The Day after Oblivion

by Tim Washburn

  “I need to grab the turkey from the truck.”

  “Go ahead. Try anything funny and I’ll splatter your insides all over that ugly-ass pickup.”

  With his hands still high in the air, Zane steps off the curb, grabs the turkey from Alyx’s outstretched hand, and returns. He passes it across, and the man opens the bag and takes a sniff. One carton of shells appears on top of the sandbags. Zane picks it up and opens the lid to make sure he’s not getting a box of ball bearings.

  “I’m a man of my word, too,” the man says around a mouthful of turkey. “It’s a damn shame that no one trusts anybody anymore.”

  Zane digs the pill bottle out of his pocket and places it on top of the sandbags. Another box of shells appears, but this time Zane doesn’t open the lid. “You in the military?”

  “Yep. Four tours in the sandbox. You?”

  “One.”

  “Hoorah,” the man says. “Probably ain’t no military left now.”

  “You’re probably right. How long have you been holed up in there?”

  “Since day one. Got a pretty good supply of water and grub. Wife left during the third tour. Just me now.”

  Zane scans the Barrett. “Had to fire that thing?”

  “Only once. I guess word spread.”

  “I bet. Nice doing business with you, soldier,” Zane says.

  “Back at ya. You be safe out there.”

  “Will do.” Zane turns and heads back to the truck. He waves before climbing inside.

  “That was a bonding moment,” Alyx says.

  “Hell, he’s not a bad guy. He’s in the same boat we’re in.”

  “Yeah, but he has a bigger gun in his boat.”

  Zane smiles and steers back to the main road. A mile farther on he spots an on-ramp and pulls back onto the highway.

  CHAPTER 85

  North Atlantic

  With the Chinese submarine destroyed, the USS New York is stalking the Chinese destroyer that is now ten miles off their bow. The distance is well within torpedo range yet Captain Thompson, much as he did with the Chinese sub, is holding fire until they close the distance. Cruising at a depth of 600 feet, the sub is running at full speed, hoping to sink the enemy destroyer before the USS Grant suffers further damage. Thompson is itching to talk with Murphy to find out exactly what his status is. Situations such as this are one of the negatives of submarine life—you’re enclosed in a metal tube with no windows, and situational awareness of the surrounding environment is limited to an array of computer-controlled sensors. Thompson decides to scratch the itch. “Q, slow ascent to periscope depth.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Quigley replies.

  The nose of the sub tilts up slightly and Thompson steps over to the sonar station. “Mr. Adams, what’s the status of the two surface ships?”

  “Grant is five miles off our bow. The enemy destroyer is ten miles from our position and seven miles from Grant’s location. Sir, Grant is currently turning only one screw.”

  “Could be she’s saving fuel.” Saying it doesn’t necessarily mean Thompson believes it. He steps back over to his command post. “Q, steepen the ascent.”

  The nose of the sub tilts up on a steeper angle and those standing lean forward to compensate. Thompson looks at Garcia. “Carlos, make sure we’re locked and loaded. Flood the tubes. The Chinese destroyer knows we’re here now.”

  Garcia steps over to the attack center and relays the captain’s orders.

  “Captain, we’re at periscope depth,” Quigley reports.

  “Periscope up. Comms, get me Captain Murphy.” Thompson steps over and catches the handles of the periscope as it ascends. He positions his face in the eyecups and walks a 360-degree circle. In the far distance is the Chinese destroyer, smoke billowing from the deck. He turns the scope and centers it on the USS Grant. There is visible damage but she appears to be watertight.

  “Captain, fish in the water,” Adams says.

  “Course and distance.”

  “She’s headed our way, sir. Ten miles out and closing.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Adams. Keep tracking her.”

  “Skipper, I have Captain Murphy on the radio,” the radio technician says.

  Thompson grabs a radio handset from above. “Murph, you there?”

  “I’m here, Bull. Good shooting down there.”

  “Thanks. What’s your status?”

  “We’ve sustained some damage, but nothing we can’t handle. Still having issues with the goddamn targeting computer. We hit the Chinese with a couple of missiles, but she’s still afloat. We’re currently turning one screw to conserve fuel.”

