The Day after Oblivion

by Tim Washburn

“No.”

  “How do you know for sure?” Brad asks.

  “I didn’t see him.”

  Brad curses under his breath, all thoughts of the reverse osmosis system gone. “Tanner, I’m going to watch our guest. Will you pull the anchor and motor us farther out to sea?”

  “Okay.” Tanner scrambles across the deck and pulls up the anchor before returning to the helm. He fires up the engine and spins the wheel, aiming for deeper water.

  Brad turns back to Nicole. “Do you have a family?”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “No kids?”

  “No. We had issues.”

  Brad mulls that over for a moment. “I’m sorry about your difficulties, but you’re leaving the boat at the first dock we come to.”

  CHAPTER 72

  Weatherford

  The continuing anxiety over Holly’s whereabouts and possible condition crowds into Gage’s brain, expelling the horrific images of the shoot-out on the road. Now nearing the Marston residence, he clicks on his headlamp to pinpoint the driveway, and turns the light off. The home is situated a hundred yards beyond the road, and Gage turns into the drive and pauses.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Henry asks in a whisper.

  “Straight on. I want to know what’s going on with Holly. When we get up to the house, I’ll shout out for Mitch and we switch on our lights.”

  “Are we worried about other intruders or, if Mitch is alive, him shooting us?”

  “I’m not worried about other intruders. The two I killed had probably just left here. And the odds of Mitch being alive are slim to none. Let’s just get this over with.” Gage clicks on his headlamp and starts off at a good clip, Henry struggling to keep up. Gage shouts Mitch’s name as they approach the house. There is no movement and no reply. A dozen steps later, they find the reason. Mitch is lying in the front yard, his throat slit, the ground around him soaked with blood. Gage grimaces, but continues on, making his way toward the front door. The door is ajar, and Gage nudges it open with the barrel of the shotgun. “Cindy, it’s Gage Larson,” he says into the dark void beyond. “Cindy?” Nothing. “Josh, Jacey, are you in there?” Josh is six and Jacey is four.

  When he receives no answer, Gage turns to Henry and whispers: “You stay here to cover me.”

  Henry nods.

  Gage takes a deep breath and steps through the door. The metallic scent of spilled blood is heavy in the confined space. He scans from left to right, the flashlight beam lighting up the scene. Furniture is overturned, lamps lie broken on the floor, and the cushions on the sofa have been sliced open. The rage builds as Gage walks deeper into the house. He steps into the dining room and nearly collapses to his knees. Cindy is lying nude on the dining room table. Her throat, too, has been cut, but that’s not the extent of her injuries. Her breasts are covered with bite marks and blood is still leaking around the broom handle shoved into her vagina. Gage gags, puts a hand over his mouth, and turns away. He spends a moment trying to regain a sliver of composure before shuffling down the hallway.

  Knowing he must check on the children, he tamps down the sudden urge to flee. He turns into the first bedroom, the light washing across pink-painted walls. The letters of the alphabet are displayed on a high shelf running around the perimeter of the room, and the bed, covered with a cartoon character comforter, is empty. Gage steps over to the closet door and eases it open. Jacey is lying on the floor, nude, her throat slit. He moans with despair at the bite marks and the blood pooled around her hips. Turning away, the ember in his gut ignites into a roaring fire. His vision blurry from the tears, Gage eases the door closed and hurries down the hall, opening the door to Josh’s room. On the walls are posters of past Oklahoma Sooners football greats, and on the bed, is Josh. In addition to his throat being slashed, Josh has also been gutted. Tears dripping from his cheeks, Gage hurries to the front door and runs from the house, collapsing to his knees in the front yard and burying his face in his hands.

  Henry walks over, kneels down, and wraps an arm around Gage’s shoulder. The sobbing continues for several moments. That tiny morsel of remorse Gage felt for killing the two men is wiped from his mind. He’s now wishing the men had endured a long, agonizing death. He wipes his eyes and pushes to his feet. With no words of what he had found in the house, he lurches down the driveway, Henry following behind. They walk the remaining distance in silence before turning into the doctor’s neighborhood.

