6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel

by Chad Evercroft

  The servers brought their meals and the party was distracted for a few moments by the arrival of their food. Robert savored the fresh, airy taste of the orange and mint. The scallops were also excellent, seared perfectly, and deliciously buttery.

  “I haven’t had seafood in so long,” Claire remarked to Robert in a quiet voice. “It’s gotten so expensive.”

  After asking everyone how their food was and sending his compliments to the chef, the President informed Robert that he would be sending an additional military force to the Emerald Coast along with ECAG’s pilots.

  “The range of the flooding seems like it would stretch your people thin,” Fitzwilliam hypothesized. “That area needs all the help it can get.”

  “A very wise decision, sir,” Robert said, relieved. “Thank you.”

  More forces there meant a better chance for Rachel to be rescued.

  “And what about the tornado areas? Do you suggest more help there?” a staffer asked.

  “The local office is very well-stocked. And staffed,” Robert said. “They’re used to tornados, just not at this scale, of course, so with our support they should be fine.”

  “Excellent,” Fitzwilliam declared, breaking into another smile. “I hate to dash off, but you will excuse me, Robert. Say hello to Elisa for me. And I will keep your family in my prayers. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Taken aback at such an abrupt exit, Robert stammered some brief words and thanks and shook the President’s hand. He was surrounded by his staff and a herd of bodyguards as he whisked out the door. Robert felt a little like he had just had the wind knocked out of him. He raised his eyebrows at Claire before turning to Terrace, who had not moved. For the first time since Robert and Claire entered, Terrace put down his phone.

  “Have you or your office had any communication with Kirk Baxter?”

  “The director of the local Emerald Coast office? Yes, briefly.”

  “It is true that he chose to not issue any kind of warning following the earthquake, and by the time you spoke to him, it was too late to issue an order about the tsunami?”

  Terrace spoke as if he was interrogating a criminal.

  “That is true,” Robert replied, slowly.

  “Hmm,” Terrace murmured.

  He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his silver hair. A shadow crossed his face as he thought in silence. Robert and Claire glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Terrace suddenly leaned forward again, fixing his grey eyes at Robert.

  “The President’s office would greatly appreciate it if you kept this whole Baxter thing under wraps,” Terrace said, his voice low.

  “What do you mean?” Robert asked, feeling uneasy.

  “If it came out that the President had family ties to a man who failed to warn millions of a massive tsunami, you can imagine the impact on the President’s character and credibility would be disastrous.”

  As disastrous as a tsunami? Robert thought bitterly.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Mr. Vice President,” Robert pressed. “I’m not going to shout it from every rooftop, but if you’re asking me to intently fabricate”

  “That is what I’m asking you to do,” Terrace said bluntly. “Change your records. As of last week, Kirk Baxter was just an assistant at the Emerald Coast office, not the director.”

  Robert glanced at Claire, whose mouth had fallen open slightly. She picked up her water glass and took a long drink.

  “Sir, I don’t know if I can do that,” Robert admitted.

  “Then we will seize your records. We have the legal right, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Robert sighed.

  Terrace took his wine glass by the stem and peered into it, swishing the red liquid around.

  Could he look any more like a TV villain? Robert thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

  “I wish you could understand what is at stake here, Robert,” Terrace said, still looking into his glass. “If the truth came out, it would make it seem like the President appointed Baxter just because of their family connection, and that that decision ended up costing millions of destroyed or lost lives. Do you understand what that could do to the nation at this fragile time?”

  “I do.”

  “Are we on the same page, Director Morgan?”

  Robert wouldn’t meet Terrace’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything to counter Terrace’s statement. Taking Robert’s silence as affirmation, Terrace took a sip of his wine. He peeled his lips back and made an “Ah” sound before tossing his napkin on the table.

  “A pleasure as always, Robert,” Terrace said, extending his hand. “You are free to use the car, of course, to go back to your office.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said, taking the VP’s hand.

  Terrace said his goodbyes to Claire and was escorted from the restaurant by his two black suits. Robert and Claire were left alone, plates with scraps littering the table around them. Servers began to scurry about, clearing dishes and making apologetic sounds. Claire balled up her napkin in her lap and smiled grimly.

  “Do you think the President did appoint Baxter because of their family connection?” she asked.

  Robert sighed. He thought back on what he remembered from Baxter’s credentials, and felt sure that he would have had some objection if Baxter was clearly not qualified. That in itself did not mean that the President’s primary interest in the appointment was to do a family member a favor, but it did mean he at least had the decency to not risk so many lives in doing it. It also meant that Robert had not made a grievous mistake in staying quiet.

  “I don’t think so,” Robert said after a while. “But I don’t understand how it wasn’t publicized at the time. The media has eyes and ears everywhere; did no one think it was suspicious?”

  “Sometimes these things slip through the cracks,” Claire replied. “And appointing local offices is never that exciting to most people.”

  “I suppose.”

