6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel Read Free Page B

pretty?”
    “It’s beautiful,” Rachel agreed, bending down to take a closer look.
    She didn’t know what the wood was, but it was reddish, like cherry wood.  There were three large holes for rooms, instead of the normal multiple tiny box-like cuts Rachel was used to seeing for dollhouses. Lena could fit lots of miniature furniture inside them and move her dolls about freely. The room on top was open and framed by a shingled roof, like the top of a picture frame.
    “This is the attic,” Lena said. “A monster lives there.”
    Lena picked up a plastic dinosaur from the floor and placed it carefully in the top room.
    “Is the monster mean?”
    “No,” Lena said with confidence. “He’s nice. He catches mice and spiders.”
    “Aw. Poor mousies.”
    “Mice are bad. They get into food and poop in our cereal. My daddy said if I see a mouse, I should tell him so he can kill it.”
    “Rats are bad, too.”
    “Yeah. And gross. Wanna play with me?”
    “Sure! I just need to charge my phone, if that’s ok.”
    “Yup! There’s a pluggy thing there.”
    Rachel went downstairs to retrieve her charger. She met Tara coming up.
    “I’m going to try and call some people,” Rachel said. “See if my family has any connections down here so I don’t put you out for very long.”
    “That’s a good idea,” Tara said. “Not that we’re eager to have you leave or anything.”
    “No, I get it,” Rachel said, smiling. “No worries.”
    Rachel retrieved her charger and went back upstairs. Lena had arranged her toys so her dollhouse rooms were filled with Lego figures, one Barbie doll, and two Beanie Babies.
    “These are the pets,” Lena explained.
    Rachel plugged in her phone and sat cross-legged, listening to Lena. She took the Lego figure she was instructed to control. Lena talked on, updating Rachel on the storyline she had devised. They played for about a half-hour before Rachel’s phone began to ring. It was her father.
    “Your mother updated me on what’s going on. Did you find a safe place to stay?”
    “I’m at someone’s house until I can get further inland. Do we know anyone who lives here who could let me stay?”
    Rachel’s father was silent for a few moments, deep in thought. Rachel thought she could hear typing and muffled voices. He was at the office, no doubt.
    “I’ll call a few people,” he finally said. “I’m sure we can arrange something. Nothing’s flying out, of course.”
    “Of course. Any news about hurricanes? Tropical storms?”
    “No one knows for sure. Things could be brewing, but it’s really hard to get in touch with the local offices. Just...be careful, okay? Try to act like there’s a hurricane barreling towards you.”
    “If that was the case, I probably wouldn’t do anything. I can’t drive in a hurricane.”
    “True, true. Well, I trust you. You’re smart.”
    “Thanks.”
    Rachel’s father always complimented his children instead of directly saying, “I love you.” For Rachel, it was always “You’re smart,” and for his son, it was “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” It never bothered Rachel. That was just how her dad was. Rachel never worried about the day when she stopped being smart, or if her brother made a questionable decision. At this point, saying “You’re smart” didn’t actually mean her father was telling her he knew she was intelligent; it meant “I love you” and that was that.
     

3.
    The rest of that day went by at an agonizingly slow pace. Rachel felt as if the Buckley’s were uncomfortably aware of her presence, so she camped out in the living room so they at least knew she wasn’t roaming unsupervised around the house. She scoured her memory for addresses or phone numbers of people she could turn to - family friends, old roommates, business contacts. Anyone. She jumped from Facebook page to Facebook page. If anyone seemed like a possibility, she messaged them. The only thing left to do was give up control and