Hour 23

by Robert Barnard

  “You’ve gotta’ be kidding me, right?” A voice grizzled from the doorway. Chloe and Nolan propelled away from one another and spun forward on the bed.

  “Both of you, downstairs. Now. Dinner’s ready.” Jim stood in the doorway, his arm outstretched and pointed at the stairwell down the hall.

  Nolan felt his face warm and change several shades of red. Chloe stood up from the bed so nervously that she nearly tripped. The two sheepishly left the room; Chloe at first, and then Nolan close behind her. Jim glared at the duo as they made their way to the hallway and down the stairs.

  “It smells amazing in here, Mr. Whiteman,” Nolan said, sniffing the air as he entered the kitchen. Hints of garlic and rosemary floated through the room.

  “Too late for kissing ass now, son,” Jim said as he pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed four bottles of water.

  Dana was sitting at the kitchen table, where she watched the threesome awkwardly stumble in. “I’ll start to plate us,” she said happily. Before she could stand up, Jim interrupted her.

  “We can plate ourselves, you sit and relax.” Jim pushed the chair opposite Dana out of the way so that he could squeeze between the table and the kitchen counter. A pot full of cooked noodles sat on the counter, cooling quickly. On the stovetop was a simmering pot of jarred spaghetti sauce, beside that was a loaf of slightly burnt garlic bread.

  “I’m sorry it ain’t eating at the Ritz,” Jim said, and he dished a plate and handed it to his daughter. “We were supposed to go grocery shopping this weekend.”

  Dana cringed in her seat and bit her bottom lip. Flashes of the Shop-and-Save parking lot blurred through her mind. She crossed her legs and tried to take her mind off of it.

  Chloe and Nolan took their plates of food and sat down at the table opposite of one another. Jim handed a plate of noodles and sauce to Dana. The foursome looked uncomfortably at one another, avoiding eye contact and picking at their plates of food.

  Nolan felt a slimy tongue run across his bare toe. He looked beneath the table and caught two puppies staring back at him with wanting eyes. He pinched off a bite of garlic bread and dropped it to the floor; the waiting pups gobbled down the treat. “These are yours, Miss Naccarato?” Nolan asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “Well, the chubby one is mine,” Dana said. “The other one is—well, my neighbor’s dog. I’m just looking after him for a while.”

  “Right on,” Nolan said, twirling some spaghetti around his fork. “They’re cute.”

  “You know, Nolan,” Jim said, “earlier your teacher was telling me that you’re doing really well in her class. She seemed surprised that you hadn’t asked for a letter of recommendation yet.”

  Nolan raised his eyebrows. “Well, that would be because I haven’t applied to any colleges yet.”

  “Oh?” Jim asked, looking at Nolan and then at Chloe. “And why is that?”

  “With all due respect, sir, why is that any of your business?”

  Jim looked at Chloe, his face straight and his eyes narrow. “If you’re dating my daughter, I think it makes it entirely my business—”

  “Daddy,” Chloe interrupted. “We’re not dating.”

  “Is that so,” Jim said, dropping his fork and folding his arms. “Then what are you doing? What are the kids calling it—you’re just hooking up? For fun? Nothing serious?”

  Chloe set her glass of water down and pleaded, “No, it’s not like that either, Daddy. Oh my God—”

  “Then what’s it like?” Jim grunted.

  “Can we please just eat?” Nolan begged. “We’ve been through hell today and we’re just, like, having some American family dinner here. Like everything’s normal.”

  Jim took a long sip of water from his bottle, then set it down firmly. Nolan looked pale and disheveled, and Jim couldn’t help but feel bad for the boy. “All right. Maybe you’re right, kid.”

  Dana’s eyes darted around the table. She was anxious to clear the air; the day had been filled with enough anxiety.

  “So, did you two finish your research papers?” Dana asked.

  Dana, Chloe, and Nolan all laughed.

  “I did, but Nolan forgot his at home this morning,” Chloe said with a giggle.

  “I see,” Dana said, and she smirked. “You know, I take ten—”

  “Points off for each day late,” Nolan said, finishing her sentence. He raked his shaggy hair with his fingers.

