6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel Read online

  “Wanna see my room?” Lena asked.

  “Give Rachel a minute, honey,” Mark said, taking off his rain boots. “Let Mommy and Daddy talk to Rachel first.”

  Rachel followed Mark into the kitchen, where Tara organized their supplies. She had set Rachel’s bag apart from everything else and paused when Rachel and Mark entered. The baby was sitting in a high chair at the table, looking bleary-eyed and confused.

  “So where are you from? What’s your story?” Mark asked, standing by Tara.

  He was a tall man, nearly a foot taller than his wife, and had an imposing look about him. He looked like he might have been in the military or at least played football in his younger days; his shoulders were broad and he carried himself in a way that just screamed, “Army man.”

  “I’m from the capital,” Rachel said. “But I just came from school. It was supposed to be a vacation before heading back home. That clearly didn’t work out too well.”

  “What are you studying?” Tara asked, crumpling a plastic bag and tossing it beneath the sink.

  “Clinical psychology,” Rachel replied.

  “Smart people stuff,” Mark said admiringly. “I was never good at science in school. I liked reading. Give me a book and I could read that thing in a day.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Oh, marketing, advertising. Kind of freelance right now.”

  “He does graphic design,” Tara explained. “He’s really good at it.”

  “Oh, psh,” Mark said modestly. “I’d like to be a writer one day. Do something with books.”

  “That’s really cool!” Rachel exclaimed.

  Alexander and Lena came into the room, dressed in dry clothes. Tara gestured for them to come to her.

  “Can you two put the groceries away for me? I need to feed your brother. Rachel, come sit with me.”

  Rachel sat with her back to the kitchen, guessing that Tara didn’t want Rachel to see where she kept the emergency supplies. After settling down with the baby and a nursing cloth, Tara asked Rachel a series of questions about herself, like if she had a boyfriend, what her parents did, and so on. Tara tried hard to make it not sound like an interrogation, but Rachel knew the family was trying to scope her out. It made sense. For all they knew, Rachel could be an axe murderer, or someone intent on stealing all their supplies while they slept. Rachel made sure to keep her eyes directly ahead and away from the kids, whom she could hear talking and moving objects around in various cupboards. When they had finished, Tara rose to fix them lunch and offered some to Rachel.

  “We have lots of leftovers. We can’t eat it all before it goes bad.”

  Rachel accepted. In a few minutes, everyone sat around the kitchen table eating their heated-up hamburgers in silence.

  “Are you glad school is over?” Rachel asked the kids.

  “Yes!” Lena exclaimed, eager to be paid attention to. “I like school, but I like not going to school better.”

  “Do you have a favorite subject?”

  “Math!”

  “She’s really good at it,” Tara added proudly. “Alexander, too. I don’t know where they get it from.”

  Lena talked for a while longer. She told Rachel about her teacher and her friends, and that she couldn’t wait for the rain to stop so she could go ride her bike again. Alexander was quieter, but responded in a friendly way whenever a question was directed at him. After he finished lunch, he went to the living room where they could hear the TV.

  “Can I show Rachel my room now?” Lena asked.

  “Sure,” Mark replied, after glancing at Tara. “It’s time for Caleb’s nap. I’ll walk up with you two.”

  Mark led the way, the baby looking even tinier in his big arms. The stairs were creaky, as was customary in old houses, but the lacquer looked new and shiny.

  “Your house is so cool,” Rachel remarked. “So unique.”

  “I was born here,” Mark said. “Had to do a lot of work to get it in good shape, but it was worth it.”

  The upstairs was larger than Rachel had expected. There were three bedrooms and one bathroom.

  “My room’s over here,” Lena said, pointing.

  Rachel followed the girl into the first bedroom. It was small, but cozy. There was enough space for a bed, a short dresser, and a large wooden dollhouse with toys strewn on the rug in front of it.

  “My grandpa made this for my aunt when she was little,” Lena explained, kneeling in front of it. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s beautiful,” Rachel agreed, bending down to take a closer look.

  She didn’t know what the wood was, but it was reddish, like cherry wood. There were three large holes for rooms, instead of the normal multiple tiny box-like cuts Rachel was used to seeing for dollhouses. Lena could fit lots of miniature furniture inside them and move her dolls about freely. The room on top was open and framed by a shingled roof, like the top of a picture frame.

  “This is the attic,” Lena said. “A monster lives there.”

  Lena picked up a plastic dinosaur from the floor and placed it carefully in the top room.

  “Is the monster mean?”

  “No,” Lena said with confidence. “He’s nice. He catches mice and spiders.”

  “Aw. Poor mousies.”

  “Mice are bad. They get into food and poop in our cereal. My daddy said if I see a mouse, I should tell him so he can kill it.”

  “Rats are bad, too.”

  “Yeah. And gross. Wanna play with me?”

  “Sure! I just need to charge my phone, if that’s ok.”

  “Yup! There’s a pluggy thing there.”

  Rachel went downstairs to retrieve her charger. She met Tara coming up.

  “I’m going to try and call some people,” Rachel said. “See if my family has any connections down here so I don’t put you out for very long.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Tara said. “Not that we’re eager to have you leave or anything.”

