The Day after Oblivion

by Tim Washburn

  The one thing an investment business never lacks is paper. After gathering up a handful, he returns to his fire spot. He shreds some paper and lights it. After adding more paper, the fire is ready for the wood. It looks well seasoned and doesn’t take long to ignite. McDowell returns to the storeroom. “Fire’s going. A couple of rules before we head out: No loud noises and I’ll be the one handling the flashlight.” He turns to Melissa. “Any luck in the kitchen?”

  “We found two dozen cans of food, mostly chili and soup, and a case of bottled water. I think the kids are wanting to sample the chili.”

  “That sounds really good to me. If you’ll dump it all in the big pot, we’ll get the party started.”

  After dinner, and after a nature call, the kids break into groups to bed down for the night. Because of their relative seclusion, and because of the possible side effects from the greasy chili, it’s decided the students could go outside in pairs if anyone needs to use the bathroom during the night. McDowell unslings his shotgun and settles into one of the leather wing chairs. Melissa takes the other and Lauren stretches out on the couch. McDowell reaches back and removes the Glock, placing it on a side table in case it’s needed during the night. He’s hoping like hell it isn’t.

  CHAPTER 66

  Weatherford

  It’s now full dark and there’s still no sign of Susan Reed. Gage’s worry meter is redlining as he sits on the trailer. Gage had left his flashlight with his tools, 260 feet up, and now, with the smoke-filled skies obscuring the moon and stars, it’s darker than a windowless room with a broken lightbulb. It was daylight when they descended the turbine, and climbing the treacherous tower ladder again, this time in the dark, is something neither he nor Henry is willing to risk. Without aid of a flashlight they start the journey home. The going is slow as they travel down the winding gravel drive, working their way to the main road. Gage peers into darkness, astounded by the total lack of light. The town is only a couple of miles away, yet you wouldn’t know it existed if you didn’t know for sure it was there. Add in the absence of vehicle headlights and the darkness is absolute. Gage trips over a limb and falls on his ass, losing all sense of direction. He pushes to his feet with no idea which way to go. “Henry?”

  “I’m here, Gage,” Henry says. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Say something else so I can find you.”

  “Did I mention how pissed I am at Susan? She knows better than to leave us out here in the dark.”

  Gage zeros in on his voice and shuffles in that direction, his hands extended, searching for contact. He brushes across the fabric of Henry’s shirt and they play handsy until Henry grabs one of Gage’s hands. “I’ve got you, Gage,” he says, locking hands with his son-in-law.

  “I’m worried something is happening with the baby,” Gage says. “That’s the only reason Susan didn’t show up.”

  “Gage, you’re going to worry yourself sick. Hell, the truck battery could be dead. Or maybe she had a flat or ran out of gas.”

  It’s difficult for Gage to know if Henry actually believes what he’s saying without seeing his face. “I put a new battery in last month, and the gas tank was full when we left home.”

  “Well, it could still be a flat or something else.”

  “It’s the something else that has me worried, Henry.”

  “Worrying about it is not going to do a damn bit of good. Here, take the other end of my belt. We’ll use it to stay together.”

  Gage reaches, finds the belt, and wraps it around his hand. “Which way is the main road?”

  “Good question. I think straight ahead. If we can stay on the gravel we should be in good shape. I didn’t pay any attention when we were coming in. How far to the main road?”

  “A couple hundred yards.”

  With no point of reference, they stumble on, hoping they’re traveling in the right direction. As if the gods were taking pity on them, a swarm of fireflies move up out of the creek bottom and fly in their direction. You don’t really realize how bright they are until you see them in a lightless world. By the hundreds, they keep coming, swarming high in the air, lighting the landscape in an eerie greenish yellow glow. Henry and Gage hurry along the gravel road, trying to imprint the layout ahead in their minds. The light fades moments later as the fireflies take a meandering flight back toward the creek.

