Nine Minutes
By
Jacqueline Druga
Nine Minutes - Jacqueline Druga
Nine Minutes - Copyright 2019 by Jacqueline Druga
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
I put my ‘thank you for your help’ right here and I truly mean it when I say it. Thank you to Paula, Kira and Connie N for all your help!.
Covers courtesy of Red Ninja Designs
ONE – BURGERS
Seventeen cities were incinerated within seconds while I served a hungry patron a bacon blue burger. Millions of people lost their lives in an instant while I and everyone else in the restaurant were oblivious to what was happening.
In a world where technology was a curse, for the longest time, the eatery where I worked was a blessing. It was praised when it opened. The Millicents were a couple in their eighties, one child, and they had hit the Pennsylvania lottery. Never caring if they took a loss, really wanting to fulfil their dream, since they had the windfall of money, they opened the PEF. The Peaceful, Easy Feedary. The name was a tribute to the Eagles, a band they both loved back in the day. When they interviewed me, they told me they wanted to hire me even before they met me simply because of my first name.
Henley.
I guess they assumed I was named after a band member.
“With such a unique name,” Mrs. Millicent asked me, “I have to ask, were your parents Eagles fans?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t named after the famed singer, but rather a style of shirt that my father was wearing when he met my mother.
Hating to admit, I was leery about taking the job at a new place. I had been waiting tables for twenty years, was good at what I did and used to making money. But the eatery was two blocks from my apartment.
The premise of it spread like wildfire and people made reservations for dinner weeks in advance, lunch time not so much.
It was a step back to the days when life was simple. When you went out to eat without the distraction of a television blaring in the corner, or your date playing with his or her phone.
All phones were turned in at the door.
The music wasn’t on the radio, but a soothing choice by the owners.
All of that fed into the fact that the world began its descent while five staff members and twenty late afternoon diners had their lunch break. Talking away to each other with no distractions.
It was the one time there needed to be.
We were in the cultural section of town. A little city within the big, and even though it was an urban setting, there was very light traffic during the day.
I wasn’t crazy about the area when we moved there. I stayed away from living in the city, there was something about it that I hated. I had been self-sufficient my whole adult life. When my daughter was born, I was single, but I wasn’t a kid, I was a woman who kept rolling along.
I met my husband when Macy was just two, and for the first time ever in my life I let someone else make decisions.
That was a mistake.
After a few years of putting his artwork secondary to providing, he wanted to focus on his art and needed that artsy feel to be inspired to create his paintings. Bloomfield, PA, was his muse. Or so he said. I didn’t get it. We were so out of place, having moved from the suburbs. We weren’t city people, not at all. Even though I was always living check to check, I was a snob when it came to city schools and I sent Macy to Saint Mary’s. She was in the first grade when we moved there, with rent it would be tight, but we’d manage.
Then Todd sold the painting of a lifetime. Before we knew it, he was on display at the museum, had lined up art show after art show, and left me for his business manager, Karen.
It was me and Macy alone … again.
We just kinda stayed in that apartment. The building was nice, an old, three story Victorian style row house with eight units and neighbors that cared.
They cared. Yet, did they care enough about my daughter to check on her in the middle of the madness?
God, I hoped so. That was my first thought when I heard what was going on.
My poor child, nine years old, not only would I not be there when she got off the bus, I wouldn't be there to calm her or answer her questions.
It was a rare that I wasn’t there. That was why I worked the lunch shift.
Lunch was usually over before three and I’d make it home just in time to greet her bus.
But on that day we had a late lunch group, an eight top as we referred to them. All men, they came in all ordering specialty burgers, onion rings and assorted appetizers.
I was never getting out of there; they were never finishing.
Margot worked behind the bar, she hated it, but she did it for an hourly wage plus small tip outs from the wait staff, until she took the floor for the dinner shift.
She leaned against the cooler, her auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, which draped over her left shoulder while she looked at her watch. I was looking at mine, too. Yeah, could the day go any slower?
After checking on my last remaining table’s progress, I walked over to the bar.
“Can you take that table and finish it?” I asked Margot. “You can have the tip. I don’t care. I just want to get home to greet the bus.”
“That’s a big tip,” She looked over my shoulder to the men. “Didn’t you say you had that old lady across the hall to watch out for Macy?”
I nodded. “I do, but I just hate having to rely on her. Especially if I can get home. Besides, Macy hates when I’m not there.”
Mumbling a “sure,” Margot did that ‘whatever’ eye roll. Was she serious? She was staying anyhow, she had the next shift. She couldn’t take that table?
“You know what?” I said. “Forget about it.”
“Hen...”
“No. Don’t worry about it.” I walked away thinking the entire time, wait until she needed me. I got my bearings, not wanting my mood to affect my service. I took in the music. It was actually pretty cool, modern day music transformed into elevator tunes.