  Walking up and down the neighborhood streets, they’re searching for Gage’s old pickup. On the third street they find it parked behind a white Volvo, the doors hanging open. Gage quickens his pace and lunges up the steps, wrapping his knuckles on the door. When the door is not immediately opened he makes a fist and pounds on the door.

  Henry steps up to the porch, winded. “Easy, Gage, you’re going to wake the entire . . . neighborhood.”

  Gage whirls around, a snarl forming on his lips. But seeing the empathy on his father-in-law’s face drives the anger from his body. Henry knows that what Gage had seen in that house has shaken him to his core. He turns back when the door opens, revealing a man holding a pistol. “I’m Holly’s husband and this is her father.”

  The man lowers his weapon and steps back, allowing them to enter. “Take the hallway to the left. They’re in the master bedroom.”

  Gage nods and props the shotgun against the wall before making his way down the corridor. The far door is ajar and he slowly pushes it open. Holly is on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Susan is sitting next to her, holding her hand. Holly’s doctor, Eliana Samia, is standing off to the side, holding something in her arms. Gage’s heart drops. “Holly?”

  Holly sobs. “I’m sorry, Gage.”

  Gage hurries to her side, taking her other hand. “We lost the baby?”

  Holly sobs again. “No, Olivia’s healthy.”

  Gage exhales a long, deep breath.

  “I’m just sad you weren’t here for the birth.”

  The doctor places the swaddled infant on Holly’s chest and slips from the room. Gage sags onto the bed, another round of tears leaking from his eyes as he cups his daughter’s head in his hand.

  CHAPTER 73

  Weatherford

  The old pickup is a single cab, and the Reeds climb into the back while Holly and the baby join Gage up front. He fires up the truck, clicks on the headlights, and backs out of the drive. “Olivia, huh? I thought we were still deciding.”

  “Oh, Gage, she looks like an Olivia. Don’t you think?”

  With no clue what an Olivia is supposed to look like, Gage shifts into first gear and motors out of the neighborhood. Rather than driving past the bloody Mustang, Gage heads straight on the main road. It’s two miles out of the way, but Gage doesn’t want to recount their trip to the doctor’s house.

  “Why did you wait so long to come?” Holly asks.

  “We didn’t know where the hell you were.” Gage pauses, checks his tone. “Why didn’t you leave a note, honey?”

  “Didn’t have time. My water broke in the entryway as Mom was helping me to the truck. I guess we sort of panicked.”

  “How long were you in labor?”

  “I was dilated to five by the time we got there. I didn’t have to push long before she came out.”

  “When did you leave the house?”

  “Just before dark. Sorry you had to walk home and then walk to the doctor’s house.”

  Images of the shoot-out on the road flash in Gage’s mind. “It’s okay.” They ride in silence the next few miles until they reach the Reed residence. Gage pulls up close to the front door and her parents climb out to help Holly and the baby into the house before he pulls around the house and parks the truck in the barn. After closing and locking the barn door, he heads for the house. Holly, exhausted and sore, has retreated to the bedroom with Olivia. Gage says good night to his in-laws and retreats down the hall, easing the door open to find Holly sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at their child.


  “Isn’t she beautiful, Gage?”

  Gage sits down next to Holly and pulls the blanket away from Olivia’s face. This is the first time he’s seen his daughter in the light. The candles at the doctor’s house didn’t do her justice. “Yes, she is. She looks just like her mother.” He wraps an arm around his wife, as they both stare at the tiny human they created. “Think she’s going to have red hair like her mother?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a blessing and a curse. But if she is, we better buy stock in a sunblock company.”

  Gage chuckles. “We didn’t bring the crib. Where’s she going to sleep?”

  There’s a soft knock on the door and Henry, carrying a small bassinet, pushes into the room. “This was Alyx’s and Holly’s,” he whispers. “We couldn’t bear to part with it.” Henry places the bassinet in the corner and slips out of the room.

  “I guess that answers my question. I can’t believe they’ve kept that for all these years.”

  “There’s no telling what those two have stashed in the attic. Will you hold her while I take a quick shower?”

  “How . . . how do I do it?”

  Holly laughs. “She’s not going to break, Gage.” She turns and places Olivia in her husband’s arms. “Just make sure you support her head.”

