It felt like the Buckley’s home had been transported to a choppy sea. There was the shaking and rolling; the ground was made of a seething liquid. Glass shook, fell, and shattered. Books rattled off their shelves, followed closely by their bookcases. Candles fell on their sides, drowning in their own wax and casting the house into a jolting, crashing darkness. Outside, car alarms went off and trees groaned, disturbed from their roots to the tips of their leaves. “Earthquake!” someone shouted. Rachel’s teeth chattered in her head and she fumbled for something - anything - that she could hold on to. Something that would stabilize her. The earthquake lasted four seconds, but it might as well have been hours. Within a few blinks of an eye, anything that had not been nailed down was on its side or smashed into pieces. When the ground stopped moving, Mark turned on a flashlight.
What do You think about 6:00 Hours: A Dystopian Novel?