  A server came over and asked if they needed anything else.

  “More wine? Perhaps a dessert?”

  “No, thank you,” Robert said, trying to force a little smile. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

  Robert and Claire walked outside where the car waited for them. The driver quickly got out of the vehicle and opened the door.

  4.

  Back at the office, Robert and Claire were met by a swarm of press. They crowded the lobby and all erupted into questions when Robert and Claire entered. A security guard appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and braced himself between them and the press.

  “Director Morgan! Did you just come from meeting the President?”

  “Can we expect action from the President’s office? Is the military getting involved?”

  “One at a time, please!” Robert insisted, lifted his hand. “I’ll get to everyone.”

  The din hushed and reporters began raising their hands. Robert pointed at who he guessed had been the first to be quiet.

  “Yes, you, there, ma’am.”

  “Is the military being sent out to the Emerald Coast?”

  “I can’t answer that. You’ll have to ask the President’s office directly.”

  “Is it true that the Coast was not warned about the tsunami?”

  That random outburst from a man in the back reignited the chaos and a chorus of questions rose to its previous volume. Robert tried to shout above the noise, but the press just crowded in closer.

  “This way, sir,” the security guard insisted, grabbing Robert’s elbow and pushing him towards the elevator.

  “Claire! Claire!” Robert called back. “Can you deal with this bunch?”

  He saw her give him a thumbs up just before she was surrounded. Robert and the guard made it to the elevator. The guard pushed Robert’s floor button and stood in silence. He was very tall and dressed in a black suit with a gray-striped tie. Robert recognized him as one of the older guards, who had been around since not long
after ECAG formed, and searched his mind briefly for a name.

  Jack.

  “Thanks, Jack,” Robert said. “It was getting a little crowded in there.”

  “It was no problem, sir.”

  “Some crazy weather going on today. Scary,” Robert said, putting his hands in his pockets.

  They reached the floor. Jack motioned for Robert to leave first, and remained in the elevator.

  “Not coming?” Robert asked.

  “I should go back downstairs, sir. Make sure Miss Doherty is all right.”

  “Ah! Good idea. Thank you.”

  The doors closed. Robert turned and was greeted by a flurry of activity. People paced back and forth from office to office, talking on phones or handing off papers. As Robert walked through to his office, it was like he was invisible. The machine kept turning, undisturbed by his presence. Robert closed the door softly behind him and took a moment to breathe in slowly and deeply. There would have to be a press conference. The President would probably be calling any minute now. It was a little odd he hadn’t mentioned it at lunch. Robert walked to his desk and stood in front of it, examining his neatly-organized system. He had his calendar printed onto a large rectangular piece of paper so it covered most of it the desk’s surface. He liked to have his calendar this way so he could write directly on it without having to keep track of a separate notebook or take out his phone constantly. On top of the calendar, he had his mug filled with pens, a tape dispenser, a tablet, and the office phone. Robert did not have a desk with drawers. If he arrived to the point where he needed a drawer to hold everything, he had too many things. Robert liked to keep it simple. His job was chaotic enough; he didn’t need his office to be contributing to that chaos.

  Robert cracked all ten of his knuckles and his neck before taking his place behind his desk. The blinds to his window were open, revealing the large, now wind-tattered tree that had stood there since Robert first began his career at ECAG. He had seen that tree in all its forms: naked and gray during the winter, tipped with green and yellow buds during the spring, full and shimmery in the summer, and blooming like fire in the autumn. The storm had torn a great deal of the smaller, weak twigs from the tree now, and the leaves looked like limp, drenched flags. Branches scratched against the window as if begging to be let in. Robert could see lightning and wondered if many trees had been struck already. A tree struck by lightning was a rather terrifying sight. Charred wood, branches split like brittle hair, smoldering ash...and all from something that just looked like a narrow beam of light, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

  Robert sat looking out his window in a trance-like state and barely noticed when Claire swept into the room carrying a tablet.

  “Sir, you need to see this,” Claire said sternly.

  She rounded Robert’s desk and held up her tablet so they could both watch. It was the President. He was giving a speech.

  “What? I didn’t know anything…”

  “Just watch, sir.”

  Robert obeyed. Fitzwilliam had changed since lunch; he was wearing a dark gray suit with a tie striped in the nation’s colors. It was a subtle choice, but an important one. He looked solemn, which was strange for him. Robert held his breath as he listened.

  “What happened today and is continuing to happen is a national tragedy. Right now it is impossible to measure the extent of the damage or lives lost, but I can say that this is the worst recorded event in climate change history. The military and other aid operations are attempting to reach those who need help most, but what happened on the Emerald Coast is a troubling show of failure and ineptitude on the part of ECAG. The lack of ample warning of the tsunami and subsequent delay in rescue and aid can only be described as a catastrophe.”

  Robert’s mouth fell open. The President droned on, giving flowery promises of rebuilding and emotional solidarity, but his words fell on deaf ears. Claire turned off the tablet and hugged it to her chest, looking down at Robert. He just sat there, staring into the space where the tablet had been.

