Preston was left still puzzled as he watched Jennifer in the now empty C-130 taxi to take off for Seymour Johnson. He stood with Joe, David, and the team of Joe’s sons ready to roll back to RDU. This time they had the two armored cars, the Saracen, and the two tractors to pull the fuel trailers back. Both he and Martie, who was taking little Beth with her, would fly two more Cessnas back.
They left the front gate, which was now looking very secure, and Preston was surprised to see his truck at the end of his driveway with a large new green wooden sign on two legs being lifted out of it. They stopped and went over to the men digging the holes in the ground for it with shovels. “Strong Air Force Base,” it read in big letters across the top with the picture of a Stealth Bomber in the middle. “Government Area ~ Do Not Enter” was written underneath in smaller letters. Preston smiled. “The general has been hard at work,” he said to the crew.
They drove down US 64 towards the city and the airport. Carlos’ three Colombian bodyguards accompanied them this time, as well as the sergeant and four men in the Saracen. They all added fire power and wanted to see the country and the effects of this disaster on the surrounding area. The ‘newbies’ hadn’t seen much except a street or two in New York, or flying over in aircraft from Seymour Johnson. Preston rode in the Saracen with Martie and little Beth, who would not leave Martie’s side. Little Beth had slept well, was full of food, and seemed to have recovered a little from the shock of her harrowing ordeal.
The road was as quiet as the last time. The air smelled like smoke again and he could see the rising of smoke here and there through the trees in the more densely populated areas to the east of them— fires that had not been there yesterday. This time, they turned right down state road 751—a rural road that would take them to the entrance of the nuclear power station in New Hill.
Three miles later, they turned into the main drive to the power plant. The gates were locked and there was no movement. The main buildings were off the road by 100 yards or so, and the armored car easily tore down the gates so they could drive through. The first building was nothing more than offices and a welcome center, and they continued past it for another mile. This time, they came to a second gate—the same kind as the first—and it was locked, with no guards at the small guard house. This time there was a bell to be pressed and several seconds later a guard came running down the road.
“Are you the Army?” he asked. “We are not allowed to let anybody through unless you are the government. There are two gun positions in the woods and they are armed.”
“We are on orders from the President of the United States,” Preston answered, getting out of the Saracen’s side door. “Washington wants to know the condition of all the nuclear reactors immediately and whether they are a severe danger to the country. There are no communications and these troops here are Air Force personnel out of Seymour Johnson. The Air Force is willing to place troops here for protection against any future terrorist threats, but first they want to check to see if the reactor is safe.” The guard ran back the way he had come, presumably to report back, and the gate opened several minutes later to allow them through.
Preston went into the main office and control center with the sergeant and two men. The two men were armed, and there was a group of very anxious-looking people waiting for them. Several still wore white coats, and there were three guards around the main door.
For an hour, Preston was shown around the control center. The system had gone into full safe shutdown mode an hour after midnight on New Year’s Eve, and nobody could stop it. There was nothing they could do once the shutdown control system had been automated.
“It’s a measure we knew was in place, but only for extreme emergencies where nobody was alive in this room and automated procedures were needed,” explained the engineer in control. “It went into its automated mode exactly one hour after New Year’s Eve and the system, now still several days from complete and safe shutdown, was working perfectly and out of our control. All we can do is watch and monitor,” he finished.
“What is still needed for complete shut down?” asked Preston.
“The rods are closed and dormant, but the reactor’s cooling will still take several days to bring temperatures down to a safe level. The electrical turbines are down, but the cooling pumps are still operating, pulling in cold water from Harris Lake. I believe that another week’s pumping will be needed until the final phase is complete,” the man in the white coat replied.
“Do you need military protection?” the sergeant asked.
“I would assume so, since we do not know what is going on out there. This installation needs constant protection and I would suggest a team of soldiers stay here until further notice. We have the gas heating system working and a small generator lighting up the control center. We have several days of gas and supplies, but naturally we would like to go home to our families at some point. We’ve all been on duty since New Year’s Eve, and don’t really know what’s happening. What is going on out there?” he asked.
Preston gave him a brief rundown of what he knew, and the Air Force sergeant told him that they would be back in 24 hours with a guard detail and supplies. They also explained that there was no way they could help get the staff home, unless one of the group had an older than 1985 vehicle. Two of the power plant’s security guards stated that they did, and Preston explained that any vehicles older than 1985 still worked and that they were priceless at the moment.
The two guards offered to get everyone home. Preston suggested that somebody who knew the workings of the power station should stay at the plant at all times until further notice. They agreed to break into shifts, and there were a couple of dozen other employees that they could go and find.
The armored car convoy left two men to add to the guard detail, and helped stand the outside gate back up as good as possible, and then returned to US 64 to drive towards the airport.
As they got closer to RDU, they saw more fires in the suburban areas. Houses were now on fire here and there. They saw the odd movement—people driving around on lawn tractors and such—and Preston thought that this might be the only form of transportation in the United States for the foreseeable future. It was slow, but you could get to the supermarket on lawn tractors and take your loot home!
Several other cars were spotted driving around Apex as the convoy drove north along 55 towards the airport. Several shops were on fire. A supermarket had dozens of people running around outside and one or two vehicles were driving around. They were looked at from all directions, but not a shot was fired.
They got to the turnoff to the main street and found that it was blocked off by a couple of armed men wearing dirty police uniforms and white armbands on their left arms. At the power station, Preston had jumped into the front cab of the front tractor with Joe and he sat with a soldier who had an M-4 carbine at the ready.
They stopped. “Who are you?” asked one of the men, feeling a little overpowered by the amount of firepower that had just driven up. He wouldn’t have had much of a chance if these were vigilantes. Preston got down from the truck’s cab and went over to talk to the policemen. They had crowd barricades up, much like those at a football stadium.
“I’m Preston Strong,” he introduced himself. “I live and own a farm in Apex out towards the lake. Are you real cops?”
“Yes,” replied the man who had asked them the first question. “There are six of us at three barricades around Apex and we are starting a neighborhood watch until the power gets turned back on again. We all live in the Apex area and are trying to stop the supermarkets from being ransacked here in town, as well as any trouble makers. We have shot three people so far, but they shot at us first. We have our shotguns from our police cruisers to keep the peace.”