6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel (3 page)

4.

              It felt like the Buckley’s home had been transported to a choppy sea. There was the shaking and rolling; the ground was made of a seething liquid. Glass shook, fell, and shattered. Books rattled off their shelves, followed closely by their bookcases. Candles fell on their sides, drowning in their own wax and casting the house into a jolting, crashing darkness. Outside, car alarms went off and trees groaned, disturbed from their roots to the tips of their leaves.

              “Earthquake!” someone shouted.

              Rachel’s teeth chattered in her head and she fumbled for something - anything - that she could hold on to. Something that would stabilize her. The earthquake lasted four seconds, but it might as well have been hours. Within a few blinks of an eye, anything that had not been nailed down was on its side or smashed into pieces. When the ground stopped moving, Mark turned on a flashlight. He shone it into everyone’s faces, one at a time, before focusing the beam on his family.

              “Is everyone ok?”

              Tara, Alexander, and Lena had dove under the table, clinging to one another and to Caleb, who was squeezed between them and wailing. Rachel had been thrown from her chair near the wall, narrowly missing a picture which had crashed off of its nail.

              “I think so,” Tara breathed, looking at her children. “Are you guys ok?”

              The kids looked at each other, squinting in the harsh spotlight.

              “Mark,” Tara said, her voice steely. “It’s time.”

              The family sprung into action. They didn’t even bother assessing the damage. Shining the light on the floor, Mark led the way upstairs, gingerly avoiding patches of broken glass. Rachel followed to retrieve her own belongings and watched in silence as the Buckley’s frantically packed.

              “We should have done this before,” Rachel heard Tara say.

              “Not now,” Mark responded harshly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

              Lena hung on her mother, sobbing quietly, almost whining. Alexander had gone to his own bedroom and begun to pack according to the vague and hurried instructions his parents had given him. Rachel wished she could comfort Lena, but she knew the Buckley’s had forgotten her as soon as the earth forgot to stand still.

              “Go get your backpack, sweetie. The pink one, ok?” Tara told Lena.

              “I don’t wanna go!” Lena cried.

              “Alex!” Tara called. “Help your sister!”

              Alex dragged a screaming Lena into her room where he stuffed clothes into her backpack.

              “Stop crying,” he told her. “Stop!”

              “My dollhouse!”

              Rachel went to Lena’s room to see the little girl standing grief-struck over the tipped house, its eclectic inhabitants trapped beneath its walls. Lena kneeled down to try and set the house right, but her brother stopped her.

              “We can’t take it with us,” he told her, softening his voice.

              “I know,” Lena said. “I just want it to sit up for when we come back.”

              Alexander didn’t say anything, but glanced sorrowfully at Rachel.

              “You can pick a toy to take with you,” he told her. “One of the people.”

              After searching through the strewn figures for a moment, Lena drew out the dinosaur and put it in her pocket.

              Ten minutes later, the Buckley’s circled in the living room, wrapped in raincoats and weighed down by luggage packed hastily with clothes, canned food, water, and whatever else Mark decided was important on short notice.

              “The radio! What’s the radio saying!” Tara cried, motioning for her family to pause.

              It sounded like another amateur broadcast. Everyone listened intently with bated breath to the serious voice coming through the speaker.

              “No official warnings, but I’ve got word from an expert that a tsunami is likely. Consider tsunami warnings in effect,” the voice said. “Evacuate immediately.”

              “Let’s go, let’s go!”

              Mark grabbed as many bags as he could carry and pushed open the front door. Wind and rain swept inside, causing Mark’s balance to waver slightly. He bent his head and plowed through, followed by Alexander. Tara, sheltering Caleb in her chest, gazed at Rachel with sad eyes. She said nothing before exiting the house into the storm. Only Lena remained, her pink backpack on, and her eyes pink from crying. She hesitated by the door, looking back at Rachel.

“You’re not coming with us?” Lena asked, bewildered.

              Rachel shook her head and tried to muster a smile.

              “Your parents need to take you somewhere safe. You and your brothers.”

              “What about you? You need to be safe, too!”

              “I will. Don’t worry.”

              Tara returned to the door, calling for her daughter. She opened it and grabbed Lena’s arm.

“Mommy, we can’t leave her!” Lena pleaded with her mother, pulling back.

              Tara glanced at Rachel, the lines in her forehead deepening. Every second lost was another second the tsunami came closer. Rachel could tell guilt was growing inside Tara, but taking Rachel meant being responsible for another human.

              “We’re going,” Mark shouted, his voice sounding very soft and very far away.

The van’s headlights went on. Mark had a plan and Rachel was not a part of it. Tara pulled Lena to the van and shoved her inside. Rachel could hear the girl screaming as the van pulled away, spinning water off its tires. For a moment, Rachel almost couldn’t believe they had just abandoned her, but she knew it was more complicated than that. Taking her with them meant dealing with the tsunami and its after effects as a group, and they were not prepared for that. She would have to share in all their supplies. The Buckley’s knew it was unlikely that they could outrun the tsunami, so it was like taking Rachel with them was just letting her hitch a ride. It was letting her into their family. How many would have done any different?

With the Buckley’s gone, Rachel rushed into action. She would leave her big suitcase behind and just take what she could carry on her back. She tore open pantry and cupboard doors, scouring the shelves for anything the family had left behind.  Besides some juice cans, nothing seemed terribly useful at the moment. She needed to waterproof her things. After some more searching, Rachel discovered Zip-loc bags. Her fingers trembling, Rachel put everything that could fit into the plastic bags -her cell phone especially - and sealed the bags closed. She grabbed one of the smallest survival candles and a half-empty box of matches on her way out the door.

