The Hours

by Robert Barnard

  Abandoned vehicles littered the streets. At some point during the night, many residents must have shrugged off the government’s insistency to remain indoors. But where had they all gone? Where had they fled? During NYVO, it made sense to flee New York, to flee East Violet. Nearby states weren’t dealing with the carnage inflicted by EV1.

  But this event—whatever it would later be referred to—had apparently cascaded at a national level. Chloe and Nolan had watched the dawning of it a day before—the murders in California, the fires in Texas. According to Fuller, every major metropolitan area in the U.S. had been affected.

  Where was it that everyone thought they could go?

  Maybe, Nolan thought, it was desperation and fear that caused so many people to abscond in the dead of night. The homes and possessions that the denizens of Cherry Valley clung to might suddenly seem less precious when neighbors inexplicably transformed into monsters, frothing at the mouth and roaming downtown streets in search of victims.

  Chloe’s thoughts on the matter were darker, more grim. Perhaps many people hadn’t left. Perhaps they’d been infected by EV1, and now they waited in shadows, waited in darkened corners of abandoned shops and homes, hopeful to be alerted by passing prey.

  Nolan swerved slowly and patiently down Mitford Lane, careful to avoid the broken glass and debris that littered the streets.

  The town hardware store was in ruins. Someone had smashed the plate glass window on the front of the building. As they drove past, Chloe squinted to see inside. Shelves had been knocked over. Products had been scattered around the store. A fluorescent light near the front of the building flickered, revealed a trail of blood that led from the window and towards the rear of the store, obscured by fallen merchandise.

  The local Shop-N-Save hadn’t fared much better. A pickup truck had driven clean through the front of the store’s face. Though the parking lot was empty, now, save for a few abandoned cars, there were indications of what terrible entropy had consumed the grocery store in the past day. A dead body leaned against the brick front of the store, contorted in a horrible and unnatural position. Bloodied handprints had dried onto the store’s windows, and the windshields of the abandoned cars.

  “It’s some kind of sick joke,” Chloe said, “that we should have to live through this again.”

  Nolan chewed on his bottom lip. “It used to bother me,” he said, “that NYVO occurred strictly within the borders of New York State. A fishing vessel dragged the virus up after a deep sea expedition? If that wasn’t impossible enough to believe, why didn’t a single person get sick in New Jersey? There were outbreaks in Albany. Why wasn’t anyone in Pennsylvania effected?”

  Chloe shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “There was an unsettling mechanicalness to it, wasn’t there?”

  “I suppose there was.”

  “Sometimes,” Nolan said, “I thought that New York was a test. A scrimmage. Orchestrated by some evil person, or group of persons. Now, looking around at all of this? I don’t think New York was a mock scenario or a practice run. I think New York was supposed to spiral into this, but someone messed up, and it remained contained. I think the past two years have been a delayed fuse from New York. Only this time, they got it right. Multiple outbreaks. All along the map. All at once. There’d be no containing it.”

  “I’m tempted to believe that too, Nole. But who would do such an awful thing? What would there motive be? What kind of resources would you need to pull off such a carefully orchestrated terrorist plot, which is what this would be if it wasn’t natural? I don’t know if EV1 was dredged up by some deep sea fishing vessel, or if that was some bullshit story the media made up. Now, I don’t think we’ll ever know. But I do believe, wherever it came from, it occurred naturally. As naturally as an overgrown forest will burn. I think we took and took and took from this planet, and it finally had enough, and so it took something back.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter which of us are right,” Nolan said, “because either scenario is equally terrifying.”

  Nolan decerlated, veered to avoid some shopping carts that’d been left in the middle of the road. Just a ways further up the street were Rose Park Townhomes, situated on the edge of Rose Park.

  “Which number is she?” Nolan asked.

  “They lived at 1126,” Chloe answered.

  Nolan crept further up the street. He drove past unit number 1110, knew that they were close. When he’d almost reached the end unit that Hannah, her mother, and her son all lived at, a figure came running into the middle of the street from the park.

