6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel (5 page)

Have to stop the bleeding,
Rachel thought.
Stop infection.

Reaching her backpack without falling was difficult. Rachel pressed her thighs against the tree like she was riding a horse and pulled her bag up in front of her.  She found a Zip-loc bag of kerchiefs she had packed before her plane ride. Unfolding one, she tied it around her palm tightly. It stung. Blood quickly soaked through the blue-and-white cloth. Rachel wrapped another kerchief around her hand. She unscrewed the cap for the antibiotics, but her thigh strength gave way and she dropped her bag to grab the tree. To her horror, the bag fell, spilling its contents into the water. Most of the supplies were still in bags and floated, but the pills and cans of juice sunk, disappearing into the black. Rachel sat frozen for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Perhaps she imagined it. A bad daydream. Perhaps she had imagined all of this and she would wake sunburned on a beach, with a waiter bending over to see if she wanted a daiquiri. Rachel came back to harsh reality when the bags began to drift away. Leaning down, she grabbed as many as she could and crumpled them in her good hand, breathing hard. She scanned the streets for Tim. For anyone. There were only half-submerged houses, floating cars, and ripped-up trees. And still it rained. Like God’s wife was weeping. 

Part II

Danny

1.

              It felt good to be prepared. It was a unique kind of “good,” too; not the kind of feeling that came with anything else. At least that’s what Danny thought. He liked to come in the storeroom sometimes after the kids had gone to bed. Seeing the rows of cans all lined up according to color - fruit, beans, vegetables, meat, juice - satisfied him. Beneath the shelves, he had wooden bins filled with bags of rice, flour, and white sugar. There were other bins, too, with big canisters of olive and coconut oil. The other side of the storeroom was more eclectic and colorful. The spices lined the wall in homemade racks. There was cracked black pepper, cumin, dried mustard, dried oregano, and so on. Miranda was an experimental cook and could transform rice into a vast variety of flavors just by adding different spices. She had extracts there, as well, like vanilla, almond, and peppermint. Danny’s storehouse measured 10x10 and was packed with all the essentials Danny had read about online and had heard about for years in school and from his parents.

              “Always know what the expiration dates of foods are.”

              “Keep rice and sugar in cool, dry places.”

              “Only store food you know your family enjoys.”

              These words were what the voices in Danny’s head always said. In the past, they might have said things like, “Don’t have a weak handshake,” or “If you hear a siren while you’re driving, pull over to the side,” but now Danny’s brain (and the brains of many others) were occupied by new social wisdoms. As soon as Danny had dropped out of med school to get married and pursue web design, he began stockpiling. When they were first married and lived in a tiny apartment, Danny reserved his side of the closet for emergency supplies and stored his clothes in plastic bins he pushed up against the wall. When they were looking for their first house, Danny made it very clear to the realtor that storage space was a big concern. He also emphasized that he didn’t want to be in or even near a large city. Miranda never begrudged Danny his commitment, but it wasn’t until that first big storm that she became truly grateful she had married a prepper.

              The power was out for two weeks. Danny and Miranda had enough supplies to last them a month and hardly suffered in their daily routines. They used their solar-powered stove top to cook food and had enough candles to light the house at night. Other people around them had prepared, but not as thoroughly or for as long. When the power came back on, Danny’s neighbors came to him for advice and he came to be known as an unofficial expert and consultant. In addition to his work as a website designer, he started teaching classes for a $25 fee at the community college. He could have easily charged more, but Danny was adamant that prepping knowledge be available to everyone.

              “Survival shouldn’t be dependent on wealth,” he said. “And neither should surviving-well be.”

              The year the twins turned six, Danny had been teaching for five years and expecting a big year for weather. A lot of blogs were reporting on dangerous signs from the oceans and volcanoes. Animals were behaving strangely. No one knew for sure what to expect, but it was going to be big.

              “Think hurricanes, tornadoes, typhoons, hard winters, hot summers, all that,” the blogs said. “Depending on where you are, you have to prepare for massive rain or no rain. Areas that haven’t historically seen tornadoes will welcome their first ones. Just be ready for anything.”

              That was the kind of statement that irritated Danny. It was essentially meaningless and didn’t give people a good idea at all about what to do.

              “Be ready for whatever you can think of,” Danny said. “Within reason.”

              In his class, he had people write down everything they were worried about, no matter how absurd, and then he gathered their lists. Answers ranged from hurricanes to a zombie apocalypse to freezing temperatures with no power.

              “What possibilities are
literally
impossible?” Danny would ask.

              People would call out answers.

              “Hurricanes!”

              They didn’t live near water.

              “Zombies!”

              That always got some debate, but Danny usually ended up adapting that answer to a pandemic as the preparation would be about the same. Pandemics were a real possibility. After crossing out all the impossible options, Danny would continue to narrow down the list to what people believed were realistic dangers, like earthquakes or losing power and water.

              “By naming the risks, you can have more control over your fear,” Danny explained. “You have a better idea of how to prepare, what specific supplies to stock up on. Saying vague buzz phrases like “be prepared for anything” just overwhelms everyone and doesn’t take into account the more pressing dangers for people depending on their location and individual needs. Take ownership of your survival. Focus on surviving well.”

              What Danny loved most - before teaching or web design - was his family. He was outside playing with his twin sons Jesse and Hunter the day hell took up residence on earth for six hours.

              The day was humid, nearly unbearably so. Sweat ran down in lines down Danny’s back as he tossed softballs for Jesse and Hunter, who took turns trying to hit it with their baseball bats. Their swings were improving. They scrunched up their identical faces in concentration each time the ball flew towards them. When the bat made contact with the ball, their eyes lit up and they looked to their father for praise.

              “Great job!” Danny would yell in their direction. “You’ll be hitting home runs in no time!”

