Hour 23

by Robert Barnard

  “No,” Dana said, shaking her head. “I meant…just now. What was that about? Am I being arrested?”

  Jim laughed.

  “Okay,” Dana said with a pant. “You keep laughing, and it’s making me extremely uncomfortable.”

  Jim took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “What did you use to kill him?”

  Dana froze. “I think I need a lawyer.”

  Jim turned off his car radio. “All of this,” he said, “is nothing anymore.” He flicked the badge on his chest with his finger. “It’s nothing. Look around—hellfire is raining from the sky, people are going crazy with some virus, and Earl-Fucking-Ross just tried to abduct you from a Shop-and-Save parking lot.” Jim pointed at the cars jamming the road ahead and the dark trail in the sky. “Is the world ending? I don’t know. All I know is that in about five minutes I’m going to pick up that radio and resign, then I’m going to drop you off at home. Then, I’m going to find my daughter and get the hell out of East Violet. In that order.”

  Dana’s bottom lip hung open. She didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re not in trouble. You’re not under arrest. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  After a brief hesitation, Dana scooted up in her seat. She reached her hand into her back pocket and pulled out a small, stained hunting knife with a mother-of-pearl grip.

  “That it, huh?” Jim asked, glancing from the road and over at the knife.

  Dana trembled as she held the folded blade. “Yeah.”

  “Wish I could have been there to see it,” Jim said. He slapped the steering wheel.

  Dana bit her bottom lip then started to cry. “It was awful.”

  Jim took one hand off of the steering wheel and patted Dana’s knee. “You did what you had to do, and don’t you ever feel bad about it.”

  “There was so much blood,” Dana coughed. She had wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket, but it made little difference—she was covered head-to-toe. She thought of how the knife plunged into Earl with hardly any effort, and of the warm red mist that sprayed her once she pulled the blade back out. She stunk of it now.

  “He was a bastard, and he deserved it,” Jim said plainly.

  “You speak as if you knew him,” Dana said. “Did you?”

  “Once. Long ago.”

  “And?”

  “And…he was a very bad man then. As bad as he was today. It’s a long story. Him and his whole messed up family. You remember his brother, Edgar?”

  “Edgar?” Dana asked. She leaned back into her seat and made herself comfortable. “Edgar…Ross. It sounds familiar. Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. He killed that little girl a few years back.”

  “That’s the one,” Jim said.

  “What did his brother have to do with it?”

  “Like I said. Long story.” Jim sighed. “But trust me when I say that you did the world a favor.”

  The car went silent for a while. Jim offered Dana some fast-food napkins from a center console, and she used them to dab up splotches of blood from her hands and clothes. They weren’t very effective, but it was better than nothing.

  Jim watched the road ahead and lingered over the thought of Earl and Edgar Ross. Even with so much chaos now filling his world, and a decade between him and Sarah Bosks’ death, Sarah’s tragic demise somehow felt like it had happened yesterday.

  Dana covered her mouth and gasped when Jim’s cruiser turned onto Oak. A column of soft, hazy smoke floated high atop the rooftops in the distance. Dana squinted at first, hoping it would make some difference, but there was no mistaking it—the source of the smog was the Raintree Apartment complex.

  Jim pulled his car as close to the building as he felt comfortable with. In the parking lot of the complex was a burnt, twisted sheet of metal. In the center of it was a small, oval window.

  “Some of the wreckage must have hit here,” Jim said. Suddenly, he worried about his own home.

  Dana unfastened her seatbelt and sprung out of the vehicle.

  “Whoa, hold on there,” Jim said, exiting the police car. “Where are you going?”

  Dana was standing beside the car, whimpering. Her hair was stringy and oily, her clothes tattered and stained. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the passenger side window and couldn’t help but feel utterly pathetic.

  “My dog is in there,” Dana sniveled, with sharp breaths between each word. Tears ran down either side of her face.

  Jim watched Dana, trembling beside the car. Then he took a long look at the towering apartment building before him. He knew what he wanted to say—that her dog was just a dog, and that she should be thankful that she wasn’t home at the time of the crash, and that the two of them should leave. And the sooner they left, the better. But the words escaped him as his eyes wandered back over to the distraught teacher.