  “Is that—”

  “No,” Nolan said. “I’ve never seen one run.”

  “Help!” the figure screamed, and it ran towards the Explorer as fast as it could. Nolan squinted, saw that it was a female with an athletic build. She ran like a gazelle, her pony tail bouncing behind her as she charged.

  “What do we do?” Chloe said.

  Nolan looked at Chloe. “You’re in civilian clothes. For all she knows, you’re not a cop. You were never a cop. Neither am I. We’re just two people, who happen to have the keys to this vehicle, and we’re doing the best that we can. We don’t owe her anything.”

  “I was—I am a cop,” Chloe said. “I swore an oath to help people like her.”

  “Look around, Chloe,” Nolan said. “There’s no more cops—there’s no more anything. You were drugged this morning. You’re in no condition to try to help anyone. You think you’re some superhero—”

  “I don’t think I’m a super hero.”

  “Then let it go,” Nolan said. “If a military quarantine convenes on Cherry Valley, you can volunteer to help then. Until something like that happens, you’re just one person, and this is all more than anyone ever expected you to take on by yourself.”

  Chloe shook her head. “It’s not right.”

  “Nothing’s right. If we spend ten minutes dissecting what’s right and wrong for every decision we make in the next day, week, or month…we’ll just be spinning our tires in place.”

  The woman in the street was getting closer. She was near enough now that Nolan could see her arm was bruised and bleeding.

  “Please help,” the woman shouted.

  Nolan kept the windows to the Explorer sealed shut, ignored the woman as he parked the cruiser in front of unit 1126.

  “Thank God,” the woman said. She was panting, breathless. “Cops. I haven’t seen a cop all night. You have to help.”

  Nolan shook his head. The woman was standing just outside the cruiser, now.

  “Lady,” Nolan said. “We’re not cops, and you have to back up.”

  “Why are you in a cop car then?” the woman asked. Her nose wrinkled, and she put her hands behind her head in confusion.

  “You don’t need to know,” Nolan said, and he could see that one of the cuts on her arm was bleeding pretty badly. “You have to get away from this vehicle. Now.”

  “You’re not a cop, so what are you gonna do if I don’t?”

  “Lady, please.”

  “My family’s minivan broke down,” the woman panted, “on the edge of Rose Park. They’re back there—locked in the car—but the park is crawling with them. With hundreds of them. You have to do something, you have to help. Do you have a gun? I need a gun.”

  “I don’t have a gun to give you,” Nolan said.

  “You’re in a cop car,” the woman replied, “you have to have a spare gun.”

  “I don’t have anything to give you,” Nolan insisted, “and I’m not going to ask you again. You need to back away. If military personnel sweep through town, they’ll be able to help you.”

  “Help’s not coming, asshole, no one’s coming.” The strange woman spun in confusion. Something seemed to catch her eye in the street, and she suddenly ignored Nolan to walk toward it.

  “What the hell is she doing now?” Chloe asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nolan said, and he unzipped the duffel bag beside him and took out a
forty caliber Glock.

  “Stop, Nolan, Jesus,” Chloe said. “What are you going to do with that? You’ve barely fired a gun before, let alone one of that size or caliber.”

  “I won’t have to fire it,” Nolan said. “She’ll get the picture.”

  The woman bent down, then stood back up. Clutched between her hands was a heavy looking piece of broken curb, maybe ten or fifteen pounds in weight.

  “Give me that fucking car,” the woman screamed, and she hurled the rock at the Explorer. It vaulted into Nolan’s window. Nolan screamed, expected it to come breaking through the glass. It was on a collision course directly toward his head. The rock his the window with a crack, and though the glass spider-webbed with cracks in all directions, it held—it didn’t break.

  Nolan threw the driver’s side door open, jumped out, and slammed it shut behind him. When the door shut, the glass cracked and broke into a million little pieces.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Nolan hollered, and he held the Glock up, pointed it straight into the air and fired once. The sound of the shot was deafening. With nothing to protect it, Nolan’s right eardrum rattled from the blow.

