168 Hours- Zero Hour

by Raylan Kane

  In the time since Maggie had arrived, a minivan carrying a camera crew and a reporter from Winnipeg had shown up and taken a position between the police line and the highway barricade.

  Maggie and Chester both turned to look at the line of RCMP officers. Maggie glanced over at her pickup truck once again to make sure she could still see Rosie inside, relieved that she could. A few of the others had allowed their kids to run around the protest site, but she was reluctant to do the same.

  Chester let out a sigh as he looked to his band chief, uncertainty in his eyes. “What are you thinking? Maybe we should release a statement?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I think Darren and those guys just want to have something to say for a while, you know?”

  “Yep.”

  “They can have their say. They're gonna be on camera here, on the news. I think it'll be enough and they'll stop for the day.”

  “That's what you hope. No arrests.”

  “I'm not putting anything past the cops,” Maggie said with a bit of a laugh. “But, no, I think Darren and them wants to come out tomorrow and do it again, they can.”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh my god,” Maggie said, her jaw dropped. “That smell.”

  Everyone seemed to react at once.

  “That's terrible. Where's it coming from?”

  Maggie held her hand to her face and she looked all around the horizon seeing nothing, but mostly open prairie. “No idea,” she said. “I gotta get out of this.” She scrambled over to her pickup and got in quickly. A lot of the others had the same idea, though most of the RCMP officers remained standing on the highway, even as they coughed and held their noses.

  There was no reprieve in the truck and Maggie could see her little daughter with her face buried in the crook of her elbow. “Mom, it's bad.”

  “I know,” Maggie said, feeling a slight stinging sensation on her lips. “It'll go away in a minute.”

  KEITH OLDHAM

  THE CAPITAL GARDEN PLAZA HOTEL

  TORONTO, ONTARIO

  1:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  Keith sat outside the General Manager's office listening to the muffled sounds of an angry man venting coming from inside. The General Manager's secretary, Livia, looked at him from behind her desk with a sympathetic smile.

  “Should just be a few more minutes,” she said.

  Keith did his best to give her a friendly smile in return. He was not looking forward to speaking with Mr. Silvoni, the GM. The man was friendly enough in the few exchanges he'd had with him, but he had a reputation for being a stickler, and he was an intimidating presence. He'd often walk the hotel property in silence, capable of reducing his staff to a puddle just from a stern look.

  Needless to say, all of the shouting inside the office was coming from Mr. Miller whose car Keith had damaged and whose bikes he'd completely ruined. Mrs. Miller was also in the meeting, but Keith couldn't hear her at all. Mr. Miller sounded angry enough for them both.

  Suddenly, the door to Mr. Silvoni's office swung open.

  “You can go in now,” Livia said.

  Keith gulped and stood up. He walked in the door which was being held open by his immediate supervisor, Ben, who had also been in the meeting and had kept mostly silent. Ben's face appeared regretful as Keith walked past. Mr. Silvoni, intimidating as ever in his coal black designer suit stood behind his desk glaring at Keith as he walked in. He held out a hand indicating for Keith to sit on a small sofa along one wall while the others sat in large office chairs. Keith sank into the cushion and folded his hands into his lap. He could feel Mr. Miller's eyes penetrating through him and it caused him to concentrate his gaze on the floor.

  “Well?” Mr. Miller said loudly. “Shall we go over this again?”

  “Mr. Miller,” the General Manager said, taking a seat behind his desk, “please.”

  “No,” Mr. Miller said, “I want this guy's job.”

  His wife held her hand out. “Rob, calm down,” she said.

  “I will not. I want this guy fired. Do you know how much money he's cost me?”

  “Mr. Miller,” Silvoni said, “of course we will take care of-”

  “I don't care,” Mr. Miller said, “this is a service based company. This is a hotel. And not a cheap one either-”

  The thick sulphur smell hit him mid-sentence. Everyone in the room stopped, taken aback by the intensity. Keith's armpits burned. Mr. Silvoni and Ben glanced at one another, both immediately thinking of what could be happening within the hotel to cause this.

  CLARA TIERNEY

  CENTRAL KALAHARI GAME RESERVE

  26 MILES NORTH OF KIKAO, BOTSWANA

  7:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  Reluctant though she had been to stop filming the giraffes, Clara recognized the guide had made the right call. The sun was setting so they had lost a lot of their good light and not long after she'd returned to their Land Rover they encountered the rather large pride of lions reported to be in the area.

  Clara and her crew were on the makeshift road, two wheel ruts separated by a strip of scrub grass, headed back for their encampment near town when the convoy's engines all died at once. A powerful odor struck at the same time.

  There were five vehicles in a line, relatively close together. One of the other drivers climbed out of his Rover and ran to the second one in line carrying Clara.

  “We are stuck,” he said, his accent thick.

  “I can see that,” Clara responded. “What do you suppose is happening? That's sulphur I smell.”

  Both her own driver and the other man looked at her, puzzled.

  “Sulphur,” she repeated. “That smell.” She waved her hand in front of her nose to indicate what she'd meant.

