6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel (7 page)

4.

The scuffle drew the attention of Marty, who had been camped out at the opposite side of the gym. He knew Frank, and they greeted each other warmly. Frank, like Danny, had dropped out of school to pursue different dreams and had been working on building a woodworking shop in his garage.

“That’s all gone now,” he said, his voice cracking. He cleared it aggressively. “I got the house from a foreclosure, so it wasn’t a ton of money, but it was pretty much all I had. Not sure what I’ll do now. Maybe go back home with my tail between my legs.”

Hunter widened his eyes and looked at Danny with a confused expression.

“It’s just a saying,” Danny whispered. “He doesn’t actually have a tail.”

“What are you folks going to do?” Frank asked, glad to change the subject away from himself.

“We don’t know,” Miranda replied. “We...haven’t really thought about it.”

It wasn’t like Danny had never thought about starting over. He had a plan for if the power grid went down permanently, or if a new and dangerous disease began sweeping the country. Miranda would get out the face masks and they would barricade themselves in their house. Danny had designs for all kinds of booby traps and security measures to keep looters out. Bugging out had never been in the cards; Danny calculated that the risks were just too high with two young children and besides, bugging out was really the best option for people who lived in crowded areas where rioting and violence was a real concern. Stoneholt was a tight-knit community that had a history of self-sacrifice and banding together. What Danny had not considered was what would happen if he had to start over unwillingly. In retrospect, that was stupid. People’s lives were routinely destroyed on the coast, and tornadoes and fires took out whatever was in between. Danny had just always assumed that somehow, he would be spared.

Three hours after the tornado had ripped through town, everyone who had any food gathered what they had and offered it to the church to cook for the gym as a group. Canned peas, corn, salmon, juice, and beans were collected along with the pasta and spaghetti sauce the church had on hand. Plates were handed out soup kitchen-style and kids were given glasses of milk mixed with chocolate syrup for dessert. Hunter and Jesse drank their milk very slowly, side by side, watching everyone eat in silence around them.

“You should try to call your family,” Miranda whispered to Danny. “They’re probably worried sick.”

Miranda had no family; she was an only child and her parents had died years before of what was now known as climate-related illnesses: Lyme disease due to the expansion of the territory where ticks could breed and lung cancer from air pollutants. Their illnesses had been drawn-out and painful, and when they passed on, it was more a relief than anything else. That was all a while before Danny had even met Miranda. His family became her family.

Danny gingerly picked his way through the gym in search of a phone. Some people were still eating, cradling their paper plates in their laps. A few greeted Danny by name, and he waved back. No one attacked him like those two men had earlier, and even they had looked begrudgingly apologetic when they stood together in line waiting for food. With community support, those affected by the tornado would be all right. Danny went up to the folding tables where food had been served and approached someone in an apron.

“Do you have a phone I can use? I need to call my family.”

The young woman pointed to a line that extended from the gym doors all the way through the lobby. Danny sighed.

“No other phone lines?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said.

Danny shrugged and turned to walk to the doors when she reached out to touch his arm.

“Wait a minute. You’re Danny Morgan, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“The prepper guy?”

“I guess so.”

The woman glanced around to make sure no one was watching her before motioning for him to follow her. She pushed open the door to the outdoors and put her foot in its way so it wouldn’t close.

“Hold this open,” she instructed Danny. “Or it will lock behind you.”
              She reached under her apron into her jean’s pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

“I didn’t want people to see or everyone would be asking to use it,” she explained, holding the phone out for Danny.

“Why me then?” Danny asked, puzzled.

“My dad went to one of your classes,” the woman said. “He learned about how to tie off deep wounds, stuff like that. He went camping alone and cut himself really bad. What you taught him saved his life.”

Danny’s mouth fell open a little. The woman smiled, blinking back tears. She put the phone in his hand.

“So hold the door open with your foot or something,” she repeated.

Danny nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. The woman went inside, leaving Danny outside alone in the fading light. The sky was layered in gold and crimson. Looking in this direction, everything was clear and peaceful. Danny looked to the north, where the wind blew from, and glared at the dark clouds still swirling. He thought he saw a bolt of lightning skid across quickly like a cockroach. So it wasn’t over just yet. Danny checked the cell reception and dialed. He tried his sister’s number first. Still nothing.

Damn it,
Danny thought, gritting his teeth.
What have you gotten yourself into, Rachel?

Danny called his dad next. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Thank God! Are you guys okay? We’ve been tracking what’s going on and it looks like about five tornadoes touched down within a 40-mile radius.”

“Yeah, we got hit. We’re all ok, though, but the house is gone.”

“I’m so sorry. Are you safe now?”

“We’re at a church. Not sure what the next move will be.”

“Does it have a basement?”

“No, just the gym.”

Danny’s father was quiet for a moment. Danny could hear talking in the background and typing, like someone was banging angrily on a keyboard.

“Dad?”

“There are more tornadoes forming. Can you see anything?”
              “Some storms in the north. Is it bad?”

“Hard to say by the time they reach you, but it is definitely heading your way. I…”

The phone went dead. Danny stared at the phone, seeing everything was fine. Something must have happened on the other end. He tried redialing, but the call didn’t go through. He called his mother’s number. Nothing. Anxiety crackled through Danny and he wished he had his pills. He stretched his neck, feeling it pop, and looked at the darkening clouds. They had swelled and there was definitely lightning now. The wind had picked up as well. Danny thought about Rachel and where she might be. Had she gotten out in time? Or would he receive a call that she had been put on a missing persons’ list and would likely never be found, her body lost to the sea. Danny felt sick. He swallowed down the rising bile with a grunt and hastily rubbed his eyes with his fist.

