Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

Gage awakens to the aroma of frying bacon and fresh-brewed coffee and his mouth is watering before he can get untangled from the covers. He and Holly made the decision last night to stay with her parents until the baby arrives. One reason is that Gage couldn’t pry Holly away from the air conditioner. With a generator and a thousand-gallon propane tank, Holly’s parents have been running the generator enough to keep the freezer frozen and the house cool. Gage rolls over, kisses his still-sleeping wife on the cheek, and climbs out of bed. The generator also powers the pump for the water well and the propane fires the water heater. Gage steps into the bathroom and flips on the shower. They didn’t make it to Gage’s parents’ yesterday and that’s on the agenda for today.

After the water warms, Gage steps in for his first shower in over a week. Not wanting to be gluttonous, he keeps the shower under three minutes and steps out to dry off. He’s wishing they had thought to bring fresh clothes as he tugs on his dirty jeans. Instead of putting on the stinky shirt, he slips into the master and borrows a T-shirt from Henry. Fitting Gage’s broad shoulders inside of a size large T-shirt is difficult, but with some pulling and stretching he accomplishes the task. The end result is that Gage looks as if he’s been squeezed into a sausage casing.

When he steps back into the guest bedroom, Holly is waking.

“Is that bacon I smell?” she asks.

“Yep. And coffee, too.” Gage holds his hand to help Holly out of bed. “There’s hot water for a shower.”

Holly, ravenous, says, “The shower can wait. I want food. Oh, by the way, nice shirt. Could you not find a smaller size?”

Gage chuckles as she waddles down the hall toward the kitchen. He slips on his socks and boots and joins Holly. Henry and Susan are both up, sitting at the granite-topped breakfast bar, a mug of coffee in hand.

“We have eggs, bacon, and coffee,” Susan says. “No toast, though. Bread ran out a couple of days ago. We’ve eaten. The rest is for you two.”

“I think I can manage without toast,” Gage says, heaping the food onto his plate. He places it on the counter and walks across the kitchen to pour coffee for himself and Holly, whose plate looks as if it could use some sideboards. Gage passes his wife a cup of coffee and sits.

“How much food do you have left?” Holly asks.

“We have enough,” Henry says. “I had a steer butchered a couple of weeks ago. We’re having steaks for dinner.”

Knowing this is not the end of the food, Holly savors every bite as she forks in eggs and chomps on a piece of bacon. Gage wolfs down a mouthful of egg and washes it down with a sip of steaming coffee. “Did you hear anything from Alyx before all of this started?”

“She sent me a text message about thirty minutes before it all started,” Susan says. “Said she and one of her coworkers, a Zane somebody, had made it away from Fort Meade and were headed west. If anyone can find her way home, it’s Alyx. It’s just going to take her some time.” Alyx was already in college when Holly and her parents moved to town.

Gage, knowing the odds are long for Alyx, holds his tongue and continues to eat. He and Alyx have a strained relationship. Of course the fact that Alyx believed Holly was marrying beneath her might have something to do with the strain. But single and thirty-four, Alyx doesn’t have a lot of ground to stand on when it comes to relationships. Despite their disagreements, Gage is hoping like hell Alyx does make it home.

“Gage, did you give any more thoughts to the wind turbine idea?” Henry asks.

Gage finishes chewing the food in his mouth and takes another sip of coffee. “I think the only way it’ll work is to manually set the pitch angle and lock the blades down. We’ll use the braking system to control speed. And if it looks like the wind is getting up, one of us will have to climb up and lock her down.”

Henry stands and retreats to his office, returning with a piece of paper, which he hands to Gage. The paper is filled with small, precisely drawn mathematical equations.

“Henry, I might as well be reading Chinese. Help me out here,” Gage says, passing the paper back to his father-in-law.

“We’ll set the angle of the blades to a medium pitch angle. Can you free up the yaw control, so the turbine will turn with the wind?”

“Yeah,” Gage says. “We’ll have to keep an eye on the cables running down the tower. Otherwise, they’ll be a tangled mess. How are you going to step up the voltage?”

“I have a couple of transformers in the barn that have never been put into service. They should be fine.”

Gage polishes off the last of his eggs. “When are we starting?”

“Today?” Henry says.

Gage carries his empty plate over to the sink. “Works for me. But I’d like to go say hi to my parents before we get started.”

“That’ll work,” Henry says. “I could probably use some more time to refine the design.”

Susan rolls her eyes. “Holly, you staying with me or going with Gage?”

She glances up at her husband. “Can you wait for me to take a shower?”

“Absolutely. We should probably run by the house and grab some more clothes.”

“Why? You looking forward to a shirt that’ll actually allow you to breathe?”

Susan and Henry laugh as Holly carries her plate to the sink. She runs her hand across her husband’s shoulders as she waddles down the hall.

Off the coast of the United Kingdom

After running all night, the USS New York is closing in on Her Majesty’s Naval Base Devonport. Sailing submerged along the English Channel, they’ll have to navigate around the point at Plymouth and travel inland to reach the naval base—all without the aid of GPS. Luckily, the onboard computer and the sub’s internal navigation systems are still working. During the night the submarine occasionally ascended to periscope depth to plot their course via celestial navigation. But now, entering the area where navigation is critical and with daylight waiting to greet them, the sub has slowed to a crawl, relying on passive sonar to work their way around the obstacles.

The executive officer, Commander Carlos Garcia, returns from the mess to join in the navigation fun.

“What do you think, Carlos? Periscope depth?” Thompson asks.

“The question is whether there’s anything flying, but I guess we’re not going to know that until we look.”

“I concur,” Captain Thompson says. “Q, take us up to periscope depth.”

“Aye, Aye, Skipper,” the dive officer, Lieutenant Commander Thomas Quigley, replies.

The nose of the boat tilts upward and everyone on the bridge leans forward to maintain balance. The submariners pride themselves on their ability to lean with the angle of the deck without grabbing for something to hold on to. After several moments of leaning, the boat levels out and the dive officer reports the sub is at periscope depth. “Periscope up,” Thompson orders. He steps over and catches the handles as the scope slides up through the deck. He positions his eyes in the eyecups and walks a circle before coming to a stop. What he sees sends a chill down his spine. The area is dotted with giant craters, and wildfires are still raging in the distance. Her Majesty’s Naval Base Devonport no longer exists. His shoulders slump as he steps away to allow Garcia a look.

Garcia takes a peek and his head sags as he raises the handles of the periscope, aware that everyone in the room is watching them.

“Sonar, depth?” the Captain asks.

“One-five-zero feet, Skipper,” the sonar tech, Mike Adams, replies.