The Day after Oblivion

by Tim Washburn

  Melissa turns left and Jonathon lights the flashlight, shining the beam along the hard-packed earth stretched out before them. A mile down the road, Melissa stops the truck and they make a rapid transition. Melissa climbs into the back to take over flashlight duties while McDowell climbs behind the wheel. He eases out on the clutch as Melissa moves to the middle rear of the cab and stands, the flashlight extended in her hand. The light stretches only about twenty feet beyond the hood, and the going is slow, but at least they’re moving.

  CHAPTER 93

  Russellville, Arkansas

  A new day provided a turn of luck. Early this morning, Zane and Alyx had backtracked to Highway 89 and took it west to pick up I-40 coming out of Little Rock. Now approaching midday, they’re facing their first hiccup of the day. Passing through Russellville, the highway makes a steady ascent up a slight ridge to a summit that overlooks a once-tree-filled valley and a small lake now spewing steam. The only thing that suggests the valley was once covered with trees are the scorched tree stumps that stretch on for miles. Zane slows the truck to a stop. “What the hell is that?”

  Alyx leans forward in the seat for a better look out the windshield. “That is, or was, I should say, Arkansas Nuclear One.”

  Zane turns to look at Alyx. “They bombed a nuclear power plant?”

  Alyx shrugs. “Why not? If you’re going to launch nuclear weapons, targeting nuclear power plants is a no-brainer. What the bombs don’t get the melting cores will. They’ll spew radiation unchecked for years. Call it an added bonus or, from their perspective, good collateral damage.”

  The fires swept across the highway, cutting a wide swath through the rolling foothills to the north. In the far distance, smoke continues to rise from the surface. Zane returns his gaze to the road to see a group of people cresting the next ridge and shuffling in their direction. It’s a large group, probably twenty or more, and several are dragging makeshift travois. Zane reaches for the shotgun, and Alyx reaches out a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t, Zane. There are too many of them. Besides, it looks like a consortium of families. I count five little ones.”

  “That doesn’t make them any less dangerous. As a matter of fact, it makes them far more dangerous.”

  “I’m not sensing any hostility.”

  “Hell, they’re still a quarter of a mile away. Are you gifted with long-range ESP?”

  “Look at their body language, Zane. They can see us and yet there has been little response. I’d like to talk to them. Find out what’s over the next ridge past the power plant.” Alyx bends down and pulls their stash of meds out from beneath the seat. She pulls out one of the large bottles of antibiotics and stuffs the sack back under the seat.

  When the group is closer Zane can begin to distinguish physical features. It appears there are ten or eleven women, eleven children of varying ages, and eight males. One of the males, a short, burly man with a wiry beard, appears to be leading the group. Several of the others are pushing a shopping carts loaded with their supplies. Alyx gasps. “Look at their faces, Zane. Those are fresh radiation burns.”

  At fifty feet the group comes to a halt, the leader walking forward. He stops near Zane’s open window, his face a blistered mess. A pack is tied to his back and the handle of an older revolver peeks over the waistband of the man’s jeans. Zane takes the antibiotics from Alyx and sticks his arm out the window. “A peace offering.”

  The man steps forward and takes the bottle. “Thank you.”

  “We’re Zane and Alyx.”

  The man nods. “I’m Robert. My wife, Alice, is the one with the red bandanna. Two of the little ones are ours.”

  “Where are you coming from, Robert?”

  “Originally from Dallas. At least most of us. We picked up a straggler here and there. We barely made it out alive. They bombed the hell out of the city. What about you?”

  “We started out at Fort Meade, Maryland. We’re on our way to Weatherford, Oklahoma, where Alyx’s family lives. How far east are you planning on going?”

  “Hoping to make Memphis. My wife has some family there.”

  “We passed through Memphis. It’s still relatively intact. How’s it look out west?”

  “We were traveling along a more southerly route until we got to what used to be Shreveport. Made a jog north and picked up I-40 in Fort Smith. It’s relatively clear to there.”

