Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

He’s rewarded with a deep, throaty growl. The dog lunges forward a step, bloody drool dripping from his mouth. The overwhelming majority of people will tell you to never run from a dog, but Zeke is quickly running out of options. He takes two tiny shuffle steps toward the door, the dog tracking his every move. “Easy, boy.” Zane shuffles a little closer to the door. “Everything’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog snarls, his sharp teeth exposed.

Zane throws the map at the dog before ducking through the door. “Shoot,” he shouts as the dog charges out of the store. The dog, unbelievably quick for his size, is on Zane before he’s taken a second step. Alyx wheels around the back of the pickup with a horrified look on her face. That’s all Zane can see before the dog latches on to his lower leg and drags him to the ground. Zane kicks with his free leg, his boot thudding into the dog’s head, but the dog’s powerful jaws remain clasped to his leg. Zane rolls onto his back, still kicking, trying to cover his face with his arms in case the dog lunges forward. He hears a crunch and suddenly the pressure on his leg releases. He scrambles away as Alyx hits the dog again with the butt of the shotgun. “Shoot it,” he shouts.

Alyx reverses the shotgun and tucks the stock tight to her shoulder.

“Shoot,” Zane shouts.

Alyx begins to quiver and she lowers the gun. Zane hobbles over, takes the shotgun from her hands, and shoots the pit bull in the head. Zane glances around to see if the shot has attracted any attention as he pushes Alyx toward the pickup. “Get in. We need to get the hell out of here.”

Still dazed, Alyx clambers aboard as Zane tenderly slides behind the wheel. He drops the truck into gear and they roar out of the lot. He doesn’t stop until they’ve passed the city limit sign. He climbs out of the truck, pushes off his shoe, and pulls up his pant leg. His sock is soaked with blood and a large patch of skin is dangling from his calf.

Alyx kneels down for a closer look. “You need stitches.”

“I’ll make an appointment with my doctor.” Zane strips off his outer shirt, then his T-shirt, still stained from Alyx’s bloody nose, and hands it to her. “Bind it as best you can, for now.”

“Maybe we can find a doctor in town.”

“Not likely. Just bind it up.” Zane grimaces as Alyx tightens the T-shirt against his calf. “We’ll find a needle and some thread and you can sew it up.”

Alyx stands. “I can’t sew.”

“I’ll teach you. Let’s circle back to that store near the interstate and see if we can find one of those emergency sewing kits.”

“You need antibiotics, too.”

“One step at a time,” Zane says, stepping into his blood-filled shoe.

Near Hog Island, Virginia

The going gets more difficult the closer Brad and Tanner get to the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. Unlike the West Coast, where the current moves from north to south, here the Gulf Stream current moves from south to north, pulling the warmer water and humid air out of the Caribbean. That same current is now pushing north a raft of debris that is miles wide.

And it’s not just the debris that’s a problem. The stench emanating from the pile is nauseating—it smells like equal parts rotting flesh, raw sewage, and a restaurant Dumpster seven days in the sun, and the worst part is it’s inescapable. Brad and Tanner are wearing strips from an old T-shirt across their faces to keep the smell from imbedding permanently in their sinuses. To the west, where Washington, D.C., once resided, smoke lingers from the continuing wildfires. From Brad’s vantage point, the land is scorched for as far as he can see, and the once-visible Washington Monument is a now a gap on the horizon. Brad turns away and trims the sails, steering behind a larger powerboat as if it were an icebreaker.

Across the water to the south, it doesn’t appear that Virginia fared much better than the nation’s capital. The Hampton Roads area is nothing but smoldering ruins. Naval Station Norfolk, the world’s largest naval station, which also houses the largest concentration of U.S. Navy forces, is absolutely obliterated. Brad had sailed this way several years ago and he’s astounded at the destruction. Several immense ships, which appear to have been making their getaway, are listing badly at the mouth of the harbor, abandoned and left to find their own watery grave. The fractured deck of an aircraft carrier points skyward, the black tarmac now a runway to nowhere. Most of the wrecks are still smoldering, and Brad can’t begin to fathom how many lives were lost. With God knows what littering the sea floor near the harbor, Brad diverts from behind the powerboat and heads out to deeper water.

Tanner comes topside to stretch his legs. He scans the surrounding area before turning to his father, his eyes wide. “Dad, do you think any of our warships survived?”

Brad ponders the question for a moment. Surely those ships at sea had some measure of protection, simply because they would be hard to find, especially if the low-orbit satellites were out of operation shortly after it all began. “Yeah, I do, Tanner. I don’t believe they could have targeted every ship in the U.S. Navy. Then you have the submarines, which are damn near impossible to detect on a good day. So, yes, I believe there are some remaining warships.”

“Where are they?”

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Maybe they’re marshaling their forces before sailing back stateside. Or it could be they’re remaining out at sea to avoid detection.”

Tanner takes a seat on the back bench. “Do you think there are any bombs left?”

“I sure as hell hope not, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were. I don’t know what’s left to bomb or what the point would be. You can’t destroy what’s already been destroyed.” Brad sighs. “Unfortunately, there’s a lot we don’t know and may never know.”

Tanner falls silent for several minutes, his gaze focused on something in the distance. He turns to look at his father. “What happened to their bodies?”

Brad, scanning for debris, takes a moment to collect his thoughts. After several moments of silence, he turns to face his son. “Your mother and Sophia?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be buried, son. I know there’s no closure for either of us.” Brad’s mind is clicking through explanations, something that might help alleviate his son’s pain, and comes up empty. “Maybe someday we’ll be able to have a memorial service for both of them. But, truthfully, Tanner, I don’t know what the future holds. We may never make it back home.” He wants to tell Tanner that millions of other families are dealing with the same issue, but decides against it. The statement won’t help Tanner overcome his grief. “I guess all we can do is persevere.” Brad reaches up and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Did Mom shoot that doctor?”

Brad struggles with the right answer. Maybe. I don’t really know. I didn’t see what happened. Tell my son his mother was a murderer? “Your mother wasn’t thinking, only acting. But to answer your question frankly, son, yeah, she did.”

“Because he killed Sophia?”

Can life get any more complicated? “Yes.”

Brad glances at his son. Tanner nods and appears to withdraw deeper within himself. “I’m sorry, son. I wished we could go back in time to change everything. But we can’t. Your mother was doing what she thought needed to be done. I couldn’t stop her and I don’t think anyone could have stopped her. It is what it is. All we can do now is move forward. You understand that, don’t you, Tanner?”