He agreed immediately. “All right, then I’ll need more details on this fallout shelter of yours.”
“Ken, there just isn’t time. We need to get on it right away. Even minutes could make a difference.”
“And that’s why I need more detail now. If we plan properly to begin with, we’ll end up saving time in the long run.” He could see I wasn’t totally convinced. “Look, I’ve been in this business for a long time. How much time would we be saving if I had to come back and get another piece of equipment?”
He was right. “Okay.” I squatted down, drawing sketches in the dirt while Ken held the flashlight. “Basically, it’s like this. We’ll need a trench at least six, preferably eight feet deep, by about four feet wide. My books say we should have at least three feet of length per person. Again, if we can get more, great. We’ll need supports for the walls, covers for the roof, piping for ventilation, and a way to bury the whole mess under at least three feet of dirt.”
He studied the sketches for a minute and nodded. “How much time do we have?”
“I don’t know for sure. Two hours at least.” His eyes widened. “Or it could be two days,” I added. “We won’t know until the fallout starts dropping on us. All we can do is keep track of the direction of the wind and watch for fallout.”
“Watch for fallout? How do you watch for something you can’t see? Especially when it’s not even daylight.” I reached under my shirt and handed him the necklace I had put on as soon as we had unloaded the van. Debra, Amber, and the kids each wore one as well.
“What’s this?”
“PRD. Personal radiation detector. When the white disk in the middle starts to glow green, it’s time to find cover. The brighter the glow, the heavier the fallout.” I hesitated a moment, then told him, “Keep it. I’ve got a few dozen of them. Besides, if you’re going to help out with the shelter, you’re going to be staying with us. And as long as you do, we’ll all have to treat each other as if our lives depend on one another. Like a family.”
I thought again of my Dad back at the shop, and my mother… some friends who were as close as family. I had left behind a lot of people whose fates I didn’t know, and probably never would, a lot of people I would probably never hear from again. “Family is going to be a lot more important from now on, Ken. I intend to do whatever it takes to help keep mine safe.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t. I appreciate the gesture, but that thing is like gold right now, even if you have dozens of ’em.” He started to hand it back.
“No, I’m serious. I want you to keep it. I know it’s valuable. I’m
I hung it back around his neck and continued talking, never giving him a chance to protest. “These things are waterproof, and they have an indefinite shelf life. I bought them ten years ago for fifteen bucks each, so don’t sweat the cost. Just don’t lose it. It has a chemical base, so it won’t wear out like a dosimeter will, and EMP won’t affect it.”
“EMP?”
“Electromagnetic pulse. It’s a vicious surge of electricity that’s released by the explosion of a nuclear warhead. It’s the reason that your power has been out all day, and your car won’t run if it has an electronic ignition.” A thought struck me that caused my heart to pound. “Your backhoe doesn’t have an electronic ignition, does it?”
Ken smiled. “Not to worry. All diesel engines.”
My surge of panic subsided, and we spent a couple of minutes altering the sketches on Ken’s advice. When we were finished, he asked, “Do you think you can drive a backhoe? I don’t mean operate it. Just drive it to Amber’s.”
“I can drive a forklift. If it’s anything remotely like it, I can do it.”
“Close enough. It looks like we’re going to need a backhoe and a bulldozer. It’ll be faster if we just drive them straight down to Amber’s, rather than load them on a trailer and tow them. We can leave the women here to load the food and supplies in your van. You drive the backhoe, and I’ll drive the ’dozer, and we’ll get started on this shelter of yours as soon as I get dressed.”
“Good!” I clapped him on the shoulder and rose. “Let’s tell the ladies, and we’ll get things rolling.”
“Hey, Leeland,” he said softly, as we walked to the house. I turned, and he raised the detector up from his chest. “I appreciate it. Thanks.”
Twenty minutes later, Ken had the beginnings of a good-sized trench started about fifty yards behind Amber’s house. The rest of us grabbed flashlights and started working on some of the other projects that would be needed for the shelter.
Megan and Zachary pulled the gutter spouts off of the house for use as ventilation pipes, while Debra and I began construction of an accurate fallout meter. The little PRDs were fine for actual detection of fallout, but they weren’t calibrated to accurately measure the amount of exposure. I had precise plans for the making of a calibrated fallout meter out of a soup can, aluminum foil, wire, cellophane, and various other household items.
An hour and a half later, we had finished the main trench. It was better than I had dared hope for, at twenty-five feet long, ten feet deep, and four feet wide at the bottom, with a slight taper up to about a five-foot width at the top. Ken had started a dogleg addition, as well. Once he finished the trench, the rest of us dropped the other projects we had been busy with and got busy covering the sides with plastic sheeting to help waterproof what would likely be our home for at least the next few weeks. We also worked on shoring up the walls with some of the lumber Ken had brought.
I quickly saw that the small quantity of wood we had would never be enough to shore the walls and cover the top of the entire trench. It wouldn’t even come close. But even as I started to worry, inspiration struck.
I remembered seeing plans for a fallout shelter that had a roof covered with doors taken out of a house. That would solve our problem, if there were enough doors in Amber’s house. I quickly grabbed a flashlight, ran inside, and started counting. Closets, pantries, bedrooms, bathrooms, and the actual entry doors in front, back, and garage amounted to eighteen doors, each one almost three feet wide by six and three quarter feet long.
Obviously, they would have to be laid lengthwise across the top in order to span the top of the shelter. Eighteen doors times their three-foot width meant fifty-four feet of roof. More than enough!
I ran back outside. “Debra! Where’s the toolbox?”
“I put it in the garage.”
I left before she could ask what I was doing. Armed with a screwdriver and hammer, I removed the pins in the door hinges with as much speed as I could muster. I pulled down only the interior doors for the moment. Fifteen doors were still forty-five feet of covering. Twenty-five feet for the main trench left us with twenty extra feet of covering. Heading out to tell Ken how much leeway he had, my heart began to pound as I saw light filtering through the trees, then slowed again almost immediately as I realized that it was nothing more than the sun rising, oblivious to the destruction mankind had wrought upon himself.
I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes after six. I had been working on the doors for half an hour. We had all been on the go since the blasts just before midnight, even after a grueling day relieved by less than four hours of sleep. Fear was a truly remarkable incentive.
Two hours later, we were nearly finished with the shelter. The doors, covered with layers of dirt, plastic sheeting for waterproofing, and more dirt, sealed the trenches. The only way in or out of the shelter was through one of two entrances at either end, which we would cover with improvised blast doors, one of which we had already made. Megan, Amber, and Cindy had also constructed and installed a ventilation system, complete with a simple air filtration system, following plans in an old survival article I had dug out. Ken and I assembled the second blast door. Debra had finished the fallout meter with Zachary’s help, and they began work on a makeshift electrical system out of the car batteries, wiring, and twelve-volt lights.
As Ken and I finished up, he suddenly stopped and stared at me, stared at my chest rather.
“What’s wrong?”
For an answer, he reached under his shirt and pulled out his PRD. My spit dried in my mouth when I saw the faint green glow. I lifted the detector dangling from my neck.
