Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

With a persistent southerly breeze, the wildfires pushed to the north along with most of the radiation. Still, they aren’t in the clear. Not by a long shot. Those same breezes are pushing a toxic mix of smoke and ash up out of Texas and, with no tools to measure radiation, Gage can only assume the heavily clouded skies are laced with death.

On the first day, after Gage raced home from working on the wind turbine, he quickly went to work. The sight of missiles streaking through the sky forced him to work at a frenetic pace. Using four of the replacement AC filters for the house, Gage cobbled together a primitive filtration device, which he attached to the air intake vent in the cellar. After that, he scoured the barn for any items they might need, hitting the jackpot when he uncovered a pair of chemical masks that he’d used last spring while spraying for weeds. Next, he attached a garden hose to the little pump in the shallow well out by the vegetable garden and ran it over close to the shelter. Powered by a small windmill, the well is now their primary source for drinking water.

Although flush with a source of fresh water, food is becoming a major concern. Every year, Gage’s mother plants an enormous vegetable garden. By season’s end, she’s canned dozens of jars of various fruits and vegetables, which she distributes out to the extended family. Gage and Holly are down to two jars of canned tomatoes and one jar of plum jelly. A short trip outside to hunt small game is one option, but it’s not without risks. Along with Gage’s risk of exposure, there’s concern the meat might now be tainted.

“Maybe I could run over to Mom and Dad’s to see if they have some extra food,” Gage says. The hiss of the old kerosene lantern Gage discovered in the barn fills the silence. With five gallons of kerosene in reserve, they try to run the lantern as much as possible to ward off the darkness.

Holly tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. Although underground, the cellar feels like a hot box, a combination of the August heat, along with the superheated air blowing north from the distant wildfires. “They’re all the way on the other side of town. How you going to get there?”

“I bet the old hay truck still runs.”

Holly pokes on her protruding womb. “Fine. But, I’m going with.” Holly has the pale complexion of redheads the world over, with a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. At five-six, she had a curvaceous body with full hips and ample breasts. But that was eight months ago. Today, her ankles and feet are swollen and her once-svelte waistline has swelled to the size of a ripe watermelon.

“Too risky, babe.”

“Gage, I’m absolutely miserable. The heat, the pressure on my bladder, the kicking of my ribs… I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” She gently pushes on her belly, trying to get the baby to change positions. At the last ultrasound they relented and both agreed to find out the sex of the baby—a girl. “How long do we have to stay down here? Forever?”

“I think at least until the baby comes.”

Holly groans. “I’ll wear the mask.”

“You can also absorb radiation through the skin, Holly. Be best to wait.”

“Pull the truck up next to the cellar and I’ll climb in.”

Gage ponders her request for a few moments. “I just don’t know.”

“Please,” Holly pleads. “I’d like to check on my parents while we’re out.”

“We’d be risking even more exposure. The truck will help a little, but most of the floorboards are rusted out.”

“I’ll wear a poncho and wrap up in damp blankets. Think that’ll help?”

“I don’t know. Hell, what I know about radiation wouldn’t fill a thimble.” Gage rakes his hands through his dark hair. “It might work. Maybe for a short period of time.”

“Please, Gage? I’m going stir crazy down here.”

Gage sighs. “Okay, I’ll run to the house and get some ponchos and blankets, then head for the barn to get the truck. Do not open the door until I get back.”

Holly gives him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

Gage slips on one of the respirators, pushes up out of the door, and runs toward the house. Once inside, he heads for the hall closet and grabs the rain ponchos and an armful of blankets. He glances out the window at the barn a hundred yards behind the house and slips on one of the ponchos and drapes a blanket over his shoulders. He sucks in a lungful of air, opens the door, and races toward the barn.

Before the event began in earnest, Gage had herded the cattle up closer to the barn to provide some protection. As he draws closer to the barn, a stench invades the respirator mask. Being winded and gasping for air only adds to his growing nausea, and the stench grows stronger the closer he gets to the barn. The odor is familiar to those growing up on a farm who have dealt with the loss of livestock—the odor of death. When he’s close enough to see the corral he finds the source. All of the cattle are dead and the carcasses are buzzing with flies. A bolt of fear nearly seizes his heart. The cattle appear to have been dead for several days, indicating the radiation exposure was more severe than Gage had originally thought.

West Virginia

When NSA personnel were ordered to evacuate to the bunker beneath the building, Alyx Reed and Zane Miller, having insider knowledge of the scope of the attack, made a break for it. They piled into Zane’s ’67 Chevrolet Camaro and headed west. With the world exploding behind them, they made it as far as Morgantown, West Virginia, before the old car succumbed to Zane’s frantic driving. With the sky growing darker by the minute, they sought shelter in one of the campus buildings at West Virginia University. And they weren’t the only ones. The main building’s basement was crowded with college students and university employees. A raiding party was sent to the cafeteria and the food court and they returned with armloads of canned goods. The first day or two, Zane and Alyx said as little as possible and tried to blend in. But as time wore on and the food dwindled, resentment began to build. Alyx and Zane were singled out as interlopers and, fearing for their lives, slipped away before daybreak.

Before slinking away from campus, Alyx and Zane made two critical stops. At the ransacked hospital they scored big with two lead-lined smocks from the radiology department. And in the emergency room, they loaded up on surgical masks and gloves. In the doctors’ lounge they hit pay dirt again when they found two full boxes of protein bars in one of the doctor’s lockers. From there they backtracked across campus and entered the looted bookstore, where they stocked up on rain gear, stadium blankets, flashlights, and backpacks to carry it all in. Weary about pressing their luck, they lingered a few moments longer to gather all of the bottled water they could find.

But, that was nearly a week ago.

Today, battered and bruised, they’re limping southeast along Highway 81, trying their best to stay out of sight. Ash rains down from the sky and distant fires dot the horizon. The lead-lined smocks are heavy and hot, and combined with the backpacks and suited up with surgical gloves and masks, it feels like they’re walking around in a steel mill in the middle of July. With no way to measure how much radiation is present, they are playing it safe. It’s been two days since they had anything to eat and both are beset with gnawing hunger pains. They are down to six protein bars, and both agreed to hold them in reserve for as long as possible. Until the last few days, they relied on the kindness of homeowners along the route for food and water. No longer. They’ve had shotguns and pistols pointed at them, and were even threatened by a knife-wielding woman dressed in a tattered housecoat.