6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel Read online

  “Pretty much everyone does, in one way or another, sir. With so many tornadoes and the storms coming off the coast.”

  “True, true. But what about you? What specific way?”

  Michael looked a little surprised at being singled out so intently. He had expected Director Morgan to be easily distracted - too overwhelmed - by all his responsibilities to ask personal questions.

  “My brother and his family,” Michael replied. “They’re close to the Ruby Coast. There’s nothing real big going on there, but the storms are getting bigger. I got a text from my mother that they bugged out. They have to be careful of tornadoes, though.”

  Robert shook his head. Safe from one disaster only to face another. The day was insane. Robert had to focus. As soon as it was possible to send out choppers to assess damage and get help to those who needed it most, he had to issue those orders. Local authorities would need support. When ECAG was formed, Robert emphasized its commitment to providing resources for existing aid organizations. It not only saved money in the long-run, but it gave the power back to the people who knew best where aid was needed. Local ECAG offices worked to compile standing lists of needed supplies and information as well as disaster-specific Intel which they provided to the Capitol. That way, aid could be given out directly from local authorities to their specific area without needing to contact ECAG headquarters. This was especially important in cases where all communication might be wiped out.

  The tracker room was in the basement; in a concrete room fortified against tornadoes, and sealed in case of flooding. It only made sense that the hub of the nation’s climate data be secure against the worst kind of weather. Countless large screens lit up the otherwise relatively dimly-lit room. Ten technicians and their assistants turned from screen to screen, typing on their keyboards. Phones rang and printers whirred, spitting out data reports that worker drones ran up and down the elevators to their respective bosses. Michael pointed to the first screen - the Emerald Coast - and gestured to a chair, but Robert chose to stand.

  “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

  “I’m good. Thank you, Michael. Carry on.”

  Michael nodded and went back the way he came. His phone had been buzzing in his pocket and he was eager to answer it. Robert turned his attention to the large screen.

  “So what are we looking at?” he asked the technician, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Robert recognized the tech as Omid, one of the more recent technicians to come into the tracker program. He was a quiet, but a very efficient worker, which was exactly the kind of person who did well in the basement staring at a bright screen all day. It was not a glamorous job, but the pay was exuberant to match the hours. Omid craned his neck back to look at Robert.

  “What do you want to see first?” he asked. “The whole region is lit up.”

  Storm patterns peppered the screen like seashells, moving off from the sea and further inland. Robert tried to think about where Rachel might be, but he forced himself to be more objective.

  “Show me the tsunami.”

  Omid zoomed in and pointed. The pattern was unmistakable. It looked like a blanket spread across the sea, drawing closer to the coast, rippling red and yellow, like a child had spilled their paint on the screen.

  “What’s the estimated arrival time?” Robert asked grimly.

  “Five minutes, sir.”

  “And we somehow didn’t manage to issue a warning after the earthquake for this?” Robert asked, his voice dripping with bitterness.

  “We told the office a tsunami was very likely after the earthquake, sir,” Omid said, defending himself.

  “The local office?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robert frowned.

  “Baxter is the head guy there, right? Kirk Baxter?”

  “I believe so.”

  Robert, still frowning, watched the tsunami stretch across Omid’s screen. Some of the worker drones paused in their persistent print-and-carry to stand by and watch. Some held their breath. Seeing the colors blend into the land was so eerie when it was digital; what was such a small thing on the screen was so dramatic in reality.

  “It hit,” Omid said quietly.

  Robert watched helplessly as the tsunami waters tracked higher and higher. The sensors were definitely doing their job. It was almost funny, how all this new technology could tell a person just how bad a disaster was, but nothing about how to stop it or how to deal with it. Rachel was in all that, somewhere, in those flowing lines and patches of color.

  “Sir, I know your son is in Stoneholt,” Omid said, his voice still lowered. “So I feel I should tell you there’s been a tornado there.”

