Shell Shocked by Eric Walters Page B

our office was on the far side—a good distance away.
    â€œWhy don’t you take the camera with you?” Mr. Chalmers suggested.
    â€œBut … I’m just going to lunch.”
    â€œThere’s no telling when a story might come your way. Besides, it’s not doing any good sitting on the counter in the corner. Go ahead, take it.”
    I took the camera and we left the office together. He pulled the door closed, revealing the lettering on the glass: “ THE COMMANDO : A VOICE FOR DEMOCRACY.”
    â€œI won’t be back until tomorrow,” Mr. Chalmers said. “Are you going to be around?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œYou know, this isn’t supposed to be a full-time job for you.”
    â€œMy mother and brother are both working tomorrow,so I’ve got nothing else to do, really. What else is there to do on a Sunday?”
    â€œI guess I’ll see you, then.”
    Mr. Chalmers went off to his car and I headed for the cafeteria. I had just enough time to get there—actually, if I timed things right I might get there early. Since the plant was so large and spread out there was a big, old bus that went from building to building. But there was no one waiting at the bus stop—I must have missed it. I’d have to walk.
    Mr. Chalmers was right, I was spending all the time I could around the plant. That was partly because I knew the more I was there, the better the chances of finding out something. It was a pretty fascinating place, and I’d got to know it well over the last two weeks.
    The whole grounds took up almost three thousand acres, and there were more than a hundred buildings and outbuildings on it. The plant was deliberately designed so that the buildings were spread out. That way, a fire would be less likely to spread, and any explosion would be more isolated. A lot of the buildings—more than half of them—had banks of earth heaped up around them. That meant that there was something explosive or flammable inside. If there were an explosion, then the barriers would direct the force of the blast up instead of out.
    Over the past three months there had been a drive at the plant to increase production by twenty-five percent, so a whole lot of people had been hired—over a thousand new employees. There were now ten thousand workers. Because they worked on three shifts, seven days a week, at any given time almost one-third of them were in the plant. Almost another third weren’t working but were still on the grounds. Many of the unmarried employees—people like Daphne—lived right there. There were buildings, Women’s Residences, each of which held one hundred women. There were five different buildings like that for women and one for men. And employees stuck around for the social activities, too—movies twice a week, bingo once a week, Saturday evening dances.
    One thing I’d been checking out was the procedure at the front gates as people came into the plant. The guards there tried their best, but they really didn’t have the manpower to inspect everybody thoroughly. There was also a time factor. They couldn’t delay people at the gate or the line wouldn’t start on time. They needed to let people through to keep production up. But they could have been letting anybody through, carrying anything. I knew a little bit about plastic explosives. Somebody could bring in a piece the size of a slice of bread—heck, it could be smuggled into the plant in somebody’s sandwich—and nobody would ever know. Not until they’d smuggled inenough to blow up the whole plant. That didn’t make me feel very secure.
    I made it to the cafeteria and stepped inside. It was a bustle of activity. This was where the people who lived on the grounds ate all their meals, while a lot of shift workers would often come here, even if they’d brought their own food.
    Hundreds of people were waiting in line, trays in hand,