  “No, I get it,” Rachel said, smiling. “No worries.”

  Rachel retrieved her charger and went back upstairs. Lena had arranged her toys so her dollhouse rooms were filled with Lego figures, one Barbie doll, and two Beanie Babies.

  “These are the pets,” Lena explained.

  Rachel plugged in her phone and sat cross-legged, listening to Lena. She took the Lego figure she was instructed to control. Lena talked on, updating Rachel on the storyline she had devised. They played for about a half-hour before Rachel’s phone began to ring. It was her father.

  “Your mother updated me on what’s going on. Did you find a safe place to stay?”

  “I’m at someone’s house until I can get further inland. Do we know anyone who lives here who could let me stay?”

  Rachel’s father was silent for a few moments, deep in thought. Rachel thought she could hear typing and muffled voices. He was at the office, no doubt.

  “I’ll call a few people,” he finally said. “I’m sure we can arrange something. Nothing’s flying out, of course.”

  “Of course. Any news about hurricanes? Tropical storms?”

  “No one knows for sure. Things could be brewing, but it’s really hard to get in touch with the local offices. Just...be careful, okay? Try to act like there’s a hurricane barreling towards you.”

  “If that was the case, I probably wouldn’t do anything. I can’t drive in a hurricane.”

  “True, true. Well, I trust you. You’re smart.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rachel’s father always complimented his children instead of directly saying, “I love you.” For Rachel, it was always “You’re smart,” and for his son, it was “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” It never bothered Rachel. That was just how her dad was. Rachel never worried about the day when she stopped being smart, or if her brother made a questionable decision. At this point, saying “You’re smart” didn’t actually mean her father was telling her he knew she was intelligent; it meant “I love you” and that was that
.

  3.

  The rest of that day went by at an agonizingly slow pace. Rachel felt as if the Buckley’s were uncomfortably aware of her presence, so she camped out in the living room so they at least knew she wasn’t roaming unsupervised around the house. She scoured her memory for addresses or phone numbers of people she could turn to - family friends, old roommates, business contacts. Anyone. She jumped from Facebook page to Facebook page. If anyone seemed like a possibility, she messaged them. The only thing left to do was give up control and wait. Rachel spent the rest of the afternoon sifting through news stories about the weather and warnings. Communication and power had been knocked out in several places. The media reported flooding and property damage from wind and hail.

  Maybe this is as bad as it will get, Rachel thought. It can’t rain forever.

  The skies took on Rachel’s challenge, though they did waver slightly during the morning. Rachel anxiously checked her messages, but the only responses were from people who had already left the area completely, and urged her to do the same. Rachel considered taking off while she could still drive and going for a hotel, but when she called the few hotels within the region she planned on heading towards, they said they were all full or had shut their doors.

  “There’s a hurricane coming.” one clerk said. “It may not be official yet, but that hardly means it’s safe.”

  Rachel knew everyone was thinking of the Taylorville typhoon nineteen years ago. It had been raining off and on pretty heavily for a week, but the government told residents there was nothing to worry about. Some especially paranoid people left, clogging up the freeways for a few hours, but most just chuckled and boarded up their homes. On the ninth day of rain, a typhoon was spotted close to shore. Before anyone could be warned, wind and waves had battered Taylorville to bits. Countless homes were flooded up to the second floor, destroying hundreds of millions of dollars worth of belongings. Hundreds of people were killed, thousands injured.

  “What happened to the warnings? Why weren’t we evacuated?”

  Those were just a few of the questions the government had to field for the next month. People had been depending on the system to keep them safe, to tell them when disaster was imminent. The climate had altered beyond the technology and the government had been exposed as being nearly as ignorant as everyone else about what kind of weather the next day would bring.

  “Take this tragedy as a lesson,” the leading climatologist told the nation. “Your survival depends on your own ability to prepare for anything, regardless of what the government does or does not tell you. The weather cannot be predicted as accurately as in the past. Do not trust the forecast wholeheartedly. Do not trust a little rain. It could be brewing to something catastrophic.”

  People on the coasts took notice. There was almost a second Industrial Revolution as people surged inland into the cities and suburbs. The coasts became nearly exclusively resort-oriented, except for people who had no other means of making a living besides the sea or working at the luxury hotels. It proved that even in the face of ocean storms, people were still willing to risk them for a hot beach and fresh seafood. Since they were a capital family through and through, Rachel was surprised she had found even a small number of people living nearby at all. It was starting to look like her only option would be to just start driving and not stop until she was safe.

  After the second night of no answered messages and undrivable conditions, Rachel felt a little like a stray cat who the family didn’t want to put out in the rain, but definitely didn’t want to welcome either. She ate with them at the table, but only from her own stockpile, and Rachel could tell Mark and Tara were very careful about bringing out supplies so Rachel couldn’t see where they kept everything. Rachel didn’t take it personally; keeping your stockpile a secret from anyone but your family had been one of the prioritized Tips To Remember during the prepping campaigns.

  “Unless you plan on having that person in your stockpile, do not let them know where it is,” the pamphlets urged. “Someone may seem trustworthy, but desperate times change people. Don’t give them the opportunity or means to do something you’ll both regret.”

