Gone

Beach, where our slogan is ‘Radiation? What radiation?’”
    Astrid led the way. She had visited the plant many times with her father. She found an unmarked, unremarkable door in the slab side of the turbine building. Sam swiped the passcard in the slot, and the door clicked open.
    Inside they found a cavernous space with a high ceiling of interlaced I beams and a painted concrete floor. There were four massive engines, each bigger than a locomotive. The noise was incredible.
    “These are the turbines,” Astrid shouted over the hurricane howl. “The uranium creates a reaction that heats up water which makes steam, which comes here, spins the turbines, and generates electricity.”
    “So, you’re saying it doesn’t involve giant hamsters on a wheel?” Quinn yelled. “I was misinformed.”
    “I guess we better look here first,” Sam shouted. He looked at Quinn.
    Quinn performed a languid, mocking salute.
    They spread out through the turbine room. Astrid reminded them that Little Pete usually wouldn’t come when called. The only way to find him was to look in every corner, every space where a little kid could possibly stand, sit, or hide.
    Little Pete was not in the turbine room.
    Astrid finally signaled them to move on. After passing through two sets of doors, they could hear normal speech again.
    “Let’s go to the control room,” Astrid suggested, and led the way down a gloomy corridor and into a dated-looking control room. It looked like a set from a NASA space launch, with old-school computers, flickering monitors, and way too many panels with way too many glowing lights, switches, and ancient data ports.
    There, sitting on the control room floor, rocking slightly back and forth, playing a muted handheld video game, was Little Pete.
    Astrid did not run to him. She stared with what looked to Sam like something close to disappointment. She seemed almost to shrink down a little.
    But then she forced a smile and went to him.
    “Petey,” Astrid said in a calm voice. Like he had never been missing, like they’d been together all along and there was nothing weird about seeing him all alone in the middle of a nuclear plant control room playing Pokémon on a Game Boy.
    “Thank God he wasn’t in with the reactors,” Quinn said. “I was going to say a big N-O to searching that.”
    Edilio nodded agreement.
    Little Pete was four years old, blond like his big sister, but freckled and almost girlish, he was so pretty. He didn’t look at all slow or stupid; in fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d have thought he was a normal, probably smart, kid.
    But when Astrid hugged him, he seemed barely to notice. Only after almost a minute did he lift one hand from the video game control and touch her hair in an abstracted way.
    “Have you had anything to eat?” Astrid asked. Then she revised the question. “Hungry?”
    She had a particular way of talking to Little Pete when she wanted his attention. She held his face in her hands, carefully blocking his peripheral vision, half covering his ears. She put her face close to his and spoke calmly but with slow, careful enunciation.
    “Hungry?” she repeated slowly but firmly.
    Little Pete’s eyes flickered. He nodded yes.
    “Okay,” Astrid said.
    Edilio was inspecting the dated-looking electronics that covered most of one wall. He frowned and wrinkled his brow. “Everything looks like it’s normal,” he reported.
    Quinn scoffed. “I’m sorry, are you a nuclear engineer as well as a golf cart driver?”
    “I’m just looking at the readouts, man. I figure green is good, right?” He moved to a low, curved table supporting three computer monitors before three battered swivel chairs.
    “I can’t even read this stuff,” Edilio admitted, peering closely at one monitor. “It’s all numbers and symbols.”
    “I’m going to the break room to find some food for Petey,” Astrid announced. She started to move away, but Little Pete began to whimper. It was the sound a puppy makes when it wants something.
    Astrid looked pleadingly at Sam. “Most of the time he doesn’t realize I’m around. I hate to leave him when he’s relating.”
    “I’ll get the food.” Sam said. “What does he like?”
    “Chocolate is never refused. He…” She started to say more but stopped herself.
    “I’ll get him something,” Sam said.
    Edilio had moved on to what seemed to be the most up-to-date piece of equipment in the room, a plasma screen mounted on the