Oily water shimmered around Larry’s boots. There was a horrible chemical smell that didn’t seem to belong in this scenario. He gave a sudden cough as something stung his throat. He tried to remember all the backup procedures he’d once memorized, the schematics of the diesel’s systems. He hadn’t dealt with any of this in years.
The roof gave another groan. Larry’s eyes watered. “Mr. Hallock?” Meg called. Larry backed out. “Batteries have spilled,” he said.
The batteries were used to power the diesel’s control systems once the big engine started. But the diesel hadn’t started at all, which meant that the mechanical system running on compressed air had somehow failed. So why hadn’t that worked?
He turned as he heard someone splashing up through the parking lot. It was Wilbur.
“Number three diesel’s kaput,” he said. “Fuel spilled, and it’s on fire.” So that was the pillar of smoke behind the turbine house.
“Okay,” Larry said.
“And the administration building’s gone,” Wilbur said. His staring eyes gazed out from the blood that streaked his face. “Just gone. Nothing but wreckage.”
“Jesus,” said Meg.
“It was the turbine shaft.” There was awe in Wilbur’s voice. “It must have tumbled through the air and… there’s nothing left.”
Larry put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. Thought about the reactor core simmering in its boric acid solution, heat and pressure building. The possibility of leaks, jammed valves, heat building in the core. The core turning to slag. Steam exploding out into the containment building. And who could tell, the way things were going, if the containment building was able to contain much of anything?
“Waaal,” he said, “best get this ol’ boy started, then.”
He and Wilbur slipped into the diesel building again to check the compressed air cylinders. They were in a separate room, but were easy enough to find because the wall that separated the rooms had fallen to bits. In agreement with the massive redundancy that characterized the plant’s design, there were three cylinders, each big as a house. The pressure gauges showed that two had discharged at some point in the quake. The third still held its charge, but the valve atop the cylinder was in the open position, showing that it had tripped and tried, but failed, to discharge. With eyes that stung from spilled battery acid, Larry peered through the darkened, ruined building and traced the couplings that connected the diesel to the third cylinder. The couplings ran overhead, in plain sight, and Larry traced them into the diesel room, past another valve… there.
When the roof had caved in, one of the roof beams had fallen across the valve. The weight had probably distorted the valve to the point where it wouldn’t operate properly. Everything in order, Larry thought. He had traced the compressed air system, and now he traced the roof beam. His eyes were streaming. Okay, he thought, the beam connects there, and… A sudden shock threw them both against the air cylinder. Pain jolted along Larry’s injured shoulder. He ducked and covered his head as, with a long metallic groan, more of the roof came down, metal panels falling like the blades of guillotines.
There was sudden silence as they waited for another shock. Larry’s heart throbbed in his chest. The silence was broken by Wilbur’s cough.
“Jesus,” he said, “my lungs are burning.”
“I got what we came for,” Larry said. “Let’s get out of here.” They sloshed out of the diesel building. Larry’s stinging eyes blinked in the bright sunlight. “We need to move a roof beam,” he said. “Can we get something from the machine shop?”
“I’d hate to dig through there,” Meg said. “Can you show me what needs doing?” Larry took a few breaths of clear air, then led Meg back into the crumpled building. He pointed out the beam, and Meg gave a laugh.
“My pickup’s in the lot just outside,” she said, “and I’ve got tow chains.” Meg splashed off to her truck. Larry stood for a while outside, breathed clean air into his aching lungs while he wondered whether it would be safe to wash his eyes in this water. There was more splashing as someone ran up, and Larry saw one of his control room crew.
“I’ve been to the secondary shutdown room,” he said, “and it’s flooded.”
“Flooded?” Larry echoed, then looked at the water that was rising above his boots. Where was it coming from?
There was a roar and a splash as Meg drove up in her white Dodge Ram. Her crew helped as she shackled the beam to her truck, and then she shifted the Dodge into low gear and gave it the gas. Everyone stood back as the chains straightened and took the weight. The Dodge growled, its exhaust pipe almost under water. There was a long cry of metal as the beam began to move, as pieces of the roof spilled free with a cacophonous jangled sound. Larry held his breath. There was a clang as the roof beam pulled free of the structure, and Meg’s Dodge leaped free, water surging around its thick tires, the roof beam dragging behind.
Then there was a compressed air hiss, so painfully loud that Larry held his palms over his ears, and a throaty, hesitant rumble from the diesel. Larry held his breath. The diesel coughed, spat, coughed again. Then caught. The fallen roof rattled and shivered as the diesel began a businesslike throb. Fumes gushed up from a broken exhaust pipe.
Larry found himself in a cheering knot of workers. Meg spun the truck around, returned to the others with the beam dragging behind. A big grin was spread across her face. “Yes!” Wilbur yelled, splashing as he jumped up and down in the water. “Yes!”
Well, Larry thought. He had done it, by God.
But that only meant, when you got down to it, that he needed to get busy and do something else. He looked down at the water, nearing the tops of his boots.
He wished he knew where it was coming from.
ELEVEN
In descending the Mississippi, on the night of the 6th February, we tied our boat to a willow bar on the west bank of the river, opposite the head of the 9th Island, counting from the mouth of the Ohio we were lashed to mother boat. About 3 o’clock, on the morning of the 7th, we were waked by the violent agitation of the boat, attended with a noise more tremendous and terrific than I can describe or any one can conceive, who was not present or near to such a scene. The constant discharge of heavy cannon might give some idea of the noise for loudness, but this was infinitely more terrible, on account of its appearing to be subterraneous.
As soon as we waked we discovered that the bar to which we were tied was sinking, we cut loose and moved our boats for the middle of the river. After getting out so far as to be out of danger from the trees which were falling in from the bank—the swells in the river was so great as to threaten the sinking of the boat every moment. We stopped the outholes with blankets to keep out the water—after remaining in this situation for some time, we perceived a light in the shore which we had left—(we having a lighted candle in a Ian-thorn on our boat,) were hailed and advised to land, which we attempted to do, but could not effect it, finding the banks and trees still falling in. At day light we perceived the head of the tenth island. During all this time we had made only about four miles down the river—from which circumstance, and from that of an immense quantity of water rushing into the river from the woods—it is evident that the earth at this place, or below, had been raised so high as to stop the progress of the river, and caused it to overflow its banks—We took the right hand channel of the river of this island, and having reached within about half a mile of the lower end of the town, we were affrightened with the appearance of a dreadful rapid of falls in the river just below us; we were so far in the sock that it was impossible now to land—all hopes of surviving was now lost and certain destruction appeared to await us!