  Mark and Tara had clearly taken all those tips to heart, and had trained their children as well. Lena always asked her mother for everything and never went off to get it for herself. It was the same with Alexander. Rachel also noticed that the children never offered her anything like water or food; Tara was always the one to initiate it and only at mealtimes. She only brought Rachel what was already hers, too. Rachel’s supplies were running out. She tried to ration out her food and water as efficiently as possible, but as her cans of soup and juice emptied, she knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to either go without or ask the Buckley’s for some of their supplies. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Generosity had to be limited during these times, and Rachel could tell the Buckley’s were beginning to run out. Their eyes and words were kind and polite, but their body language was saying, “Don’t get too comfortable. As soon as shit hits the fan, you’re on your own.”

  Planes were still grounded. With no official ruling, pilots went on strike and refused to take off. The coast seemed to have its own laws regarding transportation and communication since the federal government was not taking a stand on anything. Rachel made several calls to private jets, pilots, and any other companies that had access to flying vehicles.

  “Money is not a concern,” she emphasized. “I need to get out.”

  “No can do, miss,” everyone said, or, “It’s not my call. Heading up into this mess is just too risky. Money is pretty useless if you’re dead.”

  Rachel had just made one last final appeal when the storm suddenly took a turn for the worse. Everyone was sitting in the living room. Lena was lying on the floor with a coloring book and coloring pencils while Alexander played with a handheld video game controller. Mark and Tara sat on the couch together, both engrossed in books. The baby slept soundly beside his mother. With a wailing rush, wind ripped past the window. An enormous peal of thunder sounded, startling everyone. All the lights went out like God had just clapped his hands. Lena screamed.

  “It’s ok, Lena!” Tara called.

  With the dark skies outside, it was like night had just suddenly descended. Rachel could hear people moving, rummaging around in drawers.

  “We just need to get the flashlights. We’ll have light soon.”

  A switch clicked and a powerful LED flashlight illuminated Mark’s silhouette. No one else had moved. Lena leapt up, like someone had pushed her “On” button, and ran to her mother and baby brother.

  “Eek!” she squealed.

  “It’s just dark,” Alexander said, his tone exasperated. “Stop being dramatic.”

  “Alex, be nice,” Mark countered.

  “Is it the fuse box? The transformer?” Tara asked.

  “Probably not,” Mark sighed. “It’s probably the grid.”

  “How could you know for sure?”

  “I mean, I don’t, but look at this weather.”

  Lena and Alexander glanced at each other with worried expressions. Mark frowned, the lines on his face deepened by the shadows cast by the flashlight.

  “Okay, guys,” he said, raising his voice to a more cheerful, confident lilt. “You know the drill.”

  The Buckley’s all got up and began what Rachel could assume was a rehearsed process. Lena picked up the home phone and listened for a dial. Alexander lit a few large survival candles with a lighter and placed them around the house. Tara, balancing the baby on her hip, looked in the fridge.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked. “Checking expiration dates?”

  “Hmm,” Tara said. “We have to eat what will expire earliest first. And not let stuff rot in here. Or we’ll get bugs.”

  “That’s smart. You guys seem really prepared.”

  “Gotta be. In these days.”

  Lena entered the kitchen and wrapped herself around Tara’s waist.<
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  “I don’t like this,” she declared. “I don’t like the dark.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Rachel assured her. “Are you scared of the dark when you go to bed?”

  “No…”

  “Is it different when it’s dark now?”

  Lena thought for a moment before nodding.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not supposed to be dark now,” Lena explained. “When the lights go out, it means something bad is coming.”

  “You mean like a storm?”

  Lena nodded again, still clinging to her mother’s waist. Rachel looked at Tara sympathetically.

  “I can take the baby, if you want to talk to Lena,” Rachel offered, holding out her arms.

  Tara handed Caleb over, who just blinked up at Rachel and lifted a tiny arm. Tara spoke quietly to Lena for a moment, in a calming voice.

  “You know Daddy and I will always take care of you during storms, right?” she said. “And we always have. Do you remember when the window in your bedroom broke because the wind was blowing really hard? You were very brave.”

  “Daddy stayed in my room with me after he fixed the glass,” Lena reminded her mother. “I wasn’t scared ‘cause he was there.”

  “And we’re all here now,” Tara said, caressing her daughter’s hair. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  Rachel went back to the living room, the baby in her arms. Mark was standing by the window, still holding a flashlight like it was a suitcase. Alexander had returned to his video game, the screen lighting up his face with dancing lights.

  “If I can ask, why do you guys stay with the weather like this?” Rachel asked, coming up next to Mark. “So many people run inland as soon as it so much as sprinkles for longer than a day.”

  “We’ve stayed out a lot of storms,” Mark said, his eyes fixed on the outside. “When it was just Tara and me. When we had kids, people told us we needed to move, for the children, but this is my family’s house. I grew up here. I know the weather is unpredictable and dangerous, but we’ve prepared and so far, everything has been fine. If it got to a certain point though, I wouldn’t risk my childrens’ safety.”