LJ Idol Friends And Rivals: Terrorism
The only house - a cottage, really - Deb and Jeff could afford squatted on a winding road with a small beach which followed the shipyard's shore.
They signed the papers in the spring right before Annie's third birthday.
Deb and Annie loved the sun dappling on the water and sailboats appearing in the small marina across the road. They craned their necks past the the marina watching tankers slicing the water toward the fuel depot. If they stood on the marina side, they could see the draw bridge off to their right; beyond that, the small refinery which made perfumes for laundry products. The real estate agent had been adamant: No accidents, no odors.
After dinner, Jeff and Deb, Annie in tow, ambled on the marina side, following the curve and the houses like theirs. They always stopped at the crest because Deb didn't like how the houses changed. They were big with double doors and peeling paint, some with bowing roofs, others with broken windows, all with dirt yards.
Deb gazed at up at a house, picked up Annie, and hugged her close.
Deb first read about the compressor station plans in the local paper that hot August morning. She sipped her coffee and read that the depot at the far end of the shipyard served their region of the state. Installing a compressor would save money for natural gas consumers and provide a tax break for the city. If approved the pipeline would run underwater from the main harbor to the shipyard, then appear above ground near the proposed compressor site, ending at the fuel depot.
She took Annie for a walk down to the small beach. While Annie poked the sand for rocks and chipped clam shells Deb looked around at the marina, the houses, the way trees hung over the water, a motorboat gently puttering, the drawbridge, cars, the fuel depot in the distance.
There's NOWHERE to put it!
That evening while Jeff watched TV Deb opened her laptop and followed links. A Facebook friend lived near one; Deb dimly remembered her having to evacuate because of a leak. She then looked at photos of huge, red-orange explosions with thick black smoke. She read that most compressors were located in either rural areas or vacant lots a certain number of miles away from residential areas. There was one compressor located at the edge of a national forest: An undetected leak eventually blew, leveling a section of forest up to five miles. Another explosion, another neighborhood evacuated. One neighborhood in a major city - the compressor located in a former industrial area - wholly leveled.
Deb refused to sleep because all she saw was flame and smoke when she closed her eyes. While Jeff softly snored next to her, she stared at a point above her head. In the mornings she didn't take Annie for a walk. Instead she sat in the living room holding Annie close, trying not to think of flame and smoke.
When Deb did go outside, especially on the hot days, maybe she'd see a tanker gliding in the water or sailboats bobbing in its wake, but after a pause sun became flame and heat became smoke. She wondered if the road was enough of a firebreak, would the water put out a tanker engulfed in flame? What about the marina? Where would they be evacuated to, given that this road was the only way out of the neighborhood?
Moreover, why isn't anybody protesting it?
“I have no idea,” Jeff said at dinner one night. “You have to remember a lot of these people have roots here. The shipyard employees who had families probably lived here. They're so used to everything that it probably hasn't occurred to them. First a shipyard, then a fuel depot, then a refinery...that's life.”
“How can you say that?”
Jeff shrugged. “It is the way it is. They'd probably put the compressor over in that vacant lot across the way because it's the closest to the depot.”
“But it could explode! There must be several thousand people in this general area...I mean, where would we go? And what about the kids? YOUR DAUGHTER?”
Jeff gazed at his wife and took her hand. “Honey, we can't afford to go anywhere else. We just have to have faith that they'll take precautions. If something happens, something happens.”
While Jeff was at work the next day, Deb packed a suitcase. She locked the door, took Annie by the hand, and followed the road [past the marina, around the curve, past the big houses with the dirt yards, and out to the main street. She caught a bus to the hub two towns over. As the bus rumbled onto the drawbridge she pointed out the refinery and the depot to Annie. She didn't point out their house.
NB: This is based heavily on truth because in Kizzy's RL there is an old shipyard, a fuel depot, occasional tankers, a refinery, and friends living near such. The lack of general interest in the dangers of a natural gas compressor station snowballed the construction of one within the neighborhood in this piece; it's the reason why our friends are looking to move. You can read more about compressor stations here and the possible ramifications here. And here is a video of a compressor station explosion.