  “Which apartment is yours?” Jim asked, half regretting the words as they left his mouth.

  Dana murmured “Five-oh-five.”

  Jim couldn’t help but groan. All the way at the top. Of course.

  Sensing what he was about to do, Dana stood in Jim’s way. “It’s the top floor, you can’t.”

  “And you can?” Jim said, trying to smile.

  “I don’t want to be left alone down here.”

  Jim held out his hand. “Let me have your keys.”

  Dana pulled out a key ring from her jacket pocket and handed it to Jim.

  With the remaining Raintree residents crowding the parking lot, Jim wasn’t comfortable leaving Dana behind. But, no better plan could come to mind than leaving her in his patrol car while he went upstairs.

  “Stay here,” Jim said, and he opened the passenger door of his car for Dana.

  Dana nodded and ducked her head as she slid back into the car.

  “Is there anything you need besides your dog?” Jim asked.

  With a mopey face, Dana shook her head. “No, just my puppy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Elliott.”

  Jim nodded then shut the door for Dana. “Stay here,” he said again. “Don’t open the door for anyone. I’ll only be a minute.” With that, Jim turned around and ran toward the flights of stairs that ascended the side of Dana’s building.

  Dana watched the world around her from the passenger seat of the patrol car and fidgeted nervously. Everyone looked so worried and so frenzied. Where will they go? she wondered. She recalled the roadblocks around town, and the news reports insisting that residents remain indoors. Maybe the roadblocks were failing. East Violet Police Department wasn’t that big, and many cops were probably jumping ship. Like Jim.

  Crack, crack, crack! Dana snapped her eyes toward the driver’s side of the car. There, a woman was slapping her palm on the windshield.

  “Let me in,” the woman yelled. “Let me in there with you!”

  “I…can’t,” Dana said softly.

  “What?” the woman asked impatiently.

  “I can’t,” Dana repeated. The woman looked unfamiliar. “It’s not my car, it’s not my decision.”

  “Fuck you!” the stranger outside yelled, before spitting at the car and running off.

  Dana squirmed in her seat. Her left knee bounced up and down rhythmically while she he looked at her watch. Hurry up, Jim. Hurry up.

  A crowd of fleeing residents dispersed in front of Dana’s building. Car doors slammed and engines whirred to life as the complex began to empty. For the first time since she arrived with Jim, Dana had a clear view of Shelby’s apartment.

  I should see if she’s still home. I should see if Stan’s back. I should check on her.

  She bit her thumbnail and fidgeted while debating to herself whether or not she should visit her long time neighbor.

  Jim said to stay put.

  She glanced around the parking lot. Only a few other cars remained.

  Something caught Dana’s eye. It was moving back and forth on Shelby’s patio, and Dana
could just barely see it in the narrow gap between Shelby’s patio fence and concrete flooring.

  What is that?

  The object would slide towards one end of the patio, and then slither back the way it came. Its movements were snappy and sporadic. It was long, and red. A dog’s leash.

  Without hesitation, Dana jumped out of the car and hurried towards Shelby’s patio.

  Please, no no no no no…

  With a lump in her throat and a ringing in her ears, Dana neared Shelby’s fence and glanced over. She recoiled back in horror. Her worst suspicions were confirmed.

  Elvis was running back and forth across Shelby’s patio, barking at his fallen owner. Shelby was on her back, legs splayed in awkward directions, her bathrobe wrapped around her body. Just to the left of her was a cigarette, still smoldering, and a worn copy of the bible. To her right was a pocket-sized, snub nosed revolver.

  Dana felt sick. It was too much. Too much, too much, too much. An acrid, sour pit formed at the bottom of her stomach and seemed to grow and grow. The Coopers down the street. Her former student, the pervert, at the Xtra Mart. Earl Ross following her around the Shop-and-Save, salivating over her. Aircraft falling from the sky. And now poor, innocent, eccentric, crazy, peculiar Shelby, frozen at her feet.

