Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

The next person to board is a male. He’s tall and thin as a rail. “Thanks for saving us.”

“You’re welcome,” Brad says, the gun never wavering from the man’s chest. “Have a seat with your friends.”

The last person aboard is a large, broad-shouldered man. The man is a bear and he appears older than the rest of the crew, maybe late twenties.

“Why are you holding the rifle on us?” the man asks.

“Because I don’t know you. Why were you following us?”

“We weren’t following you. We were just sailing.” He ends the comment with a snide smile then says, “Hell of a greeting.”

“I could have left you in the water,” Brad says.

“Yeah, you could have. But you didn’t. Lucky for us, huh.”

Brad’s brain is churning through a string of bad scenarios. He makes a snap decision and steps forward, the gun centered on the last man aboard. “I’ve changed my mind. Take a swim.”

“What?”

“What are you doing, Dad?”

“Quiet, Tanner. I’m not going to tell you again. Get your ass back in the water. You’re a big boy. You can swim back to the shore.”

“And what happens if I don’t get in the water?” the man asks, crossing his arms.

“You’re going in the water. You can do it alive, or we can roll you in after I shoot you. This rifle is loaded with .30-.30 cartridges. Ever see what that does to a man? It’ll blow a hole in you big enough to see daylight. Now get your ass in the water.”

The man remains where he is.

Brad cocks the hammer. “I’m not going to do any of that count-to-three bullshit. This is your last chance.”

The man shoots Brad the finger and steps toward the back of the boat. He turns. “You better hope I never see you again.”

“Jump in,” Brad says.

The man hesitates again, and Brad fires the rifle. The shock of the blast startles everyone on deck. Brad quickly levers another round and cocks the hammer. He didn’t shoot the man, but he came damn close. “Consider that a warning shot.”

This time the man doesn’t hesitate, jumping in headfirst.

“Tanner, drive the boat.”

Tanner is rattled by the series of events. He’s as still as a sculpture.

“Tanner, take the helm.”

After another moment, Tanner comes to life and, with trembling hands, takes the wheel. He eases the throttle forward and turns for shore. There are no pleasant conversations. The attractive young woman glares at Brad all the way to the dock. Near the shore, Tanner is struggling to get the boat parked next to the dock.

“Idle the throttle, Tanner. This is close enough.” Brad steps toward the stern, the rifle tight against his shoulder. “You three, off the boat.” The three reluctantly stand and, one after another, jump into the water. Brad steps to the back rail, tracking their retreat down the barrel of the rifle.

“Take us out of here, Tanner.”

Tanner reverses the boat and after he’s clear of the dock, turns the wheel starboard and gooses the throttle. Once they’re clear, Brad lowers the rifle.

“Would you have shot that guy?” Tanner shouts above the wind noise.

Brad nods. “Yeah, I would have. Last week maybe not, but today, yes.”

Weatherford

Holly exits the bedroom after showering and dressing and Gage helps her into the truck. He slides behind the wheel and steers down the drive, hanging a right on Caddo Road. Soon after they were married and had purchased the land, Gage started work restoring the two-bedroom rancher that was in desperate need of repair. Slowly, he has made the home livable after reframing portions of the house, patching the roof, and remodeling the one and only bathroom. The kitchen is next on the to-do list, but Gage is wondering if the kitchen will ever get done.

The sweet odor of alfalfa fills the cabin as they roll past one of the fields. Gage slows to make the turn onto their road and, after traveling a short distance, pulls into the gravel drive and eases the truck up next to the house. “Do you want to take some of the baby stuff over to your parents’?” Gage asks.

“Let’s hold off. I still have a month to go.”

Gage steps around to the other side to help his wife out of the truck. With her pushing and him pulling, she makes it out and waddles toward the front door. As she’s ascending the steps, she stops midstride and doubles over in pain, fighting for breath.

“You okay, Holly?” Gage asks, concern etched on his face.

Holly sucks in a lungful of air. “Just give me a sec.”

“Are you having more contractions?”

“Yes.”

“Hard contractions?”

“Are you a fucking doctor?” she snaps.

Gage has learned over the past few months when to speak and when not to speak. He unlocks the front door and slips inside, taking up position at the edge of the front window. Holly is still breathing hard, her hands pushing on her swollen womb. Over the past month the contractions have come and gone in a matter of minutes and Gage is hoping these also subside. It’s not like he can rush her to the hospital. Hell, for that matter, he can’t take her to the obstetrician, either. They’re all out of business. Gage makes a mental note to find out where Holly’s doctor lives. After one final deep breath, Holly shuffles toward the front door as Gage makes a beeline for the bedroom.

He removes two suitcases from beneath the bed and begins adding clothes to one of them. Holly wobbles down the hall and takes a seat on the end of the bed. Not knowing if it’s safe to speak, Gage holds his tongue and returns to the closet. He grabs a couple pair of jeans, a handful of T-shirts, underwear, and socks, tossing everything into his suitcase. His wife remains seated on the bed. Gage steps around the bed and kneels in front of his wife. “Are you okay, babe?”

“I think so. Those were the hardest contractions I’ve felt. Sorry for snapping at you.”

Gage smiles. “And all the other times, too?”

“You put a bowling ball in your stomach and see how you feel. My ankles are swollen, my back hurts, and she keeps kicking me in the ribs.”

“How many children did you say you wanted?”

Holly shows him her middle finger and tries to push up off the bed. Gage stands and helps her up. She leans into him and gives him a kiss before toddling toward the closet. “How long are we going to be staying at my parents’?”

Gage thinks of the hot water and the stocked freezer. “As long as you want. Or until they kick us out.”

Ninety-five percent of the clothes in Holly’s closet no longer fit. She grabs some sweatpants, the rest of Gage’s T-shirts, and dumps them into the empty suitcase. She returns to the closet for her oversized bras and panties, looking wistfully at her satiny negligees. Most of her shoes also no longer fit, so she opts for flip-flops and two pairs of slip-on house shoes. She looks at a pair of tennis shoes, but the thought of trying to tie the laces makes the decision for her. She tosses the remainder of her items into the suitcase and lumbers down the hall to the bathroom to retrieve the rest of her essentials.

Gage changes into fresh clothes before following her into the restroom to grab his toothbrush and deodorant. “I’m going to drive out to the barn to get more of my work tools and a couple of other items. You about ready to head out?”

“I’m almost finished in here then I need to change. I’ll be ready when you get back.”

Gage disappears down the hallway as Holly packs the last of her creams and lotions into an overnight case. After stepping back in the bedroom, she peels off her dirty clothes. Pushing her panties down, she steps out of them. When she bends to pick them up she discovers the panties are soaked with blood.