KYIV, Ukraine (AP) — Dmytro Bodarenko is prepared for the worst.
He has filled the storage space under his rollaway bed and almost every other corner of his apartment in eastern Kyiv with water and non-perishable food.  There are rolls of packing tape to seal the windows from radioactive fallout.  It has a gas camping stove and a walkie-talkie.
There’s even an AR-15 rifle and a shotgun for protection, along with boxes of ammo.  Fuel cans and spare tires are hidden in his washing machine in case he needs to leave town in a hurry.
“Any preparation can increase my chances of survival,” he said, carrying a knife and a first aid kit.
With the Russian invasion now in its ninth month, many Ukrainians are no longer asking whether their country will be hit by nuclear weapons.  They are actively preparing for this once unthinkable possibility.
At dinner tables and in bars, people often discuss which city would be the most likely target or what type of weapon might be used.  Many, like Bondarenko, are gathering supplies and making survival plans.
No one wants to believe it could happen, but it seems to be on the minds of many in Ukraine, which saw the world’s worst nuclear accident at Chernobyl in 1986.
“Of course Ukraine takes this threat seriously, because we understand what kind of country we are dealing with,” presidential adviser Mykhailo Podolyak said in an interview with The Associated Press, referring to Russia.
The Kremlin has made unsubstantiated claims that Ukraine is preparing a “dirty bomb” in Russian-held territories — an explosive to disperse radioactive material and sow fear.  Kyiv categorically denied this and said that such statements are likely a sign that Moscow itself is preparing such a bomb and blaming it on Ukraine.
MEMORIES OF CHERNOBYL
Nuclear fears evoke painful memories for those who lived through the Chernobyl disaster, when one of four reactors exploded and burned about 100 kilometers (60 miles) north of Kiev, releasing a plume of radiation.  Soviet authorities initially kept the accident a secret, and while the town near the plant was evacuated, Kyiv was not.
Svitlana Bozhko was a 26-year-old journalist in Kyiv who was 7 months pregnant at the time of the accident and believed that official statements downplayed it.  But her husband, who had spoken to a physicist, persuaded her to leave with him to the southeastern Poltava region, and she became aware of the threat when she saw radiation monitors and officials washing the tires of cars leaving Kyiv.
These fears worried Bozhko for the rest of her pregnancy, and when her daughter was born, her first question was, “How many fingers does my child have?”  That daughter, who was healthy, now has a 1-year-old child of her own and left Kyiv the month after the Russian invasion.
Still living in Kyiv at the age of 62, Bozhko hoped she would never have to go through something like this again.  But all those fears returned when Russian President Vladimir Putin sent in his forces on February 24.
“It was deja vu,” he told the AP.  “Once again, feelings of tragedy and helplessness overwhelmed me.”
The capital is again preparing for a radiation release, with more than 1,000 people trained to respond, said Roman Tkachuk, head of the capital’s Municipal Security Department.  He has bought a large number of potassium iodide pills and protective equipment for distribution, he added.
CASUAL TALK AND DARK HUMOR ABOUT NUKES
With all the high-level talk from Moscow, Washington, and Kyiv about nuclear threats, Ukrainian conversations these days are filled with phrases like “strategic and tactical nuclear weapons,” “potassium iodide pills,” “radiation masks,” “plastic waterproofs,” and “hermetically sealed foods.”
Bodarenko said he began making nuclear survival plans when Ukraine’s Zaporizhia nuclear power plant — Europe’s largest — was hit by Russian attacks.
The 33-year-old app designer believes he has enough supplies to survive for a few weeks and more than enough fuel to leave the country or move deep into the mountains if a nuclear disaster occurs.
He moved from the Donetsk region several years ago after being threatened by pro-Moscow separatists.  He hoped for a quiet life in Kyiv, but the COVID-19 pandemic forced a more isolated life in his apartment, and the war accelerated his survival plans.
His supplies include 200 liters (53 gallons) of water, potassium iodide pills to protect his thyroid from radiation, respirator face masks and disposable boots to protect against contaminated ground.
Bodarenko said he can’t be sure he would be safe from a Russian nuclear strike, but he thinks it’s best to be prepared because “they’re crazy.”
Websites offer tips for surviving a dirty bomb, while TikTok has many posts of people packing “nuclear luggage” to make a quick escape and offering advice on what to do in the event of a nuclear attack.
October has seen “huge spikes” in visits from Ukraine to NUKEMAP, a website that allows users to simulate an atomic bomb dropped at a given location, according to its creator, Alex Wellerstein.
Anxiety has produced dark humor.  More than 8,000 people joined a conversation on the Telegram messaging service after a joke on Twitter that in the event of a nuclear attack, survivors should go to Kiev’s Schekavytsia Hill for an orgy.
On the serious side, mental health experts say having a support network is key to staying resilient during uncertain times.
“This happens often in Ukraine and you also have to feel that you can deal with it.  And there is that sense of team (that is) quite strong,” said Dr Koen Sevenants, head of mental health and psychosocial support for global child protection for UNICEF.
However, he said prolonged periods under threat can lead to a feeling of helplessness, hopelessness and depression.  While a level of normalization can be established, this can change as threats increase.
PROGRAM FATIGUE
Those living near the front lines of the war, such as the residents of Mykolaiv, say they are often too exhausted to think about new threats, having endured near-constant shelling.  The city 500 kilometers (310 miles) south of Kiev is the closest to Kherson, where fighting is raging.
“Believe it or not, we have to prepare” for the nuclear threat, regional administration chief Vitaly Kim told the AP.  He said district officials are working through various scenarios and mapping evacuation routes.
More than half of the pre-war population of 500,000 has left Mykolaiv.  Many who stayed, like 73-year-old Valentina, say they are too tired to leave now.
He sleeps in a windowless basement shared with about 10 other neighbors in conditions so humiliating that he asked not to be fully identified.  On the threat of a nuclear attack, he says: “Now I think anything can happen.”
Another woman at the shelter, who only wanted to be identified as Tamara for the same reasons, said that as she tries to sleep at night on a bed made of stacked wooden beams, her mind turns to what fate awaits her.
“During the First World War they fought mostly with horses.  During World War II, with tanks,” he said.  “No one is ruling out the possibility that this time it will be a nuclear weapon.”
“People are progressing, and with it, the weapons they use to fight,” Tamara added.  “But man does not change and history repeats itself.”
In Kyiv, Bozhko feels the same weariness.  He has learned what to do in the event of a missile strike, keeps a supply of cures for various types of chemical attacks and has what he calls “stress baggage” – the essentials in case of a sudden evacuation.
“I’m so tired of being scared.  I just keep living my life,” he says. “But if something happens, we’ll try to fight and survive.”
And he said he understands the difference between 1986 and 2022.
“Back then we were afraid of the power of individuals.  This time, we’re dealing with a situation where a person wants to exterminate you by any means,” Bozhko said, “and the second is much more terrifying.”