Once more I assessed my table of eight. One guy was almost done, the other talked so much he barely ate. Maybe he’d take it to go.
Meeting lunches at our place always went long. No one was checking their mail or sending texts, nor hiding their phone under the table as they sneakily tried to check it.
There was always one. At least once or twice a day someone cheated and kept their phone.
I was glad at that moment someone did.
Crash!
The sound of a breaking glass brought silence to the room, just before Margot let out an “Oh my God.” She said it again, only faster and running the words together. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
She looked down at her watch, looked at me, then her watch again. She hurriedly grabbed her purse and rushed from behind the bar.
Her watch. It wasn’t a normal one. It was one that connected to your phone and the internet.
One of the patrons jokingly said, “Wow, someone is ready to go home.”
Laughter. Laughter. Ha, ha, ha.
“Margot?” I called out to her. “Everything okay?”
She paused at the door. Her lips moved for a few second before words came out. “Go home, we’re at war.” She spun and ran out.
TWO – UNLOCK
There was a delayed reaction in the room, people dismissing what she said, then almost like a switch, something clicked.
“She can’t be serious,” one of the patrons said. “Who the hell are we at war with?”
“Anyone,” an
other answered. “Think about it.”
“Something big happened,” someone said. “She wouldn’t react like that otherwise.”
My head was going back and forth, trying to process what Margot said. Chef and Cook flew from the kitchen, repeating Margot’s advice to go home. Then the other waitress left the floor, and instantly our quiet little haven was a madhouse.
“What’s going on?”
“Does anyone have their phone? Someone check their phone."
“Get me my phone.” A man grabbed the tops of my arms as if to shake me from my frozen stance.
“Yes, yes, okay.” I was muttering in confusion. It was hard to actually figure out what was going on. Margot declaring we were at war, what did that even mean?
“Now!” someone screamed in my face, causing me to jump.
I spun and ran behind the check in counter.
It wasn’t that easy. The phones and electronic devices weren’t placed in a bin. Our system worked like a coat check system. Everyone was given a ticket with a number and tiny key. Instead of a line of hangers, we had a wall, five foot tall with rows of what looked like safety deposit boxes. It was only twenty people, but it was insane. At least eight of those customers were in the same box.
I lifted the first tag and key tossed to me.
219.
Box number 219.
I scanned with my eyes looking for that box, but I didn’t see it. Maybe it was my nerves, people screaming at me to hurry. My body trembled and I just wanted them all to shut up, they weren’t making it better or easier.
“Find box seven.”
“Our phones are in one-eleven.”
“Sixty-four, right there. Right there! Can’t you see it? What the hell is the matter with you!”
“Hurry up!”
I kept thinking my God, just stop, the world isn’t going to explode.
Unfortunately, my way of thinking was way off.
It had already begun to explode.
Just at my breaking point, where I wanted to cover my ears with both hands and scream, it dawned on me.
The release.
There was a simple release, a one key, one turn, that opened the entire covering to the boxes, drawer doors and all. It was designed to enable us to get to a phone in case a key to a locked box was lost.
“Wait,” I called out. “I got it. I know what to do.”
I opened the cash drawer, pulled out the keys, sought the correct one and with shaking hands, unlocked the safety box unit.
The door swung open exposing small bins in what looked like mail slots.
I didn’t know what bin was which number, and I just started pulling them. If they had a phone, I tossed it on the counter.
I was robotic and just kept moving. Grab a box, set it on the counter. Get another box … empty. Empty … phones.
I could hear them behind me fighting over devices, but I didn’t care, I didn’t look at them. I just wanted to get in the back, get my purse and phone and go.
The commonly used phrase, ‘Oh my God’ was repeated in different stages of emotion. Anger, sadness and shock.
People talked about war, asking how it was possible. With each comment I heard my heart beat faster. Once the last box was pulled and the last phone set out, I didn’t look back, I went straight to the kitchen and to my locker to grab my purse.
Hurriedly, I grabbed my phone and turned it on.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I beckoned it to power up faster.
When it powered on, I saw the time of 2:45. And I clicked to access the internet.
Surely, if war broke out, if something truly big did happen, it would be on a news site.
Even using my phone’s data didn’t help the internet open, it was slow, as was the news website. Those twenty or thirty seconds seemed like an hour. Finally, the news opened up and I didn’t need to search for anything. The headline was bold and huge. It was frightening and real, it took my breath away.
Paris Burns – Millions Dead.
THREE – GATHER
It was headline after headline as I scrolled down. I had to stop looking, but it was like a part of me needed to know as much as I could before walking out the door.
All words.
Stock pictures.
Where were the images?
Paris Burns
Six Countries Hit
Global Confrontation Erupts.
Those were the words I saw but no answers.
