By Brooke Byrns

I’m here. Arco, Idaho. Population just under 900, and yet somehow it feels emptier than that. This little town bills itself as the “first city in the world to be lit by atomic power,” a proud claim rooted in the days of experimental reactors. But behind the plaques and murals, something doesn’t add up.

Today I stopped by the Butte County Clerk’s Office. When I asked about the old reactor programs, I was fed the same line: a “partial meltdown” in 1955 left the surrounding area “inhospitable to human habitation.” That was it. No elaboration, no documents, nothing. The clerk’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

For those of you who’ve read my work, you already know I don’t buy the official version. Every local I’ve spoken to has their own whispered theory, but the sentiment is always the same: they’re hiding something.

And honestly? They might be right. The government has installed barriers in a ten-mile radius around the Experimental Breeder Reactor-1 (EBR-1) site. An old highway still runs out there, but you won’t find it on Google Maps anymore.

I drove it today. About a mile in, a permanent barricade loomed out of the dust. No guards, no welcome signs, just an aging metal gate and a government placard warning me to turn back. The words weren’t as dramatic as “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” but the vibe was the same.

Tomorrow morning I’ll ditch the camper and try to see how far I can get on foot.