  “I think that—just this once—we can make an exception for that,” Dana said. “You know, considering the circumstances.”

  Nolan smiled. “I appreciate that.”

  For the length of the meal, the group shared stories of their day. Made conversation. Laughed. Gathered around the kitchen table, the four had briefly forgotten the horrors that each had encountered throughout the day. Jim didn’t think of Min, or how furious Sergeant Ingram turned when Jim radioed in his resignation on the car ride home. Dana had stopped checking her phone every few minutes, desperate to hear from her parents or sister, and Earl Ross’s face stopped running through her mind. The guilt that Chloe felt over Alicia’s death had slid away. Both she and Nolan had managed to stop thinking of the bus crash, of the plane crash, and the never-ending stream of news reports on the living room television.

  When it seemed as though everyone had finished eating, Nolan slapped his stomach. “Thank you, Mr. Whiteman. It was delicious.”

  Jim folded his hands and looked at Nolan. “Want a nickel’s worth of advice for free?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. It was canned spaghetti sauce over fettuccini noodles that I’m pretty sure expired a month ago.”

  Nolan grinned.

  “But your appreciation is welcome,” Jim said.

  “Dad, may Nolan and I be excused?” Chloe asked.

  “Depends, excused to where?”

  “The living room,” Chloe said, blushing.

  “Sure,” Jim answered.

  “Come on,” Chloe said, motioning Nolan towards the living room. “Let’s find a movie to watch or something.”

  “Leave a little room for the holy spirit,” Jim said, waving the two off. “I mean it. I can see the couch from here, don’t forget that Don Juan.”

  “Please, let me help,” Dana said as Jim started to clear the table.

  “No—”

  “Jim,” Dana said firmly, but politely. “Ever since you picked me up, you’ve treated me like I’m an invalid. I can help with dishes. Please, it’ll make me feel useful.

  “Well, sure—fine,” Jim said. Dana stood up and helped gather the dirty dishes and utensils from around the table. “At least let me get you a beer,” Jim offered, handing her a short stack of plates.

  Dana smiled. “I wouldn’t object to that. What have you got?”

  Jim opened the refrigerator door and pulled out two green, glass bottles. Dana seemed amused.

  “What?” Jim asked, handing Dana a bottle.

  “I don’t think I’ve had one of these since freshman year.”

  “What? A beer?”

  “I’ve had beer…just not this kind.”

  The two clinked their bottles together and took a sip. Jim winked. “Bitter, right?”

  “A little,” Dana said, wincing.

  “It’s the only brand that the two knuckle heads on the living room sofa won’t steal while I’m working double shifts. They think I don’t know what they’re up to.”

  Dana laughed. “They’re good kids, Jim.”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe.”

  “Trust me,” Dana continued. “They are. They’re just kids. And they’re growing up fast, I get that. But they’re good kids.”

  “I just, uh,” Jim stuttered as he filled the sink with soapy water. Dana leaned against the stove with her beer. “I was the same age as Nolan and Chloe when Chloe’s mother and I first got together. Everyone called it puppy love, but we stayed together. I, uh—I see a lot of us in them. And I want a lot more than t
hat for Chloe.”

  “Ah,” Dana said. “ That’s why you’re riding him so hard about college?”

  “I know it’s not really my place. And I know for a fact his father rides him harder about it than I ever will. But if he’s going to be joined at my daughter’s hip, then yeah. Yeah, I’ll ride him.”

  “Have you ever thought that it might just fizzle out? I know Chloe’s going to Colorado State. If Nolan hasn’t applied yet, I don’t see him getting there in time for freshman year.”

  “She’ll stay behind for him, I know she will,” Jim said as he scrubbed a plate.

  “Psh,” Dana said. “I don’t think so.”

  “She will. She’s talked about Colorado State since freshman year, and the other day I got an application packet in the mail from that community college over in Riverside.”

  Dana shook her head. “What will be will be. Whether you like it or not, she’ll be eighteen soon. And she’s doing to do what she wants to do.”

  “You talk like you have a teenage daughter yourself.”

