Chuck Logan - After the Rain

Dale waited, gazing up into the late-afternoon sun, which was starting to flame out across the Mississippi, setting up a gorgeous golden haze over Wisconsin.

Five minutes later a blue Jeep Cherokee pulled up. It had a logo on the side: Holtz-Sydney Construction. A tall man in jeans, boots, and a blue denim designer work shirt got out. Irv Fuller in his styled salt-and-pepper hair looked sports-fan tanned and fleshy. Though not exactly porky, he did have a creeping double chin and the good-time rosettes of incipient gout pooling in his ample cheeks.

“If it’s about the rest of the money…” Irv said, feigning an apology as he shook Dale’s hand.

Dale laughed and waved the question aside with an aw-pshaw grimace. “Hey, no rush. I’m passing through the area anyway. Might as well take a look at that Deere.”

Irv cocked his head to the side, grinned. “Just feels stiff, but, you know, it still moves dirt from here to there.”

Dale jerked his thumb at the reactors. “Probably nothing. And I wanted to see all this in person, to tell Dad when I get down to Florida, about you and the machines you bought. He always said he’d never sell any big iron to a Fuller. But here we are.”

Irv shrugged. “Hey, I needed to have those loaders listed on my inventory to get bonded for this job. Getting them so quick helped save my ass. What the hell. Let’s look at that machine. Then I can take a few minutes to show you around. How’s that?”

“Great,” Dale said, following Irv toward the Jeep.

“And I really appreciate the price you gave me,” Irv said as they got in and he started the truck. “I won’t forget it. You’ll be getting the balance I owe soon’s the next quarter starts.”

“Hey, I trust you, Irv. Always have,” Dale said.

“Well, okay. Here we go. So you never been in one of these things before?”

Dale shook his head.

“Twenty-five percent of the juice in the state comes from nuclear. These two here, and the other one up in Monticello,” Irv said as they drove down a narrow road toward a parking lot. Dale had to squint against the bright afternoon sunlight to make out the reactors. A wall of vapor drifted up to the right.

“Pretty much like we learned in high school,” Irv said. “Uranium heats primary water in the core. The hot primary water is pumped through steam generators and the heat is transferred to secondary water that flashes into steam. Then the primary water goes back to the core for reheating. Big building on the left is the steam turbines. The smaller building between the reactors is the pool for the spent fuel rods.”

“Uh-huh,” Dale said. George had made sure he knew the diagram of this puppy by heart.

“Steam turns the turbines to make the electricity. Less than a third of the energy in the core gets used as electricity. The rest vents out in the air or goes in the river. Over on the right, where all the steam is kicking out-those are the cooling towers, four of them. Our job is to build a berm around the reactors, the turbines, and the cooling pool.”

“What are they worried about? Some A-rab gonna crash a plane into it?” Dale said it as a joke.

“Not funny,” Irv said, rolling his eyes, “Hell, the cooling-pool building is just a glorified pole barn on top. Got a corrugated tin roof. I been in there. Fuckin’ sparrows fly in and out. Nah, we’re putting up a barrier more to stop a truck-bomb threat. Like the barrier they got over behind those trees, around the storage casks.”

“Uh-huh,” Dale said, nodding.

They passed through the parking lot. Closer in now, in the shadow of the reactors. To Dale they rose against the sky like giant fat stunted silos. The domesticated cousins of the ICBM silo that had been in his dad’s field.

Driving past the lot, they came to the actual construction site. Dale smiled. It was even better than he’d expected. The area to the right of the reactors was in the process of being cleared; several large Morton-style buildings were being dismantled, the top soil stripped off, and the whole site surrounded by a silt fence and another security fence. The big machines sat mostly idle, grazing in the dirt like a herd of huge yellow oxen. But Dale was focused on the tall, square, blue-and-gray structure between the reactors. That was the cooling-pool building. The target.

Irv drove into the fenced site and they passed a broad ditch that had been started-maybe thirty feet wide, ten, twelve feet deep, thirty or so yards long. The dirt had been piled in a rough breast-work about eight feet high, parallel to the ditch, and about a hundred yards from the reactors. Dale could see water still standing in the bottom of the trench.

“What’s this?” Dale asked.

“That’s the job. The beginning of the barrier.”

“Looks kinda muddy,” Dale said.

“Yeah. We had to pull out the heavy stuff.” He parked next to a construction trailer and they got out.

“We started that excavation before the rain hit. Probably won’t get back in full swing till next week. Plan calls for a moat. Use the dirt to throw up the berm. That way we don’t have to haul it in by truck. Security is such a drag-drivers coming in and out. The more we can do strictly on site, the better.”

“What goes on top of the berm?” Dale asked, to keep the conversation going.

“Big rocks, spaced so a truck can’t fit through.”

They were walking in among the machines now: excavators, compactors, dozers, fuel and water trucks, belly loaders, graders, shovels, off-road dump trucks. Half the big iron was still on trailers. He felt a rush of relief when he saw his loaders sitting on dry ground, parked next to a big D-8 Cat dozer. He spotted the one he wanted, with the black X painted on the corner of the cab door.

Not very original. But functional.

“There’s the machines I sold you,” Dale said.

“Yep. The stiff one’s got the X on the door.”

“Yeah, okay. The fuckin’ Canadians, they probably overinflated the tires. Let me drive her around a little. See how she runs…house call, no charge.” Nothing but cool.

“Okay, check it out.” Irv smiled when he said it, but he also checked his wristwatch. “Just don’t go near that plowed-up strip by the trench and get stuck.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right over there”-he pointed to the shadowed area between the pool structure and a utility building-“where it’s shady.” Dale walked toward the loader, detouring to go right up to one of the reactor containment walls. He extended his hand, placed his palm on the smooth gray concrete, shut his eyes, and felt the brooding fire waiting within.

Waiting for him, like it had been all his life.

The moment passed. He went over to the front-loader, pulled himself up to the cab, opened the door, sat down, and turned the key. The engine belched black smoke, caught, and ran just fine. He raised the bucket, lowered it, and then drove in a semicircle. Then he backed up to the cooling-pool building wall and stopped so there was about four feet between the wall and the rear counterweights.

Okay.

The wheels felt a little hard but the machine operated normally, just as he’d predicted.

He killed the engine, leaned down, and reached under the seat. The Klein standard NE-type side cutting pliers were still there, exactly where he’d left them. He’d taped another pair under the radiator, just in case. He tucked the cutters in his waistband, under his shirt, swung down from the cab. Then he did a casual walk-around, rubbed the counterweights for good luck-genie in a bottle. When he had the machine between himself and Irv, and was deep in the shadow of the tall pool building, he took out the cutters, leaned into the motor assembly, and quickly cut the battery wires and the fuel line. Then he jammed the cutters up behind the engine, out of sight.