“Mrs. Soames?” His voice was soft and flat. Kate searched his face for information but saw nothing beyond genuine concern. She detected a hint of apprehension in some intangible way, but thought—hoped… prayed—that this was merely her imagination.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Hale,” he said, offering his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Umm…” He paused to flip through a few pages on the battered clipboard, then looked straight at her and asked, “So, how are you doing?”
She managed a tiny smile. “I’ve had better days.”
“I’m sure. Would you care for something to help with the stress? I’m not the kind of doctor who reaches for the prescription pad every time there’s a problem, but I’ve loosened that policy a little bit today.”
Kate shook her head. “No, no, thank you. Just please… tell me how they’re doing. Straight out, no bull. I’d rather know than not know.”
Hale glanced through the window, his gaze moving expertly over the monitors, then turned back to her.
“They’re receiving pain meds and intravenous nutrition. And as you can see, they’re on respirators. I haven’t yet prescribed medication to ward off future seizures, but I’m not ruling it out, either.”
“Okay…”
“You’re aware that they were out there for a long time,” he said. Kate began to cry and was somehow gratified when he didn’t stop talking. “It’s hard to say exactly how much radiation they were exposed to, but it was certainly well above safe levels.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Nevertheless, I believe it’s reasonable to expect that all three of them will survive.”
“Oh, God… oh, thank God…”
“At this stage, there is no indication of serious problems like internal bleeding, organ damage, or brain damage. And as for the development of cancer, that’s something that’ll have to be monitored frequently in the years ahead. Having said that, I wouldn’t be surprised if they remained cancer-free as a result of today’s events.”
Kate permitted herself a smile. “So you’re saying they’re okay?”
Hale raised a hand, palm facing out, signaling “not so fast.”
“None of this means they’re going to come through this completely unharmed. Let’s start with your husband. Considering his age — he’s not an old man, but he’s not a teenager, either — there are plusses and minuses. On the plus side, unless you are planning to have more children, there is no risk of hereditary mutations being passed down.”
More children was something they’d discussed on occasion, although those conversations were becoming less frequent as the years rolled on. She turned forty-five three months ago, and her ob-gyn told her she’d better get moving if she wanted another one. She had secretly hoped for a girl, and she always wanted at least three children regardless of gender. Pete seemed on the fence about a third, although she was pretty sure she could sway him. Now, however…
“Are ‘hereditary mutations’ just what they sound like?”
Hale nodded. “Any future children produced by you and your husband could suffer a variety of problems.”
“Like—”
“Everything from an unusually small head and undeveloped senses to severe mental retardation.”
She stood there slack-jawed, her eyes drifting to the glass and the room beyond.
“Beyond the reproductive risks,” Hale went on, “your husband will have bouts of fever, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea for the next few weeks, and in the months thereafter he may have to deal with localized skin discoloration, hair loss, and even some mild, albeit temporary, cognitive impairment. Same with the other two, I’m afraid — your son and Sharon Blake.”
“Jesus, no…”
He flipped to another page. “Now, concerning Mark specifically, let me ask you — is Sharon’s child his?”
Kate shook her head dazedly. “We don’t know yet. We just found out she was pregnant today.”
She wasn’t the only one who had been surprised by that news. Sharon’s mother and stepfather du jour—she was a thin and pretty forty-six, he looked like he’d stepped out of a ZZ Top video — had arrived a few hours earlier, snarling at each other like wolverines. They barely took notice of their daughter as the accusations flew—“You weren’t keeping an eye on her”… “You’re a whore and you raised a whore!” It was a galling display of human behavior by any measure.
Kate stood no more than twenty feet from them, but they never acknowledged her. She’d gasped when the husband took an open-handed swing at his wife, and was doubly stunned when the latter blocked it with the kind of fluidity that only comes with practice. Hospital security removed them from the property. A short time later, only the mother returned.
Hale took on an expression of profound regret. “Well, if it is, it’s doubtful Mark will be able to have any more.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Even if he’s able to produce viable sperm,” the doctor said, “the risk of mutation would be extremely high.”
Kate shook her head but said nothing.
“I’m deeply sorry,” Hale told her.
“What about Sharon? What about—”
“The fetus?” He shook his head. “We’ll have to wait and see. Honestly, I’m not… if she was closer to the end of the pregnancy, maybe. But I’m not hopeful, to be honest. Again, I’m so very sorry.”
He gave her his personal cell number and told her to call if she had further questions or just wanted to talk. Then he exited the corridor, leaving Kate with her thoughts.
Skin discoloration, hair loss, cognitive impairment… this can’t be happening. It can’t.
She watched them through the glass for a while longer, then went to the swinging doors and looked out the little window. The lobby was filled with people she knew — a couple whose daughter went to school with Cary, one of the women who worked at the bank’s drive-through window, the man who ran the Chinese takeout place they liked so much. Some she recognized but could not name, and others were completely unfamiliar.
They were all residents of Silver Lake, though, of that Kate was sure. And the town was no longer habitable. What does that mean for those of us who call it home?
After the disaster at the Fukushima Daiichi plant, many communities had been pulled up by the roots. While the majority of former residents suffered no significant physical aftereffects, there had been an incalculable emotional toll. The stress of relocating drove a significant percentage of the survivors to suicide and an even higher number into severe and lasting depression. Related symptoms, such as alcohol and substance abuse, became common, as did weight gain and sleep deprivation.
Kate hadn’t paid much attention to Fukushima news at the time, but in the last few hours she’d read more than one article about the aftermath of the evacuation. Temporary housing for the displaced, when available, was rarely adequate, and the insurance companies, exercising the brutal insensitivity that only greed can cultivate, held off making payouts for as long as they were legally able.
Will we go through the same nightmare? she wondered, scanning the faces before her. Which of these people will take their own lives? Which will turn to the bottle or the needle and commit slow suicide? Who will turn violent against their children or their spouses, or both, because they can’t strike out at their true antagonists? How many turn into someone they don’t recognize when they look in the mirror?