  “Hah,” Dana cackled. “No—but between my little sister and all the students I’ve had, I might as well have. I’ve seen it a million times, from up close and afar. What will be will be.”

  Jim placed some plates on a drying rack beside the sink as Elvis and Elliott clattered over towards Dana. “Dammit,” she muttered. “They have to potty.”

  Jim sighed. “Let me grab my belt. We’ll use the backyard, at least it’s fenced in.” Jim picked up his gun belt from a coat rack then waved for Dana to come outside with the dogs. “Let’s be quick.”

  The air was cool and crisp and the last slivers of light clung to the horizon. Above, the sky was clear, calm, and covered with patches of glittering stars. It was a welcome change of view from the gray clouds that had hung low all day.

  Over the east fence of the yard, Jim could see the Dodson family packing up their junky blue station wagon. Mrs. Dodson was fastening her two small children, tightly wrapped in layers of jackets and scarves, into the backseat of the jalopy. Mr. Dodson was strapping luggage to the top of the vehicle while his wife finished buckling the children.

  Jim waved a friendly hello; Mr. Dodson glared, slammed shut the trunk of the vehicle, and hollered something indiscernible at his wife before the couple jumped into the front seat and sped out of the driveway.

  “Well fuck you too,” Jim grumbled.

  Dana yanked the leashes in her hand, steering the two dogs towards a patch of grass. “I wonder what their problem was?”

  The neighborhood was eerily quiet. No screaming, no gunfire. In the distance, Jim watched two helicopters hover on opposite ends of a cloud of smoke rising from the ground. Their searchlights were focused on a single point.

  “They’re almost finished,” Dana said, reeling Elliott’s leash in.

  Jim glanced around the yard and at the Dodson’s empty house. He was so certain there might be some type of trouble, he was nearly disappointed at how uneventful the dog walk had been.

  “Good,” Jim said. “I’m going to grab a couple inflatable mattresses for us out of the garage, why don’t you go back inside?”

  Dana nodded. “I can wait out here with you.”

  Jim patted his gun belt. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Be careful, you know…with her.” Dana hurried back into the house.

  Jim had almost forgotten. When Dana and he pulled into his driveway earlier, his neighbor, Mrs. Hatfield, was pounding away at the front door of his home.

  “Hey!” Jim called out, as he approached his home. Gun shots rang out in his living room.

  Mrs. Hatfield spun around towards the fast approaching officer. Her face covered in blisters and lesions, Jim had no doubt that she was one of the ones touched by the virus sweeping through East Violet. At first, he reached for his gun—but, it was Mrs. Hatfield. The woman who brought gingerbread cookies over each Christmas and kept an eye on the house whenever Chloe and Jim were out of town.

  After the gunfire ceased, Jim carefully approached the door and wrestled Mrs. Hatfield to the ground. His daring maneuver successful, he dragged her to the garage while Dana ran in to check on the kids. He had barely finished tying Mrs. Hatfield’s ankles together and cuffing her wrists when Dana’s screams for help ripped through the air. He left Mrs. Hatfield behind, and dashed back into his home, where he found Nolan injured. In the excitement of the afternoon, he had practically forgotten about the woman he left tied up in his garage.

  Tiptoeing through his garage, Jim expected to hear his neighbor hissing and barking from the spot that he had left her so many hours earlier. When he reached the front of the building, he found the woman sprawled out in her pink bathrobe. Motionless.

  “Mrs. Hatfield,” Jim called out, not expecting an answer but anticipating some kind of movement. Nothing.

  Jim unholstered his gun. He approached the woman where she lay face down on the cool cement floor of the garage.

  She was still. Her ankles were raw and worn from where she had kicked at her restraints. The same went for her wrists, outstretched above her head. The skin was red and torn where it rubbed against the metal cuffs Jim so carefully applied.

  “Mrs. Hatfield?” Jim grabbed a rake from the wall beside him and extended the handle until it was pressed against her ribs. He gave the woman a couple of jabs. This is so undignified, Jim thought.

