The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 37





LIGHT SPILLED FROM Nadia’s bicycle onto the narrow road to Pripyat.

A pothole.

She pulled on the handlebars to the right to avoid it. Her dosimeter screeched. Nadia yanked the handlebars farther to the right. The bicycle swerved. She teetered and tottered. Pedaled to stay upright. The dosimeter hushed.

The bicycle turned in a circle. Nadia regained her balance. Ended up right back where she had started. The dosimeter screeched again. She cursed and pedaled through it. The dosimeter quieted down.

Her headlight was aimed ten feet in front of her, a compromise that let her see the road and some of what lay ahead. She weaved around the ubiquitous potholes, sticking to the right side of the road, avoiding the column of grass and weeds growing down the middle.

Hayder told her to avoid all vegetation, especially the moss. Water infuses moss, and cesium hides in water. She’d probably driven over a small patch and sent the dosimeter into a frenzy. So what? Her tires were already hot. Bicycles that entered the Zone stayed in the Zone. It was the rider you had to worry about. Hopefully, this rider was destined to leave the Zone.

Chernobyl’s red forest pressed in on the narrow road from both sides. A quarter moon illuminated their dense canopies and irradiated coral trunks. Power lines crisscrossed above her head. In a clearing along the forest’s edge, cars, trucks, and ambulances protruded from the ground where they’d been buried.

Nadia passed the first block of apartment buildings. The thought occurred to her that her uncle might live there. Logic dictated she keep her eyes on the road, but she couldn’t resist. She aimed her headlight at the apartment complex and stole a glance. Dark windows against a white-and-orange facade, terraces with wooden banisters. It might have been a glimpse of urban slumber, as opposed to a nuclear apocalypse, until she looked again.

The windows were black holes: all the glass had been removed. The banisters dripped with mildew. Trees sprouted around the perimeter of the building and rendered the first two floors invisible. A branch from a taller specimen disappeared into a window on the fifth floor. Her uncle didn’t live there. Only ghosts were sleeping inside.

Nadia fixed the light back on the street and exhaled. There was no trace of life in Pripyat. What did she expect? The population was zero. The atmosphere reminded her of a black-and-white movie from her childhood where the last man on the planet searched for another survivor.

She arrived at the city center at 8:54. Three sets of buildings framed the main square. Trees, shrubs, and grass protruded randomly from cracks in the asphalt. A sign above the building on the left said RESTAURANT. Beside it was the CINEMA. The building in the middle was the CULTURAL CENTER. Beyond the building stood a Ferris wheel. It was frozen in time, its yellow chairs reaching hopelessly for the moon. Nadia headed toward the building on the right, as Hayder had instructed.

Halfway there, a light flashed on the hotel’s first floor. It flamed like a cigarette lighter and went off just as quickly.

It was Damian. It had to be. He was signaling that he was waiting for her.

When she arrived at the hotel, Nadia laid her bicycle on a clean stretch of asphalt. The front doors were chained shut. The glass, however, had been removed from all the windows. There was no light inside. Why didn’t he keep the light on inside?

Nadia climbed through a window. Her feet found a perch on top of a radiator. As she jumped to the floor, a cloud of dust gagged her. She suppressed a wave of panic. Took three steps into the lobby and turned on her flashlight.

Strips of wood and Sheetrock on the floor. Debris everywhere. An elevator shaft, door removed. Two light switches turned up in the on position. A high-powered rifle was aimed at her head.

“Don’t make a sound,” the man with the rifle said quietly in coarse Ukrainian. He was hiding behind a desk. “Turn off your flashlight and get down on your knees, real, real slow. Do it now.”

Nadia clicked off her flashlight. She looked down. An infrared beam blazed a path from the rifle to her chest. She fell to her knees. Was this her Uncle Damian? Why would he be pointing a rifle at her?

The room was silent. The man with the rifle didn’t say anything. He didn’t lower his rifle’s aim. The infrared beam streamed over Nadia’s head.

An animal growled. It sounded like the raspy exhalation of a wild cat. The growl came from behind her. The animal sounded poised to pounce.

Footsteps. Two high-pitched roars in rapid succession.

A muted shot rang out. The animal whimpered. Hit the floor with a thud.

A powerful lantern battery shone at Nadia from the hunter’s perch. She shielded her eyes with her forearm and turned away.

A giant lynx lay behind her, gorgeous silver-and-gold fur with spectacular black ears. It looked like a sleeping baby. Its lungs filled and contracted. A dart protruded from its skin. There was no sign of blood.

“You haven’t seen my face,” the hunter said. “Go. Now.”

Not Uncle Damian. Nadia climbed back out the window and ran to her bicycle. She pedaled furiously, paying no heed to the dosimeter. Halfway to Chernobyl village, she stopped and called Hayder. She got his voice mail. She left him a message that her meeting was over and she would be at the Chernobyl village café at 9:30. She was supposed to meet him across the street from the café at 10:30. She would be an hour early.

Afterward, she pedaled through the darkness toward the bright lights of Reactor 4.