  “I’m not,” the woman said, and she cackled and ran back across the street. “Are you?”

  By the time Chloe stepped out of the Explorer, the strange woman had already vanished into the neighborhood behind them.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Chloe said.

  “Nothing at all,” Nolan answered with a gasp, “now let’s get inside and check on this kid you’re so worried about.”

  Chloe led the way to the front steps of townhome 1126. The unit sat on the end of a row of other homes, each one two stories tall. Chloe rang the front doorbell and waited for a response. A minute or so passed, and Nolan asked if they should knock, so she did.

  There was still no answer.

  Chloe knocked again, pounded hard on the oak door this time. Nolan watched the windows of the home to see if a curtain might have moved or if someone peeked out of a blind. There was nothing. No movement. Just an eerie stillness.

  “What should we do?” Chloe asked.

  “It doesn’t seem like anyone’s inside. Maybe they got out.”

  “I’m not leaving here without knowing for certain.”

  Nolan smiled. “Then you know what you have to do.”

  Chloe nodded, stepped back from the front door. She positioned herself, just as she’d been trained, with her left foot behind her right. In a flash, she high kicked her left foot, landed it just beneath the home’s doorknob. The door bowed, but didn’t give. Again she assumed the proper stance, and again she kicked. Still, nothing.

  “We’re making a lot of noise out here,” Nolan said. “We’ll be drawing a lot of attention.”

  Chloe exhaled. “Hold on.” She kicked for a third time. This time, when her foot landed beneath the door knob, the wood splintered from the jamb. She gave one final, fourth kick and the wood around the door knob turned to shreds, and the door swung open.

  “I hope they weren’t trying hole up in here,” Nolan said, “because you just wrecked their door completely.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Chloe said. “Worry about what Hannah’s mom will do if she thinks we’re looters. Or worse. Keep your gun ready. I’ll lead.”

  The Yates’s family home was dark, quiet. The living room was a mess, but Chloe suspected that was how it normally looked. She’d visited Hannah’s house before, and with a toddler in the midst, the home was never well kept.

  “Mrs. Yates,” Chloe called out. “I’m a friend of your daughter. I’m here to help.” Chloe swallowed. She realized that Mrs. Yates wouldn’t even be aware of Hannah’s fate yet.

  “Hello?” Nolan shouted. “Is anyone home?” He tiptoed through the dimly lit living room and toward the dining room.

  “The first floor looks clear,” Chloe said. “Let’s check upstairs.”

  Nolan glanced at the darkened staircase of the townhome. “If there was anyone here—anyone at all—they’d have heard us by now. I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s go.”

  Chloe ignored Nolan and turned toward the staircase. Slowly, she set one foot ahead of the other. Each step creaked and groaned as she ascended.

  Nolan said, “Goddammit, Chloe,” then followed close behind her.

  Chloe reached the top landing of the stairs first, swung her gun out ahead of her. “Mrs. Yates?” she called out.

  “Mom?” a soft, weak voice croaked back. “Momma?”

  “Holy shit,” Nolan said.

  Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Yeah. That room. Right there.” She pointed down the hall toward a narrow plywood door with a crayon-colored sign on the front that read: Max.

  Nolan said: “Go on in. Talk to him. I’ll stay here and watch the house.”

  Chloe strode down the hall and knocked on the door. “Max?” she said. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”

  “You’re not mom,” the boy called back.

  Chloe shook her head. “No. But I’m a friend of hers. Max, is there anyone else in there with you?”

  “Just Mr. Burgie.”

  “Who’s Mr. Burgie?”

  Max paused. “My friend.”

  Chloe sighed, clutched her gun. “Okay, Max. Can you open the door? Can you let me in?”

  “Grandma said not to let anybody in.”

  “That’s good, Max, and you shouldn’t ever let strangers in. But I’m not a stranger. I’m a good guy. Like I said, your mom’s a close friend of mine. It’s alright to let me in.”