  “You tracking the torpedo she just launched?”

  “Torpedo nine miles and closing,” Adams says.

  “Yep, Bull. We’ll handle that one. Can you get close and launch a few torpedoes of your own?”

  “Working on it, Murph.”

  “Another fish in the water, Skipper,” Adams says. “Same course, ten miles and closing.”

  “Murph, they launched another torpedo.”

  “We’re tracking it. We’ll handle any that come your way.”

  “Roger. See you on the other side. Thompson out.” He clicks the radio handset back in place. “Dive, take us down to four-zero-zero. All ahead full.” As his orders are carried out, he turns to the sonar tech. “Mr. Adams, status of the torpedoes?’

  “Torpedo one is seven miles out and closing at sixty knots. Fish two is at eight miles.”

  “Thank you,” Thompson says.

  Seconds later, Adams says, “Detonation, Skipper. Enemy torpedo one destroyed.”

  As the blast wave from the first explosion washes over the hull, Adams announces another detonation. “Enemy torpedo two destroyed.”

  The second blast wave hits and Thompson steps over to the sonar station. “Distance to enemy destroyer?”

  “Eight miles, Skipper,” Adams says.

  “Thank you, Mr. Adams.” Thompson wipes a hand across his brow and flicks away the sweat that had accumulated there.

  “Two enemy torpedoes in the water,” Adams says. “They’re targeting the Grant, sir.”

  “Roger,” Thompson says, turning to Garcia. “We’re going with the same game plan we used for their sub. Hopefully they’ve lost us for the moment. Might be one reason they’re back to targeting Grant again.”

  “Unless they’re baiting a trap,” Garcia says.

  Thompson scowls. “Don’t jinx us, Carlos.” Thompson turns to the sonar station. “Distance to target?”

  “Six miles, sir.”

  Thompson walks over to the navigation area. “Mr. Patterson, I want to slip in behind her.”

  Patterson confirms the order, and the boat makes a slow turn to the right.

  “Mr. Adams, target’s speed?”

  “She’s turning fifteen knots, Skipper.”

  “Any indication she’s towing her sonar?”

  “Negative.”

  “Good. Mr. Patterson, let me know when we’re within a mile of target,” Thompson says to the navigator.

  After six minutes of running in silence the target is now one mile out. Thompson steps over to the attack center. “Mr. White, you have the firing solution?”

  “Yes, Skipper,” White replies.

  “Fire tubes one and two and stand by three and four.”

  “Firing tubes one and two,” White says.

  The sub shudders as the torpedoes are shot out of their tubes.

  “Fish away,” White says. “One mile to target.”

  The bridge is silent. With the enemy ship moving away from them at fifteen knots, it’ll take better than a minute for the torpedoes to reach their target.

  “Fifteen hundred yards to target,” White says.

  “Roger,” Thompson replies. “Conn, left ten-degrees rudder.”

  White, the weapons officer, fine-tunes the resolution on his video screen. “One thousand yards to target.”

  Thompson nods and crosses his arms. There ar
e currently twelve people on the bridge and it’s quiet enough that Thompson can hear his own heartbeat. He removes his cap, mops his brow, and puts the hat back on. His hand drifts down to his face, where he rubs the stubble on his chin.

  Moments later, White says, “Two hundred yards.” Then seconds later, “Direct hit, sir. Both torpedoes.”

  This time the cheer on the bridge is not muted. Once the shouts and high fives have died down, Thompson orders the sub to periscope depth. Minutes later the sub levels off and Thompson orders both periscopes up. He takes one and Garcia the other, both walking a circular path until the Chinese destroyer comes into view. The captain triggers the video camera. “Punch periscope one up on the video system,” he orders. When the image of the destroyed enemy ship appears on-screen, the crew’s cheer can be heard all across the boat.

  CHAPTER 86

  Weatherford

  Gunshot victims are a rare occurrence in a small town like Weatherford, and Susan was shocked to find her husband with just that. After berating her husband with a few choice words, she is now tending to the wound while Gage and Holly share a private moment with Olivia in their bedroom.