  “My God,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “He’s throwing us under the bus.”

  “Covering up for Kirk Baxter, it looks like.”

  Robert removed his glasses and lay his head on the table. Claire contemplated patting his back, but she refrained.

  “There must be more to this, sir,” she said. “Something we don’t know.”

  Robert lifted his head with a heavy sigh.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Did the press downstairs see this?”

  “Probably, sir. I I came back up just before he started speaking.”

  Robert was about to say something else when his phone rang. A shudder ran up and down his spine like an insect with a million legs. He had a feeling that some questions were about to be answered. He was afraid of what those answers might be. He picked up the phone.

  “Director Morgan.”

  “This is Raymond Terrace. I assume you have just watched the President’s speech?”

  “What’s going on, Terrace? What the hell is the big idea screwing us over like that?”

  “Calm down, Robert. No names were mentioned. You will be protected. Of course, you’ll have to do us that favor of deleting those Baxter files.”

  “Goddamn it, that’s highly unethical.”

  “It’s for the good of the people, Robert. We discussed this.”

  “The truth is going to come out, Terrace. And I will not be blamed for it.”

  “It won’t. Trust me.”

  “Kirk Baxter will talk. People who were there will talk.”

  “They’re all dead, Robert,” Terrace said firmly.

  Robert’s blood ran cold. He looked at Claire, who could hear the VP’s voice even with the phone not on speaker. Her eyes widened. Robert had to clear his throat before speaking again. He knew the conversation wasn’t about Rachel, but hearing that phrase instantly turned his thoughts to her.

  “Who is all dead?”

  “Everyone at the office. Baxter, the staff, the security guards, the janitors. The tsunami waters flooded the office and they couldn’t get to safety in time. No one from there will be saying anything anytime soon.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Military choppers.”

  Robert felt a headache budding behind his eyes. He rubbed his head.

  “Now I know what you’re probably thinking, Robert. No, we did not have anything to do with those deaths. It is a tragedy as a result of a disastrous misjudgment on Baxter’s part. He bears all the responsibility. The problem is that burden will transfer to the President if who Baxter is gets out to the public.”

  “Who’s going to get the burden if the President doesn’t? Someone always has to be blamed, sir.”

  Robert’s voice sounded hollow in his ears, like the voice of someone else. He could hardly believe he was even having this conversation. He had dealt with some questionable politicians doing questionable things in the past, but nothing like this. This was straight out of a political conspiracy movie.

  “One of the other staffers. This is the story: Kirk Baxter stepped down from his position a week ago. The staffer who took his place panicked during this crisis and despite counsel from both you and Baxter, did not issue the tsunami warning in time.”

  “I just can’t see this working, sir. I…”

  “Don’t worry, Robert. Just do your part, and you and your people will be protected.”

  Robert bit his lip too hard and tasted blood. He knew he couldn’t trust Terrace. He also knew that this government was very good at creating narratives. They had turned Fitzwilliam - a Ruby Coast elite - into a man of the people who could shovel manure and go deep-sea fishing without breaking his stride. They had taken the story of his first marriage and somehow transformed it from a shotgun wedding into the fairy tale of a man who married his best friend when she became pregnant by a rape. The administration was excellent at making the truth more boring than make-believe, so the media stayed focused on what the government wa
nted them to see. No doubt Kirk Baxter would be made out to look like a hero, a man who urged the right action but died before he could see it fulfilled. It was brilliant, really. A subtle change and suddenly the President’s family tie to Baxter was a positive talking point, not a condemning one. Robert could hear the media chatter now.

  “The President himself was not spared from the carnage of this tsunami.”

  “Kirk Baxter, half-cousin of the President, urged action from the new Emerald Coast director, but his wise counsel fell on deaf ears.”

  “Are you there, Director?”

  Robert emerged from his thoughts and gripped the telephone tighter.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “Have we reached an understanding?”

  Robert swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

  After hanging up, Robert sat with his hands in his lap, frowning. Thoughts raced through his mind, and he forced them to stand in line and wait their turn. He needed to focus.

  What was the real harm in changing the file? It didn’t change the fact that no warning had gone out, and the person who ended up taking the blame was dead. On the other side, not changing the file could harm a lot of people. It could cost ECAG funding, cost Robert his job, and discredit the entire organization. The country needed ECAG. Robert was sure of this. There had to be some kind of organization dedicated solely to supplying aid and resources that was separate from the government, at least in part. ECAG was efficient and comprised of committed, good-hearted people. Could that be said of any other group?

  But what kind of precedent would bowing to the Vice President set? Robert was sure this wouldn’t be the only time his office would be approached like this. Climate change was not going to slow down; there would only be more and stronger storms. Misjudgments and mistakes would continue to cost people their lives and eventually, even with all the tailoring and snipping of the truth, it would all come out.