  “Sulphur,” the man standing outside the vehicle said it carefully, trying to emulate Clara's pronunciation.

  “Right,” she said, “gas, chemical, element. I don't know why we can smell that out here.” She thought about the engines quitting all at once. They have to be related somehow, she figured.

  “We have plenty of gas,” her driver said. He tried the ignition again. No luck. He waved to the man outside his window. “Go back and try again to start,” he said.

  One of Clara's cameramen, Danny, appeared at her window from one of the other vehicles. “What the devil do you surmise is the cause of this?” He said. “All I can do to keep from losing my lunch over this mess.”

  “It is awful,” Clara said. “I can't understand why the vehicles would all die at once.”

  “You've got me on that,” Danny said. “One thing's for certain, they'd better well be going soon. I'd hate to be out here after dark.”

  DENNIS KING

  STONEWALL PARK

  CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA

  1:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  The stadium was packed. A sell-out. Not bad for a game in the dog days of August for an expansion team way out of playoff contention. A lot of Philadelphia fans were among the crowd. A lot of fans wearing Dennis King jerseys. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and the humidity was relatively under control. Dennis stood in the on-deck circle for his team just beyond the edge of the visitor's dugout. He watched his teammate Omar Montoyo walk to the batter's box, the first batter of the game. The opposing pitcher threw his last warm up pitch and the umpire declared 'game on'.

  Strike one. Montoyo watched the first pitch of the game sail past him, just catching the edge of the zone. The pitcher, Chris Charles, began his windup for the next pitch and stopped mid-motion which seemed to coincide with the loud gasp coming from the capacity crowd. Everyone made a face. Some fanned themselves with game programs trying to push the aroma away. The umpire held out his arms to call time out, and Charles walked off the mound a few steps blowing snot out of his nose.

  Dennis stopped swinging the warm-up bat and took a knee in the on-deck circle gazing up at the crowd wondering why he could feel a bit of a burning sensation on the back of his arms and neck.

  The public address announcer attempted to say som
ething through the microphone in front of him and noted his whole system was dead. He pulled out his cell phone and noticed it too was not working. He turned to see his colleagues all had the same issue.

  “Somebody get Oscar,” the announcer said, “we've clearly got a situation, and this could get ugly.”

  MICHAEL JANVIER & ELIZA CHAMPION

  AMETHYST CAY RESORT

  TURKS AND CAICOS

  1:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  Michael napped while Eliza braved the paparazzi in the small town market place outside their exclusive resort. He didn't wake when the terrible odor hit, and so he didn't notice that his cell phone, practically another appendage to him, had stopped working.

  Meanwhile, around the shops where Eliza had been accompanied by bodyguards, people were running in all directions, panicked by the sudden onset of the strong smell and the accompanying power outage. Eliza's security team encircled her and walked her back towards the golf carts they'd driven from the edge of the resort property.

  Jesper, her head security guard tried to start each of the carts, no luck with either of them. “Looks like we'll have to walk back.”

  “No big deal,” Eliza said, pressing her oversized sunglasses closer over her eyes. “Actually, wait,” she said. “Let me call Michael. See if they've lost power there.”

  The guards stood vigilant while she pulled her phone from one of her bags. It did not turn on. “No service,” she said, frowning at Jesper. “Is that normal in a power outage? Like these things run off battery, right?”

  “That's right, ma'am.”

  “Okay, whatever,” she said, groaning in frustration. “Let's just go back, I don't want to be out here in case this turns into something.”

  BOB ANGEL

  HENDERSON CONVENTION CENTER

  NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  12:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  Bob sat in a plastic chair in the security office located in the basement of the convention center cradling a paper cup with some water while the officer with the New Orleans Police Department seated across from him finished writing his notes. Two security guards stood watch outside the door while another two police officers sat inside the office along with the security manager.

  “Alright, Mr. Angel,” the officer said looking up from his pad. “Did you want to add anything to your statement at this time?”

  Bob's eyes were bloodshot, and the skin on his face looked like it'd been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You have it all.”

  “And you're planning to carry on with the convention, that correct?”

  “Do you believe that I shouldn't?”

  “That's not what I'm saying,” the officer said, “but obviously if you choose to stayin the building, we're going to have to figure something out. There might be others out there.”

  “But you don't know that for certain.”

  “No sir, we don't, but-” the officer stopped mid-sentence, punched in the face by a terrible smell. “Golly,” he muttered.

  Everyone in the office reacted at once. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling cut out then too, and the computers in the room shut off. There was a loud click and the back-up emergency lights came on. A rumbling sounded over them, no doubt hundreds of people on the move on the floor of the convention center up above. The security manager tried his radio right away only to find it dead. He leaped from his seat and hollered at his people outside the door. “Code Black!” He shouted, and the two men dashed off.

  A thought immediately occurred to Bob. He looked at the police officer across from him. “You have no radio service as well, correct?” He said.

  The officers tried to use the radios attached to their uniforms, they were dead.

  “Your cell phones as well, yes?” Bob said.

