Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

“I’m worried something is happening with the baby,” Gage says. “That’s the only reason Susan didn’t show up.”

“Gage, you’re going to worry yourself sick. Hell, the truck battery could be dead. Or maybe she had a flat or ran out of gas.”

It’s difficult for Gage to know if Henry actually believes what he’s saying without seeing his face. “I put a new battery in last month, and the gas tank was full when we left home.”

“Well, it could still be a flat or something else.”

“It’s the something else that has me worried, Henry.”

“Worrying about it is not going to do a damn bit of good. Here, take the other end of my belt. We’ll use it to stay together.”

Gage reaches, finds the belt, and wraps it around his hand. “Which way is the main road?”

“Good question. I think straight ahead. If we can stay on the gravel we should be in good shape. I didn’t pay any attention when we were coming in. How far to the main road?”

“A couple hundred yards.”

With no point of reference, they stumble on, hoping they’re traveling in the right direction. As if the gods were taking pity on them, a swarm of fireflies move up out of the creek bottom and fly in their direction. You don’t really realize how bright they are until you see them in a lightless world. By the hundreds, they keep coming, swarming high in the air, lighting the landscape in an eerie greenish yellow glow. Henry and Gage hurry along the gravel road, trying to imprint the layout ahead in their minds. The light fades moments later as the fireflies take a meandering flight back toward the creek.

Henry and Gage walk for several moments and somehow lose contact with the gravel at one of the bends in the road. They keep plodding forward until Henry shouts, “Stop, Gage. We’ve hit the fence.” He curses as he tries to unhook his shirt from the sharp barbs. “We must be close to the road. We’ll have to walk along the fence line until we run into the cattle guard.” Once untangled, Henry places a finger on the upper wire and slowly walks to the right. With barbs every eight inches or so, the going is slow, and Henry nicks his finger more than once. Shuffle stepping and feeling for obstructions with his boots, Henry moves forward with Gage following closely behind, the belt grasped in his hand. Eventually, Henry comes to an iron post and feels around with his foot to find the cattle guard. Made out of pipe gapped every few inches, the guard is centered over a depression in the road and allows vehicle access without having to fool with a gate. The cattle won’t walk across it, but Gage has seen a horse cross one without even a second thought.

They climb atop the cattle guard and cross, walking up a short incline to the paved road. They hang a right and move toward what they believe is the middle of the road and pick up the pace. Unless they run into a stalled car, the asphalt allows for quicker progress. “There’s the house,” Henry says.

In the distance they can see the lights on at the Reed residence, the only one with the lights burning. With a beacon to lead them and a straight, smooth road before them, they gobble up the distance and turn up the drive after twenty minutes of walking. Gage’s old truck is gone, and a tingle of dread races down his spine. They hurry to the house and Henry swings the door open and they step inside. Henry stops just inside the door and Gage runs into the back of him. Peering over Henry’s shoulder, Gage spots the reason—a pool of watery blood on the entryway tile.

Hayti, Missouri

Zane and Alyx cross the Mississippi River as the muted sun sinks toward the water. After traveling fifty miles out of the way, they finally found a bridge that wasn’t being barricaded. They bounce across the bridge and pick up Highway 412 headed west. Zane glances at the gas gauge and winces. The needle is hovering above empty and they’re in the middle of nowhere. With the distance between houses measured in miles, they’re surrounded by fields planted with crops that will never be harvested.

Zane glances over at Alyx. “We need fuel. And I could go for something to eat.”

“How much gas do we have left?”

“Not enough. How much food do we have?”

Alyx digs through her backpack. “We have three cans of Spam and a sleeve of saltines. And the remaining protein bars. Maybe we can find an abandoned house up ahead.”

“I doubt it. These farmers don’t like to stray too far from home.”

“How would you know? Did you grow up on a farm? Here, you’ve been in my pants and I don’t know a damn thing about your previous life.”

Zane glances her way. “The way Sarah talked, it sounds like that might be a common occurrence for you.”

There’s a pause before Alyx says, “Do you want me to describe, in detail, the number of times and ways I’ve been fucked?”

Zane’s can feel the heat in his cheeks. “No.”

“Then don’t make statements like that.”

They ride in silence the next few miles. Zane occasionally glances her way, but as the darkness deepens, he can no longer gauge her mood by her facial expressions. He leans forward and clicks on the headlights. It’s not like Zane is a saint. He can count the number of women he’s been with—if he uses both hands. They pass a sign welcoming them to Kennett and hit the town two miles later. The first store they pass is a looted Walmart Supercenter. Zane slows and whips a U-turn, pulling into the store’s parking lot. A good number of expired farm trucks dot the lot and Zane cruises through, pulling up next to an old Dodge.

“Will you cover me with the shotgun?”

Alyx grabs the shotgun, pushes open the door, and climbs out in silence. It’s nearing full dark, and Zane hurries to siphon the gas. He gets the gas to flow with the first suck and crams the hose into Old Goldie’s tank. Zane’s exhausted from the adrenaline spikes and ebbs from earlier in the day. His brain is working overtime to tamp down the images of the five people he shot. He’s not suffering regret, but it’s damn difficult to kill someone and not wonder if they had families, or others who cared very deeply for them. The hose gurgles and he pulls it out of both tanks and tosses it in the bed.

“Good to go, Alyx.”

Alyx squats to pee before pulling open the door and climbing into the cab. Zane scoots around the back and retakes his position behind the wheel. He glances Alyx’s way even though he can’t see her. “I’m sorry, Alyx. That comment was way out of bounds. I was no angel, either.”

The silence is made longer by the darkness. Zane sighs, drops the truck in gear, and pulls out of the lot, making a right on 412. The evening is warm and muggy and there’s sweat dripping down Zane’s back, soaking his shirt. Food isn’t their only problem—they’re also going to need water soon. They travel in silence for another few miles, before Alyx finally speaks. “I bet you were a real player, weren’t you?”

Zane can feel the heat rise in his cheeks again. “I wouldn’t say that. But yes, I’ve had relationships.”

“How are those different from mine?”

Zane searches for the right terminology. “Maybe in frequency?”

Alyx sighs in the dark. “Whatever.”

Zane knows that’s a dangerous word and remains silent as he slows to read a sign: ST. FRANCIS RIVER. They cross the bridge and Zane turns off onto a dirt road leading down to the water. The headlights reflect off the surface of the slowly moving water and Zane pulls deep into a thicket of trees and kills the lights and the engine.

“What are we doing?” Alyx asks in a flat tone.

“I’m wiped out. I’m going to rinse off in the river and sleep for a little while. Unless you want to drive?”