Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

Brad lowers his rifle and turns to his son. “Help her out of the water.” He moves toward the front of the cockpit to allow him room to maneuver and keeps the flashlight aimed at the woman as Tanner helps her out of the water. “Take a seat,” Brad orders, motioning the rifle barrel toward the backseat.

The woman sits and brushes the hair out of her face. Brad steps a little closer and studies the woman more closely. She’s dressed in a tattered skirt and a once-white tunic blouse embroidered with some type of Aztec design along the collar and sleeves. She lifts a hand to block the light. “You’re blinding me.”

Brad, wanting to bean her with the flashlight, instead lets the beam drift down to her lower half. Her legs are scratched and bruised and her feet are bare, the last remnants of red nail polish on her toes barely visible. “Who are you?” Brad asks.

“My name is Nicole Stevens. I’m from, or was from, Greenville, North Carolina.”

“Age and occupation?”

“What is this? An interrogation?” Nicole asks. When Brad doesn’t answer, she sighs, then says, “I’m thirty-four and I’m currently employed, or was employed, as an adjunct English instructor at East Carolina University.” She tugs on a strand of hair to remove it from her mouth. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

“Undecided,” Brad says. “What kind of trouble are you in? Do we need to be concerned about our safety, now that you’ve intruded onto our boat?”

“No, I slipped away from him before I entered the water.”

“Who’s him?”

“Damon, a man I met on the road out of Greenville. Don’t know his last name. We were part of a much bigger group initially but that became too unwieldy. And he’s the only one who had a weapon.” Nicole sighs. “He was as nice as he could be for the first few days.”

“And?” Brad asks.

“Not so much since then. He took… advantage of me… and tried…”—a fresh round of tears starts, spilling down her still-damp cheeks—“and he tried to… barter me to… others… to get things he wanted. I ran away before he could.”

“Why didn’t you go inland?” Brad asks.

“He told me he would kill… me if... if I tried… to run away.” She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “And he’s… very… resourceful.”

“And where is this Damon now?”

Nicole takes a moment to regain her composure. “Over there in Kitty Hawk. He was trying to woo another woman into our group.” Nicole wipes the tears from her eyes. “I slipped away and ran.”

“Did he follow you?”

“No.”

“How do you know for sure?” Brad asks.

“I didn’t see him.”

Brad curses under his breath, all thoughts of the reverse osmosis system gone. “Tanner, I’m going to watch our guest. Will you pull the anchor and motor us farther out to sea?”

“Okay.” Tanner scrambles across the deck and pulls up the anchor before returning to the helm. He fires up the engine and spins the wheel, aiming for deeper water.

Brad turns back to Nicole. “Do you have a family?”

“I’m divorced.”

“No kids?”

“No. We had issues.”

Brad mulls that over for a moment. “I’m sorry about your difficulties, but you’re leaving the boat at the first dock we come to.”

Weatherford

The continuing anxiety over Holly’s whereabouts and possible condition crowds into Gage’s brain, expelling the horrific images of the shoot-out on the road. Now nearing the Marston residence, he clicks on his headlamp to pinpoint the driveway, and turns the light off. The home is situated a hundred yards beyond the road, and Gage turns into the drive and pauses.

“How do you want to handle this?” Henry asks in a whisper.

“Straight on. I want to know what’s going on with Holly. When we get up to the house, I’ll shout out for Mitch and we switch on our lights.”

“Are we worried about other intruders or, if Mitch is alive, him shooting us?”

“I’m not worried about other intruders. The two I killed had probably just left here. And the odds of Mitch being alive are slim to none. Let’s just get this over with.” Gage clicks on his headlamp and starts off at a good clip, Henry struggling to keep up. Gage shouts Mitch’s name as they approach the house. There is no movement and no reply. A dozen steps later, they find the reason. Mitch is lying in the front yard, his throat slit, the ground around him soaked with blood. Gage grimaces, but continues on, making his way toward the front door. The door is ajar, and Gage nudges it open with the barrel of the shotgun. “Cindy, it’s Gage Larson,” he says into the dark void beyond. “Cindy?” Nothing. “Josh, Jacey, are you in there?” Josh is six and Jacey is four.

When he receives no answer, Gage turns to Henry and whispers: “You stay here to cover me.”

Henry nods.

Gage takes a deep breath and steps through the door. The metallic scent of spilled blood is heavy in the confined space. He scans from left to right, the flashlight beam lighting up the scene. Furniture is overturned, lamps lie broken on the floor, and the cushions on the sofa have been sliced open. The rage builds as Gage walks deeper into the house. He steps into the dining room and nearly collapses to his knees. Cindy is lying nude on the dining room table. Her throat, too, has been cut, but that’s not the extent of her injuries. Her breasts are covered with bite marks and blood is still leaking around the broom handle shoved into her vagina. Gage gags, puts a hand over his mouth, and turns away. He spends a moment trying to regain a sliver of composure before shuffling down the hallway.

Knowing he must check on the children, he tamps down the sudden urge to flee. He turns into the first bedroom, the light washing across pink-painted walls. The letters of the alphabet are displayed on a high shelf running around the perimeter of the room, and the bed, covered with a cartoon character comforter, is empty. Gage steps over to the closet door and eases it open. Jacey is lying on the floor, nude, her throat slit. He moans with despair at the bite marks and the blood pooled around her hips. Turning away, the ember in his gut ignites into a roaring fire. His vision blurry from the tears, Gage eases the door closed and hurries down the hall, opening the door to Josh’s room. On the walls are posters of past Oklahoma Sooners football greats, and on the bed, is Josh. In addition to his throat being slashed, Josh has also been gutted. Tears dripping from his cheeks, Gage hurries to the front door and runs from the house, collapsing to his knees in the front yard and burying his face in his hands.

Henry walks over, kneels down, and wraps an arm around Gage’s shoulder. The sobbing continues for several moments. That tiny morsel of remorse Gage felt for killing the two men is wiped from his mind. He’s now wishing the men had endured a long, agonizing death. He wipes his eyes and pushes to his feet. With no words of what he had found in the house, he lurches down the driveway, Henry following behind. They walk the remaining distance in silence before turning into the doctor’s neighborhood.

Walking up and down the neighborhood streets, they’re searching for Gage’s old pickup. On the third street they find it parked behind a white Volvo, the doors hanging open. Gage quickens his pace and lunges up the steps, wrapping his knuckles on the door. When the door is not immediately opened he makes a fist and pounds on the door.

Henry steps up to the porch, winded. “Easy, Gage, you’re going to wake the entire… neighborhood.”

Gage whirls around, a snarl forming on his lips. But seeing the empathy on his father-in-law’s face drives the anger from his body. Henry knows that what Gage had seen in that house has shaken him to his core. He turns back when the door opens, revealing a man holding a pistol. “I’m Holly’s husband and this is her father.”