The Day after Oblivion

by Tim Washburn

  “How far is it to Texas?” one of the girls, Amanda Brooks, asks. Fifteen, with long blond hair, Amanda hit puberty early and she’s much farther down the path in the breast department compared to the other girls— a fact that elicits some unkind comments on occasion making Amanda very self-conscious.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lauren says. “We’re taking this one day at a time. We get there when we get there. Worrying about the distance is wasted energy.”

  Amanda cocks her head, thinking about the answer. “Okay. But it’s a long way, right?”

  Melissa sighs. “Yes.” She can’t tell the kids how far it is because she doesn’t know. Stan had estimated the distance at a thousand miles plus, meaning if they average twenty miles a day the trip could take about two months. Tell that to a teenager who thinks a week is a long time and you risk mutiny before even beginning.

  Stan leans down to retrieve the flashlight. “Everyone ready?”

  There are a few groans but the teens scramble to their feet. McDowell leads them around the corner of the building and they cross the final runway. Dawn is breaking on the horizon as the group clears the perimeter fence. Across the street is a series of looted stores, including Home Depot and Target. Now on the main road, McDowell leads them south. He’s been to Minneapolis more times than he can count. If they can jog west to Interstate 35, one of the few highways to bisect the country from north to south, it’s a straight shot to Dallas and beyond.

  At East 77th Street, McDowell leads the group west. Two miles farther on they hit I-35. An hour and a half later they’re in Bloomington. There are other people traversing the highway, mostly families who look at the large group and shake their heads. McDowell calls another halt and, while the kids rest under the watchful eye of Melissa and Lauren, McDowell searches through a looted grocery store for any items left behind. He returns ten minutes later, empty-handed. “There’s nothing edible left,” he whispers to Melissa.

  She nods and prods the students to their feet. If they stretch it, the food they have might last a couple of days, but that’s not a very encouraging thought when facing a journey that could last for months. Melissa falls in behind the kids as they trudge down the highway. They shuffle past dead cars, some empty, some not. The first few incidents when they encounter the dead are fraught with hysteria, but that, too, fades as the miles pile up. Eventually, the children learn to quit looking.

  An hour later they pass over the Minnesota River and enter Burnsville. They pass another Home Depot, a ransacked strip mall that was once brimming with people as they shopped for electronics, shoes, or office supplies, and another looted Target. McDowell tells the group to continue on as he ducks into the Target. This time he bypasses the food section entirely and walks straight to the sporting goods area and finds what he’s searching for. He grabs a plastic bag and loads it with fishing gear before grabbing a handful of fishing poles. He hurries from the store and catches up with the group farther down the highway. He distributes the fishing poles to some of the kids and crams the gear into his suitcase. Minnesota is known as the Land of 10,000 Lakes. No reason not to supplement their diet with a few fish along the way.

  CHAPTER 33

  West Virginia

  After sleeping on the floor—neither had a hankering for sleeping on the blood-soaked bed—Zane and Alyx stir awake with the first light of the day. With the smoke in the atmosphere, the sun hasn’t made much of an appearance since the madness began. But still, the sun’s rays do brighten the world. Zane rolls over, stands up, and begins searching the kitchen. Alyx, raking her fingers through her hair, walks into the kitchen. “I’m going outside to pee. I’ll look around for a cellar.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Zane says, pulling open drawers. In one he finds more ammunition for the pistol, which he sets aside. Opening the bottom drawer, he finds two boxes of shotgun shells. “Pay dirt,” he mutters. He exits the kitchen and slips down the hallway, turning into the first bedroom. He rummages through the closet, checks behind the doors, and comes up empty. Stepping back out into the hallway, he inhales two deep breaths and opens the door to the second bedroom.

  With the windows open, the odor has diminished somewhat, but still lingers and probably will for weeks. The mattress cover is stained with bodily fluids and the flies are busy at work. He debates moving the mattress outside, but he’s eager to find the shotgun. After checking behind the doors, he wades into the overflowing closet. The man had been relegated to one tiny corner, the rest is jammed with dresses, shoes, and handbags—all cheaply made items, by the look of them. Behind a hanging rod jammed with dresses, he finds the shotgun. He pulls it out and carries it into the kitchen for a closer look.

