6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel Read Free

lady.”
                  “Oh, she’s not bothering me,” Rachel insisted. “Lena’s a really pretty name.”
                  The mother smiled. Her husband finished packing the supplies while she handed her credit card to the cashier.
                  “Oh, I’m so sorry, but our machines are down,” the cashier said, wincing. “I can only take cash.”
                  The woman bit her lip, looking at her husband. He opened his wallet and swore under his breath.
                  “I just got a five,” he admitted.
                  “We need these supplies,” his wife murmured to him.
                  “What do you want me to do?” he muttered back.
                  “I can get it,” Rachel piped up.
                  “Oh, no, that’s out of the question,” the woman said.
                  “It’s not a problem. And, to be honest, you guys could really help me out. So, a trade?”
                  The woman looked at Rachel, inviting her to continue.
                  “I don’t have a place to go and I don’t want to keep driving in this rain. If I could just hang out with you for a few hours, maybe just the night, I wouldn’t have to stay in my car or in whatever fast food place is still open.”
                  Lena looked up at her parents, her eyes wide. “Mama, she doesn’t have anywhere to go! We have to help her!”
                  The oldest son nodded, his arms wrapped around a bag of groceries.
                  “A trade makes sense,” he said.
                  The mother glanced at the father, who gave a sort of nod-shrug in agreement.
                  “Do you have a car? We don’t have room in ours, but you can follow us.”
                  Rachel handed over the money for the family’s supplies as well as her own.
                  “I do, yeah. And thank you.”
                  The adults’ names were Mark and Tara Buckley. The baby - Caleb - was seven months, and the oldest boy was Alexander. Rachel followed the family’s van as close as she felt comfortable with. They crawled along a few blocks and parked on the street in front of an old, but well-built cottage. Rachel noticed there were boards nailed against the windows.
                  “You guys are ready for this, huh?” she remarked as Mark helped her with her bags.
                  “Yeah!” he shouted above the sound of the rain. “Every season!”
                  Everyone hurried into the house, the children squealing and shouting. They were all swept inside like the wind had carried them in, dripping and shivering.
                  “I’ll take your coat,” Tara offered.
                  “Thanks.”
                  Lena looked up at Rachel, beaming as her mother hung up everyone’s coats and began to carry the bags into the kitchen.
                  “Wanna see my room?” Lena asked.
                  “Give Rachel a minute, honey,” Mark said, taking off his rain boots. “Let Mommy and Daddy talk to Rachel first.”
                  Rachel followed Mark into the kitchen, where Tara organized their supplies. She had set Rachel’s bag apart from everything else and paused when Rachel and Mark entered. The baby was sitting in a high chair at the table, looking bleary-eyed and confused.
                  “So where are you from? What’s your story?” Mark asked, standing by Tara.
                  He was a tall man, nearly a foot taller than his wife, and had an imposing look about him. He looked like he might have been in the military or at least played football in his younger days; his shoulders were broad and he carried himself in a way that just