“Bad as in Chernobyl? Fukushima? I don’t want to sound melodramatic this early, but I need some idea of what we’re dealing with.”
“Put simply, we’re dealing with a core meltdown. In layman’s terms, that means the core of the reactor, the compartment where the fission chain reaction occurs, has been damaged, and all that fissile material — i.e., radioactive material — is moving outside.”
“How did that happen?”
“Every nuclear reactor has a coolant system,” Mason said rapidly, “and when the coolant stops flowing through the reactor, the reactor overheats. From there, all sorts of things can cause an explosion. If there’s still a small amount of coolant remaining in the reactor, it rapidly turns to steam and the pressure builds. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened here — the coolant stopped flowing, the remaining water in the reactor overheated, and the pressure from the steam caused the containment vessel to blow.”
“And now all the escaping radiation is being pulled into the storm system.”
“That’s exactly it.”
“What amounts of radiation are we talking about here?”
“The basic unit used in measuring radiation dosage is a ‘millirem,’ and the Nuclear Regulatory Commission has determined that the average person receives about 350 mrems each year. That’s normal and safe, meaning your body can absorb it without any detrimental effects. Some people will have higher stats due to things like medical procedures.”
“Like X-rays?”
“Yes — diagnostic X-rays, thyroid scans, just like that. Then there are all the little things that contribute to a person’s annual total, like watching television, having our luggage inspected at the airport, or even wearing a luminous wristwatch.”
This last example tweaked Sarah’s attention hard. Emilio was a watch enthusiast and had about twenty in his collection, some of which had luminous dials. In fact, she remembered, the one he wore to work most often bore that characteristic, sinister-looking greenish glow during the night hours.
“Are such watches actually dangerous?”
“No, glow from a watch doesn’t even deliver a single millirem over the course of a year. But my point is that we are hit with tiny doses all the time without consequence. And people who work around radioactive material obviously absorb much more. The NRC jacks up the acceptable limit for such workers to around five thousand.”
Now for the question she had to ask. “And the residents of Silver Lake are likely to be exposed to a lot more than that today, right?”
“I can’t give any concrete numbers at this point,” Mason said, “but it’s reasonable to estimate that it’ll be in the tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.”
Sarah felt her heart skip a beat. “Holy God,” she said sharply.
“This is very serious. Here at the site of the breach, we’re losing about a hundred and twenty thousand millirems per minute.”
“No…”
“Yeah.”
“Then I need to…” She trailed off.
After an extended silence, Mason said, “Sarah?”
“I was going to say evacuate the town, but that’s not possible, right?” This wasn’t really a question.
“No chance. The residents won’t be able to outrun it. Even in their vehicles, they’ll be highly susceptible.”
“But this happened less than twenty minutes ago.”
“I know, and I could give you a lot of technical jabber to make you understand, but there’s no time for that. Just trust me when I tell you that radioactive materials are pouring out of here in huge quantities and getting swept up into the storm system.”
“Can you repair the breach?”
“I don’t know.”
A latent anger that had been percolating for a while finally found its way to the surface; her voice rose throughout her question: “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It’s not like a jar where you can just put another lid on, Sarah. The explosion blew out one side of the containment structure!”
She knew that — he’d begun their conversation by briefing her — but it hadn’t really sunk in. A bolt of lightning… a freakin’ bolt of lightning. She hadn’t realized the plant didn’t have lightning rods, and it shook her to her bones to learn that they weren’t required by law. Beyond absurd.
She’d tucked away the worry of this day in the basement of her soul, wrapped up neatly, in a box sealed with metaphorical duct tape. She suspected just about everyone in Silver Lake harbored the same unease. The whole time the plant was being designed and built, the townspeople had been given repeated assurances. Nuclear power is clean and safe… No carbon fingerprint… Your electric bills will drop… Three Mile Island was blown out of proportion by the anti-nuke crazies — but no one was harmed by what happened there.
Silver Lake was a middle-of-the-road community, politically, though if Sarah was pressed, she’d say the town tilted a little to the right. Just enough to color the collective opinion on certain issues, like nuclear power. A few townsfolk definitely did not like the plant, and they were happy to expound on those views in the diner, the barber shop, and the checkout lines. But at the end of the day, nothing came of their opposition. Most people had other things to worry about. The possibility of the plant exploding was in about the same position on the daily priority list as an invasion from Mars.
“That entire portion of the vessel is gone,” Mason went on. “It’s not like we can just throw a tarp over it!”
“I’m aware of that. But I need the facts so I can figure out what to do.”
“The most salient fact is this — the amount of time before Silver Lake begins getting showered with fallout can be measured in minutes. The storm is heading right for you.”
Of course it is, she thought. Miles and miles of undeveloped forestation to the west, but the radiation has to blow east instead and go right down Main Street. “And it isn’t supposed to let up until around midnight,” she added out loud without meaning to do so.
“That’s right,” Mason said.
“Shit.”
“Silver Lake isn’t the only town that’ll be affected.”
“No?” She was on the computer now, trying to locate the right emergency-response documents.
“The storm will blow this stuff all over the place. The Chernobyl disaster caused adverse health effects on people hundreds of miles away.”
“But we’ll get the brunt of it, won’t we?”
“Yes, so you’ve got to act now.”
“Give me some ideas of what should be done.”
“First and foremost, get people inside. Then they need to close everything: windows, doors, vents, whatever. If there are any cracks and leaks in the house — any place that rain or wind can get in — they need to cover them with something — towels, sheets, duct tape, whatever.”
“I’m in a new building,” Sarah said. “Am I okay here? It’s just a few years old.”
“The window seals should be solid. Make sure they’re all closed and locked.”
Older homes… she thought, and grabbed a blank piece of paper to make notes. They’ll have little cracks and holes all over the place. And new-construction projects, too. She remembered seeing a few permit applications last week, including the addition of a second floor to one of the houses on Finch. She added this to the list with a hand that refused to keep steady.