  The gun is an ancient double-barrel and he cracks the breech open. Although old, the shotgun has been well cared for, the barrel covered by a thin layer of oil. Which seems strange when Zane considers how far back it was tucked in the closet. Most people with weapons prefer them close at hand. But around here people most likely slept with their doors unlocked, much like the door to this house, Zane reasons. He shrugs and sights down the inside of the barrel and finds it smooth and clean. He lowers the weapon and steps over to the counter, where he slides in two shells and closes the breech. He glances out the window to see Alyx racing around the side of the house.

  She eases the door open and hurries across the carpeted floor, coming to a stop next to Zane, whispering, “Someone’s coming down the road.”

  “How many?”

  “I saw three. Two men and a woman.”

  Zane holds up the shotgun. “They don’t know this house doesn’t belong to us.”

  “What if there are more?”

  He steps over to the coffee table to retrieve the pistol. He quickly reloads the two spent cartridges and tries to hand the pistol to Alyx. She holds her palms against her chest. “I don’t know how to shoot that thing.”

  “It’s easy. It’s a double-action revolver. All you have to do is pull the trigger.” He glances up to look through the window. “I’d really like you to cover me from inside the house.”

  “Why don’t we take what food we can find and just leave?” Alyx whispers.

  Zane steps closer to the window and peeks outside. He turns back to Alyx. “It’s too late. Pick up the gun.” He cocks the shotgun and steps out on the porch as the three people round the bend in the road. Luckily for Zane they’re all bunched up. They stop when they spot the shotgun aimed at their midsections. “Turn around and keep walking,” Zane says.

  One of the men breaks from the group, taking two steps forward.

  “Come any closer and I’ll blow a hole in your midsection large enough for your friends to put a hand through.”

  The man, with long, stringy hair and a full beard, stops. A small smile forms on his lips, sending a chill down Zane’s spine. “That ain’t no way to treat your fellow man. All we want is a little food.”

  “We don’t have any food. Now get the hell out of here.”

  The man jabs a finger in the air. “I’ll remember your face. Maybe we’ll meet up down the road.” He winks then turns and walks away, the other two following.

  The shotgun never wavers in Zane’s hand. He tracks their progress until they disappear from sight. With the shotgun still braced against his shoulder, he backs his way toward the door. “Alyx, we’ll go with your plan. Gather up all the food you can find.”

  Inside, Alyx scurries around the kitchen, throwing canned goods into her backpack. Once the pantry is cleaned out, she picks the revolver up and looks at it. After a moment of indecision, she tucks it into the waistband of her jeans and stuffs the pistol ammunition into the backpack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she makes her way to the door. “What about the smocks?” she whispers through the door.

  “Leave them. We should be safe from radiation now. And I need to be able to maneuver.”

  “Should we wait? Let them put some distance between us?”

  Zane lowers the shotgun and steps through the d
oor. “I don’t know, Alyx. My gut is telling me they’re not going anywhere. They could sit out there and wait us out for days.” Zane appears calm and collected, but inside, his heart is hammering. “Did you see a water well when you were out?”

  “Yeah, but it’s attached to an electric pump.”

  “No telling how deep the well is. It could take forever to pull the pipe and slip a bucket down there. And we’re now out of time.” Zane moves into the kitchen and takes a peek out the back door. “We could be walking into a firefight if we go out front.” He spots an old ramshackle barn about two hundred yards behind the house.

  “What did you see while you were outside?”

  “Mostly more junk. But there’s an old barn out there.”

  “I’m looking at it. Did you see any trails leading away from it? A way out?”

  “If there are trails or tire tracks, they’re overgrown.”