  Omid turned to the tech beside him and pointed to the screen. Ripples of color showed where strong winds and the right weather conditions had created funnels all over the middle regions. Once so focused on Rachel, Robert’s mind leapt to Danny. Tornadoes were much faster than tsunamis - even a tsunami as fast as the one they just witnessed. Within minutes a tornado could destroy a whole neighborhood. There was so little warning. So little time.

  “Are there choppers on their way?”

  “Yes, sir, they got ready for takeoff as soon as the first funnels showed up, according to protocol.”

  “And how soon can we get out to the coast?”

  “As soon as the head pilot gives the go-ahead. It’s a visibility issue, sir.”

  As Robert fought panic, the phone beside the screen rang.

  “It’s your line, sir,” Omid said, glancing over at the receiver.

  Robert picked it up, clearing his throat before speaking.

  “Director Morgan,” he said as coolly as possibly.

  “It’s me, Elisa”

  It sounded like she had been crying. Robert wished she wasn’t alone, no doubt glued to the computer or TV, watching the horror unfold before her, totally helpless. Robert felt the same way, but he knew watching the readings on the climate tracker was very different from watching media footage on the news. The climate tracker stripped away the human element from disasters entirely and just presented raw data: water salinity, water depth, wind speed, rainfall, and so on. On TV, Elisa was seeing houses ripped up by wind, streets swallowed up by seawater, and people running and screaming.

  “Did either of the kids call?” Robert asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

  “You talked to Rachel last,” Elisa said. “Before the earthquake. I talked to Danny not long after you left, they were heading to the basement.I haven’t heard from him since,” Elisa said. “I’m really worried, Robert.”

  Robert rubbed the top of his head. The thought crossed his mind that if he kept doing it, he‘d rub all the hair clean off.

  “He’ll get to a phone as soon as he can,” Robert said, trying to comfort his wife. “The tornadoes could have easily knocked the cell towers out. Same with Rachel and the storm.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  The second line on Robert’s phone began to blink.

  “Hey, I’m getting another call! It could be one of the kids. Hang on, ok?”

  “Ok! I’ll wait.”

  Robert pressed the button.

  “Hello?”

  “Director Morgan?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Charles Black, from the President’s office. I have the Vice President on the line. May I connect you, sir?”

  Within a few moments, Robert had the Vice President, Raymond Terrace, on the line. He sounded calm and collected, but the worry was present in his deep voice. Robert waved his hand to instruct everyone to be quiet.

  “Of course, Mr. Vice President. To what do I owe this phone call.”

  “The President would like to invite you to lunch at Milos. We would like to discuss this weather situation.”

  As always, the VP got right to the point. He wasn’t a charismatic figure, not like Fitzwilliam, but he did his job well.

  “We will send a car to your office in
twenty minutes. Is that convenient?”

  “It is, thank you.”

  “We will see you then.”

  Robert waited until he heard the VP hang up the phone. When he turned, the entire room was facing him, staring.

  “Back to work everyone,” Robert said, in a faux annoyed tone. “It was just the President wanting to have lunch.”

  “What does that mean? He doesn’t usually find it necessary to be briefed directly,” Omid remarked.

  “I suppose he’s realized just how serious the situation is,” Robert said. “We’ll find out.”

  Robert decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. He wanted the extra time to collect his thoughts. Omid was right; it was unusual for the President to want to meet directly about any weather events. There was an office in the ECAG building specifically staffed to update the President on all disasters and orders. Because ECAG was only technically a government agency, Robert did not need presidential permission to send out his non-military rescue/aid, though it was recommended. It made sense though, that in these circumstances the President would want to get more details. Robert had just reached his floor when his thoughts shifted again; to his children this time. Anxiety bubbled up in him, making him feel nauseated. He paused to take a few deep breaths.

  Keep it together, Robert, he told himself. There are a lot of people depending on you right now. Not just Elisa and the kids. Everything’s going smoothly, the pilots will leave as soon as they can, Danny’s got aid coming his way. You’re doing everything you can. Keep cool.