              The front yard was large and more often than not strewn with various toys like softballs, makeshift soccer goals, and horseshoes. Jesse and Hunter were very active children and despite his chair-bound job, Danny made a point of encouraging outside play and participating in it himself. He was in the middle of making a big show of pitching the softball when Miranda called him from the front door.

              “Danny! Phone!”

              “Ok, thanks!”

              Danny handed the ball to Jesse as he headed for the door.

              “Throw this for your brother, ok? But underhand. And try not to hit him with it.”

              Danny took the phone from Miranda’s hand and put the receiver to his ear.

              “Hello.”

              “Hi, Danny. It’s Bill.”

              “Afternoon, Bill. What’s up?”

              “The clients looked over the website and they liked just about everything.”

              “Just about?”

              Danny walked into his office and took a seat in his swivel chair. He turned slowly in a circle as he listened to his current boss talk.

              “They didn’t think the school colors were prominent enough,” Bill explained.

              Danny winced. His most recent project was for a charter school that wanted to update its web presence. The first assignment was to redo its main website, but Danny hated the color scheme the school wanted: forest green and gold. He had put the school’s logo on the top of the page and kept the rest of the background a cream hue, but apparently the school wanted more.

              “What do they want instead?”

              “They weren’t specific.”

              “Naturally.”
              “I suggested some stuff, like having the tabs be green instead of black, maybe throwing in a gold font here and there.”

              “Ugh.”

              “It doesn’t matter if
you
like it or not, Danny.”

              “I know, I know, but anything other than simple black font tends to not look professional. Did you tell them that?”

              “Basically.”

              “Basically?”
              “Just play around with it a bit. Add more of the colors. Maybe they’ll hate it and go with the original design.”

              “Sure, sure.”

              “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

              Danny hung up the phone and stared out the window. Their backyard stretched back about fifteen yards before the tree line. Green leaves shimmered as the breeze blew through them, branches bobbing and bowing. Danny loved the sound leaves made. He believed it was the most peaceful sound in the world, even better than music. It was like the trees whispered. Danny was a person who valued peace. Ever since he was little, he struggled with random panic attacks. Little things never seemed very little, and during the night when he couldn’t run from his thoughts, all those small problems built on each other like Lego pieces until he cowered in fear that they would collapse and crush him. The anxiety peaked during his second year of med school. He would get rashes and the skin on his hands cracked. That was when he dropped out and eloped with Miranda, giving up on his father’s dreams of having a doctor in the family. When Danny got up the courage to tell his dad what he had done, his father listened earnestly and then embraced his son.

              “You did what you thought was best. I just want you to be happy, son. I believe in you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

              Knowing his father was proud of him no matter what reduced Danny’s anxiety ten-fold. He still took the meds, but only during particularly frustrating design projects, like when the client couldn’t make up their mind about anything or kept sending the design back with ridiculous requests. The charter school people seemed like folks who might be just those types. Danny opened his work site and fiddled around with colors for a few minutes, but he was not in the mood. He would come back to it. Danny stood and stretched. When he went back out the living room, he saw Marty crossing the street towards the house. His neighbor stopped to say something to the twins. Danny opened the door and called out to him.

“Hey, Marty!” Danny said, raising his hand in greeting. “What brings you over?”

“I got the wrong kind of flour in the store,” Marty admitted, indicating the paper bag in his arms.  “The girls are going gluten-free now. I was wondering if you wanted to trade Miranda’s mix for what I got.”

              Marty lifted the bag to show Danny. Miranda was known for her cooking and baking skills, and had recently been selling her homemade gluten-free flour mixes, vanilla extracts, granolas, and whatever else she concocted. It was a great source of income as well as healthier stockpile options than what they could get in the stores. Danny took the flour bag from Marty and examined it.

              “Whole-wheat,” he said. “And a good brand.”

              “Yeah. And I can’t return it ‘cause Val opened it. I didn’t want to just toss it. Is it something you would like? Could use?”

              “For sure. For a trade, I won’t be able to give you the same amount in Miranda’s mix, ‘cause it costs more to make it and she doesn’t have a ton.”

              “Right, that’s ok.”

              “How does six loaves’ worth sound?”

              “Sounds good.”

              Danny led the way and the two men went into Danny’s stockpile room. One of the rules of prepping was to never let non-family members see your stockpile, but Marty was like a brother to Danny. They had been neighbors since they were both newlyweds, and had been there when the others’ children were born. Danny was Harper’s godfather, and Marty’s 26-year-old sister Tammy (who lived with Marty and Valerie) often babysat the boys. Danny knew he could trust Marty with his life.

              “Your stockpile is looking real good,” Marty remarked as they stood in the dimly-lit storeroom. “Going natural with a lot of it.”

              “Yeah. Miranda is into canning and extracting and all that. It’s really satisfying.”

              “I bet.”

              “How’s your stockpile?”

              “It’s good. I’ve been working on making more space for water, since that’s tricky to store in large amounts, y’know? I’m thinking of making something underground, like a trap door situation.”

              Danny found the jar he was looking for. The flour was kept in a large glass container, one of those old-fashioned kinds with the knobby top, and labeled with masking tape.

              “You can take the jar, too,” Danny offered. “We’ve got lots.”

              “Thanks! You’re a real pal.”

              Danny walked Marty back to the door and waved at him as he crossed the street. Hunter and Jesse were still running around outside, chasing each other with pool noodles they used as swords. They had seen them in the store and insisted on having one each; despite the fact the family did not have a pool. Danny watched them for a few moments, smiling, before returning indoors. He needed a sandwich. While Danny spread mayonnaise on Miranda’s homemade pumpernickel bread and hummed, the Buckley’s home shook up from its foundations to its roof. Six hours had been triggered.