Can’t think about stuff like that,
he told himself.
Not productive. Just hope for the best.

It felt like a lie - a charade - but Danny knew it was the only thing that could keep him from panicking right now. More and more, he understood his mother. Taking slow, deep breaths, Danny went back inside, letting the gym door hit the back of his foot as it closed. He looked over the sea of heads, picking out people he knew, and trying to not think about the ones he couldn’t find. A circle of old people had formed in the corner nearby. There were about five of them - two couples and a single elderly man. Danny could overhear them whispering and praying with each other. Touched, Danny perked up his ears to listen. What he heard troubled him.

              “Forgive us, Lord, for what we have done to your creation. Withdraw the breath of your fury. Do not send any more tornados to punish us. We beg for mercy.”

              The prayer group members nodded earnestly. Two lifted their hands. The young woman with the apron was still behind the tables, handing out pudding cups. She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the group when Danny handed her the phone.

“They didn’t even get hit by the tornado,” she said in a hushed tone. “They’re from the assisted living place down the road. They’ve got a great setup for tornados.”

“Kinda seems like they’re bumming out.”

“Well, you know how hard the media was on their generation,” the young woman reminded Danny. “All those TV specials on
the not so-great generation
and
the planet killers
, I’m sure it would get rough after a while.”

Danny nodded. He did remember those shows, and the magazine stories. It had become relatively common for the two generations before Danny to be blamed for the abrupt climate shift that resulted in so many disasters. Their irresponsible burning of fossil fuels, overflow of landfills, fracking, and poor crop management hardly helped, but the climate change had been building for at least a century. It all went back to being able to have something or someone present to accuse. People from a hundred years were not still around; society’s grandparents were. Old habits were presented as cautionary tales and people who still held to them were shamed.

              “Older people just don’t understand,” was one of the kinder phrases. “They don’t know how their actions affected the situation we’re in now.”

              Anyone who worked in industry or anything relating to the environment who was over 50-years old was pushed out. An entire generation and a half was unemployed nearly overnight. Retirement benefits and support became less of a priority, as if society had agreed to punish those it saw as responsible for the climate shift. It wasn’t fair, of course. Most of that generation also suffered the most because of the climate change, what with all the health impacts from living near fracking sites or working in the mines or being exposed to radiation. They needed the medical care. Private organizations took charge when the government abandoned the elderly, but those kinds of resources were often overpriced and too expensive for a good deal of the poorer, older population. Many who should have lived another 10-20 years - like Miranda’s parents - died early, leaving Danny’s generation without memories of their grandparents. It was not a proud time for the country. Some - like the gym prayer group - took on that shame as punishment for their crimes against the planet. They went around bearing chocolate chip cookies for the children and words of warning for the adults, like smiling doomsday prophets.

“Did you reach anyone?” Miranda asked.

              She was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping bag with the boys, who were licking the insides of their pudding cups. Someone had given her a hair scrunchie, so her hair was up in a ponytail.

              “Dad,” Danny replied. “I tried Rachel first, but still nothing. And then the call with Dad dropped and I couldn’t reach Mom.”
              “Is everything ok there?”

              “I don’t know.”

              Danny plopped himself between his sons and put his arm around their shoulders.

              “How are you guys doing? How’s the pudding?”
              “Good,” Hunter replied. “Is Aunt Rachel ok?”

              Danny sighed. He looked at Miranda, who gave him a little nod. They couldn’t deny anything was wrong to their young ones, but they could phrase the truth in a way that didn’t traumatize them,

              “There was a big storm where your aunt Rachel was staying,” Danny explained. “I haven’t been able to reach her cell phone.”
              Hunter and Jesse listened earnestly, a shadow crossing their faces.

              “Now I don’t want you guys to worry too much,” Danny continued. “Aunt Rachel is smart, and she prepares, like we do.”

              “But our house fell down,” Jesse interjected.

              That hit Danny in the gut. He put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

              “You’re right. It did. But we had the box you guys went into; that kept you safe. And that’s what’s important. We can get a new house.”

              Hunter and Jesse started asking questions about what kind of house they would get when the sound of wind became audible over the buzz of people talking. Everyone grew quiet, listening, heads up like small animals searching for hawks. When the sirens started going off, rising like a shrill whine, people started to become agitated.

              “Oh, damn, not again,” Frank said, more frustrated than frightened.

              He drew up his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, gritting his teeth. The sound of children crying could be heard even with the outside noise; their wails cut Danny to the core. It was pure, unhinged fear. Hunter and Jesse tried very hard to be brave. They moved closer to their parents, but did not cry. They covered their ears and looked to their father, their eyes begging him to save them.  The lights went out; all across the gym, battery-operated or solar lanterns turned on, bathing the large room in patches of white-blue light. People’s faces were just barely visible, like glowing shadows or ghost faces. Danny and his family huddled together, their sleeping bags forming one slippery square. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded wolf as the low rumble steadily grew. Soon, the bellowing blanketed the cry of the tornado sirens until only the deep thunder of wind remained. This time, there was no mini shelter for Miranda and the boys. Danny had no last resort.