  Robert had hoped his anxiety would not be hereditary, but he knew at least Danny struggled with it as well. Rachel seemed better at managing her stress and was not as affected by the little things like Danny always had been. What were they going through at this moment? It did not even cross Robert’s mind that they could be dead. The worst consequence he could fathom was that they were gravely injured. The thought of that made his heart race and his head spin.

  Keep it together.

  Having reached his floor, Robert searched for Claire and found her getting coffee in the lounge area.

  “Claire!” he called. “We’re having lunch with the President.”

  Claire set down her mug, surprised.

  “Sir?”

  “He wants more updates on this crisis.”

  “Do you think he wants to send in the military?” Claire asked, following Robert to his office.

  “Maybe,” Robert postulated. “Did you get any info on Kirk Baxter?”

  “I did,” Claire said, pulling out her phone. “He was actually one of the President’s picks from a few years ago.”

  “Oh, that whole thing. Where Fitzwilliam insisted on having a say in some of the new appointments.”

  “Exactly. Baxter is one of the few officials who do not have a background in climate science, but is just a political administrator.”

  “I remember that. But it didn’t seem like a problem at the time, the rest of the staff all had science backgrounds.”

  “There’s something else you should know, too, sir,” Claire said, lifting her eyes so she looked at Robert over the top of her glasses. “He’s the President’s half-cousin.”

  3.

  Robert did not see eye-to-eye with the President. Fitzwilliam, while not a climate-change denier by any means, was about as close to one as you could be during these times. He had made the mistake of being too dependent on big donations from CEOs and politicians with their own agendas early in his career, and now that he was President, they expected those favors returned in one form or another. That meant ignoring certain climate change data and allowing Big Oil and Big Coal to have a little fun. Robert found Fitzwilliam to be a weak man. He made a lot of promises but wasn’t able to roll up his sleeves to get it done. He didn’t like to step on anyone’s toes. Robert was wary of what Fitzwilliam would have to say at their meeting. Robert looked at the rain from the car window as they drove to the restaurant. It seemed to get more aggressive when they drove into the city. There weren’t many people out; just a few with umbrellas who ducked into their cars from stores or offices.

  “Do you think this meeting has anything to do with Baxter?” Claire asked.

  “Possibly. His office must have been notified that Baxter didn’t issue a warning in time.”

  “Hmm,” Claire murmured. She turned her head to look out the window. “Miserable day,” she remarked.

  Robert looked over at her. She was gazing out her window, her hands folded in her lap. When she turned to face the front again, Robert noticed that she had two unusual hair clips that held her dark hair in place. Two gold bumblebees, very detailed, with their tiny wings and limbs outstretched as if caressing Claire’s hair. It had been a while since Robert had seen a real bumblebee. One of the major effects of climate change was the bee shortage. Colder temperatures and harsh winters affected bee survival rates, which in turn affected flower and other vegetation that depended on pollination. Conversely, shifts in climate affected the growth of the plants bees needed, and the vicious cycle continued. The survival of the honeybee became a major issue, spurring both country and urban beekeeping. People didn’t keep bumblebees though; they were not honey-makers. It was sad to Robert that humanity was not driven to protect anything that didn’t have a direct benefit to it; one of the reasons why the polar bear had gone extinct during his lifetime.

  “We’re here, sir.”

  Claire slid over to Robert’s side and waited while he exited the car first. The driver was already there, umbrella opened, and they both hurried into the restaurant. A cold wind whisked them inside, causing a shiver to go up and down Robert’s spine.

  The restaurant was empty. Robert had been there a few times before, as he knew it was the President’s favorite place in the Capitol. It had good food and Robert could see why Fitzwilliam liked it so much. The President, VP, and a few other staffers were seated at the large round center table, which was laid with a white cloth. They all stood when they saw Robert and Claire enter, and Fitzwilliam’s clean-shaven face broke into a large smile.