  “What happened to the two men who attacked you?” Holly asks. She pulls up her top and settles the baby against her breast.

  Gage spends a moment considering how to frame his answer then says, “They didn’t make it. Let’s just leave it at that.” Gage gently rubs a hand across the fine hairs on his daughter’s head. “Is your milk in?”

  “No.”

  “Are we worried about that?” Gage asks, tentatively.

  “Not yet. The doctor said Olivia should get enough colostrum to satisfy her for a day or two.” She readjusts the baby’s position and uses her free hand to put Olivia’s mouth on her nipple. “How much danger were you two in?”

  “Well, it’s never a real good thing to have people shooting at you. I was up in the tower, so your dad got the worst of it. It was mostly over by the time I made it to the bottom.”

  “Mostly?”

  Gage turns his gaze to his daughter, refusing to look his wife in the eyes. Holly still doesn’t know about his encounter with the Marston family killers. “It was over. I just had to get your dad to the pickup.” Gage pushes up off the bed and stands. “I need to run back out there and tidy up.”

  Holly scowls. “What do you mean, ‘tidy up’?”

  Gage ignores her question. “Can we run over to my parents’ when I get back?”

  Holly moves the baby to the opposite breast. “Yeah, but how long are you going to be gone? How’s the work on the wind turbine going?”

  “Not more than an hour or two, hopefully. As far as the turbine goes, we’ll know more tomorrow. But it’s looking good. Hopefully we’ll have the water well pumping soon. I need a bath.”

  “I noticed,” Holly says, playfully pinching her nose.

  “I don’t think any of us are a bed of roses. How’s the pain?”

  “It’s tender as hell down there and you’ll be lucky to ever venture into that territory again.”

  Gage smiles. “I’m going to need to venture down there if we’re going to have more babies.” He leans down and kisses Holly on the forehead. “I’ll probably be fighting you off in a few weeks.”

  Holly gives his arm a small pinch and bats her eyelashes. “Maybe.”

  Gage laughs. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He exits the bedroom and pauses in the kitchen to check on Henry. “How’s the wound look, Susan?”

  The bottle of bourbon is sitting on the table, a half-empty glass next to it. Several candles are burning, creating a mix of smells—lavender, vanilla bean, sugar cookies, pumpkin pie—that permeate the room, all courtesy of Bath & Body Works. Susan, equipped with a headlamp, is operating. “It’s pretty clean. I pulled out a couple of threads and did my best to disinfect the area. All that’s left is to bandage him up.”

  “I’m here, you know.” Henry says, a slight slur in his voice. “Feels like someone ran a hot poker through my arm, Gage.”

  “How’s the medicine going down?” Gage asks.

  “It takes the edge off. I’ll know more after the next glass.”

  Gage smiles. “I’m going to run out to the turbine and do some tidying up.”

  “Want me to come with?” Henry asks.

  “No,” Susan and Gage say in near unison. Susan begins wrapping a bandage around her husband’s arm. “You’re gonna sit your butt on the sofa and finish your bourbon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Henry replies, reaching for his drink with his good arm.

  Gage ducks into the utility room and grabs a flashlight. It’s not dark yet, but it will be in a couple of hours and he has no idea how long his task is going to take. He steps outside and heads to the barn for a rope and a shovel, before firing up the pickup.

  Minutes later, turning down the road to the turbine, he slows, scanning for other threats. He’s still shocked that two people attacked them just to steal the truck. But when people are desperate, rational thinking goes out the window, Gage surmises. Not seeing anyone, he eases down the gravel drive.

  When he nears the first body, he whips the truck around and backs it up. He climbs out and spends a few moments deciphering the best way to approach the issue of body disposal. Neither man is small and Gage estimates that each weighs north of two hundred pounds. Lifting them into the pickup is going to be a chore. Not to mention the worry over the bodily fluids that continue to ooze from both. Gage thinks, briefly, of burying them where they lie but it probably wouldn’t be long before a pack of hungry dogs came along and dug them up. And digging in the hard clay would consume too much time. He makes his decision and lashes the rope around the ankle of the first man and ties it off on the trailer hitch. He climbs back in the truck and drags the first body over to the second. After tying on the second body, he slides behind the wheel, wondering what to do now.