  Zane strides across the room and takes a position near the front window while his brain clicks through possible scenarios. Although Zane spent four years in the army and served one tour in Iraq, he has never been involved in close-quarters combat, other than a few training sessions with dummy bullets. Mostly he worked computers in the intelligence section, but even now the shotgun feels comfortable in his hands. He longs for a pump shotgun that can be loaded with six shells. But it is what it is. He returns to the counter and shoves a handful of shells into his pocket before putting the remaining ammo into his backpack “If we stay here they could burn us out. I like our chances outside. But we’re not going to be stupid about it. We’re going out the back door to the barn. We’ll stay low, keeping the house between the road and us. You’ll go first and I’ll follow a moment later. Sound like a plan?”

  “What if there’s not another way out once we get there?”

  “Then we’re moving through the tree line, back to the main road.”

  Alyx groans.

  Zane tightens the straps of her backpack and leans down and kisses her. “Only options we have. Ready?”

  Alyx nods and follows Zane to the back door. Zane slings his backpack over his shoulder and cinches down the straps. It’s heavy with all the canned goods stuffed inside, but it’s either grin and bear it or leave the food behind. He eases the door open far enough for them to slip through and gently closes it. He moves Alyx around to the front, allowing him the ability to shoot behind them. He taps her on the shoulder and Alyx takes off like a rabbit. And that’s when he realizes his first mistake—the canned goods are loud in the silence as they clatter around in her backpack. He winces and follows a moment later as they race toward the barn. The grass is hip high, making running difficult. A shot rings out behind them and Zane stops and drops to a knee, the shotgun coming up. He fires both barrels toward the far side of the house, where the shot had come from and pops the breech to reload. He glances behind him to see Alyx disappearing inside the barn.

  Zane takes a deep breath and lunges to his feet, racing for the safety of the barn. The footing is treacherous in the high grass, but Zane does his best to zigzag before finally reaching the door. He ducks inside, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grabs Alyx by the arm and leads her toward the back of the barn. “We . . . have . . . to keep . . . moving. Don’t . . . know . . . how many there . . . are.”

  At the back door, Zane pauses for two quick breaths before sliding the door open just far enough to look out. A line of scrub oaks runs from east to west about fifty feet behind the barn. “Okay, here’s what we are going to do. You still have the revolver?”

  Alyx reaches for the gun tucked into the waist of her jeans, but her hand comes away empty. Her shoulders slump and a moan of despair escapes her lips. Zane tilts her chin up. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve still have the shotgun. We’ll move on to plan B.”

  Alyx’s eyes are shimmering with tears. “I’m sorry, Zane. I should have put the pistol in the backpack.”

  “Water under the bridge, Alyx.” Zane pauses to think for a minute. “Okay. This is what we’re going to do. Give me ten seconds to get back to the front then take off for the trees. I’ll wait a few minutes and follow. I’ll be watching for a signal from you if you spot anyone coming up behind me. Just wave a hand and I’ll know to turn around. Ready?”

  Alyx nods.

  “Count to ten and take off.” Zane hurries back to the front of the barn. He eases the door open a sliver and squats down, the shotgun braced against his shoulder. Zane focuses his attention on the back of the house, but occasionally scans the field between the two structures. After several moments of watching and waiting, he spots movement out of the corner of his left eye. Zane pulls more shells from his pocket and places them on the dirt floor beside him. He’s determined to end this now. Otherwise, they’ll be looking over their shoulders for days to come.

  Scanning the field from left to right again, he spots the high grass moving unnaturally on the right side. One left and one right, about thirty yards apart. Zane hopes it’s only the two, or he’s going to have to do some pretty slick reloading. He takes two deep, calming breaths and waits, thinking how quickly life has changed. A week ago his hands were tickling the keys of his laptop and today his hands are grasping a shotgun, waiting to kill another human being. It’s hard for Zane to wrap his mind around. A grunt on the left pulls him back to the present.