  Gage positions one of his big paws under Olivia’s head. “I wish my dad would wake up so he could see her.”

  Holly pushes slowly off the bed and turns, placing a hand Gage’s cheek. “I don’t think your father’s going to wake up, sweetheart.” She leans in and tenderly kisses Gage on the lips. “We’ll take her over to your parents’ house in the morning.”

  Gage nods, tears shimmering in his eyes. “Okay.”

  Holly gives Gage another kiss before tottering toward the bathroom, bracing against the furniture for support. Gage shoulders away a tear, thinking how one person leaves the world and another arrives. He lifts Olivia to his lips and kisses her cheek and nuzzles his nose against her soft skin. He’s in the same position when the lights flash off.

  “Gage,” Holly shouts from the bathroom, “what happened to the power?”

  With the baby held tight to his chest, Gage feels his way in the dark toward the bathroom. “I don’t know. Are you okay?”

  “Other than the shampoo still in my hair? Yes, I’m okay. Will you go find out what happened to the generator? I need water to finish up.”

  “What am I supposed to do with Olivia?”

  “Hand her off to my mother.”

  There’s a knock on the door and Henry enters with a couple of flashlights. “Are you out of propane?” Gage asks, taking one of the flashlights and clicking it on before placing it on the dresser.

  “Not possible. It was eighty percent full the last time I looked. And that was only a couple of days ago.”

  “Think there’s an issue with the generator?”

  “Don’t know,” Henry says. “You mind helping me?”

  Gage follows Henry into the living room and hands Olivia off to Susan before he and Henry make their way outside. At the propane tank Henry flips up the lid to look at the gauge. “Goddammit, how could that be?”

  “Empty?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way the generator burned that much fuel.”

  “Could it have leaked out?”

  “Why would it all of the sudden spring a goddamn leak?”

  “I don’t know, Henry, but the gas went somewhere.”

  Henry runs his hands over the fittings that connect to the underground line that feeds the generator. “All the connections feel tight.” He scans the flashlight over the pipe going into the ground. “Everything looks good here. You see anything?”

  “No,” Gage says. He makes his way over to the generator, which is parked up close to the house. He checks the gas pipe connection at the generator and all appears well. With the flashlight, he follows the pipe to where it exits out of the ground. “Henry, I’ve found the problem.”

  Henry hurries over. He looks at the ground Gage is highlighting with the flashlight beam. “Are those metal shavings?”

  “Yep.” Gage focuses the light on a section of the pipe. “And there’s your leak.”

  Henry kicks the ground with his boot. “Son of a bitch. Somebody drilled a hole in the gas line?”

  “Looks that way,” Gage says. “They must have done it while we were gone.”

  “But, why?”

  “I guess they thought they’d level the playing field.”

  “I bet it was that cocksucker Ed Yancey. He raised hell about the expansion of the wind farm last year. That bastard could have blown the house up.”

  “They probably turned the gas off, drilled the hole, and turned it back on. We might never know who did it. And Yancey will deny it. Not much we can do about it now.”

  “You wait until I see that cocksucker again.” Henry mutters a string of curse words. “We now need that turbine up and running as quickly as possible.”

  CHAPTER 74

  Des Moines

  McDowell opens his eyes as the first hints of daylight stretch across the landscape. He pushes out of the chair and stands. Either the night was quiet or he slept through another shoot-out. He clicks on his flashlight and smothers the lens. Nope, the Glock is still resting on the table and Melissa and Lauren are snuggled up on the sofa. With the glass gone from the front door, the reception area is chilly. McDowell grabs the pistol and stuffs it into his waistband then slings the shotgun over his shoulder and steps outside to take a piss. It’s cold enough that the warm urine produces a cloud of vapor when it hits the grass. He laments the loss of his uniform jacket as he zips up and walks around the corner to check on the fire. A smattering of pale orange embers are glowing and he stokes them before adding more wood. Once the fire is going good, he retraces his steps back inside, rubbing his arms to get the blood moving.

