Zero Hour
The next few hours were torture. The men downstairs smoked, checking their watches. Evan sat on the floor, hugging his knees. He thought about his mundane life: boring reports, lunch with colleagues, weekend plans. All of it now felt like a distant memory from a past life.
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“Why noon?” Evan asked when the clock neared 11:50. “Because at noon, the cycle closes,” Calder answered cryptically. He wasn’t shaking anymore. He was checking an old, battered watch on his wrist like a soldier before a raid.
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At exactly 12:00 PM, Evan’s phone stopped buzzing with notifications. And then, the sound of sirens pierced the air. Not one car, but dozens. But they weren’t coming to his house. They were wailing somewhere downtown, right where Evan’s office was located.
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Calder walked to the TV and turned it on. “Watch,” he said.