In exaggerated care, Jak set down the cans with a sloshing thump. “From pipes in pump room. Might be okay.”
“Sounds good. But I want to test anything before we drink it,” Mildred warned, putting down the empty canister. “Clear doesn’t always mean clean.”
“Okay. Both go,” the lanky teenager told her.
Taking one of the nukelamps, the pair descended into the stairwell, and soon the glow from their light dimmed with distance. Over at the workbench, J.B. had lined up the soda bottles found earlier and started to hack the coffee cups to pieces and making neat little piles.
As Dean brought over another can of fuel, Doc joined him at the task, and Krysty took over pouring the juice into the tank.
“How much fuel and water we should take is the real problem,” Ryan said, thinking aloud.
Cleaning the panga on a sleeve, he sheathed the blade and reconnected the electrical contacts. There was no way of checking the diesel until they started it up, so he was done for the moment.
“What do you mean?” Doc asked, setting down the cans and rubbing his palms for a moment.
Sitting on a wheel rim, Ryan pulled out a piece of jerky and chewed off a mouthful. “We don’t even know how far it is to the nearest ville, much less the next redoubt,” he stated, glancing at the dark tunnel that led to the blast doors. He had been trying very hard to think about what would happen if they couldn’t open the exit. Trapped inside with the millipedes until starvation drove them mad. Better to eat a blaster than go down that road.
“If we don’t know for sure, let’s take an equal balance,” Krysty said, pouring more fuel into the tank. There was a gurgling noise as some trapped air fought to reach the surface, and she waited a moment until the turbulence was settled. “That way we’re prepared for anything.”
“Works for me,” Ryan said, standing again, his break over.
Light brightened the stairwell, and the companions stepped behind the wrecked cars with hands on weapons until there was a sharp whistle announcing that everything was okay, and they relaxed. Seconds later, Mildred and Jak appeared in the doorway.
“Found water,” Jak said happily, pulling a hand truck up the last of the steps. The teenager then clumsily wheeled it around to then push a large steel drum into the garage.
“The pipes were empty from our shower,” Mildred said, carrying the nukelamp in one hand, her blaster in the other, “but we managed to find this drum and fill it with fifty-five gallons of water. It’s drainage from the reactor, all we could drain from an access pump.”
“Nuke water?” Doc demanded arching both snowy eyebrows. “By the Three Kennedys, madam, I have never been that thirsty! Are you quite sure it is safe?”
“See for yourself,” Mildred suggested, holstering her piece, as Jak lowered the hand truck with a bang, the drum sloshing loudly.
Removing the lid, J.B. unclipped the rad counter from his lapel and held it close to the clear fluid. The needle moved slightly.
“Low rads, seems safe enough to drink,” he said reluctantly.
“Of course,” Mildred stated, then added, “As long as we don’t do it too often.” The physician had no intention of trying to explain to the others that this was technically not water, but actually deutronium enriched water, heavy-water shielding for the fusion reactor. However, it was nonlethal and potable, and that was all that mattered.
Warily, Ryan checked his own rad counter and got a similar reading. “It’s clean, all right. Okay, we use this as our backup supply,” he stated. “And the radiator gets it before us.”
“No prob,” Dean said, rubbing his mouth with the back of a hand. Nuke water. Hot pipe, he’d rather drink mutie pee than touch a drop of that, no matter what Mildred said.
“Done,” Krysty stated, screwing the cap back onto the fuel tank. “That’s every drop it can hold.”
“Put the rest in the back, and let’s try the engine,” Ryan said, swinging open the door and climbing behind the wheel. “Hopefully all this work wasn’t for shit.”