The Hours

by Robert Barnard

  Nolan shifted in bed, leaned in closer to the screen.

  “Followers of my video series,” Ken continued, “will know damn well that it’s not a matter of if the EV1 virus returns, but a matter of when. Which is why I’m thrilled to introduce all of my viewers to Arabella.”

  The screen faded from black to a wide, aerial view of endless plains. For miles in each direction there was scarce vegetation, hills, or other changes in topography. Near the upper left corner of the screen was a giant lake, sure, but that wasn’t what caught Nolan’s eye; what grabbed his attention was the sprawling, man made metropolis in the center of the screen, an oasis among the lifeless land that surrounded it.

  “Arabella,” Ken went on. “There’s nothing else like it. It is located in a remote region in the southwest corner of the United States, its exact location kept secret from everyone but those who reside there.

  “Arabella is a complete, self-sustaining living facility, capable of housing up to one-hundred thousand individuals. With the recent announcement that congress has lifted interstate travel bans, spaces are filling up fast. At the time of this video, eighteen thousand reservations have already been made, and many more are on the way.

  “The possibilities at Arabella are endless. The center of the compound contains state of the art farming techniques for livestock and vegetation. Within the complex are twelve fire departments, ten police departments, twenty schools for children aged five through eighteen and two universities, each of which are accredited and held to the strict guidelines set by the Department of Education.

  “Now, citizenship at Arabella doesn’t come cheap. But, to the many of my viewers who were displaced during the EV1 outbreak in New York, that shouldn’t be much of a problem. Your survivor’s benefits should more than cover the cost of relocating to Arabella.

  “Citizenship comes at the tune of $250,000 American. One-hundred and twenty-five thousand of that is pledged up front to Arabella, and includes lifetime residency in a personal dwelling of eight hundred square feet. Another seventy-five thousand is to be converted by you, the new resident, into gold and silver. Fifty-thousand in silver, and twenty-five in gold, so that—in the event of a total collapse of U.S. or global economies—you will have currency to trade after the fall of the American dollar. The last fifty thousand is to be spent on your own personal cache of weapons and ammunition. The staff at Arabella have assembled great packages if the thought of buying that many guns and bullets on your own is overwhelming.

  “So,” Ken said. “Are you sold?”

  Nolan hit pause on the YouTube video. Only after the room had silenced did he realize how heavy he was breathing. Very heavy—and his vision was starting to blur. The panic attacks had started during the six months that Chloe, Dana, Jim and himself lived at the refugee camp in New York, and they hadn’t ceased since. Even with medication, even with psychological help, they haunted him constantly.

  Nolan closed his eyes and took three big, deep breaths. The rhythm of his breathing steadied.

  “Chloe, Jim, Dana…” he whispered, and he leapt from bed. “I have to tell them all about this. We have to get in on this before it’s too late.”

  FOUR

  “I’m starving,” Chloe said.

  “Me too,” Hannah agreed. “Wanna stop somewhere? Taco King? My treat.”

  Chloe smiled. “That sounds excellent.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Sarge rode your ass all day long. And I wasn’t exactly friendly this morning.” Hannah huffed. “I appreciate the rides to and from academy, Chloe. Even when you’re late. You know I’d be shit outta luck without you.”

  Chloe said, “Don’t worry about it.”

  The Dodge Challenger rumbled at a stoplight on the corner of Main and Hemming. Chloe squinted, examined the dash, saw that the needle of her gas gauge hung precariously close to a red letter “E.”

  “Shit,” Chloe said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nolan had the car last night,” Chloe said. “And forgot to fill it up. I’m almost on empty, I gotta stop for gas.”

  Chloe yanked the car’s steering wheel to the right and the challenger veered off of Hemming and into the parking lot of the neighborhood Grab-N-Go. She pulled to a stop at an empty gas pump, looked to her left, and laughed.

  “What’s up?” Hannah asked.

  “Someone messed up the sign.” Chloe pointed out the window. “Says regular is going for almost twelve bucks a gallon.”

