Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

McDowell grabs the man’s rifle and turns back for the building. When he reaches the front door, he calls softly to Lauren and waits for the all clear before opening the door and stepping through. He fans the flashlight around the room to see the students huddled in a group, holding hands. Lauren and Melissa are holding each other, both trembling.

McDowell walks over and takes the pistol from Lauren. “It’s over.”

Near Memphis, Tennessee

Taking turns behind the wheel, Alyx and Zane drove most of the night, only stopping for three hours of sleep deep in a wooded forest. They have now traversed most of Tennessee with Memphis, tight to the border with Arkansas, the last major city to pass through. Zane, now driving, pulls up to a newer Ford F-250 and puts the transmission in park. “Let’s just hope this truck has some gas in the tank. We’re running on fumes.” Zane climbs out and grabs the hose from the bed, looking over the Ford to make sure it’s not one of the more popular diesel models. Luckily for them, it’s not.

Alyx steps out, the double-barrel shotgun riding across her shoulder, and moves to the front of the truck.

“Don’t shoot me,” Zane says as he pops the fuel door and crams the hose down the filler neck of the Ford.

“I might shoot you if you don’t hurry up.”

Zane blows out a deep breath and puts the other end of the hose to his mouth. He gives two good sucks and lowers the hose to see if the fuel will siphon out. He’s rewarded with a small dribble that flows for a second before stopping. This seems to be a common theme with him. He still hasn’t gotten the hang of stealing gas and, worse, now the hose will taste like gasoline. He wipes the end with his hand and sticks it back in his mouth. After three sucks, he gets a mouthful of gas and spits and sputters as he sticks the hose into Goldie’s tank. He wipes his mouth as the fuel transfers. “See anyone?”

“Not yet. But I don’t want to wait around here forever. We’ve seen a lot of people walking along the highway.”

“Can’t rush gravity. Want me to take over the shotgun?”

“I will if I see someone approaching.”

Zane pulls the hose back to make sure the gas is still flowing. “We might get lucky and get a full tank off of this beast.”

“Couple of people coming up from the east.”

“Do they look threatening?”

“Don’t know yet. Come and get the shotgun, Zane.”

Zane steps over and takes the shotgun from Alyx. “Extra shells?”

“On the pickup seat.”

Zane steps over closer to the passenger side of the truck, in case he needs to reload. When the two people are close enough to see, Zane relaxes and lowers his weapon. The duo is a pair of older women. Age is difficult to estimate because their faces are blistered beyond recognition and the skin on their arms is black and peeling. With their gaze focused forward, they’re walking side by side, as if part of a zombie army.

When they pull abreast, they stop and the one closest to Zane turns her head. Her head movement triggers images from The Exorcist in Zane’s mind. “Sir, may we have a ride?”

“I’m sorry. We have a policy of no riders.”

The woman nods and begins walking, the other in lockstep with her. Once they’re out of earshot, Alyx steps closer to Zane. “What would it have hurt to give them a ride?”

“To where? They’ll be dead inside of two days. Besides, even they don’t know where they’re going. They’re just putting one foot in front of the other.”

Alyx shudders and wraps her arms around herself. “Can we go?”

Zane peers through the side window to check the gas gauge. “Another couple of minutes. Tank’s almost full.”

Alyx steps closer and wraps her arms around Zane. “How are we going to survive this shitty new world?”

Zane tilts her face back and kisses her. “One day at a time. That’s all we can do.”

A clap of thunder rolls across the landscape, spurring Zane into action. He yanks the hose from both tanks and tosses it into the back of their truck and quickly screws on the gas cap. “Hop in the truck, Alyx.”

“What’s the rush?”

“I don’t think we want to be outside if it starts raining.”

“Fallout?”

“Exactly.” A nearby lightning strike hits and is followed seconds later by a loud clap of thunder. Zane hurries around the pickup and climbs behind the wheel, reaching for the window crank. “Roll up your window, Alyx.” Once his window is secure, Zane drops the truck into gear and gooses the gas.

“Wouldn’t most of the fallout already have settled out?” Alyx asks.

“There’s still plenty left in the atmosphere, and this is the first rain we’ve seen.” There’s another crack of thunder and the skies open up. Zane switches on the wipers and the tired rubber blades squeak and stutter across the glass. A quarter mile farther on, they pass the two women. They appear to be oblivious to the rain as they continue marching forward, the rain dripping from their scalded faces. The ash that’s been on the roadway for more than a week makes the road slippery, forcing Zane to slow.

When they reach the outskirts of Memphis, Zane steers toward the south loop, skirting around downtown. The slick roads and the large number of dead automobiles on the highway make the going slow. After an hour, the highway they’re on links back to Interstate 40 and they motor on.

“On a normal day, we’d be able to make Weatherford in about seven hours,” Alyx says.

Zane glances over at her. “That’s out the window. How many times have you traveled this highway?”

“Enough times I could probably drive it blindfolded.”

“Why? Just for the hell of it?”

“No, smartass. I went to school at Vanderbilt in Nashville. I had just started my first year of college when my parents made the move to Weatherford. I lucked out and missed most of the culture shock Holly had to deal with.”

The rain tapers to a fine mist and Zane kills the squeaking wipers

“Where did you grow up?” Zane asks.

“Palm Springs. My dad got his start in the wind industry out there.”

“I haven’t been to Weatherford but I’ve been to my fair share of small towns. Must have been a hell of a change for your sister.”

“It was. She called me, crying, almost every day the first month. Then the calls began to taper off. She loves it there now.”

Zane turns back to the road, shoots his arm out to shield Alyx, and slams on the brakes. The truck comes to a stop a hundred yards from a roadblock. Dead autos have been wedged into place and, behind them, a group of people armed with rifles.

“Why did they put up a roadblock?” Zane asks.

“To keep outsiders from coming in and using up all the resources.”

“But this is a federal highway. What gives them the right?”

“The guns they’re carrying.”

“We’ll have to find another way around.”

“That’s going to be more difficult than you think,” Alyx says.

“Why?”

“Because there’s two miles of Mississippi River between where we are and where we want to be.”

Off the coast of São Miguel Island, Azores

Situated in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean is the nine-island chain known as the Azores, an autonomous region of Portugal. Volcanic in origin, the islands are isolated—the nearest neighbor is six hundred miles south, and the coast of Portugal lies a thousand miles to the east. After running throughout the night, the USS New York is now two miles south of São Miguel Island, drifting along at two knots at a depth of 150 feet.