  There’s a lull in the conversation until the man sighs and says, “We screwed up. We camped the last two days down in a valley about a mile down the road. We were trying to let the little ones get their legs underneath them. I saw the smoke, but hell, we see smoke all day, every day. Had no idea about the nuclear power plant here. Guess we got a pretty good dose of radiation. Don’t know how much, but enough to blister up.” Robert sighs again. “Guess we’ll know more in the next couple of weeks.”

  “I don’t know if the antibiotics will help with the radiation, but that’s all we have to offer. I’m sorry,” Alyx says.

  “I don’t know, either, but I appreciate it. I’m sure we’ll find a use for them.”

  There’s another lull in the conversation. What do you tell a man who is likely going to die within weeks or maybe even days? “Safe travels to you, Robert, and to the rest of the group,” Zane says.

  “Same to you, Zane.” He nods at Alyx. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same to you.” A tear forms in the corner of Alyx’s eye and drifts down her cheek as Zane drops the truck in gear and eases down the road.

  Once clear of the group, Zane feeds the engine more gas and cranks up the window. “We need to move quickly through this area.”

  Alyx nods and wipes her cheeks.

  Decaying bodies line the highway and the stench of rotting meat fills the cab. Zane consciously breathes through his mouth as he swerves around the debris, trying to hurry through the hot zone. When they’ve covered ten miles, he slows to a more manageable speed. “Think we’re clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Those are the first words Alyx has spoken since encountering Robert and his group.

  She turns in her seat, pulling her left leg beneath her. “Maybe we should have given them the pickup.”

  “No. They’ll all be dead inside a month.” Zane reaches over and takes her hand. “What happened to them is terrible, but there are similar situations happening all over the world.”

  “Did you see those poor children?”

  Zane gives Alyx’s hand a squeeze. “I saw them. There’s nothing that can be done for them.”

  Alyx lays her head against the seat back. “What a horrible world we’re living in.”

  They ride in silence for many miles. Zane glances over to see if Alyx had fallen asleep, but her eyes are wide open. “You have to let it go, Alyx. Otherwise it’ll eat you up. Think how glad your family will be to see you.”

  Alyx tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and turns to look at Zane. “You know what they’ll really be excited about?”

  “I think having a daughter return from the edge of the world would be at the top of any parent’s wish list.”

  Alyx slides across the seat and snuggles up next to Zane. “Oh, they’ll be happy to see me, but they’ll be even more delighted I’ve finally found a man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  CHAPTER 94

  North Atlantic

  After six hours of sleep, Thompson is back on the bridge of the USS New York. During the night, the ballistic missile submarine has covered nearly 400 miles and is now submerged at a depth of 400 feet, a hundred miles off the coast of Virginia and North Carolina. Although the top-end speed of the sub is classified, they sailed a little north of 25 knots all night long. The top speed of the destroyer USS Grant is also classified, but they are currently fifty miles closer. Captain Murphy, knowing they didn’t have enough fuel to make it to the Virgin Islands, dropped the hammer in an all-or-nothing gamble.

  Thompson turns to his sonar technician, Mike Adams, who had also just come on
shift. “What’s the Grant’s current speed?”

  “She dropped back to one screw, Skipper. She’s currently turning thirteen knots.”

  “Probably running on fumes,” Thompson mutters. He walks over to the navigation table and pulls up the chart for the North Carolina coast. Although Murphy is going to Norfolk to see if any of the disabled ships are still floating, Thompson has a sneaking suspicion he’ll come up empty. Using a mouse he zooms in on the North Carolina coast, searching for nearby Coast Guard stations.

  On the other side of the bridge, two blips suddenly appear on the screen Adams is manning. “Sir, I’m tracking two contacts.”

  Thompson steps over. “Where?”

  “They’re rounding Cape Lookout, sir.”

  “Ours?”

  “Negative, sir. Screw signature suggests Chinese in origin.”

  “Goddammit,” Thompson says. “Where the hell did they come from, Mr. Adams?”