  Elvis looked up at Dana, raised his tiny head, and wagged his tail repeatedly. Yap! Yap!

  “Come here. Come here, Elvis…” Dana said, and she reached out her arms.

  The wild Pomeranian dashed forward, close enough to the patio fence that Dana could lean over and pick him up.

  Dana started for the police car when she heard a voice behind her say, “You have more than one?”

  She turned around and grinned at what she saw. At the bottom of the building’s steps was Jim. Tucked under his arm was a chubby, happy little Pug.

  “I do now,” Dana said. Her voice warbled.

  Dana’s smile faded as she noticed Jim’s expression turn from excitement to dread. Jim was looking just to the left of Dana, behind her—and he looked worried.

  “What is it?” she asked. She felt as if Jim had spotted a giant spider on her shoulder that only he could see.

  “Wait in the car with the dogs, I’ll be right in.”

  Jim approached Dana and handed her Elliott. Clumsily trying to balance both pups, Dana twirled around and slid back into her passenger seat.

  Unhurriedly, Jim strode towards the mangled hunk of smoldering fuselage that had landed in the apartment parking lot. Something moving beside it had caught his eye.

  For the love of God, Jim thought. A torso in a double-breasted jacket pulled itself forward by its skeletal arms. Its head was bald in some areas, exposed skull where hair should be. Both eyes were missing. Its jaw hung open wide. Broken. From the ribcage down were nothing but mangled innards and tattered shirt. It let out a throaty growl as it dragged itself forward by its hands.

  Jim crouched in front of the being and examined it. An outstretched palm swung down a few feet from Jim’s boots and pulled against the pavement.

  “Captain R. Cooper,” a warped nametag on the being’s blazer read.

  Well, what are the odds of that? Jim stood back up and grimaced.

  Russell Cooper’s decimated remains dragged themselves ever closer. His tongue wiggled and writhed in his cavernous mouth. Hungry. And yet, as terrifying and wretched to behold as the unfortunate captain was, Jim couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

  When the captain was close to Jim’s feet, he stopped pulling himself any further and sniffed the air; his shattered, mangled nose twitched at Jim’s scent. Russell’s jaw drooped even further and let out a grotesque mixture of unsettling sounds. Gulch. Glurp. Slurp.

  Jim took a few steps backward, and the pilot continued his advance. With his hands on his hips, Jim assessed the helpless captain. The officer began to reach for the pistol at his hip, then decided otherwise—It’s not my call to make.

  “What was that?” Dana asked, as Jim returned to the driver’s seat.

  “The pilot of the plane that just crashed, apparently.”

  Dana shuddered. “And he was alive?”

  “Not exactly,” Jim answered.

  The shivering puppies huddled themselves between Dana’s feet.

  Dana let out a long sigh. “Jim, I—”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” Jim said. “I’m going to wait for the evacuation at my house with Chloe. You’ll stay with us. All three of you.”

  “Are you sure?” Dana asked. She had met Jim only once or twice before—it was a mighty offer from someone who was practically a stranger outside of parent teacher conferences. But, Dana was glad that Jim had brought it up; her options had become extremely limited. She drooped forward in her seat. No car, no home, no anything. It was all slowly burning right in front of her. “You’re a lifesaver, Jim. Really.”

  Jim chuckled. “What’s the little one’s name?”

  “Elvis.”

  “Funny name for a dog,” Jim said, and he drove onto Oak and pointed his car towards home. “Elvis lives.”

  Dana smiled and reached down to pet Elliott, and then the excited Pomeranian. “Elvis lives.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Was that a plane?” Nolan asked, breathlessly.

  The front door of Chloe’s house clicked shut.

  “Yes,” Chloe panted. “Where’s my dad? Dad!”

  Chloe called out for her father. Her words bounced off the walls of the dimly lit living room. No response.

  Nolan slid a light switch on the living room wall behind him. Gradually, a standing lamp brightened in the corner of the room.

  “Dammit,” Chloe said as she stomped towards the kitchen and back to the living room. Frustrated, she called up the stairwell behind the living room. “Dad! Dad?”

