Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

“Are you worried about collateral damage?” Garcia asks.

“Hell no. They made their bed,” Thompson says. “If we’re lucky those three might catch some shrapnel.”

“I don’t know about shrapnel, but I’ll guar-an-damn-tee you they’re gonna piss their pants.”

Thompson smiles. “Carlos, trigger your periscope camera and keep it focused on those three. I’ll trigger mine and lock it on the frigate.” Once the cameras are activated, Thompson orders the feeds broadcast over the shipwide video system via split screen.

“Two hundred yards to target,” White says.

“If we’re lucky they’ll still have some heavy weapons on board,” Thompson says. “Be nice to detonate their payload.”

“One hundred yards to target.” And seconds later White announces: “Contact.”

A cheer erupts on the bridge and echoes of the same can be heard throughout the boat.

“Direct hit,” Thompson says, peering at the video screen. He glances at Garcia. “Cut that sucker in half.” The shockwave from the blast washes across the hull as Thompson and Garcia high-five. “Periscopes down,” Thompson orders. “Q, takes us down to two-zero-zero. Mr. Patterson, plot a course for Bermuda.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” the navigator, Mike Patterson, replies.

Weatherford

After a grueling ten-minute climb, Henry and Gage reach the hub of the wind turbine. Gage cranks open the nacelle’s doors and the breeze offers a brief respite. They take a few minutes to catch their breath as Gage peers over the side, spotting the Reed residence a couple of miles away. He tries tracing the power grid wires from here to there, but loses track in a tangle of wires at the distribution station.

“This turbine was off-line when the EMP struck, correct?” Henry asks.

“Yes. I was planning to do some maintenance on it the following day.”

“That might have saved our bacon.” Henry pulls out his portable oscilloscope and begins checking electrical circuits. Gage threads one of the two ropes he carried up into the pulley system and hoists his toolbox up the tower and begins working to put the analog pressure gauge on the brake’s hydraulic system.

Gage glances up at the sky. “How long is this haze going to hang around, Henry?”

Henry pauses his work to look up. “Years, most likely. And it’ll play havoc on the global climate.”

“How’s that?”

“Ever hear of a nuclear winter?”

“Yes. A plunge in temperatures?”

“Exactly, and that plunge will have far-reaching effects. The decrease in global temps will wipe out growing seasons all across the planet. Not for a year or two, it could be a decade or longer. People like us, those that survived, will endure a famine of unimaginable proportions. Add in the deaths of millions of feeder cattle, hogs, chickens, and turkeys, and we could be looking at the end of life as we know it.”

“So why are we going to the effort to produce electricity if it’s all for nothing?” Gage asks.

“Because if we get a couple of these turbines working we could grow some crops under the grow lights I have stashed in the barn. And there should be pockets of wildlife that survived. I’m determined my first grandchild, along with my children and you, Gage, will survive. But our only hope is to get some of the turbines producing electricity.”

Henry returns to his task, checking the circuits in the power inverter. The inverter converts the power generated by the turbine from direct current (DC) to alternating current (AC), which is the type of electricity supplied to homes and businesses. With the oscilloscope, Henry uses probes to check the continuity of the various circuit boards. After an hour of probing, he pauses to stretch his back. “Gage, hold off on any more modifications. We may be in better shape than I thought.”

“How many dead circuit boards did you find?”

“Just three so far. If you’ll hoist my electronics case up, I have some spares to replace the damaged ones.”

Gage steps over to the pulley system and threads in the second rope. Henry’s bag weighs significantly less than Gage’s tools and it doesn’t take him long to bring them up. Once the case is on deck, the two break to eat lunch, which consists of pieces of thick-sliced ham from the Reed freezer and a hunk of cheddar cheese.

“Do you remember if there were any other turbines off-line on doomsday?” Henry asks between bites of ham.

“Just the one I was working on.”

“Which one?”

“Turbine twenty-three.”

“Damn, that’s a mile away. I was hoping to find two together so we could link them.”

Gage cuts off a slice of cheddar cheese, pops it into his mouth, and savors the tangy taste. “This cheese is good. How much do you have left?”

Henry nods toward the ice chest. “That’s the last of it.”

Gage cuts another smaller sliver and allows it to linger on his tongue before chewing. “Are you thinking the turbines that were up and running are toast?”

“Probably so. You told me they all stopped turning shortly after the first EMP. We’ll check a few of them later, but I’d be very surprised if any of the electrical circuits survived.”

Gage takes a sip of water. “So do you have this all figured out now?”

“I think so. On paper it works, and I see no reason it won’t in reality. All we can do is try.”

Memphis

Zane exits off of I-40 in downtown Memphis and picks up 2nd Street going south, searching for a convenience store. Amazingly, most of downtown Memphis remains intact. Other than the damage caused by the looters, most of the structures are upright, and even the famous Peabody Hotel looks as if it could open for business—if they had running water, a working sewer system, and electricity. Zane and Alyx stop at the intersection of Beale Street. The well-known road is covered with trash and there’s a faint odor of soured beer that still lingers. There are some people out, but few are paying any attention to the truck.

Zane spots a plundered 7-Eleven and steers the truck into the parking lot. “I wished the damn cell phones worked. Looking for a map is a pain in the ass.”

“We only have one more state to cross from here. And I could drive most of it blindfolded.”

“Can you tell me where the nearest river crossing is?”

“That I can’t do. Never had any trouble on the freeway.”

“There you go.” Zane pushes open the door and steps out as Alyx climbs down with the shotgun.

Alyx pinches her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Death.” Zane pulls his shirt up to cover his nose and steps through the shattered door. Zane counts four bodies before he stops counting. The store is thick with flies and the floor’s surface appears to be moving from all of the maggots. Zane spots a rack of maps on the front counter and reaches across to grab one, trying to avoid wading any farther into the store. He latches on to a map and freezes in place when he hears the throaty rumble of a dog’s growl. With his body still, Zane slowly turns his head to sees a pit bull three feet away. The dog’s face is dyed red, no doubt from gorging on the bodies over the past week. The dog’s hackles are raised and he looks ready to pounce. Zane’s eyes dart to the window, hoping Alyx is looking his way, but she’s not. She’s standing near the rear of the truck, her gaze focused outward on the surrounding neighborhood. For the first time, he curses Alyx for losing the pistol.

Zane, as slowly and as carefully as possible, makes a quarter turn to face the dog. With wide, heavily muscled shoulders, the dog is sixty pounds of nothing but muscle and bone. Moving only his eyes, Zane searches the front of the store for some type of weapon. Unless he’s going to fend the dog off with a week-old magazine, Zane’s out of luck. “C’mon, Alyx,” he mutters. Zane changes tactics. He slowly extends his hand, palm down and says. “Easy, boy.”