  Still, no movement. Jim crouched beside his fallen neighbor and studied her carefully. No breathing, no kicking, no hissing and no spitting. Her mouth gaped open, eerily frozen as if ready to take a bite.

  She’s dead, Jim thought. He studied the front of her chest to see if maybe one of Chloe’s wayward bullets had hit their mark. Not a scratch.

  Jim tiptoed back from Mrs. Hatfield and mumbled a prayer under his breath. He grabbed a plastic storage container full of camping equipment and headed back into the house.

  When he returned inside, he found Chloe sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep. Dana was passed out in a recliner, and Nolan was sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Whiteman?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine—it’s nothing.” Jim dropped the plastic container on the floor. “The girls fell asleep?”

  “Yep,” Nolan said. He took a sip from his bottle of water.

  “And why are you still up?”

  “Figured I’d stay awake with you. Us men will watch the house, right?” Nolan beat his chest and grunted sarcastically.

  “Yeah,” Jim said. “Us men.”

  Jim walked over to the fridge, opened it, and stuck his hand deep inside. Some glass clanked, and when he stepped back from the door Nolan could see that he was holding two bottles of beer.

  “Well,” Jim said, raising his eyebrows and returning to the table, “it’ll be a long night, we might as well enjoy it.”

  He set one beer in front of his seat and the other in front of Nolan. Nolan stared at the beverage for a moment, unsure of how to react.

  “What’s the matter?” Jim asked. “Not your brand?”

  Nolan shook his head. “It’s not that, it’s just—is this some kind of test?”

  Jim laughed. “Have the damn beer, kid.”

  Nolan unscrewed the cap of the bottle hesitantly, then took a sip and grimaced.

  “That’s the look I like to see,” Jim said with a chuckle. He took a sip off his own bottle then dug deep into the storage bin between his legs. After a second or two of fishing around, he pulled out a tattered deck of cards.

  “What do we do now?” Nolan asked.

  Jim shuffled the deck of cards. “Well, first I’m going to deal—and then, we’re going to wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  Jim looked at the kitchen door, and then over at the door in the living room. He cut the deck and started passing cards between himself and Nolan. “Hopefully, nothing.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Dr. Merrill napped
on the couch in his office. He made it absolutely clear that he should only be disturbed if one of three things were to happen: the arrival of a new patient, a fire, or when a member of creep ward approached their twenty-third hour of infection.

  It was hard for Paul to fall asleep over the cheers that boomed throughout the hospital. The general attitude of all involved was that the past twenty-four hours were a war—one that was won with unexpected ease.

  Even as reports poured in from New York confirming the sudden demise of those citizens afflicted by the unusual virus, Paul could not feel relief. His patients—whatever they were—were dying. Rapidly. Before a cure could be found, before aid could be administered, they were dropping like proverbial flies.

  For Agent Litchfield and his crew, the deaths of a few infected—as disheartening as it may be—were not enough to quash the excitement caused by the near miss of a large scale epidemic. As far as Litchfield and the other CDC staff were concerned, the world had just walked on the razor’s edge of extinction—and miraculously, humanity had triumphed.

  A quick, loud knock rattled the thin door of Paul’s office.

  “Doctor,” Nurse Sherri called. “Doctor, it’s almost time again.”

  Paul rubbed his eyes, then flicked his wrist. He groaned as he checked the time. Though he spent the day trying to stay strong and hardened as an example for the rest of the staff, the hours were taking their toll. Even Sherri’s sweet, pleasant voice had become irritating and unwelcomed.

  “Doctor?” Sherri repeated, louder this time. She gently turned the knob before her. Paul yanked the door open. The knob flew out of Sherri’s delicate hand and startled her. He stood in the door frame, hair amiss, his white coat wrinkled and unkempt. Though his eyes were narrow and squinted, Sherri could easily see how bloodshot they had become.

  “Come in,” Paul said, extending his arm.

  “I brought you some coffee,” Sherri said, handing the doctor a paper cup. She took a seat in front of his desk.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking a seat opposite the young nurse. “I’ve known you a long time now, Sherri. I can tell when something’s bothering you. Out with it.”