Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

Lakeville, Minnesota

As the light fades, a slow drizzle begins. Not knowing the current atmospheric conditions, or how much radioactive material remains, Stan McDowell is eager to find an indoor structure for the group to bed down in. The temps are probably in the midfifties and most of the kids are shivering. Up ahead he spies an office building and hurries ahead of the group for a look. According to a placard out front, the place is some type of sign-manufacturing company. He stops and looks around. The office building fronts a large construction yard filled with all manner of equipment. A newer pickup is parked in the lot out front, but the place has a vacant feel to it.

McDowell walks into the equipment yard to check out the barns. The place is littered with trucks of various sizes—and not just one or two but dozens and, off to the right, is a group of semitrailers lined out in a row. The two large barns are open-air structures offering little shelter from the elements. The rest of the yard is a hodgepodge of metal poles, metal signs, and other sharp objects that won’t blend well with a group of teenagers. He hurries back to the office and kicks out the glass in the front door. He reaches through and turns the lock, pushing the frame open. He clicks on his flashlight and walks deeper into the building. A fine layer of dust coats the desktops, suggesting no one has been here since the whole mess started. The building is fairly large, containing three offices, a kitchen, and a reception area with a couch and three chairs positioned around a desk. As far as accommodations go it’s nothing special, but it is dry. He steps back outside and waves the group in. They’re only a hundred yards away and the students break into a run with Melissa and Lauren bringing up the rear at a slow jog.

Once everyone is inside, the first thing to hit McDowell is the odor. Teenagers exude a certain funk—probably something to do with the raging hormones—and that’s now mixed with the smell of damp clothes that haven’t been washed in a week. In the close confines, McDowell is suddenly nauseous. Melissa and Lauren don’t seem bothered by it, their immunity probably built up over years in the classroom, McDowell thinks. He steps back outside for some fresh air and turns to look through the glassless door. “If you need to go to the bathroom, do it before it starts raining harder. I saw some toilet paper in the bathroom in the back. Make sure you go out a ways before doing your business.”

The girls step out as a pack and turn one way, while the boys file out and turn the other way, each group with a roll of toilet paper. McDowell steps back into the office. “Was that man serious back there?” Lauren asks.

McDowell rubs his chin. “Yes, and we’re only about fifteen miles from where we started. We have a tall order if we’re going to keep the kids safe. Conditions are only going to get worse, and that guy was right, most won’t be asking.”

Lauren shivers. “I wish we had more weapons.”

“Ever fire a gun, Lauren?” McDowell asks.

“I grew up in West Texas. Of course I’ve fired a gun.”

“Let me ask the question another way. Ever fired a weapon when someone was shooting back?”

“Of course not. But how hard can it be? You just point and shoot.”

McDowell wipes his damp forehead with his sleeve. “I served twenty years in the Air Force. Believe me when I tell you there’s a big difference.”

“Still, I’d feel safer if Melissa and I were armed.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for other weapons as we proceed. That sound reasonable?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The girls come back in a clump, followed closely by the boys.

“I’m going to see if I can get a fire started out behind the building,” McDowell says. “Will you take an inventory of items here in the office? Food or utensils would be great.”

“Will do,” Melissa replies.

McDowell pulls the lighter he’d scored from a restaurant back at the terminal from his suitcase and steps into the closest office to rummage through the drawers. The only thing he finds of use in the first desk is an eight-pack of double-A batteries. After slipping two into his pocket to replace the batteries in his flashlight, he moves on to the next office and finds several pair of scissors and a small pocketknife. He leaves the items on top of the desk and grabs a handful of old newspapers and steps out the back door.

McDowell pulls out his flashlight and rotates the lens to clear and clicks on the light. Made by Gerber, the flashlight lens can be rotated to four different colors, perfect in the cockpit of an airplane for preserving night vision. He fans the beam around the yard and spots a wooden pallet in the closest barn. Using an iron pole, he frees the boards and carries them to the back of the office building and starts to work on the fire. He wads up a few sheets of newspaper and places them under the pile, firing the lighter. The paper catches and he rips the remaining newspaper into long strips, feeding them into the fire. The wood begins to smoke and finally ignites. He lays on more boards and steps back into the building.

The kids are sprawled on the floor and Melissa and Lauren are rummaging through the cabinets and remaining desk. McDowell calls them to the back office. “The fire’s lit and should be ready to go in about fifteen minutes. Let’s start with the gallon of baked beans and see how far that gets us. You guys have any luck?”

“We found about a dozen coffee mugs which we can use to serve food. The biggest find is two five-gallon jugs of water we found stashed in a closet. I guess they had one of those water dispensers. I can’t believe no one came back and got it.”

“They still might,” McDowell says.

Lauren brushes her damp hair out of her face. “I’ll shred some of the remaining beef jerky and add it to the beans. We need all the protein we can get.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to poke around outside and see what I can find.”

Outside, McDowell adds another board to the fire and walks out into the yard, clicking on his flashlight. Comprising what looks to be about ten acres, the muddy field is jammed with equipment. Most of the sign-making part of the business is off to the north so McDowell veers south and walks along a row of storage containers. He spots two that pique his interest—two jobsite trailers that are ubiquitous at building sites the world over. He grabs a piece of scrap iron and pries open the door to the first. The trailer is outfitted with two offices, one for the receptionist or secretary and another at the back that would be reserved for the foreman or jobsite manager. Against the far wall is a section of floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The first one is full of grimy paper, probably permits or invoices. McDowell hits a gold mine when he opens the second door. It’s stocked with canned goods, a mixture of soup and chili, and a cooking pot. Two moldy bags of bread and reams of copier paper are all he finds behind the third door.

McDowell climbs down and grabs a pair of five-gallon buckets up next to another trailer. They’re full of nuts and bolts, which he dumps on the ground. He returns to the trailer and loads up the food. There’s too much for the two buckets, but a return trip is no big deal. He places the buckets by the door and riffles through the first desk and finds what you’d expect to find—pencils, pens, paper, staplers, and, in the top drawer, a tube of red lipstick. He works his way around the desk and starts in on the second office. In the bottom right-hand drawer, behind a stack of files, he finds a handgun. He pulls it out and places it on the desk. He’s not surprised to find a weapon. Construction workers come and go on a daily basis and many don’t part on friendly terms. He opens the top drawer and finds a box of .45 caliber ammunition. He places the box beside the weapon.