  In the reception area, Melissa and Lauren are awake and having a discussion with one of the students. McDowell knows the faces, but he hasn’t yet attached all the names. Rather than eavesdrop, he begins a search through the offices for some type of jacket. He’s on his second office when Lauren steps inside and closes the door.

  “Lindsey says Hannah went to the bathroom sometime during the night and has not returned.”

  “I thought they were supposed to go together?”

  “According to Lindsey, Hannah wouldn’t allow her to go outside with her. Hannah apparently told her she didn’t want anyone watching her taking a crap.”

  “Maybe she crashed in another office.”

  “I don’t know, but we have to find her.”

  Melissa, Lauren, and McDowell grab flashlights and fan out through the building. McDowell searches the nicer offices before moving on to the conference room. He shines the beam under the table, in the storage closets, and the small adjoining bathroom. No sign of Hannah. He moves down the corridor, searching offices, restrooms, and closets—anywhere a fourteen-year-old girl might hide. He comes to the end of the corridor and turns back, searching the areas again. Still no sign of Hannah. A tingle of dread prickles his neck. He hurries to the area Lauren and Melissa are searching. “Any sign?”

  “No,” Lauren says. “The only place we haven’t searched is the kitchen.”

  McDowell reaches back and grabs the pistol, pulling it free. He hands the gun to Lauren. “I’ll check the kitchen. I want you to gather the kids in the conference room and keep them there.”

  “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing good. I’ll make a sweep of the kitchen then I’m headed outside. Do not let any of them out until I give you the all clear.”

  “Stan, what’s going on?” Melissa asks, her face a mask of worry.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” McDowell hurries to the kitchen and does a quick sweep before moving to the back door. He unslings the shotgun and steps outside, pausing to listen. The only noise he hears is the rustle of leaves in the early-mornin
g breeze. It’s light enough now, and he tucks the flashlight into his pocket, allowing both hands free to handle the shotgun. Veering by the truck he peeks into the cab—no Hannah. Now the tingle is a full-on rush.

  Starting from the hood of the truck, he walks a zigzag pattern through the greenbelt, methodically searching the ground. When he reaches the residential street he increases his pace as he hurries up to the next block, scanning both sides of the road. The road dead-ends and McDowell stops and turns a circle, his brain processing what his eyes see. He spots a small park a block over and hurries that way, slowing when he nears. There’s a three-person swing set, a slide, and two rotting teeter-totters attached to an iron pole, the wood planks sagging under their own weight. But still no sign of Hannah.

  McDowell slowly approaches a small cluster of trees that are dominated by a large white oak, its graceful limbs arching over most of the park. As he fights through the brush, his nose picks up the first hint of trouble—the scent of blood. He pushes into a clearing surrounding the massive trunk. The ground is littered with beer bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms. He leans forward to peer around the trunk, already knowing what he’s going to find. Hannah’s body is lying among the refuse of a previous life. McDowell steps around the trunk and kneels down, checking for a pulse as a red-hot rage ignites in his inner core. Hannah’s skin is cold to the touch and her jeans and panties are puddled around her ankles. McDowell drops back on his haunches to gather himself.

  Could the killer be a part of their group? McDowell lets that thought tumble around his mind for a moment. Not likely, he decides. The students have been together for almost three weeks with no hints of violence. And McDowell hadn’t picked up any vibes that evil is lurking in the group over the last few days.

  With the smoke-filled skies, it’s dark in the underbrush. McDowell clicks on his flashlight and leans forward, examining Hannah’s body. Blood has soaked the ground near her vaginal area, but that wouldn’t have killed her, McDowell reasons. He pulls up her T-shirt, and working methodically up her body, searches for gunshot or stab wounds and doesn’t find any. Her breasts are bruised and covered with bite marks. Moving up to her head and neck area, he finds heavy bruising around the base of her neck with some elongated bruising that stretches nearly all the way around. He sits back on his haunches and sighs. Hannah had been raped and strangled. He picks up Hannah’s right hand and finds a hunk of flesh under her middle fingernail. He leans forward to check the left hand and finds more flesh under the nail on her left index finger. Whoever it was, she scratched the bastard good. McDowell takes a moment to pull up Hannah’s pants and pushes to his feet, returning to the office building.