  The digital sign beside the gas station read: REGULAR, UNLEADED—$11.98 per GAL.

  Chloe opened the driver’s side door of the massive car and stepped out. “Need anything to hold you over ‘til we eat? A Slurpee? Day old hotdog?”

  Hannah smiled. “No thanks. I’ll make it.”

  Chloe shut the door and turned towards the pump. She slid her debit card through the pump’s payment processor, quickly punched in her pin number, then picked up the nozzle and plugged it into the side of the challenger. She squeezed the handle of the nozzle and nearly fainted when she watched the digital numbers on the pump rapidly start to climb.

  “Shit,” Chloe said, and she released the handle and pivoted on one foot towards the front door of the Grab-N-Go.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah said.

  “The pump is actually charging me twelve bucks a gallon!” Chloe shouted, and she marched between cars to head inside. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to ask them to refund my card and reset the pump.”

  The sliding glass doors at the front of the Grab-N-Go slid open and Chloe stepped inside. Surrounding the front counter of the convenience store were four or five people, grunting and cursing at the petite cashier behind the store’s register.

  Chloe ran her hands through her hair, turned towards an older gentleman mopping the floor a few feet from her.

  “What’s going on?” Chloe asked.

  The employee shrugged. “People are pissed about the pumps, I guess.”

  “Yeah!” Chloe said. “That’s actually why I came in. I’m at pump number four, and it’s already charged me fourteen dollars, but I’ve barely pumped any gas. I need a refund.”

  The employee smiled, wiped his mop across the floor. “No refunds. The pump is working fine.”

  Chloe shook her head. “Twelve dollars a gallon?”

  Without looking up, the employee said: “Mhm.”

  “That’s impossible,” Chloe said. “I was at this same station three days ago. Gas was selling for less than three bucks a gallon.”

  “Haven’t you seen the news?”

  Chloe pointed at the bronze badge on the front of her uniform. “I’ve been at police academy since five this morning.”

  The employee stopped mopping. “Congress lifted the travel ban this morning. Gas quadrupled in price. Nobody bothered to put a price freeze on gas or groceries—not the senate, not the president, no one. It’s almost kinda funny. You think this is bad? Walk across the street to Wal-Mart. From what I hear, a loaf of bread is going for eight bucks. A carton of milk for eleven.”

  Chloe let out a long exhale of breath and stomped back towards the entrance of the convenience store.

  “Chloe,” Hannah said. From her seat she watched her friend huff back towards the car. “What’s going on?”

  “The travel ban was lifted this morning,” Chloe said. “You’d think one of the meat heads at academy might mention that.”

  “So?” Hannah asked.

  “The price of gas skyrocketed. The entire country is hitting the road for the first time in two years.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” Chloe said. “That’s an understatement.” She circled the Challenger, squeezed the handle of the gas nozzle again, and grit her teeth for every second of the three minutes it took to fill the car. When she was finished, she ripped the nozzle from the vehicle, slammed it back down on the pump, slapped the side of the Challenger and climbed back in behind the wheel with a grunt.

  �
�Well?” Hannah asked.

  “One-hundred and fifty-three fucking dollars,” Chloe shouted, “to fill this giant piece of shit.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said. “Listen. You’re tired. You’re hungry. Let’s go get that Taco King, all right? You’ll forget all about it.”

  Chloe squinted, started the car, and stomped the accelerator. The Challenger blew out of the Grab-N-Go parking lot, left nothing but a cloud of dust behind it.

  The line inside of the Taco King stretched for what felt like miles. A cardboard sign hung above the registers read: Menu Prices Subject To Change. The words were scribbled in messy, black ink.

  Chloe crossed her arms. “Should we try the drive through?”

  “Nah,” Hannah said. “The line’s wrapped around the building.”

  “Are you sure you still want to buy my dinner?” Chloe asked. “A burrito and a fountain soda is going to cost, like, fifteen bucks now.”

  Hannah grinned. “Chloe,” she said softly. “Don’t worry about it. Relax.”

  “The travel ban lifts, and suddenly everyone loses their minds.”

