Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

Des Moines

McDowell opens his eyes as the first hints of daylight stretch across the landscape. He pushes out of the chair and stands. Either the night was quiet or he slept through another shoot-out. He clicks on his flashlight and smothers the lens. Nope, the Glock is still resting on the table and Melissa and Lauren are snuggled up on the sofa. With the glass gone from the front door, the reception area is chilly. McDowell grabs the pistol and stuffs it into his waistband then slings the shotgun over his shoulder and steps outside to take a piss. It’s cold enough that the warm urine produces a cloud of vapor when it hits the grass. He laments the loss of his uniform jacket as he zips up and walks around the corner to check on the fire. A smattering of pale orange embers are glowing and he stokes them before adding more wood. Once the fire is going good, he retraces his steps back inside, rubbing his arms to get the blood moving.

In the reception area, Melissa and Lauren are awake and having a discussion with one of the students. McDowell knows the faces, but he hasn’t yet attached all the names. Rather than eavesdrop, he begins a search through the offices for some type of jacket. He’s on his second office when Lauren steps inside and closes the door.

“Lindsey says Hannah went to the bathroom sometime during the night and has not returned.”

“I thought they were supposed to go together?”

“According to Lindsey, Hannah wouldn’t allow her to go outside with her. Hannah apparently told her she didn’t want anyone watching her taking a crap.”

“Maybe she crashed in another office.”

“I don’t know, but we have to find her.”

Melissa, Lauren, and McDowell grab flashlights and fan out through the building. McDowell searches the nicer offices before moving on to the conference room. He shines the beam under the table, in the storage closets, and the small adjoining bathroom. No sign of Hannah. He moves down the corridor, searching offices, restrooms, and closets—anywhere a fourteen-year-old girl might hide. He comes to the end of the corridor and turns back, searching the areas again. Still no sign of Hannah. A tingle of dread prickles his neck. He hurries to the area Lauren and Melissa are searching. “Any sign?”

“No,” Lauren says. “The only place we haven’t searched is the kitchen.”

McDowell reaches back and grabs the pistol, pulling it free. He hands the gun to Lauren. “I’ll check the kitchen. I want you to gather the kids in the conference room and keep them there.”

“Why? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing good. I’ll make a sweep of the kitchen then I’m headed outside. Do not let any of them out until I give you the all clear.”

“Stan, what’s going on?” Melissa asks, her face a mask of worry.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” McDowell hurries to the kitchen and does a quick sweep before moving to the back door. He unslings the shotgun and steps outside, pausing to listen. The only noise he hears is the rustle of leaves in the early-morning breeze. It’s light enough now, and he tucks the flashlight into his pocket, allowing both hands free to handle the shotgun. Veering by the truck he peeks into the cab—no Hannah. Now the tingle is a full-on rush.

Starting from the hood of the truck, he walks a zigzag pattern through the greenbelt, methodically searching the ground. When he reaches the residential street he increases his pace as he hurries up to the next block, scanning both sides of the road. The road dead-ends and McDowell stops and turns a circle, his brain processing what his eyes see. He spots a small park a block over and hurries that way, slowing when he nears. There’s a three-person swing set, a slide, and two rotting teeter-totters attached to an iron pole, the wood planks sagging under their own weight. But still no sign of Hannah.

McDowell slowly approaches a small cluster of trees that are dominated by a large white oak, its graceful limbs arching over most of the park. As he fights through the brush, his nose picks up the first hint of trouble—the scent of blood. He pushes into a clearing surrounding the massive trunk. The ground is littered with beer bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms. He leans forward to peer around the trunk, already knowing what he’s going to find. Hannah’s body is lying among the refuse of a previous life. McDowell steps around the trunk and kneels down, checking for a pulse as a red-hot rage ignites in his inner core. Hannah’s skin is cold to the touch and her jeans and panties are puddled around her ankles. McDowell drops back on his haunches to gather himself.

Could the killer be a part of their group? McDowell lets that thought tumble around his mind for a moment. Not likely, he decides. The students have been together for almost three weeks with no hints of violence. And McDowell hadn’t picked up any vibes that evil is lurking in the group over the last few days.

With the smoke-filled skies, it’s dark in the underbrush. McDowell clicks on his flashlight and leans forward, examining Hannah’s body. Blood has soaked the ground near her vaginal area, but that wouldn’t have killed her, McDowell reasons. He pulls up her T-shirt, and working methodically up her body, searches for gunshot or stab wounds and doesn’t find any. Her breasts are bruised and covered with bite marks. Moving up to her head and neck area, he finds heavy bruising around the base of her neck with some elongated bruising that stretches nearly all the way around. He sits back on his haunches and sighs. Hannah had been raped and strangled. He picks up Hannah’s right hand and finds a hunk of flesh under her middle fingernail. He leans forward to check the left hand and finds more flesh under the nail on her left index finger. Whoever it was, she scratched the bastard good. McDowell takes a moment to pull up Hannah’s pants and pushes to his feet, returning to the office building.

The kids are slumped in the chairs surrounding the conference table. “Gang, if any of you need to go to the bathroom you may. But stay close to the building. Lauren and Melissa, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Lauren and Melissa follow McDowell into one of the other offices. He takes a deep breath and turns to face them. “Hannah is dead.”

Lauren sags and has to catch herself on one of the chairs. She shuffles around to the front and sits. “What happened?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, but it appears she was raped and strangled.”

Melissa shuffles to the other chair and collapses into it, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What are we… going to do? How are we going… to tell her parents?” She glances up at McDowell. “Who… who did it?”

“Unknown. There’s a residential area on the other side of the greenbelt. If she was out waving around a flashlight, the killer could have spotted her from over there. The odds of finding the murderer are long and it would be an arduous task that could stretch on for days.”

“Can we go to the police?” Lauren asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“I’m not sure a cohesive police unit still exists this deep into the crisis. Most have probably drifted off to rejoin their families. Crime, even one as heinous as this, would be far down their list of worries.”

Melissa palms the tears from her cheeks. “So, what should we do?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

McDowell pulls the chair from under the desk and sits. “The way I see it, we have two choices: bury Hannah here, or take her body with us to deliver to her family.”

Lauren winces at the mention of Hannah’s family. “God, I don’t know what we’re going to tell her family. She was our responsibility.”