6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel by Chad Evercroft Read Free Book Online Page A

have. It started again and Rachel lost her balance. She rattled off the roof like a book from a bookcase and rolled, crashing into the water. Her backpack was still on her chest and as she twisted in the water, the strap caught on something submerged. She couldn’t get to the surface. Where was it caught? Frantically, Rachel pawed through the water. It was so dark and gritty with filth. As she felt the strap and unhooked it, her palm racked across something metal and sharp. Panicked, Rachel fought to the surface, screaming into the air.
    “Damn it!” she shouted, choking and coughing up flood water.
    She raised her hand above the surface and saw blood running down her wrist and arm. The sharp thing had cut a long, jagged line in her skin. Rachel imagined she could feel all kinds of bacteria swimming through her veins, infecting all her cells. Nearly crying from fear, Rachel tried to get back onto the roof. To her dismay, she found she couldn’t pull herself up from her low position in the water, and her cut hand was beginning to throb. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to get out of the water. Nothing was dry. Rachel swung her head around, searching for a car roof, a floating piece of a boat, anything. There was a tree still hanging on by its roots, its thick trunk bending over the water. Rachel kicked her way over to it and hugged it like a monkey. Her backpack was in the way. Angry, Rachel pulled the straps off and turned it around so it was on her back. She shimmied as far up the trunk as she could. Her heart pounded through her shirt. She rested her cheek against the trunk’s rough surface.
    Have to stop the bleeding, Rachel thought. Stop infection.
    Reaching her backpack without falling was difficult. Rachel pressed her thighs against the tree like she was riding a horse and pulled her bag up in front of her.  She found a Zip-loc bag of kerchiefs she had packed before her plane ride. Unfolding one, she tied it around her palm tightly. It stung. Blood quickly soaked through the blue-and-white cloth. Rachel wrapped another kerchief around her hand. She unscrewed the cap for the antibiotics, but her thigh strength gave way and she dropped her bag to grab the tree. To her horror, the bag fell, spilling its contents into the water. Most of the supplies were still in bags and floated, but the pills and cans of juice sunk, disappearing into the black. Rachel sat frozen for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Perhaps she imagined it. A bad daydream. Perhaps she had imagined all of this and she would wake sunburned on a beach, with a waiter bending over to see if she wanted a daiquiri. Rachel came back to harsh reality when the bags began to drift away. Leaning down, she grabbed as many as she could and crumpled them in her good hand, breathing hard. She scanned the streets for Tim. For anyone. There were only half-submerged houses, floating cars, and ripped-up trees. And still it rained. Like God’s wife was weeping. 
     

Part II
    Danny
     
    1.
                  It felt good to be prepared. It was a unique kind of “good,” too; not the kind of feeling that came with anything else. At least that’s what Danny thought. He liked to come in the storeroom sometimes after the kids had gone to bed. Seeing the rows of cans all lined up according to color - fruit, beans, vegetables, meat, juice - satisfied him. Beneath the shelves, he had wooden bins filled with bags of rice, flour, and white sugar. There were other bins, too, with big canisters of olive and coconut oil. The other side of the storeroom was more eclectic and colorful. The spices lined the wall in homemade racks. There was cracked black pepper, cumin, dried mustard, dried oregano, and so on. Miranda was an experimental cook and could transform rice into a vast variety of flavors just by adding different spices. She had extracts there, as well, like vanilla, almond, and peppermint. Danny’s storehouse measured 10x10 and