The wind hit her so hard in the gut it took her breath away. Rain pelted against her face so cold it felt like ice.

Think, Rachel. You need to get inland fast.

By the time she crossed the fifteen feet to her car, she was soaked up to her knees from the standing water. The street must have been at a slight angle because all the water was running downwards and puddling up in the grass. Rachel’s jeans were glued to her legs. Inside her car, she set her backpack on the passenger seat and took out her plastic-bagged map to plan a route. Would she even be able to read street signs? Rachel’s heart began to pound. She took her phone out and looked through the plastic to see if she had bars. None. Rachel had been in an almost disturbingly calm state for the last few days, unable to do much, but now that she was once again truly responsible for herself, panic began to emerge. This was serious. This was life or death. Rachel thrust the map back into her backpack and turned on the car. Water shot out from beneath her tires as she pulled ahead. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew what she was getting away from. That was all that mattered.

Far away in the ocean, jarred by shifting plates and deep tremors, water sped towards the coast on the surface, like the spread wings of a giant bird. Disturbed by a sick planet, the sea churned up waves small at first, but building to a crescendo. On shore, the foolish few who remained saw the tell-tale signs; the receding of the water. Garbage and sea life were exposed to the wind. In the past, before the abrupt shift in climate, people would have run up to pick up shells and whatever shiny objects caught their eye, but now, people were too well-educated on the signs to run towards their death. They turned their back to the sea and ran. They would not be able to run fast or far enough though. The sea reared up its white-crested head - the pale horse of the apocalypse - and rose to touch the sky. The resort where Rachel had stayed at was the first to be struck. Water burst through windows like they were made of tissue paper and lifted it off its concrete foundation. Trees were yanked up their roots, cars smashed together, and fleeing people swept up in great floods racing faster than jet planes. The levies strained and cracked - fresh water mingling with salt - and overflowed. The hungry ocean was claiming a feast.

Three hours after the earthquake, Rachel was still driving. The roads had been bent and morphed by the earthquake, making driving difficult. Many of the houses had extensive damage, or were at least slanted on their foundations. It looked like the further Rachel drove, the less bad the earthquake damage was. Rachel wasn’t sure how far she had gone, but she knew because the going was slow, it probably wasn’t as far as she would have liked. The water was rising on the road, making her car hydroplane and skid over the road. There were a few other cars that traveled with her; people in similar situations, and she felt a sort of camaraderie with them. The rain had finally stopped beating down. Now it was like the skies were just slightly weeping, recovering from its day’s-long fit. Visibility was no longer the main issue; it was the driving conditions. Rachel turned her radio on, searching for news on the tsunami and what was going on in other places. The national news were reporting other major weather events across the country, like tornadoes, dust storms, and more earthquakes. It was beginning to sound a little like the world was collapsing. Rachel couldn’t handle thinking about other disasters. Worry for others was a luxury she could not afford. Her car began to leave the road more and more often, and drift in directions she did not want it to.

“Damn it,” she said aloud. “No good.”

Rachel turned off her car. It continued to bob, hoisted up by the water. It might have felt peaceful had not the possibility of grave harm or death been so near. Fighting a brewing anxiety attack, Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her backpack strap.

Here goes nothing.

Rachel opened her car door. Water poured in, warmer than she had expected, but still cool. Relieved that her feet just barely touched the ground, Rachel waded through the water, clutching her backpack. She had to find higher ground. The water was going to keep rising. Other people saw her and took heed. A couple abandoned what looked to be a nice car and followed silently behind Rachel, as if she was their leader. Rachel noticed how dirty the water was from picking up debris and vegetation for so many miles. It couldn’t be safe to stay in it for very long. Rachel knew from reading and the news that the aftermath of flooding was just as dangerous as the early, violent stages as bacteria and disease festered in standing water. Anything the water killed made the murky depths its grave and carried its decay wherever the flood wished to go. As Rachel and her unknown companions waded up the street, she started seeing more people. They came out on their porches and looked at how high the water had come. Some shouted to each other, asking how everyone was. The couple from the new car climbed on to an empty porch, dripping wet. Rachel considered doing the same, but if the water kept rising, soon it would overflow the porch, forcing people higher. She wanted to keep moving, but she couldn’t just swim to safety. As she realized none of her options were good and another rush of anxiety threatened to overwhelm her, a kayak appeared at the kitty corner before her. It was paddled by a young man in a baseball hat, green windbreaker, and a small backpack.  Rachel’s heart leapt.

“Hey!” she cried. “Kayak kid!”

He saw her and paddled over. As he drew closer, Rachel  guessed he was around her age. Maybe younger.

“Hey!” he called back.  “Get in!”

He pulled up to a porch and after walking up a few stairs shedding water, Rachel clambered into the other seat, putting her backpack on backwards so she could wrap her arms around it if she wanted.

“I’m looking for my friends,” the young man explained. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Rachel. Where did you find the kayak?”

“At the house where I was staying. When it started flooding, I brought it in from the shed. Read about it in a book. This guy had a canoe and got around that way when the cars were useless.”

“The water is going to keep rising. We need to go inland.”

“What about my friends?”
              “They’re heading inland, too, I’m sure. Everyone else. Or they’re idiots.”

Tim turned the kayak around and began to head in the direction Rachel pointed towards. She still wasn’t sure what to look for, but there had to be aid workers showing up at some point. They glided past more homes flooded up to their porches and floating cars. The rain had begun to strengthen again and Rachel worried about the wind flinging debris at them. After a few minutes of silence, Tim tried to make conversation.