Lacey McDowell, her husband, Owen, and son, Tucker had fortuitously made their way to the back of the shelter into the corner. The natural inclination of the agitated refugees was to press forward toward the door through which they’d entered. Minutes prior, they’d knocked one another over to get inside. Now, despite the massive shaking of the ground they’d just experienced, they begged to be released.
The local police officer and the high school coach had barely closed the door when a blast wave from a nuclear explosion swept over Auburn. It felt like an earthquake, which, unbeknownst to them, it was. As the concrete pieces and accompanying dust fell on the occupants of the shelters, their screams were from surprise. When the lights went out, their primal shrieks were deafening in the enclosed space.
The officer tried to regain order. Normally assigned to traffic duty and supervision of crosswalk patrols, he was one of the few police officers to carry a whistle at all times. It was loud and shrill, but it worked under the circumstances.
He blew it repeatedly. The unexpected sound caused the vociferate refugees to immediately silence their emotions.
“Everybody! Please! You have to calm down!”
“We can’t see!” someone shouted back.
The officer pulled his flashlight from his utility belt and shined it upward to reflect off the ceiling.
“Better?” he asked sarcastically. “See, the sky is not falling, and neither is the ceiling.”
“Were we hit?” a woman asked.
“We’d be dead, you idiot!” a man replied rudely.
“Enough of that!” the high school coach admonished the man. “We don’t know what happened. For now, we have to remain calm and wait.”
“How long?”
“I can’t breathe!”
“I need to pee.” The young boy’s statement immediately sent a new wave of panic over the occupants. They could barely move. Where were they supposed to go to the bathroom?
“Me too!” shouted an older woman.
While the coach began answering questions and did his level best to assuage their concerns, Lacey leaned in to Owen. “This is never gonna work. These people are already losing their minds.”
Owen whispered back, “Maybe the cop oughta grant their wish? Let’s send half of them back outside.”
“I bet there are still a hundred more in the stairwell to replace them,” said Lacey.
The other refugees continued to push their way toward the only exit door, which provided the McDowells a little extra breathing room. Each of them stretched their arms and legs, which helped ease the tension somewhat.
Tucker walked along the back wall in the dim light. Another refugee had illuminated a flashlight and was shining it upward. He walked as far as he could before coming upon a group of people huddled on the floor, blocking his progress. He returned to his family.
“There are three steel roll-up doors,” he explained what he’d found. He turned to his father. “Dad, there’s not a lock on the handles. I don’t know what’s in there, but if somebody figures out they’re not locked, this place will go nuts.”
“You’re right, Tuck. There’s no way those two can control this mob.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder as he referred to the police officer and the coach.
Lacey was concerned about the mood of the refugees. “I don’t trust a panicked mob. If they open the door, should we leave?”
Owen grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t think so, honey. Everything I’ve read says the worst of the fallout is in the first forty-eight hours.”
“Plus, we don’t know if they’ve finished,” interjected Tucker. He gulped and continued. “You know, um, nuking us.”
Lacey’s tough exterior broke down. She began to cry as she reached for Owen’s hand. “That had to be our home, right?”
Owen closed his eyes and sighed. He nodded.
“Dad, that felt like an earthquake.”
“I know, son. You know, I’m just guessing, ’cause it’s impossible to say for sure. But the Hayward Fault runs right by our house and just to the west of Sacramento. I suppose it’s possible a nuke near Silicon Valley could trigger quakes along Hayward.”
“But we’re east of Sacramento,” countered Tucker.
“That’s true, but you know how earthquakes can be felt for miles. When San Andreas shakes, we feel it all the way up on the ridge in Hayward.”
“So we didn’t take a direct hit?” asked Lacey hopefully as she wiped her tears.
“Here? No,” Owen responded. “Listen, I can only speculate, but we all knew Silicon Valley and San Francisco were likely targets for a nuclear attack. We’re just over a hundred miles or so from the city. If the bomb was big enough, I imagine it would shake the earth for at least that distance.”
The police officer and two men were now shouting at one another, causing the crowd to grow even more apprehensive. The two dads were demanding to know who they should hold accountable for the poor conditions in the shelter.
Lacey returned to her immediate concern. “Then maybe we’re safe to leave? I just don’t feel good about being in here with these people. They worry me more than the radiation.”
Owen reached out to his wife and wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight and whispered in her ear, “For now, we may not have a choice. We’ll stick to our corner in the back and let the others knock each other over the heads at the front. Okay?”
Lacey nodded. She reconciled herself to the fact they were better off inside the shelter than facing radioactive fallout. Then someone changed the topic of conversation.
“Hey, these doors open! There’s food and water in here!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, October 25
Placer High School Fallout Shelter
Auburn, California
Inside the fallout shelter, a massive scrum was created in the center of the square-shaped space. Those who wanted to get their share of whatever was available behind the storage doors pushed and shoved their way to the back. Others, intent on being the first ones out of the dark, damp space, fought against the tidal wave of people toward the front door. Arguments teed off the melee, which soon turned into men muscling their way through, clearing a path for their loved ones in tow. A few punches were thrown, and several of the weaker refugees were knocked to the dusty concrete floor, only to get trampled by their fellow man.
The police officer incessantly blew into the whistle in an unsuccessful attempt to restore order. The coach shouted at those in the back of the shelter to leave the doors alone. It was, as he insisted, an unauthorized area.
To the panicked refugees, law and order had collapsed, and a survival-of-the-fittest mentality had set in. The doors were quickly rolled up, and those closest to the storage rooms rushed in first, including Tucker.
Despite his father demanding he stop, Tucker was determined to grab whatever he could see to help his family. Next to him was the man who’d turned on his flashlight moments ago. As he held off the crowd with his broad shoulders and his legs spread wide, he illuminated the shelves for him and Tucker to see.
There were stacked barrels of drinking water and cases of boxes labeled food. Each case indicated it was enough for seven shelter occupants together with five pounds per person. On wire shelving, smaller boxes caught Tucker’s eye. Medical kits, high-calorie MRE bars, and personal hygiene kits. Because they had plenty of food in the truck, Tucker grabbed these three items and wrapped his arms around the boxes to keep anyone from snatching them away.