  Henry and Gage walk for several moments and somehow lose contact with the gravel at one of the bends in the road. They keep plodding forward until Henry shouts, “Stop, Gage. We’ve hit the fence.” He curses as he tries to unhook his shirt from the sharp barbs. “We must be close to the road. We’ll have to walk along the fence line until we run into the cattle guard.” Once untangled, Henry places a finger on the upper wire and slowly walks to the right. With barbs every eight inches or so, the going is slow, and Henry nicks his finger more than once. Shuffle stepping and feeling for obstructions with his boots, Henry moves forward with Gage following closely behind, the belt grasped in his hand. Eventually, Henry comes to an iron post and feels around with his foot to find the cattle guard. Made out of pipe gapped every few inches, the guard is centered over a depression in the road and allows vehicle access without having to fool with a gate. The cattle won’t walk across it, but Gage has seen a horse cross one without even a second thought.

  They climb atop the cattle guard and cross, walking up a short incline to the paved road. They hang a right and move toward what they believe is the middle of the road and pick up the pace. Unless they run into a stalled car, the asphalt allows for quicker progress. “There’s the house,” Henry says.

  In the distance they can see the lights on at the Reed residence, the only one with the lights burning. With a beacon to lead them and a straight, smooth road before them, they gobble up the distance and turn up the drive after twenty minutes of walking. Gage’s old truck is gone, and a tingle of dread races down his spine. They hurry to the house and Henry swings the door open and they step inside. Henry stops just inside the door and Gage runs into the back of him. Peering over Henry’s shoulder, Gage spots the reason—a pool of watery blood on the entryway tile.

  CHAPTER 67

  Hayti, Missouri

  Zane and Alyx cross the Mississippi River as the muted sun sinks toward the water. After traveling fifty miles out of the way, they finally found a bridge that wasn’t being barricaded. They bounce across the bridge and pick up Highway 412 headed west. Zane glances at the gas gauge and winces. The needle is hovering above empty and they’re in the middle of nowhere. With the distance between houses measured in miles, they’re surrounded by fields planted with crops that will never be harvested.

  Zane glances over at Alyx. “We need fuel. And I could go for something to eat.”

  “How much gas do we have left?”

  “Not enough. How much food do we have?”

  Alyx digs through her backpack. “We have three cans of Spam and a sleeve of saltines. And the remaining protein bars. Maybe we can find an abandoned house up ahead.”

  “I doubt it. These farmers don’t like to stray too far from home.”

  “How would you know? Did you grow up on a farm? Here, you’ve been in my pants and I don’t know a damn thing about your previous life.”

  Zane glances her way. “The way Sarah talked, it sounds like that might be a common occurrence for you.”

  There’s a pause before Alyx says, “Do you want me to describe, in detail, the number of times and ways I’ve been fucked?”

  Zane’s can feel the heat in his cheeks. “No.”

  “Then don’t make statements like that.”

  They ride in silence the next few miles. Zane occasionally glances her way, but as the darkness deepens, he can no longer gauge her mood by her facial expressions. He leans forward and clicks on the headlights. It’s not like Zane is a saint. He can count the number of women he’s been with—if he uses both hands. They pass a sign welcoming them to Kennett and hit the town two miles later. The first store the
y pass is a looted Walmart Supercenter. Zane slows and whips a U-turn, pulling into the store’s parking lot. A good number of expired farm trucks dot the lot and Zane cruises through, pulling up next to an old Dodge.

  “Will you cover me with the shotgun?”

  Alyx grabs the shotgun, pushes open the door, and climbs out in silence. It’s nearing full dark, and Zane hurries to siphon the gas. He gets the gas to flow with the first suck and crams the hose into Old Goldie’s tank. Zane’s exhausted from the adrenaline spikes and ebbs from earlier in the day. His brain is working overtime to tamp down the images of the five people he shot. He’s not suffering regret, but it’s damn difficult to kill someone and not wonder if they had families, or others who cared very deeply for them. The hose gurgles and he pulls it out of both tanks and tosses it in the bed.

  “Good to go, Alyx.”