They signed the papers in the spring right before Annie's third birthday.
Deb and Annie loved the sun dappling on the water and sailboats appearing in the small marina across the road. They craned their necks past the the marina watching tankers slicing the water toward the fuel depot. If they stood on the marina side, they could see the draw bridge off to their right; beyond that, the small refinery which made perfumes for laundry products. The real estate agent had been adamant: No accidents, no odors.
After dinner, Jeff and Deb, Annie in tow, ambled on the marina side, following the curve and the houses like theirs. They always stopped at the crest because Deb didn't like how the houses changed. They were big with double doors and peeling paint, some with bowing roofs, others with broken windows, all with dirt yards.
Deb gazed at up at a house, picked up Annie, and hugged her close.
Deb first read about the compressor station plans in the local paper that hot August morning. She sipped her coffee and read that the depot at the far end of the shipyard served their region of the state. Installing a compressor would save money for natural gas consumers and provide a tax break for the city. If approved the pipeline would run underwater from the main harbor to the shipyard, then appear above ground near the proposed compressor site, ending at the fuel depot.
She took Annie for a walk down to the small beach. While Annie poked the sand for rocks and chipped clam shells Deb looked around at the marina, the houses, the way trees hung over the water, a motorboat gently puttering, the drawbridge, cars, the fuel depot in the distance.
There's NOWHERE to put it!
That evening while Jeff watched TV Deb opened her laptop and followed links. A Facebook friend lived near one; Deb dimly remembered her having to evacuate because of a leak. She then looked at photos of huge, red-orange explosions with thick black smoke. She read that most compressors were located in either rural areas or vacant lots a certain number of miles away from residential areas. There was one compressor located at the edge of a national forest: An undetected leak eventually blew, leveling a section of forest up to five miles. Another explosion, another neighborhood evacuated. One neighborhood in a major city - the compressor located in a former industrial area - wholly leveled.
Deb refused to sleep because all she saw was flame and smoke when she closed her eyes. While Jeff softly snored next to her, she stared at a point above her head. In the mornings she didn't take Annie for a walk. Instead she sat in the living room holding Annie close, trying not to think of flame and smoke.
When Deb did go outside, especially on the hot days, maybe she'd see a tanker gliding in the water or sailboats bobbing in its wake, but after a pause sun became flame and heat became smoke. She wondered if the road was enough of a firebreak, would the water put out a tanker engulfed in flame? What about the marina? Where would they be evacuated to, given that this road was the only way out of the neighborhood?
Moreover, why isn't anybody protesting it?
“I have no idea,” Jeff said at dinner one night. “You have to remember a lot of these people have roots here. The shipyard employees who had families probably lived here. They're so used to everything that it probably hasn't occurred to them. First a shipyard, then a fuel depot, then a refinery...that's life.”
“How can you say that?”
Jeff shrugged. “It is the way it is. They'd probably put the compressor over in that vacant lot across the way because it's the closest to the depot.”
“But it could explode! There must be several thousand people in this general area...I mean, where would we go? And what about the kids? YOUR DAUGHTER?”
Jeff gazed at his wife and took her hand. “Honey, we can't afford to go anywhere else. We just have to have faith that they'll take precautions. If something happens, something happens.”
While Jeff was at work the next day, Deb packed a suitcase. She locked the door, took Annie by the hand, and followed the road [past the marina, around the curve, past the big houses with the dirt yards, and out to the main street. She caught a bus to the hub two towns over. As the bus rumbled onto the drawbridge she pointed out the refinery and the depot to Annie. She didn't point out their house.
NB: This is based heavily on truth because in Kizzy's RL there is an old shipyard, a fuel depot, occasional tankers, a refinery, and friends living near such. The lack of general interest in the dangers of a natural gas compressor station snowballed the construction of one within the neighborhood in this piece; it's the reason why our friends are looking to move. You can read more about compressor stations here and the possible ramifications here. And here is a video of a compressor station explosion.