Faded Giant

When they finally realized that the cooling water was not reaching the core, everyone then understood why the radiation levels within the containment were so dangerously high, and that it might be years before anyone could enter the containment.  Who would have thought that I, with my extreme fear of radiation, would be one of the people involved in this effort?  I remember at the time overhearing discussions about the two explosions that had occurred in the reactor containment and the speculation that hydrogen had built up in the containment.  The plant's physics department kept explaining repeatedly that there was nothing in the process to create hydrogen.  And the engineers who were monitoring the site kept complaining, "But something exploded.  You tell us what it is."  And the physics department would again claim that there was nothing to form the hydrogen gas. 

I had often read about the fog of war, but, certainly, the events at Three Mile Island had a similar fog of confusion, as experts from all over the country frantically scrambled to understand what was happening, while no one, of course, could actually go into the containment to check.  Like the fog of war, the confusion was overwhelming.   

When it was all over, we knew that hydrogen had been formed, and it had exploded, but by that point the press seemed to have lost interest, and it appeared like everyone had simply forgotten about what had happened.  Even people at my work did not want to talk about the actual events, but only their job in the repair process. 

At the time, all the representatives of Three Mile Island simply told the press it was only a matter of time until the plant would be repaired and restarted, but, behind the scenes, we were already involved in the process of developing the Pedorcas.  The function of the Pedorcas was to let us see the condition of the reactor, so that the fuel could be safely removed and the billion-dollar plant disassembled. 

Could I somehow trust Charlie who had been my friend and mentor for so long?  On the other hand, would he, being a loyal employee of the same industry, turn me in?  That was something I just wasn't sure of, but still it seemed like my best hope. 

As I sat there in the sun on the rock, finally starting to become warmer, I wondered if I could change my identity.  Could I somehow shave my head, pretend I didn't wear glasses, and somehow be able to travel unobserved?  The foolhardiness of this idea hit me, realizing that I was sitting on a rock with one blanket and certainly not scissors or razors, so how would I ever accomplish that? 

It was then that I noticed that I still had my wallet and credit cards and a little wet cash, albeit mostly one-dollar bills left from the nudie bar (all change in a nudie bar is given as ones) that the technicians and I had gone to a few nights before.  That was often the way we spent the money that we had saved by not having to eat dinner at our dumpy little hotel because of the free happy hour and hors d'oeuvres.  Laughing, I thought I had enough to buy an ice cream and a little bit more left over, but, certainly, it was obvious I must save that little bit of cash. 

Thinking back to sleeping in the barn and how that little snake had terrified me, I tried to think if there was a way I could travel faster.  I thought of the railroad tracks that went near the river and how maybe, somehow, like in the movies, I could climb on an overpass and drop down on a freight train as it went by.  Probably, however, that only works in the movies, and my running from the scene of the crime would only end up with me dead beside the railroad tracks instead. 

I then thought of the highway, and my thoughts again went back to the possibility of contacting Rebecca.  I could call her.  She could pick me up by the highway.  I could hide in the car while she took me to my secret hiding place.  Soon, I realized how foolhardy that would be, because, of course, they would surely be following her. 

Was I becoming delusional?  After all, I realized I did not even know for sure what day it was, whether it was a weekend or a weekday.  I thought I had been traveling for four days, but it all seemed to become blurry at this point.  It was then that I decided to go through my wallet again, and I found an interesting slip of paper with a telephone number on it.  Trying hard to remember what the phone number was, finally I realized it was the number of my friend Charlie's cabin in the woods of Massachusetts, where I had gone with a friend from college for a weekend a few months back.  I thought that maybe, if I could call Charlie there instead of his home, if somehow I could guess when he would be there, he could at least tell me if they were still looking for me or if they still thought I had pushed Jack into the refueling pool.  However, I could not get past the thought that the call might be traced, and they would know where I was.  I knew I had to take some chance, but which one?  

It all began to overwhelm me.  It was then that my shivering from the cold increased again, and I began to cry like a baby, uncontrollably, and unable to stop, until it seemed that I drifted back into sleep with my arms wrapped around a low birch tree, and maybe, just