  Alyx squats to pee before pulling open the door and climbing into the cab. Zane scoots around the back and retakes his position behind the wheel. He glances Alyx’s way even though he can’t see her. “I’m sorry, Alyx. That comment was way out of bounds. I was no angel, either.”

  The silence is made longer by the darkness. Zane sighs, drops the truck in gear, and pulls out of the lot, making a right on 412. The evening is warm and muggy and there’s sweat dripping down Zane’s back, soaking his shirt. Food isn’t their only problem—they’re also going to need water soon. They travel in silence for another few miles, before Alyx finally speaks. “I bet you were a real player, weren’t you?”

  Zane can feel the heat rise in his cheeks again. “I wouldn’t say that. But yes, I’ve had relationships.”

  “How are those different from mine?”

  Zane searches for the right terminology. “Maybe in frequency?”

  Alyx sighs in the dark. “Whatever.”

  Zane knows that’s a dangerous word and remains silent as he slows to read a sign: ST. FRANCIS RIVER. They cross the bridge and Zane turns off onto a dirt road leading down to the water. The headlights reflect off the surface of the slowly moving water and Zane pulls deep into a thicket of trees and kills the lights and the engine.

  “What are we doing?” Alyx asks in a flat tone.

  “I’m wiped out. I’m going to rinse off in the river and sleep for a little while. Unless you want to drive?”

  “No,” Alyx says before pushing open her door and stepping out.

  Zane grabs a flashlight and the shotgun, and climbs out of the truck. Frogs are croaking, filling the night with sound. Zane clicks on his flashlight and shields the lens, picking his way down to the water. He sweeps the beam across the surface, looking for possible dangers, such as tree stumps or other obstacles. Finding none, he clicks off the light, lays down the shotgun, pushes off his shoes, and strips out of his clothes. Carrying his clothes with him, he slides out into the water. He spends a few moments rinsing out his filthy clothing before carrying them back to the bank where he spreads them out to dry. He returns to the water and drifts a little farther out, dunking his head beneath the surface and scrubbing his face. He pops back up and scans the riverbank, searching for Alyx’s flashlight. She’s not there, or if she is, she’s not carrying a flashlight. He drifts along with the current, cursing himself for broaching the subject of Alyx’s past. It’s none of his damn business and he knows it. Without warning something clamps on to his thigh, and fearing it might be a gator, he shouts and thrashes in the water, trying to push whatever it is away.

  Alyx pops up in front of him, laughing. “You’re forgiven,” she says, climbing into his arms and wrapping her long legs around his torso.

  CHAPTER 68

  Weatherford

  Gage is despondent, refusing to eat the small dinner Henry prepared. His gaze is repeatedly drawn to the foyer, where they discovered the pool of blood that Henry has since cleaned up. Sitting on the edge of the sofa with his face buried in his hands, Gage’s mind spins with possibilities—none of them good. They don’t know if the blood had been Holly’s or if Susan had somehow injured herself. And with no phones or other working automobiles, all they can do is wait. Gage pushes to his feet and paces the living room like a caged lion. Henry emerges from the kitchen with two highball glasses filled to the halfway point with bourbon. He passes one to Gage and sags into his easy chair.

  Gage gulps the bourbon in one swallow, the alcohol singeing his throat and landing heavily in his already roiling stomach. He places the empty glass on an end table and continues to pace. He glances at the clock again. It’s nearing 11:00 P.M. “Henry, do you know where Holly’s doctor lives?”

  “I know the neighborhood, Gage. It’s across the street from Prairie West Golf Club, but that’s a good five miles from here. And we don’t know for sure that’s where they are.” Henry watches as Gage paces to the far end of the room, turns, and retraces his steps. “You’re about to wear a hole in my wood floors, Gage.”

  Gage doesn’t even crack a smile as he continues pacing. “First my dad and now this,” he mutters.

  “Gage we don’t know what this is. You’re letting your imagination get the better of you.”

  Gage pauses his pacing. “Okay, Henry, what’s your theory?”

  “I don’t have a theory. And all you have are a bunch of suppositions.”

  “And a pool of blood in the entryway,” Gage says with a little too much heat in his voice.