  “It’s life,” Hannah said. “Prices will readjust soon enough. We’ll get through this. And it might be none of my business, but what are you worried about money for, anyways?”

  Chloe tilted her head. “What?”

  “You were in New York. Your dad, your step-mom, your boyfriend, you…didn’t you all get survivor’s benefits?”

  “Well, yeah,” Chloe said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t wanna blow it all on overpriced gas and groceries. My family didn’t grow up with a lot of money. Neither did Nolan. We’re frugal, all right? That’ll never change, no matter how much money we have in our savings accounts.” Chloe scoffed. “And you’re right, it’s none of your business.”

  “Mhm,” Hannah said. “Duly noted.” She smiled, and her and Chloe inched slowly forward in line. “I bet you’re wishing you bought a Prius, or a hybrid.”

  Chloe bit her lip, grinned, and lightly punched her friend on the shoulder. “Listen, smart ass—”

  “Josh, no!” a cashier at the front of the restaurant screamed. “Stop!”

  Chloe craned her neck to see what the commotion was. A girl taking orders in a yellow apron was pushing at one of her coworkers. The guy—Josh—maybe only twenty or twenty-two years old, was swatting at the poor girl with his hands. He clicked his mouth open and shut, then yanked at her hair.

  “What the hell is going on?” Hannah asked.

  “Stay here,” Chloe said, and she pushed her way out of the line and towards the front of the Taco King.

  “Get away from him,” Chloe yelled. “Just get away from him!”

  Josh groaned, let go of the cashier’s hair, and turned to face Chloe, who was fast approaching the front counter.

  “Everyone get the hell away from him!” Chloe screamed. The long line of guests groaned and backed away from the counter.

  Josh raised his hand’s out in front of him, posed like Frankenstein’s monster, and moaned. Chloe locked eyes with him and felt a wave of once dormant memories flood her mind. It’s happening again, she thought. Holy shit, it’s actually happening again.

  And yet, something was strange, something was off. Josh’s skin clung tight, firm. His motor movements were fine and smooth. His groans weren’t deep or bellowing, they were light and high-pitched.

  Chloe reached for her gun. “Get down,” she yelled at Josh. “If you can hear me, get down!”

  Josh let out another long groan and said: “Braaaains. I crave braaaaains.”

  Chloe hopped on top of the Taco King’s counter and unholstered her gun. She stood, chest heaving, looking down at Josh, who had stumbled a few feet backwards. She drew her gun, steadied the sights over his forehead, and slid her finger across the trigger.

  “Jesus Christ, lady,” Josh screamed. “What are you doing? Put the gun down. Put the gun down! Don’t shoot me!”

  Josh slid backwards, hit the wall behind him with his back, shielded his face with his hands and forearms, and winced. Chloe took a heavy breath and holstered her gun back onto her hip. Josh trembled, and a growing stain appeared near the groin of his light colored khakis before it trickled down the front of his pants.

  “I was just kidding around,” Josh said, unevenly. His voice cracked and waivered. “For the love of God, lady, I was just kidding around.”

  FIVE

  For the first time since Chloe left that morning, Nolan crept out of his bedroom.

  The Whiteman house was dark, cold. Halls and rooms were dimly lit, felt sterile and empty. Nolan weaseled his way to the kitchen in a t-shirt, pair of boxers, and a bathrobe. He hadn’t showered for the day. He reeked.

  When he turned into the kitchen, he saw Jim sitting alone on the living room couch, his face illuminated by the flickering of the television screen. The game was on, but Jim didn’t seem to be watching it; no, he seemed to be staring through the jumbo flat screen, past it, lost somewhere and deep in thought.

  Nolan opened the fridge door, grabbed a can of cola and popped it open. Wedged underneath his armpit was his laptop. He carefully set it on the kitchen counter, opened it, and pulled up the video about Arabella.

  “Hey,” Nolan said, softly. “I was thinking of calling a family meeting. There’s something I need to show all of us.”

  Jim grunted, didn’t bother to turn from the screen. “A family meeting? Hadn’t had one of those in a while.”