  “I picked them up the moment they engaged their propellers, sir. Could be they were lying in wait.”

  Thompson snatches a microphone from overhead and keys the trigger. “XO Garcia to the bridge.” He clicks the handset in place and turns to the helm. “Conn, sound the general alarm—battle stations, torpedo.”

  As his orders are carried out and the Klaxon sounds signaling the general alarm, he steps back over to the chart table and pulls up the chart for the Cape Lookout area. Situated on the lower end of the Outer Banks, the point creates a natural hiding place within Lookout Bight. The shoreline of the bay consists of a series of unpopulated islands, away from prying eyes. “Those bastards,” Thompson mutters. “Mr. Adams, current course of the Chinese ships?”

  “They are currently one mile off the coast and are turning to a heading of thirty degrees, Skipper.” Adams’s voice is high, tight.

  “Distance from the Grant?”

  “Fifty miles and closing at thirty knots.”

  Thompson does the math in his head. He glances up when Garcia climbs through the hatch.

  “What’s up, Bull?”

  “Nothing good. Mr. Adams, Grant’s current course?”

  “They are turning to starboard, Captain. I’ll have the new course in a moment.”

  “Still turning one screw?”

  “Yes,” Adams replies.

  Thompson turns to Garcia. “Two Chinese ships must have been hiding around the Cape Lookout area.”

  “Goddammit,” Garcia mutters, running a hand across the top of his head. “You think they’re guarding our coastline?”

  “From what? I think most of our navy is toast.”

  “They’re here for a reason, Bull. Could be they’re on mop-up duty, picking off any stragglers trying to make it home.”

  “What gives them that right? The United States is sovereign territory.”

  “Different ball game now. We may have given up that right when we, as a nation, launched nuclear weapons.” Garcia steps around the table to look at the chart for Cape Lookout. “Damn, they had the perfect hiding place, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. Do you recall which targeting package was inserted in our missiles?”

  “Not precisely. But I can pull it up on the ship’s computer.”

  “Do that.”

  “Captain,” Adams says in a louder-than-normal voice, “The USS Grant is dead in the water.”

  “Roger, Mr. Adams. Mr. Patterson, plot an intersecting course for those two Chinese ships.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper,” Patterson replies.

  Thompson turns back to Garcia. “Damn it, Murph’s a sitting duck, and we’re in a very precarious position with those two enemy ships in the mix.”

  Garcia looks up from the monitor. “I know what you were hunting for with the targeting package question. And, no, none of our missiles were targeted at China or other Chinese interests.”

  “About what I figured. And you can bet your ass every missile in the Russian arsenal was pointed at an American target. Who’s left who would have targeted the Chinese?”

  “India and Pakistan no doubt targeted each other. The French or British, maybe?” Garcia says.

  “Maybe,” Thompson says. “China may be the only superpower left on the planet.” Thompson removes his cap and wipes his brow.

  Garcia pushes to his feet. “How are we going to handle the two Chinese ships?”

  “Very delicately.”

  CHAPTER 95

  Off the coast of Hatteras

  After yesterday’s shoot-out with those on the disabled powerboat, Brad motored the EmmaSophia a mile offshore and dropped anchor. Too dark to fish, they had opened two cans of soup and heated it on the small propane stove, though neither Nicole nor Brad had much of an appetite. This morning, Brad has the mainsail up, but the boat remains stationary, the canvas limp. He steps over to the helm and clicks on the key. The needle on the fuel gauge ticks up a notch just above empty and Brad sighs. Maybe a couple of gallons of fuel remain, which they’ll need to maneuver around a marina, if they ever find one. They’re now at the mercy of Mother Nature.

  Nicole, carrying two cups of weak coffee, walks up the stairs. She’s wearing a pair of Tanner’s jeans, the waist cinched tight with a piece of rope and the cuffs rolled up, and one of Brad’s old college sweatshirts that’s so big the neck hangs off one of her bare shoulders. She steps over and hands Brad a mug.