  “Shouldn’t he be home by now?” Nolan asked.

  “With all of this shit going on,” Chloe grumbled, “I’m guessing he was mandated.”

  “Mandated?” Nolan was peeking through the living room blinds. There was nothing left in the sky but a long, black streak of smoke.

  “It means he was forced to work overtime.” Chloe picked up a grease-stained pizza box on the living room coffee table, then brought it to the kitchen and threw it out. “It happens all the time.”

  “When did he go into work last?”

  “Yesterday…at noon.”

  The two stood in the living room, checking their math.

  “He’s been working for over a day straight now, Nolan. Even for my dad, it seems excessive.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Nolan said unsurely. He stepped back from the window and noticed a blinking red light in the corner of the room. “Have you checked your phone lately?”

  Chloe tugged her iPhone from her pocket. “Yeah, still nothing.”

  “Maybe he’s having a hard time getting through to your cell? It looks like someone left a message on the answering machine.”

  Chloe uncrossed her arms and approached the outdated machine. She had asked her dad countless times to get rid of the home phone; the two rarely used it, both of them relied on their cell phones. If there was a message waiting from her dad, she would be thankful they kept it. She pressed a square key on the machine and it hissed to life.

  The first message was from her dad’s partner, Min. He had left it yesterday morning. “Yo Jim, don’t forget a change of clothes so I can kick your ass at some darts after work.”

  The second message was from 10:27 AM. When it played, Chloe jumped back from the machine. It was nothing but four seconds of a woman screaming. Horrifying, awful, bloodcurdling screaming. Chloe felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck after it finished playing.

  The third and final message was from 11:05 AM. As soon as it began to play, Nolan gasped with relief. It was unmistakably the voice of his father.

  “Mr. Whiteman,” the voice said. “It’s Greg Fischer. If you get this, and you’re with Nolan, or if you see him…please tell him that we love him, an
d that we’re all right, and that we hope he’s okay. We’ve been trying to call him all morning but can’t get through. The National Guard is here with all of these tanks and busses, and they’re bringing us to…Albany?” Greg’s voice paused for a moment. “Yeah, Albany. We don’t know what’s going on, and we really don’t have any say in the matter. Please, if you’re with Nolan, please look after—”

  The message cut off. A robotic voice on the answering machine alerted Chloe that the memory was full, and earlier messages should be deleted to make room for new ones.

  Nolan sat on the couch and trembled. “They’re okay,” Nolan said quietly. “They’re really okay.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. No service, no new messages, no missed calls…but it didn’t matter anymore. The relatively recent message from his parents filled him with a sense of hope he hadn’t felt all morning.

  “I told you they were fine,” Chloe said.

  Nolan closed his eyes and sunk into the couch.

  “I’m going to make some lunch, I’m starving.” Chloe started for the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”

  “No thanks,” Nolan said.

  Chloe was slightly annoyed that Nolan didn’t follow her, or offer her help. She recalled how little sleep he had the night before, working on Miss Nacarrato’s English paper. I’ve had the same day you’ve had, Nolan. I’m tired too.

  With a shrug, Chloe headed to the kitchen and checked her cupboards. Not much of anything, really. With her dad constantly working, and not having a car of her own, grocery shopping was a difficult chore to accomplish in the Whiteman household. She opened the freezer and found a frozen pizza inside. It could have been in there a year, but it didn’t matter. She was famished.

  The pizza was the cheap, microwave kind. The kind that cooks with gooey and rubbery cheese and a brick crust. Not really pizza as far as Chloe was concerned, but it was better than nothing. She unwrapped it, threw it in the microwave, and set a six-minute timer.

  Chloe leaned against her kitchen counter, looked out at her tiny yard beyond the window over the sink. A breeze blew through, rustling branches and leaves. Even though the sky was still overcast, the view was kind of pretty. She took a deep breath. The sight of her lawn swaying in the gentle wind relaxed her. While the microwave hummed beside her, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, a familiar face was standing in her yard.