  Sure enough, the officers each tried to engage their phones and again, no luck.

  Bob nodded slightly, an acknowledgment of something he'd just realized. “Please excuse me,” he said to the others in the room, headed towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” The officer with the notepad asked him. “I wouldn't advise you to go wandering off given you were threatened. Especially not now.”

  “I'm not going far,” Bob said, “just outside the office for a minute. I need a breather.”

  “Alright,” the officer relented.

  Bob stepped out and rounded the office's exterior wall where he wouldn't be seen nor heard. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, probably one of the only working phones in the world. His closest assistant, Joseph, had the other. Joseph picked up on the first ring. “I knew you'd be calling,” he said to his boss. “This is what we think it is?”

  “Yes,” Bob answered. “I'm coming to you. Please make the arrangements.”

  “Will do.”

  DASH Q

  INDEPENDENCE ARENA

  KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI

  12:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  With a charming yet cocky smile, Dash deflected his interviewer's question about who he's been rumored to be dating. The magazine reporter had interviewed over a dozen big name celebrities, and she was adept at sliding personal questions in among those aimed more at the creative projects of her subjects, but Dash had been asked those types of questions in interviews so many times he'd adopted an effective means of dodging and deflecting. T.J. would joke with him that if his voice after gave out on him he'd have a great second career as a politician.

  The magazine reporter, Stacy glanced down at her notes, looking to ask the superstar one more question before he would be taken back to the other end of the arena to his private area. While Stacy scanned the page, Dash looked to his assistant Kelsey with an expression that said 'can we be done now?'.

  Kelsey leaned in to Stacy and said quietly, “I think we're good to wrap things up now.”

  Stacy looked up at Dash from her notes and smiled. Then her eyes expanded to twice their size as she was hit by the terrible aroma of rotten eggs. Dash twisted his face in disgust. The magazine photographer accompanying Stacy coughed loudly, and Kelsey downed the last of her water.

  Kelsey looked at one of the arena security guards standing nearby. “Can we check on things?” She said. “Is there something going on with the building?”

  The man rushed off to find out.

  “Let's get you back,” Kelsey said to Dash, and he slid off the wooden director's chair where he'd been parked for the interview.

  Dash held his face in his hands as he and Kelsey and a security guard briskly exited the media room.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Stacy called after Dash through a pinched nose. He said nothing in return as he and the others hurried away.

  SUBJECT 736

  DARPA FACILITY 88, “THE CLOVER”

  1.5 MILES UNDERGROUND, 20 MILES SOUTHWEST OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  1:05 PM LOCAL TIME

  “Are you seeing this,” Tim said, checking one of the monitors from a whole bank of them along one wall.

  Eric rolled his chair over to have a look and noticed three of their data feeds from servers up at the ground level offices within the facility had stopped suddenly, something neither of the men had ever witnessed in their entire time working at “The Clover”.

  “Weird,” Eric said. “Let me call Andy.”

  Eric picked up one of the desk phones and waited for the call to ring through. One of the super-soldier project supervisors, Andy Swain, answered on the fifth ring sounding a bit out of breath. “Yeah?”

  “Andy it's Eric.”

  “You guys are alright down there? You still have power?”

  “Yes, of course. Why? What's going on?”

  Andy let out a loud sigh. “Wish I could tell you.” Eric could her people shouting in the background. “We just had a major blackout. Lasted all of a minute, but it was enough to give us a heart attack is all. Even the generators were down. All of 'em.”

  “Whoa,” Eric threw Tim a look of panic. “What the heck?”

  “Yeah,�
�� Andy said, “we're still trying to figure it out, and there's this awful stench. No idea. Anyway, we're back up and running here, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, we don't know what's caused it. But, looks like the extra $200 million they put into your guys' redundancies has paid off. I see on camera the big boy's still sleeping. And you said you didn't lose power, right?”

  “Right,” Eric said, “but, the servers on L-9 appear to be down.”

  “Yeah, I know, we're working on it. Shouldn't be too long, we've called everyone in.”

  “No idea what caused this?” Eric said.

  “No idea,” Andy confirmed, “a cyber attack maybe, but I'll tell ya, to effect anything at this facility this way it'd have to be state sponsored with a lot of money behind it.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I'm just glad everything down there is still online. That's the main thing.”

  “Yep,” Eric said, “I'd say we got lucky.”

  LIN CHOU

  XIANGFENG DENIM FACTORY

  SHANGHAI, CHINA

  1:05 AM LOCAL TIME

  Her eyes opened into complete darkness, not the dimly lit gray haze of night she normally experienced on sleepless nights inside the worker dorms. Lin closed her eyes and opened them again, and as she became more alert the smell caught her nostrils. She pulled the sheet over her nose and mouth and breathed in slow. She reached out and felt the concrete wall in front of her, then she turned over on her bunk and could see that outside there was no light at all other than the moon and stars. Strange.

  A few voices whispered beneath her. The other young women woke to the horrid odor. One of the them was dismayed her cell phone had stopped charging along with all the others crowded around the one plug.