  “It’s important,” Nolan continued. “It’s something I think we should all talk about. When will Dana be home?”

  Jim sat, thought about how to answer that question. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that Jim discovered a sliver of Dana’s wardrobe had gone missing. Two pieces of luggage in the rear corner of her closet were gone, too. She must have packed all morning before Jim woke up. He called Cherry Valley High; she’d never showed up for work that day. Rather than face an uncomfortable confrontation with her husband, she packed two weeks worth of clothes and slinked out in the morning under the pretense of going to work. Hours had passed. She’d surely have landed in Wyoming by now, but she wasn’t returning Jim’s calls.

  “Dana won’t be home tonight,” Jim said, coldly. “She won’t be home for a few weeks.”

  “Why not?” Nolan asked.

  “She went to visit her dad, bought tickets the instant the travel ban was lifted.”

  Nolan leaned against the counter. It was clear that the newlywed couple was having problems, but he had no idea they’d be this bad—bad enough that she’d take off on a long distance journey without brining Jim along. The two had been nearly inseparable since the day of the outbreak two years prior. Maybe that was part of the problem.

  “Oh, well, okay,” Nolan said. “Then maybe you, me, and Chloe can talk when she gets back. She should be home any minute now—”

  As if on cue, the rumble of a Dodge Challenger pulling into the Whiteman’s driveway interrupted him. Nolan heard the engine turn off, then the slam of a car door, then the sound of a hand fumbling for keys, and the front door of the home opened.

  “Jeeze,” Nolan said. “You look like hell.”

  And she did. Chloe was white, paler than she normally was. Her uniform was in total disarray, un-tucked, stained, and wrinkled. She carried a greasy, white paper bag in her hand.

  “I feel like hell, too,” Chloe said, and she tossed the paper bag onto the counter. “Taco King. Have it.”

  Nolan smiled. “Thanks, I’m starving.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Chloe said. “Thank Hannah the next time you see her. She bought it. And with the travel ban lifted today, your three buck burrito cost just less than ten, so maybe show some appreciation the next time she’s around.”

  “She got me this?” Nolan asked, surprised. “I thought Hannah hated me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Chloe said, and she rolled her eyes. “I think—like a lot of us—she’s just disappointed by you sometimes.”

/>   “That hurts,” Nolan said, “really, but I’m not going to let it stop me from enjoying this burrito any less.” He took the burrito from the bag, unwrapped some tinfoil, and bit into it. An ooze of refried beans and ground meat squirted out and onto his hand.

  “Maybe try not to eat like a caveman?” Chloe said. She unbuckled her belt, set it on the kitchen counter with a thud. “I desperately need a shower. Where’s Dana?”

  “In Wyoming,” Jim said.

  Chloe turned to peek out of the kitchen. “I didn’t even see you sitting there, dad. You’re quiet as a ghost.”

  Nolan shook his head, and Chloe read the expression on her boyfriend’s face. As if they were communicating telepathically, she learned all she had to learn from Nolan’s one simple gesture—Don’t ask about this, it’s bad, it’s real bad, his wife left town without him. Let him be.

  “Are you okay?” Chloe said, desperate to avoid mention of Dana. “I mean, have you ate dinner?”

  Jim shook his head. “Not hungry.”

  “Are you sure?” Chloe asked. “I can whip up something quick.”

  Jim laughed. “What happened to the little girl I used to take care of? She’s spending ten hours a day training with the police department, then coming home and offering to make her old man dinner.”

  “Just call me super girl,” Chloe said. “But if you really don’t want anything, I’m taking that shower now.”

  “Wait,” Nolan said. “I have to show you something. Show you both something. We need to have a serious conversation, as a family.”

  Jim groaned, stood up from the couch for the first time in hours, and stretched. “Nolan,” he said, “if this is another video by some crackpot conspiracy theorist, we’re not interested.”

  “It’s not,” Nolan said, annoyed. “It’s important.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” Chloe said. “I need a twenty minute shower in scalding hot water followed immediately by an ice cold beer.”