Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

“Time is of the essence, Ms. Dixon. This situation demands difficult decisions. I understand you are devastated by the injuries your daughter sustained, but as a physician, I must do what’s in the best interest for all the patients under my care.”

Emma Dixon reaches for the door handle. “Touch my daughter and it’ll be the biggest mistake you ever make. That, you can take to the bank.” She pushes through the door and it’s not until she’s in the stairwell that the dam breaks. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she slowly ascends the stairs. Wishing deeply for the accompaniment of her husband, she shuffles through the door leading to the third floor, her eyes in a watery haze. Blindly, she staggers down the hall, turning into her daughter’s room. She sags to her knees and releases a howl of despair when she discovers her daughter’s bed empty. Two large men appear at her side. The men gently lift her to her feet and lead her down the stairs to the main floor, never uttering a word. They usher her outside and before retreating allow her to collapse on a bench in the garden.

Weatherford

Discovering the dead cattle sent Gage Larson scurrying back to the underground tornado shelter. Once he catches his breath he tells Holly what he found.

“The cattle have been dead for a while, Gage,” Holly says. “That doesn’t mean the radiation is as bad now. Surely, after a week, the wind has dissipated most of it.” She stands, fisting her hands on either hip. “I can’t spend another moment down here, Gage. I just can’t.”

“Holly, think of the baby. We don’t know what effects the radiation will have on her.”

“I’m nearly full-term. We’re past all of the major growth milestones.” Although they know the sex of the baby, they continue to argue over names. Holly’s pushing for Olivia while Gage favors Rachael. Gage has no doubts about who will eventually win this contest, but he’s not ready to give in just yet. “I’ll go by myself if I have to. Another day or two is not going to make much of a difference. Besides, we’re almost out of food and the baby needs protein.”

“Where are we going to find protein?”

“Mom and Dad have that generator. I bet the freezer is still running.”

“Is it worth the risk, Holly?”

Holly throws her hands up in the air. “Whatever.”

Gage grimaces. That word is often a precursor to nothing good. “Okay, Holly, you win.” He steps over and wraps most of her up in a hug. Even as big as he is, his arms no longer wrap entirely around his wife. “Stay underground until I get the old truck over here. Wet those blankets while you’re waiting. We need all the protection we can get.” Gage slips on the poncho, seats the respirator over his nose and mouth, and makes a break for the barn.

The old truck is a ’57 Chevy one-ton more covered with rust than paint. What little paint is visible consists of about fifteen shades of green, from dark to light. The truck might be hideous, but it has never failed to start, except for one very cold winter day. He grabs a tape measure and tugs open the door, measuring the width of the cab. Gage wasn’t kidding about the floorboards. A rash of weeds have sprung up through the floor, nearly filling the cabin. Once he has the measurement, he finds a piece of leftover sheet metal from a recent roof replacement on the barn and cuts it to size with a hacksaw. Bending the metal one way, then the other, Gage gets it fitted across the floor. He climbs in and twists the key. The old truck fires up, billowing black smoke like a mosquito fogger in the middle of June. While the engine warms, Gage prowls around the barn for items they may need. He grabs some of his work tools and throws them in the back and pulls two winter toboggans from a plastic bin and tosses them on the dash.

Gage follows the toboggans in and backs the truck out of the barn. The grass and weeds stay where they’re rooted, slipping under the new metal floor. He pulls around behind the house and parks next to the cellar. The door rises and Holly hurries into the pickup. Gage pulls up close to the front door. “I need to get one more thing before we leave.”

Gage pushes out of the truck and hurries into the house. After a few minutes, he returns carrying his shotgun and two boxes of shells, which he parks on the seat between them.

“Expecting a war?” Holly asks.

“To tell the truth, I don’t know what to expect. But it’s a damn sight better to be prepared. Where first? Your parents’ place or mine?”

“Mine are closer. Let’s go there first.”

“You got it.” Gage drops the truck into gear and steers around to the road.

Tennessee

With the debris-filled atmosphere, it’s difficult to judge the time. But to Alyx and Zane it feels as if they’ve been walking for hours. A little farther down the road, Zane grabs her by the elbow and whispers in her ear, “I saw a splash of color way back in the woods. Could be a house.”

Exhausted and hungry, Alyx is desperate for food and a comfy place to sit down. “I’m game. But we need to be careful.”

Zane nods and glances around to see if anyone is nearby before pulling Alyx off the road. Rather than trekking the dirt road into the woods, they stick to the tree line. The going is tough. Limbs, covered by a dense layer of leaves, lie in wait as trip hazards, and Alyx stumbles twice, skinning the toes on her right foot. To make matters worse, the trees are unevenly spaced and the few openings that do exist are often blocked by patches of briar. The thorns tug at their clothing, making walking damn near impossible. Zane helps Alyx extricate herself from the briars and they take a moment to catch their breath.

“Let’s move a little closer to the road,” Alyx says.

“What if we’re spotted?”

“We’ll say sorry and get the hell out. I don’t have the strength to fight through all that brush.”

Zane ponders her request for a moment and looks over at the thick brush on the other side of the dirt road. “Maybe the other side is easier going.”

“Does it look easier?” Alyx snaps.

“I suppose you’re right. If we can hug the side of the road the trees will offer us a little cover.”

Walking along the side of the road, they travel a hundred yards, pause to look around, and continue on another hundred yards.

“Where is this house of yours?” Alyx whispers. “I think we’re on the road to nowhere.”

“The road has to lead somewhere. And the house being this deep in the woods could be a positive for us.”

They each take a sip of water from a water bottle and continue on. A quarter mile in, they catch first sight of the home. Zane leads them back to the tree line and they move closer. The small, square house looks as if it hasn’t felt the bristles of a paintbrush since Jimi Hendrix was singing at Woodstock. The yard is filled with an assortment of rusted vehicles, an old washing machine, and something so far gone neither Zane nor Alyx can determine its purpose. A narrow porch runs along the front of the house, and it, too, is overflowing with junk, including a ratty floral couch slumped in the corner, three cats napping upon it.

“I wonder if there’re any dogs,” Alyx whispers.

“I think they would have smelled us by now. Hell, maybe they ate it.”

Alyx punches him in the arm. “What now?”

“We watch for a while. Maybe wait till dark to see if anyone lights a candle.”

Alyx steps deeper into the trees, finds a bare spot of ground, spreads out one of the stadium blankets, takes off the heavy smock, and plops down. “Tell me if you see anything.”