  Chloe waited, heard a soft shuffling behind the door. The knob unclicked, and the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a small toddler in dirty pajamas. He sucked on his right thumb. Underneath his arm he carried a stuffed animal in the shape of a cheeseburger with a silly, cartoon face.

  “Is that Mr. Burgie?” Chloe asked.

  Max nodded.

  “Good, good. But what about your Grandmother? Where is she?”

  Max pointed past Nolan and down the hall. “In her room.”

  “How long has she been in there?” Chloe asked.

  Max simply shrugged.

  “Okay, Max, this is my best friend, Nolan. If I’m your mom’s friend, and he’s my friend, then that practically makes him a friend of your mom, too, doesn’t it? He’s a good guy..” Chloe scooped Max up into her arms and gently handed the small boy to Nolan. “He’s going to keep you safe for a minute while I say hello to your grandmother.”

  “Okay,” Max said. “When will my mom be back?”

  Chloe forced a smile. “I’m sure she’ll be back real soon, Max.”

  Chloe walked the upstairs hallway towards the room Max pointed at, then knocked. There was no answer. She spun the doorknob, was surprised that it was open, and let herself in.

  The room was dark and smelled of death. Chloe fumbled her arm around the room, found a light switch. She clicked it, then gasped at what she saw.

  Hannah’s mother lay atop her bed, emaciated. Her skin was thin and papery; her bones seemed ready to poke through at any moment. Clumps of hair were matted to the pillows at the head of the bed.

  Entire bites had been taken out of Mrs. Yates right arm, but there appeared to be no other assailant in the room. When Mrs. Yates set her yellowed, sunken eyes on Chloe, she clicked her jaw open, revealed gnarled, blood stained teeth.

  The woman had been eating herself alive.

  “Mrs. Yates?” Chloe said.

  Mrs. Yates looked quizzically at Chloe, then hissed and snarled.

  Chloe said, “I’m so sorry.”

  The woman cocked her head and stopped her hissing, then said: “So sorry for what, my dear?”

  Chloe cupped her hand over her mouth, started to sob. “Are you—are you okay—do you know where you are right now?”

  Mrs. Yates laughed hard, and one of her teeth fell out. She didn’t seem to notice or mind. “Why I’m in bed, at home, relaxing! We’ll have Sunday dinner when my Hannah gets h
ome from work.”

  Chloe cried. “You locked…Max…you locked him up in his room. To keep yourself from hurting him.”

  “Hurting him?” Mrs. Yates said. “Nonsense. He was misbehaving, and I hated to have to do it, but I gave him a time out. Have you seen Hannah? Will she be home soon?”

  Chloe nodded. “You’ll see her very soon.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Mrs. Yates said, and she traced her hand over the wounds on her arm. “How did this…how did this happen?”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “I did this?”

  Again, Chloe nodded.

  “I did this.” Mrs. Yates took a deep breath. “If you don’t leave this room by the count of three, I am going to pin you against the floor and eat your fucking throat alive, do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Chloe said over stifled sobs. “Please—when you see Hannah, tell her how sorry I am, and that nothing is ever going to happen to her Max.”

  Mrs. Yates leaned up in bed and screamed. “I’m going to devour you, you miserable bitch, get out of my home! Get out, get out, get out—”

  Chloe fired her service pistol once. The bullet hit its mark, directly into Mrs. Yates’s forehead. The woman shuttered, and slumped back down onto the bed.

  Before she had a chance to process what had happened, a car alarm started to blare downstairs. Chloe spun on her feet, marched out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “What happened?” Nolan asked.

  Max had started to cry.

  “Take a wild fucking guess what happened,” Chloe said, and she wiped a tear from her eye. “Do not let him anywhere near that door. Where is that car alarm coming from?”

  Chloe stomped into Max’s bedroom and looked down at the street below. The mysterious woman from just before their arrival had climbed into Fuller’s Ford Explorer and was desperately attempting to hotwire the vehicle.

  “The crazy bitch is trying to steal a cop car,” Chloe said. “We have to go down there—”

  “No,” Nolan said, and he tugged Chloe close. “Look.” He pointed out the window, towards the end of the street.