Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

The man nods and pushes the door open. Before the door comes to a stop, the man’s arm comes up, the Uzi grasped in his hand. The Uzi barks, sending out a wild spray of bullets as Gage squeezes the trigger. Most of the man’s head disappears, coating the interior of the car with a ghoulish mix of blood, bone, and brain matter. Gage takes one large step to the left and brings the shotgun to bear on the second man, who’s struggling to get the AK-47 up and in firing position. Gage fires again, the muzzle flash lighting up the inside of the car. The buckshot only has to travel six feet, and when it hits the man’s center chest, it drives him back into the seat. The man rebounds forward and slumps in his seat. Gage lowers his weapon and bends over to vomit as Henry walks unsteadily around the back of the car.

Henry clicks on his light. “Are you okay, Gage? Are you hit?”

Gage shakes his head, unable to speak. He vomits again and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why didn’t you just let them go?” Henry asks.

Gage gags, but the well is dry. He stands and wipes his mouth again. “Couldn’t. His shirt is covered with blood.”

“You think they killed Mitch?”

“That’s the only way they would have ever gotten his Mustang.”

“What about the rest of his family?”

“Don’t know.” Gage gags again and pauses a moment for the urge to pass. “Mitch’s house is on the way. Better stop to take a look.”

Off the coast of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina

At dusk, Brad and Tanner dropped anchor a mile offshore from Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Brad was right. Their luck did change and he snagged two medium-sized black sea bass. Now, standing over the propane stove in the ship’s galley, the sizzling fish are making Brad’s mouth water. Tanner, on deck standing watch, ducks his head inside to inquire when dinner will be ready.

Brad glances up from the stove. “I thought you didn’t like fish.”

“I didn’t think I did, but that smells pretty good.”

“Give me another five minutes. Anything going on up there?”

“No. But it’s so dark I can’t see much of anything.”

“Use your ears. Noise travels a long way across water.”

“And listen for what?”

Brad turns the fish, crisping the skin. “Splashes or unusual noises that are close by. And don’t just focus on the area surrounding the boat. I’m worried about smaller boats approaching us.”

“Okay, Dad . I got it.” Tanner’s face disappears from view.

Brad lifts one end of the fish fillet with a spatula to check the crispness. Using a propane lantern to keep from running the generator, he’s eager to kill the light. He scoops the fish onto plates, grabs the lantern, and carries everything up the stairs. He passes a plate to Tanner, sets the lantern on the deck, and sits, the light leaking from below providing enough illumination for them to see their food.

Tanner takes a tentative bite, chews, and goes back for more.

“Like it?” Brad asks.

“Yeah, doesn’t taste fishy at all.”

“I told you, it’s all about how it’s prepared.”

Tanner takes a big bite. “You can cook this again,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fish.

Brad polishes off the last of his fish and sets his plate aside. He didn’t anchor at this location on a whim. Earlier he saw a sign for a marina at the Oregon Inlet and the entrance to that inlet is now located a mile off their bow. No doubt the marina has been ransacked, but Brad is hoping someone might have left a reverse osmosis water system behind. The only way he’ll know for sure is to paddle the kayak to shore and look. But that creates another set of problems. Leaving the EmmaSophia unoccupied is off the table, but Brad is wondering if his twelve-year-old son is up to the task of guarding their lifeline. Especially since Tanner has never fired any type of weapon, including a slingshot. After mulling the matter over for a few minutes, Brad decides he’s not willing to risk it.

While his mind clicks through other options, Brad grabs the empty plates and steps out to the swim platform. He kneels down to rinse the plates and a hand latches on to his arm. Off-balance, the hand yanks and Brad tumbles into the water. He surfaces, disoriented, searching for the person who had pulled him overboard. He turns back to the boat to see a woman climbing onto the swim platform. With a strong kick, Brad lunges for the back of the boat. He swipes at her foot and misses. She’s up now and climbing over the transom, her wet hair plastered to her face. “Tanner, gun,” Brad shouts as he scrambles onto the back of the boat. He gets a leg up and his foot slips off, sending him back into the water. He glances up to see his son grappling the woman, the rifle between them.

Brad roars, braces his arms against the boat, and lifts himself out of the water. The deck is slippery and he loses his footing, belly flopping over the transom. He scrambles to his feet as the woman kicks Tanner in the crotch and grabs the rifle. Brad charges and grabs the woman by the waist, tackling her to the deck and crushing the air from her lungs. Brad wrestles the rifle away and stands, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He cocks the hammer and swings the barrel toward the woman cowering on the deck.

“No, Dad,” Tanner shouts, hunched over, his hands wrapped around his midsection.

Brad glances at his son. “Why?” he shouts.

“Don’t… shoot… her.”

Brad turns back to the woman. “Get up.”

“Can’t breathe,” the woman stutters.

“I don’t care. Get your ass up.”

The woman rolls onto her stomach and gets up to her knees. With a hand braced on the center console, she pulls herself to a standing position. Brad gets his first look at her. She appears to be in her midthirties, but he can’t tell for sure with her long, dark hair covering her face.

The woman pushes the wet hair aside. “Please, I don’t have”—she takes a couple of shallow breaths—“anywhere to go.”

“Yes, you do. You’re going back in the water.”

“Please, just listen to me.”

“I’m not up for story time.” Brad steps left, now behind her. “Move.”

The woman shuffles toward the back of the boat. “I fell in with… the wrong… crowd,” the woman says, sobbing.

“That was your mistake,” Brad says, nudging her on with the rifle barrel.

“Dad?” Tanner says.

“Quiet, Tanner,” Brad says.

The woman climbs unsteadily over the transom.

“Jump in,” Brad orders.

The woman wipes the tears from her cheeks before jumping in the water. Brad grabs a flashlight, clicks it on, and steps back to the stern. He shines the light at the woman’s face. “Swim,” Brad says.

The woman continues to tread water. “I have no place to go.”

Brad brings the rifle up. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Swim.”

Fresh tears are leaking from her eyes. “Shoot me, then. I’m dead either way.”

Tanner crosses the deck and places a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Don’t shoot her, Dad. Let her come aboard. We can drop her off farther down the shore.”

Brad turns his head. “The woman tried to steal our boat.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it,” the woman says. She slips beneath the surface and reappears, coughing. “I was… looking for a place… to hide.”

“So you thought you would swim a mile offshore and try to climb aboard a boat? A boat that doesn’t belong to you?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was frightened.”

“You weren’t too frightened to wrestle my son for the gun?”

“I didn’t want him to shoot me. Please, I’m not a bad person.”