Small Town USA The Smoldering Fires of Hell

Her muttering woke Sean from a sound sleep. His face wrinkled in disgust at the pungent chemical smell that filled the car. He opened the window, but that only made the chemical smell more irritating.

In the distance, they saw a solid column of black smoke touching the clouds. The temperature was well over a hundred degrees in the sun. He closed the window and turned up the air conditioning. It didn't get rid of the smell, but did cool the air to a bearable temperature.

As they approached Wilburn, the smoke became thicker and more irritating. They saw signs pointing to the HazMat Team's temporary shelter - a local bar, near the tracks. It was far enough from the wreckage so that the air was breathable - although it still smelled bad - and close enough for the workers to use as headquarters.

There were several people inside, some shedding heavy rubber suits and masks and others drinking non-alcoholic beverages. Alcohol and chemical exposure don't mix. The combination could be fatal and these men knew it. Julie looked around, but most of the emergency workers on their break barely looked at her. They were exhausted and drenched in perspiration.

Julie approached a tall black man seated at the other end of the bar, talking on the radio and making some notes on his clipboard.

"OK, we'll have to dig a trench to contain the spill before it reaches the creek. We'll need a digger. Call the nearest town. No, don't use water, sand or soil, and don't try to drop lime on it yet," he said to the man on the radiophone.