“Mr. Corwin!” a tall, broad-shouldered man called as he came rushing over. Corwin had introduced him to Marla during the tour — Gary Mason, plant manager. Mason wore a lab coat and hard hat, and a ridiculously boxy pair of safety goggles were draped around his neck. When he drew near, Marla saw that he was holding an iPad protectively under the coat. Marla had tried tossing a few questions his way when they first met, but Corwin had steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Mr. Corwin,” Mason said again. “You and Ms. Hollis should get inside right now!”
“What happened?” Corwin yelled back, rain pouring down his face.
“I don’t know all the details yet!” Mason pointed to the headset tucked in his ear. “I’m waiting for a report any minute! In the meantime, I’ve implemented the Stage-Two Evac Plan. All nonessentials.”
Corwin pointed to the containment building, where smoke was rising heavily from the side they couldn’t see.
“What about that?”
Mason’s eyes flicked briefly to Marla, who spotted the loosely held fear that had taken up residence there.
“There’s been some damage to the core in Reactor Two,” he said.
“From the explosion? The big one?” Corwin asked.
“Yes, but we have another unit continuing to produce electricity for the customers. Unless the NRC tells me to shut it down, I’m going to keep it going.”
“How bad is the damage?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mason said.
“Are any fission products escaping?”
“I… I just don’t know at this time.”
Corwin paused, then asked, “How did it happen?”
Mason shook his head and gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
“Sir, it’s only been about ten—”
“Mr. Mason,” Marla said, “what happened?”
Mason looked at Corwin, who had turned his attention back to the containment area and gave no reply.
Then, addressing Marla directly, Mason said, “Most likely, one of the gates that opens to permit cooling water into the reactor became fused shut, causing the reactor to overheat and the internal pressure to build beyond safe limits. The resulting explosion appears to have ruptured both the inner and outer structures.”
Marla’s earlier conversation with Corwin replayed in her head like a bad flashback.
“Christ… like Chernobyl?”
“Not exactly the same, no. But very similar — extreme heat and pressure.”
“How did the gate become fused?”
Mason looked at his employer for a lifeline again, but Corwin had begun moving away from them in a daze.
“Sir,” Mason said, “please don’t go over th—”
“Mr. Mason,” Marla said firmly, “how did the gate fuse shut?”
Fear and reluctance passed across Mason’s face. Marla said nothing but had no intention of letting him off the hook.
“It was struck by lightning,” he said finally.
Marla’s mouth fell open.
“Lightning? You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“What about the lightning rods?”
Mason shook his head. “We don’t have them.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are no lightning rods in this facility.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“How many regulations does that violate?”
“None,” Mason said, turning away. Marla knew the body language well, familiar as she was with people who wanted to extract themselves from a conversation.
“None?” she asked.
“There are no laws or regulations requiring nuclear plants to have lightning rods,” Mason told her.
“Oh, please.”
“Look it up for yourself,” Mason said with complete conviction, and Marla had no doubt in that moment he was being truthful.
Corwin had wandered a good twenty yards away now, moving off through the pounding rain in what appeared to be an attempt to get a better view of the damage. The scene that was developing on the other side of the fence looked to Marla like a vision from hell. Flaming chunks of concrete were scattered around the pavement, and more flames were leaping from a gaping hole in the containment structure, just below the domed top. Twisted steel wormed and jutted from it in all directions. Three people in hazmat suits were working a fire hose in an altogether ineffectual attempt to quell the blaze. Two more lay facedown, spread-eagle among the rubble. Marla assumed they were dead, especially since one of the corpses was missing its right leg. Marla realized they had probably been inside the building at the time of the explosion, and the force blew their bodies out here. She saw Corwin turn away and cover his mouth with both hands.
“We need to know what’s coming out of the containment building immediately,” he said to Mason.
“I’ve been trying to determ—” Mason started. His Bluetooth flashed concurrently with the trill of a cellphone that was tucked somewhere under his lab coat. He put up a finger—Hang on a second—and pressed the headset’s answer button. His expression then modulated from lingering hope to dull, dawning horror. Marla noted the bob in his throat, and a frozen finger touched the pit of her stomach.
Behind him, a response team in hazmat suits appeared, moving toward the chaos. Mason finished his call and stood, still and silent.
“What is it, Gary?’ Corwin demanded. “Tell me.”
Mason cleared his throat. “It’s a full breach. The containment vessel is half gone.”
Corwin closed his eyes and let out a breath that seemed to deflate his whole body.
“Ken says the fissile material is pouring out in massive quantities,” Mason added.
“Jesus Christ,” Corwin said haggardly.
“Both of you need to get inside immediately. Go to the control room, you’ll be safe there for the time being.”
Corwin turned toward the door, but Marla didn’t budge. Her gaze was fixed on the cloud pouring from the rupture.
“Which way is the wind blowing?” she asked.
“To the east, it appears,” Mason replied. “Why? Do you — oh, shit… The town.”
Marla’s jaw tightened. “You have to alert the authorities right now. Local, state, federal… everybody.”
Corwin didn’t seem to hear. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket with fingers that were trembling badly, and rubbed it under his nose. Marla grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and shook him.
“Are you listening, dammit? You have to get the word out immediately!”
A man with a retro buzz cut stuck his head out the door as if on cue and said, “The mayor’s on the phone and wants to know what’s going on.”
Mason nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Then, back to the others, “Please, you must get to a safe place.”
Using his hands, he ushered them both inside. Then he ran off and disappeared. Marla took out her iPhone and began snapping pictures through the door’s window — first of the blossoming radioactive cloud, then everything else that seemed noteworthy.
When she turned to gauge Corwin’s reaction, she found him watching her with an expression as blank as a freshly washed chalkboard. A puddle was forming around his feet as water ran off his sodden clothing.
“I’m going to send these to my editor, with more to come. Care to try and stop me?”
There was no response at first. Then Corwin shook his head.
No.
10
“How bad is it?” she asked, tapping a pencil on the blotter to expel some of her jitters.
“It’s bad, Sarah,” Gary Mason said from the other end of the line. “It’s really bad.”
She pictured him in her mind, having been introduced to him during one of her official visits to the plant: big guy, huge hands, white lab coat, deep voice, a little intimidating. But everyone seemed comfortable around him and genuinely fond of him, and those feelings appeared to be reciprocated. A good boss, she had decided. Competent. Objective. Concerned.