  Like a covey of quail, the man on the left flushes from the high grass, hurrying for safety at the side of the barn, not knowing that Zane is crouching down by the door. Zane allows the man to draw closer before unloading the left barrel of the shotgun. The double-aught shot hits the man in the chest and he drops like someone had tripped him. Zane doesn’t need a second look to know the man is dead. He immediately shifts his focus to the right. The man on that side is up and firing a pistol at Zane’s position. It’s the smiling man. The bullets kick up dirt just in front of Zane and he hunkers down, waiting. When the man is less than ten feet away, he unloads the other barrel. It hits the man center mass and blows a section of the man’s rib cage away, creating a red mist that floats in the air. With the man still falling, Zane quickly reloads and waits.

  After several minutes, and no other sign of movement, Zane slips back inside the barn and eases the door closed. He strides toward the back and, on the way, discovers a door he hadn’t seen before. He steps over and pulls it open. “I’ll be damned,” he mutters before hurrying to the rear door and waving Alyx back in.

  She shoots him an angry glare, but wades back through the brush and arrives back at the barn. “I thought we were going out that way?”

  Neither makes mention of what just occurred. “Change of plans,” Zane says. “Follow me.” He leads her back to the recently discovered door and swings it open.

  Alyx steps inside. “What makes you think it runs?”

  “We didn’t see any other vehicles in the yard, other than those junkers up on blocks. This has to be their everyday vehicle.” Zane steps over and cracks the door open. “Keys are in it.” It is a 1976 Chevy half-ton pickup, painted harvest gold with a strip of lighter yellow running horizontally through the middle of the body.

  “It’s more rust than truck,” Alyx says.

  “I don’t care.” Zane slides across the tattered seat and clicks the key over a notch and discovers the truck has a half tank of fuel. “Alyx, look around for a gas can.” He twists the key all the way and the old pickup fires to life. Leaving it running, he jumps out to help in the search. He finds an old water hose and cuts off a few feet, tossing it into the bed as Alyx returns with a five-gallon gas can. From her lack of strain, he knows it’s empty. “Toss it in the bed. We’ll siphon gas from some of the dead cars along the road.” Zane takes a quick look around for other items they may need and scores when he discovers a partial case of bottled water near the back doors of the garage area.

  He swings the doors open and snatches up the shotgun, returning to the front of the barn for another look. There is no further movement—the two dead men a deterrent again
st another approach. Zane hurries back to the truck and jumps behind the wheel. “I’m going hit the driveway pretty fast. We still don’t know how many people are around that bend.”

  Alyx searches for the seat belt and finds a frayed fragment, the rest probably cut out years ago. Zane backs out of the barn and drops the old truck into gear. He shoots across the pasture and veers around the house. When he hits the dirt road, he floors it. When they reach the bend in the road, they discover a group of fifteen to twenty people who scramble to get out of the way. Before they can react, Zane blows by them. He slows to make the turn onto the main road then feeds the big V-8 more gas.

  CHAPTER 34

  Saddle Rock

  After a long, tearful night, Brad and Tanner Dixon are up early at the YMCA. Tanner, who lost his sister and his mother on the same afternoon, had spent most of the evening asking why. Brad, also still dazed, had few answers. After much discussion, they both decided it was time to leave their temporary shelter. Brad walks across the floor and puts his wife’s things into the donation box before returning to retrieve his backpack. Tanner grabs his stuff and the two ascend the stairs, stepping outside.

  The sun is a hazy smudge on the horizon as they strike out down the road, headed back to their damaged house. Not to live, but to retrieve a few items and all the remaining food. They turn right on Middle Neck Road, surprised at the number of people out and about. The area is fairly secluded and it appears the town hasn’t yet been inundated by the unwanted. Nevertheless, Brad and Tanner avoid direct eye contact.

  At the corner, the CVS has been plundered, with garbage and abandoned shopping carts littering the parking lot. When they reach the next intersection they discover the sushi restaurant ransacked and, across the street, all the glass is shattered at the local art gallery. Tanner sidles up next to his father. “Why would they break into the art gallery?” Those are the first words of the morning from Tanner. Brad will hear an occasional sniffle from his son and each instance breaks another piece from Brad’s heart. No twelve-year-old should be suffering the grief that Tanner is now dealing with.