  “Thank you,” Brad says. He glances down at her bare feet and feels a pang of regret for causing her to lose her shoes. “Are your feet cold?”

  “No, I’m good. But thanks for loaning me the sweatshirt.”

  “You’re welcome. Tanner still asleep?”

  “Yep. I don’t know how with all the noise I made.”

  “He could sleep through a hurricane.”

  Nicole smiles. “I wish I could sleep like that. I’ve always been a light sleeper.”

  Brad moseys to the back of the boat and takes a seat. Nicole follows and takes a seat at the helm, their knees nearly touching. She glances up at the listless sail. “I could make a really rude joke about my ex-husband.”

  Brad smiles. “I bet. Hopefully the breeze will pick up.” He takes a sip of coffee and stretches his legs out. “How long were you married?”

  “Nine years.” Nicole blows across the surface of her cup and takes a tiny sip. “First five were great. It wasn’t until we thought about starting a family that things began to fall apart.”

  “Did he not want children?”

  “No. We both wanted children, but I had a difficult time getting pregnant.” Nicole takes another sip of coffee. “We had fertility issues. We went through four rounds of fertility treatments, including three in-vitro procedures.” She puts the coffee cup to her lips and pauses. “I suffered three miscarriages, all in the first trimester.” She takes a drink and lowers her cup. “We rode an emotional roller coaster for three long years and it took a toll.” She stares off into the distance for a moment. “We had an amicable parting three years ago and he moved to Norfolk to work for the government.”

  “Neither of you remarried?”

  “Me, no. He, his name is Tom, remarried a year after the divorce.” She turns and places her coffee cup on the helm. When she turns back around, tears are shimmering in her eyes. “He and his new wife had a baby boy last year.”

  Brad wants to lean forward and wrap her in his arms, but he remains where he is. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

  Nicole shrugs. “That’s life.” She wipes her eyes and stands. “How about I catch us some breakfast?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The boat shudders as Tanner lumbers up the steps. He stops where he’s standing and points. “Dad, look.”

  Brad and Nicole swivel around to see two enormous warships a mile off their stern and moving rapidly north. Brad grabs the binoculars for a closer look.

  Tanner strides across the deck, eager for an up-close look. “Are they ours, Dad?”

  Brad twists the focus knob and zeros in on t
he nearest ship. His shoulders sag when he spots the red flag with yellow stars. “No, not ours, Tanner. They’re Chinese.” Dejected, he hands the binoculars to Tanner.

  “Why would the Chinese be in our waters?” Nicole asks.

  Brad shrugs. “We have no idea what has happened in the rest of the world. I don’t know if we’re still at war, or even who the enemies are. But those ships here can’t be good.”

  Tanner lowers the binoculars. “Where do you think they’re going?”

  “No idea, but they’re in a hurry to get there.” He glances up at the limp sail. “We need to get the hell out of her—”

  His last words are clipped when the two ships unleash a series of missiles. They stand in awe as the deadly weapons race higher in the sky, the plumes of smoke hanging in the still air.

  Once the initial noise dies down, Brad mutters, “Those assholes. I bet they’re shooting at one of our ships.”

  Tanner turns around, his face pale. “Dad, we need to get out of here.”

  Brad points at the drooping canvas. “Believe me, I know, Tanner. If I start the engine, we’ll get maybe a half a mile. With weapons like those, a half a mile’s not going to buy us much.”

  They turn as the two ships launch another barrage of missiles, the flames from the rocket motors streaking across the leaden sky.

  CHAPTER 96

  Weatherford

  Gage ties a tether to one of Henry’s deer rifles and begins to climb. He’s running on fumes after Olivia kept him and Holly up most of the night. Unbeknownst to Holly, Gage is planning on a trip to the doctor’s house as soon as they finish up here. Sweat begins to drip in his face and he pauses to mop his brow. After what happened last time, the deer rifle and a box of cartridges are going to remain topside for the duration. However long that might be.