  “Robert! Made it in this bad weather, I see!”

  It was a harmless comment, but Robert couldn’t help but inwardly smirk at its triteness. “Bad weather.” A little rain, a little lightning, and that was “bad weather.” It wasn’t like there were earthquakes, tsunamis, and tornadoes ravaging the rest of the country or anything.

  “Mr. President,” Robert said, putting on his politician smile. “Good to see you. This is my assistant, Miss Doherty.”

  Fitzwilliam shook both of their hands warmly and gestured for them to sit.

  “Are you a vegetarian, Miss Doherty?” The President asked, fixing his blue eyes on Claire.

  “No, sir. I find an omnivorous is the best of all worlds,” Claire responded coolly.

  “Well, it’s just that if you like vegetables, this place has the freshest.”

  Robert looked at the menu before him. It did have a lot of vegetable-based meals, which was unusual. Yet another one of the negative impacts of climate change was a shortage of everyday fruits and vegetables like avocados and oranges. This restaurant must put a lot of money into getting the literal cream of the crop. After a few moments, a crisply-dressed server approached the table.

  “Everyone know what they want?” Fitzwilliams asked, casting a quick glance around the table. “Excellent. I will have my usual. Robert?”

  “Um, I will have the scallops with the orange and mint salad, and then the salmon.”

  “Great choice, Robert,” the President exclaimed. “Miss Doherty, please.”

  “Grilled octopus, please.”

  “And the zucchini with that is acceptable?”

  “Yes.”

  The others at the table placed their orders: crab cakes, peppers, Greek salad and filet mignon,were just some of the choices. Fitzwilliam ordered two bottles of light red wine for the table and made an inside joke with the server, who chuckled politely before leaving. Fitzwil
liam turned his attention back to Robert.

  “How’s the family?” he asked cheerily.

  “Not great,” Robert replied. “My daughter is on the Emerald Coast and my son was in the path of a tornado, so Elisa and I are very worried.”

  Fitzwilliam’s face fell and he looked genuinely concerned.

  “My God, Robert, I am so sorry. If you have to make a call or anything, please, don’t hesitate to excuse yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “This weather is really something, isn’t it?”

  Robert nodded. “The worst I’ve personally seen.”

  “I’ve been getting updates from your office about it, but I wanted to get more details right from you. What kind of damage are we looking at?”

  Robert looked at Claire, who quickly opened her black binder with the data reports.

  “The earthquake was a 7.3. magnitude, and triggered the tsunami, which made landfall at 11:00 hours, our time. Around that same time, a series of tornados hit Stoneholt, Middlebury, and Valcoht, as well as two handful of other communities. There are heavy rainstorms on the Ruby Coast, but nothing too serious there yet, sir. However, the local ECAG office has issued a hurricane warning and many coastal towns have evacuated.”

  The President listened intently, his eyes narrowed. His staffers scribbled notes and murmured to each other. Terrace, the VP, sat motionless at the President’s left, staring down at the table.

  “How bad is the tsunami? Really?” Fitzwilliams asked.

  “It’s bad, sir,” Claire replied. “The levees broke, so it looks like the flooding will be the biggest concern.”

  “Have you ordered any rescue/aid choppers out yet?”

  “Still waiting on that, sir. It’s too dangerous up there to fly.”

  Terrace leaned into the President and whispered something in his ear. Fitzwilliam frowned, but did not reply. Robert felt ill at ease. He didn’t like Terrace. He found the man sneaky and dishonest. Some of the President’s staff asked a series of specific questions which Claire answered. She handed out copies of the data report as she spoke. Robert stayed focused on Terrace, who seemed distracted. He kept looking down at his phone and acting like he wanted to talk to the President, but continued to hold back. Robert checked his phone as well, to see if he had gotten any new messages or calls, but there was nothing of note to be seen. What was Terrace so wrapped up in?