose the ’great fire, noise, and light’ is a nuke?” He and Cindy had evidently had similar conversations in the past. I could understand his jaded outlook. I had only had to listen to The Centuries for a couple of nights. He had probably been forced to listen to them for years.
“Well, doesn’t it sound like it to you?” She turned to me for moral support. “Leeland?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I laughed. “You’re not dragging me into a family argument.”
“It sorta sounds like it to me.” Megan volunteered from her hammock. When the rest of us turned to her, she seemed to regret having spoken, as if she feared being ridiculed. “Well, you gotta admit that the other morning looked like a lot of ’steel, fire, famine, and death’!”
None of us had a rebuttal to that.
“So then, where is Aquilon?” Ken’s mocking tone was aimed at his wife. “No town around here with that name.”
“That’s because he was from France, so most of his stuff related to France. Aquilon was an ancient city there, but with everything that’s going on, who’s to say what’s happening?”
We played various games. Ken played the guitar, and Cindy, who had the best voice, was a pleasure to listen to when she sang.
We took vitamins, drank Gatorade, ate lousy food cooked over Sterno cans, and did our business in a covered bucket around the corner. We made a man-powered recharging device for our car batteries by attaching a hand crank to an antique automobile generator that Ken had owned.
We all took potassium iodide tablets to prevent our bodies from taking in radioactive iodine, all of us except for Debra, who had a severe allergy to iodine. In general, we tried to remain optimistic. Usually it worked, but not always. There were bad days, dark, dismal, dreary, and depressing days full of anxious and paranoid musings about the type of world to which we would emerge.
Once a day at noon, whichever adult had accumulated the smallest dose would bundle up in rain gear, rubber gloves, boots, and gas mask, all sealed with duct tape, and go outside to dump the waste buckets and take a reading with the fallout meter. Fallout readings had reached their worst on the day after we went underground, reading twenty-four rems per hour. Cindy had gotten the job of taking that first reading. I had gone over all of the charts with everyone; she knew that anything over ten rems was too dangerous, so she came back in immediately after taking the reading. The next day at noon, Debra reported twenty-three rems, and the day after that I got twelve rems. The next day was Thursday, and Ken reported a reading of seven rems. Readings decreased rapidly after that.
Actually, we got off pretty easy. The fallout wasn’t nearly as intense as it could have been, and nowhere near fatal in such small doses. If anyone had been unsheltered through all of it, though, they would probably be dead within a month.
A long and excruciatingly painful month.
***
After nine days, our PDRs no longer glowed when we went outside. On the twelfth day, it took an hour to get a recognizable reading on the KFM, and even then, it was less than one rem per hour. Simple calculations showed we could stay outside for over seven weeks before things even got close to being dangerous. The next day, the reading was point-oh-three rems per hour… five months of “safe time.”
It was time to see what was left of the world outside.