Who started it? When did it start? Why did it start? Jesus, wasn’t that the foundation of good journalism? The who, what, where, when and how? Shouldn’t those be answered almost immediately?
Deep inside, maybe it was wishful thinking, for a split second I imagined it wasn’t in my country. That it was elsewhere. That somehow, the ‘we’re at war’ that Margot muttered wasn’t really about us. Until I saw it.
New York.
It was hit.
I didn’t look any further to see where else. New York was close enough.
Nearly fumbling my phone, I shoved it in my purse, tossed the strap over my shoulder and grabbed my backpack that hung over the hook.
I was going to hightail it out of there, get my daughter and figure out what was going on. Were we safe or would we have to find a way out of the city? Because truth be known, if a bomb fell on the city, we were close enough to be toast.
I had to get things together and hit the road if needed. Be one of those panicked people who fled for the streets.
Just about out of the kitchen, I stopped.
I looked down to my watch. I had twenty minutes until Macy’s bus got home, and two blocks to run.
Supplies.
Maybe it was wrong, maybe I was overreacting, who knew, but I unzipped my backpack. I thought about taking out that extra set of clothes and shoes in there, but I didn’t, I crammed them in and raced about the kitchen grabbing what I could.
A can of this, a box of that. I forewent going down to the basement to the freezers. Not only was there not enough time, it was useless to take any of that. I went into the dry storage pantry, grabbed handfuls of crackers and what I could, until my bag was stuffed.
I hadn’t a clue if it would be enough, I had food at home. All I kept thinking was I needed extra just in case the stores were looted or people went insane and chaotic.
Before shutting my bag, I saw it on the wall. The first aid box. I opened it, grabbed handfuls of items then finally shut my bag.
When I emerged into the main portion of the restaurant it was empty.
Through the windows I could see people moving quickly on the sidewalks. The normal light traffic was suddenly crammed to a halt on the main drag in front of the eatery.
Did they know something I didn’t?
I was just going to go, run out of the store, instead I took a second. Being one of the few employees to have a key, I locked the door.
I didn’t want anyone breaking in, stealing anything. Then again, was I any better? I just took from my place of employment.
I’d apologize profusely if I jumped the gun and acted irrationally, but I couldn’t think about that right then, or even feel guilty.
I just had to get home.
FOUR - INFORM
There was an indescribable feeling of panic that hit me. My heart beating out of control, all thoughts of doom, I immediately, and ignorantly went into some sort of flight mode.
I ran all the way home. I didn’t have a plan on what to do next, just grab my daughter and go. Where, I didn’t know.
I wasn’t thinking clearly, or rather, I wasn’t doing any informed thinking. All I knew was a few words that I read on my phone and in my mind that was enough.
I barreled my way down the street bumping into people. Still wearing my apron, my tips must have flown out of my pocket. At one point, someone grabbed me to stop me and say I had dropped money.
I didn’t care.
My focus was getting to the bus stop, grabbing my daughter and then leaving the city.
The entire time I ran, I struggled to catch my breath. I fought to not throw up and constantly looked at the sky waiting for the bombs to fall.
I lived on a busy side street. The houses were all row houses, all old, big and connected. Macy’s bus stop was on the corner, a half block from our building. I thought briefly about running up to the apartment, grabbing my car keys, and just shoving her in the car and going. There wasn’t time, I could see her bus in the distance.
As I drew closer to my building, I saw another obstacle. A pick-up truck was double parked on the street in front of my building. Not only that he was blocking in my car.
Already out of breath and frightened of the unknown, I could feel a ‘freak out’ mode stewing and growing inside of me.
I didn’t have time to blast whoever it was for blocking me in, that would come after I got Macy.
Running by my building, eyes transfixed only on the nearing bus, I slammed into a guy carrying a box.
The connection sent the box from his hands to the ground, and my feet stumbled into them, causing me to spin and, like that box, toppling to the ground.
“Whoa. Whoa. Hey, you okay?” he asked, reaching down to help me.
It was the new guy moving in on my floor, I had seen him two days earlier.
“Yeah.” That heavy backpack threw my balance off some, and I swayed as I stood. “Yeah. I am.” I tried to get away.
“What’s the rush?”
That inner freak out feeling, the one brewing inside of me erupted, and uncontrollably, I blasted him. “The bombs are coming. Didn’t you hear the news?”
I believe I might have growled or maybe called him a bad name, but it didn’t matter, I wasn’t thinking. I ran to the corner just as the bus pulled up.
That out of control, panicked and confused feeling instantaneously lifted the second I saw my daughter step from the bus and say, “Hi, Mommy.”
She smiled innocently, unaware of what was going on.
It was at that moment I knew the way I acted and felt was unacceptable. I had to get it together, I had to … for her.
Nine Minutes Page 1