  “It could be Holly’s water broke and she’s now delivering the baby.”

  “If that’s the case why hasn’t Susan returned to pick me up? I’m sure Holly would want me there, goddammit.”

  Henry takes a sip of bourbon, delaying. “I don’t know, Gage.”

  “Exactly. We don’t know a damn thing.” Gage tires of pacing and sags onto the sofa.

  “Maybe Susan is helping with the delivery,” Henry offers. “The doctor could probably use an extra pair of hands now that the hospital is closed.”

  Gage pushes out of the sofa. “I’m going over there.”

  “You don’t know where the doctor lives.”

  “I’ll look for the truck.” Gage pauses. “My shotgun is in the truck. Can I borrow one of yours?”

  Henry drains his bourbon and stands. “Only if you’ll let me go with you.”

  “No, you stay here in case they come back. I’ll take Arapaho Road over to Lyle. You can tell Susan to come pick me up.”

  “We could just as easily leave a note. Holly is your wife, but she’s also my baby girl, Gage. I’m as concerned as you are.”

  Gage’s anger evaporates. “I’m sorry, Henry. I know Holly is important to both of us. If you’ll write the note, I’ll get the shotgun.”

  “Grab my deer rifle and a handful of cartridges. I don’t have any expectations of trouble, but I’d feel more comfortable if we’re both armed.”

  Gage nods and heads down the hallway to Henry’s study. He and Henry, along with Gage’s father and brother, used to hunt every year, both birds and deer. But somewhere along the way Gage lost his taste for killing. The same feeling must have passed through the group because none of them have been hunting for several years. But that doesn’t mean any of them have parted with their guns. Chalk it up to life in small-town America. Gage enters the four-digit code and spins the wheel, unlocking the gun safe. Of course, with Henry being an engineer, the eight weapons are perfectly ordered by type and caliber, with a couple of handguns precisely arranged on the upper shelf. Gage selects the Kimber SuperAmerica for Henry. A bolt-action rifle, the weapon is chambered for the .308 Winchester cartridge—large enough to stop most anything on four legs and absolutely lethal for any two-legged species. Gage’s weapon of choice is a Browning 12-gauge pump shotgun, prized the world over for its close-in stopping power. After grabbing ammo for each from the bottom drawer of the safe, Gage relocks the door and returns to the kitchen. He lays the weapons and ammo on the counter. “Flashlights?”

  “In the utility room. I’ll grab them if you’ll load the guns.”

  Gage loads the rifle magaz
ine and seats it in place before feeding the double-aught shotgun shells into the shotgun. He puts a handful of shotgun shells in both pockets and lays out extra rifle ammo as Henry, carrying a pair of headband lights, returns from the utility room.

  He passes one of the lights to Gage. “They’ll allow us to keep our hands free.” Henry looks over the weapons on the counter. “Think we need a handgun?”

  “If we can’t get out of a jam with what we’re carrying, a handgun’s not going to do us a damn bit of good.”

  “Agreed. I left the note by the coffeepot. You ready?”

  Gage nods and heads toward the front door, his eyes lingering on the spot where the blood was found.

  CHAPTER 69

  North Atlantic

  With their movements cloaked by darkness, most of the crew from the USS New York is now aboard the destroyer, enjoying their first real meal in days. They’ll rotate with those crew members still on the sub so everyone has the opportunity for chow. After dinner in the officers’ mess, Captain Murphy leads Thompson and Garcia to the officers’ wardroom. He unlocks a file cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon, easily identifiable by its distinctive red wax top. Murphy gathers up three coffee mugs and pours an equal measure into each and passes them around.

  “Why aren’t you with a battle group, Murph?” Thompson asks.

  “We were delayed at port waiting on parts. We were on our way to join Carrier Strike Group Two when the world turned to shit.”

  “When did you leave port?” Garcia asks.

  “A week before it all started, and we haven’t refueled since. The fuel level is currently at forty percent and I have no idea when or how we’ll refuel.” Murphy drains his bourbon and pours himself another. “How long have you been out?”