  There aren’t any trees or brush piles, only plowed fields in the entire 640-acre section. Dragging the bodies down the road to another piece of property is out of the question. Knowing the fields won’t be worked anytime soon, he drops the truck into gear and steers for the plowed field ahead. When he’s a good distance away from the turbine and somewhat centered in the field, he climbs out and unties the rope, tossing it into the back.

  Back on the road, he stops by the Reed home to pick up Holly and Olivia before working their way to the other side of town. Gage pulls into the drive of his boyhood home and climbs out to help Holly and Olivia out of the cab. Gage pauses to take a long, calming breath before approaching the front door. His mother steps out of the house, her eyes red and her cheeks damp. Gage knows his father is gone.

  “When?” Gage asks.

  “This morning.” Ginny moves aside to allow them in the house and she gets her first glance at her grandchild. She takes the baby from Holly and nuzzles her nose against her soft cheeks. “Aren’t you beautiful . . .” She glances at Holly. “Which name did you two pick?”

  “Olivia,” Holly replies.

  Ginny turns back to the baby. “You’re beautiful, Olivia. Welcome to the world.”

  Gage steps tentatively into the living room. Raymond Larson is lying on the bed, the sheet pulled up to his chin. Gage shuffles over to the side of the bed and places a hand on his father’s forehead. The skin is cool to the touch and Gage’s hand drifts up where he fingers the last remaining tufts of his father’s silvery hair.

  His mother steps up beside him and places a hand on Gage’s back, the other still cradling Olivia. “We wanted you to have a chance to say good-bye, son. I’m sorry he won’t get to meet this beautiful little girl.”

  “Did he ever wake up?” Gage asks, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “No.”

  Gage nods. “Was he in pain?”

  “No. We had some leftover Oxycontin from his shoulder surgery last year. I’ve been crushing them up and mixing them with a little water to spoon into his mouth. He drifted away peacefully this morni
ng.”

  Gage turns away. “I’ll get Garrett and we’ll dig the grave.”

  “It’s already done. Your brother’s been working on it for the past couple of days.”

  “Where?” Gage asks.

  “Under that big oak tree by the barn.”

  Gage wipes away a tear. “That was his favorite place.”

  “I know, honey,” Ginny says, stroking her free hand across Gage’s broad shoulders.

  “He used to come in out of the field, grab a couple of cold beers from the fridge, and sit out there until dinner. It’s perfect.”

  “That’s what we thought, too. I’ll get him fixed up if you want to go round up Garrett, Juliet, and the kids.”

  Gage turns to take one final look at his father, as Holly shuffles over and puts a hand around his waist. “He’s gone too soon, babe,” Gage mutters, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Gage.” Holly takes her husband’s hand and threads her fingers through his. “Come on, we’ll walk down to your brother’s house.” Holly leads Gage away from the bed.

  At the door, Holly takes Olivia from Ginny and snuggles the baby against her chest. They step outside and walk toward Garrett’s house, two hundred yards away. The home is a well-kept three-bedroom rancher with a detached two-car garage that Garrett and Juliet built soon after their wedding. Gage hears a screen door slam and looks up to see his brother and the girls coming their way. Gage and Holly move into the shade of the old oak tree to await their arrival. Both Emma and Elizabeth are in pigtails and the braids sway back and forth with each step they take.

  When they arrive, Garrett steps up and gives his brother a hug before moving on to Holly. The girls squeal at the sight of Olivia as Gage steps over to give Juliet a hug. Together, they amble back to the house.

  “I would have helped you dig the grave,” Gage tells Garrett when they’re out of earshot.

  “I’m bored out of my mind. Gave me something to do,” Garrett replies.

  “Any of the tractors running?”

  “Nope. I guess the fields will lie fallow. I’ve got six hundred acres of corn in the south field and nothing to harvest it with.”