---

“What are we going to do?” you would assume Lydia said. But it wasn’t Lydia. Women, in general, very rarely ask this question, because the truth is, women, in general, know the answer. Women only ask when they wish to flatter a man, or when they are in the company of another woman, and they wish to bond. They might listen to the answers of all the above, but at the end of the day, they always do what they think is best, regardless of advice, even if it is better or well-intentioned.

In this instance, however, Lydia had no wish to flatter any of the men on her task force, and there were no women to bond with, so she kept quiet. It was Bill who had asked the question, as Lydia already had the answer.

Most of the task force shrugged, except Lydia, who waited patiently for them to all catch up to the conclusion she already arrived at. It was Dave, the accountant, who came up with the first suggestion.

“I suppose,” he said, “We should do evidence taking? You know. Once the clock counts down to the last dong, we should split up and immediately note everything that happens. We will then have information, and information can be analyzed. We can, therefore, predict or estimate what the next turn of events will be from our information and determine if this is indeed a doomsday countdown, or merely a countdown to something unexpected. Like a balloon popping.”

“How should we split up?” Rammi asked, leaning in. They all peered at each other.

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” Lydia said. They all turned to her.

It was not the first time in her life that Lydia had been disappointed by the lack of logic that men had, which was surprising since they constantly boasted about being the more logical gender.

“The town is divided, naturally, by the main roads. But those main roads, when you look at them, naturally divide the town into twelve segments.”

She picked up the stylus and took the tablet from Dave. She then proceeded to draw a large circle, and sliced it up like a pizza.

“My goodness, I’ve never noticed that before,” Dave said. “Secondhand is literally a clock shape.”

“More of a pizza to me,” muttered Rammi.

“No, no, look, it’s a clock, see? It’s as Lydia said, there are twelve main roads.”

“Perhaps then,” Bill said, scratching his unshaven chin, “The name ‘Secondhand‘ refers to the hand of a clock, rather than discarded items.”

All three of the others stared at him. Lydia was impressed, as she had not realised that.

“What an outstanding observation,” Dave declared.

“But what about all those second-hand shops on 4th Ave? Are you saying they’re fake?” Lydia gasped. “I bought my pears from there…”

“You mean pearls?” Rammi intervened.

“No, I mean pears. The woman didn’t want them; she wanted apples.”

“So she pawned her pears?” Rammi said. “That must have been a steal.”

“It was,” Lydia announced. “You know, Rammi, I heard from Sarah, three doors down, who heard from a reliable source, that second-hand food has become a thing in one shop in particular…”

“Perhaps it is best if we stay focused,” Dave suggested. Dave was always surprised at the lack of skill that women had for multitasking, as they always boasted they were the better gender at it.

“What if, when the clock drops to zero, that is doomsday?” Bill asked. “What if it isn’t a countdown to the start of the end, but the actual end?”

“No, that couldn’t be correct,” said Dave. “You cannot start while one thing is still going. The one must end before the next can begin.”

“It also wouldn’t make for a good story,” Bill said. “The story can’t be: there is a town with a clock, and when the clock stopped, we all exploded, the end.”

“Are you implying we are characters in a story?” asked Lydia. “I’m glad I put my good underwear on. Imagine if I woke up this morning and didn’t? What would the narrator say? Here comes Lydia in my grandma’s bloomers.”

“I’m positive the narrator wouldn’t have said anything about your underwear, or cared about your underwear, until you started talking about your underwear, in which case now the narrator, and everyone reading this, knows you are wearing your good underwear.”

“Right,” said Lydia. “I’ll take nine and ten o’clock.”

“What?” Rammi asked.

“On our map. I’ll take nine and ten o’clock when that big, metal clock stops.”

“Oh, right,” said Rammi.

“Well, there are twelve segments, and four of us, so you’ll need to do one more, so that we each have three,” said Dave.

“Well, then I’ll take eleven, as well, then.”

“I’ll do one, two, and three,” said Bill. “I have to get up early anyway, so that I can get to the garden at four.”

“Can I do seven and eight, and then come back for twelve?” said Rammi. “I’ve got to pop the bread in the oven at ten.”

“Then I’ll do four to six,” said Dave. “That’s the first twelve hours of the day. We can meet at lunch right here, at this cafe.”

“Here at Grind and Gear?” said Rammi. “You don’t want to meet at my place? I have better food.”

“You know, Grind and Gear is another clock reference,” said Dave thoughtfully.

“What’s your cafe called?” asked Lydia.

“AAAGGG FLAPJACKS BUFFET”

“What?”

“MY SOCK! IT’S GONE”

“You know, those Toshi’s are getting out of control.”

There was a scampering noise with a whistle. They all turned to look, but only saw the lightest pink hues of fluff disappear around the corner.

“Here is fine,” Bill said, taking a sip of his coffee. He didn’t want to say it, but he knew where Rammi worked, and he thought that the coffee shop they were at right now was better. Rammi’s food was better, but they weren’t eating. They were drinking, and at Rammi’s place, the coffee tasted like dirty bean water.

“Then it is settled. Bill, you are on first watch. By my estimates, the clock should strike down tonight at 12. Make notes, and try not to get mud everywhere,” Dave said, brushing the table.

Bill shrugged. He was covered in mud. He had been wrestling with a rather stubborn turnip that morning that refused to be ripped up from the earth.

” I will meet you at the corner at four,” carried on Dave.

“Then it’s all settled,” said Lydia. “Well, gentlemen, I have to go now, as I have a gathering.”

They all nodded. This was it. This was the task team that would either save the town, the world, or be the combo that destroyed it.