Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

A red smear is visible on the hood of the car. At that distance the buckshot would have spread a couple of feet, meaning the man is injured, but likely not dead. Zane hastens his pace. They need to get the hell out of here before the two behind them start firing. He lopes around the front of the pickup for protection. Alyx matches his speed as he walks sideways, the shotgun centered on his target. He takes a quick glance toward the rear. Those two are now less than a hundred yards away. They stop and raise their rifles, but there’s little Zane can do. They’re well beyond shotgun range. He turns his focus back to the stalled car, knowing the two behind will need time to catch their breath before being able to hit anything smaller than a barn. The man near the trunk lurches to his feet, his injured left arm tucked tight to his body. Zane fires and the double-aught buckshot rips through the man’s midsection.

As shots ring out behind them, Zane dives into the bed of the truck, pounding on the cab. Alyx floors it, and Old Goldie takes off like a spooked deer. On the outskirts of town, Alyx pulls up to a rusted-out farm truck and Zane siphons some gas. He climbs back into the cab, smelling like gasoline. “We need to either avoid people trying to kill us, or find some more ammo.”

“How many shells are left?”

“Three.”

Off the coast of Kitty Hawk

Brad Dixon awakens and, finding himself alone, tosses off the blanket and jumps to his feet, grabbing for the rifle. He’d made Nicole sleep topside while he stood guard. As thoughts of her harming Tanner bombard his mind, he cocks the rifle and steps over to the hatch, nearly colliding with Nicole coming up from below. She’s carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and passes one to Brad. He eases the hammer down and takes the offered mug.

“Sorry. I had to use the restroom and put the coffee on to brew while I was down there.” She walks to the back and plops down on the seat. “That’s the last of the coffee.”

“We’ll reuse the grounds for a day or two,” Brad says, taking a seat behind the wheel.

“You might want to brush up on your guarding skills.”

Brad’s cheeks pink up and he takes a sip of coffee to hide it.

“I’m just saying,” Nicole says. “You were snoring, by the way.”

Brad fires up the engine and steers the boat closer to shore. When he’s satisfied with the location, he kills the engine and drops an anchor off the stern. He stows the rifle, well out of Nicole’s reach, and picks up the fishing pole. He ties on a different lure and casts it over the stern and into the water.

“Your son seems sad,” Nicole says.

“With good reason. He lost his mother and sister only days ago.”

Nicole blows the steam rising from her cup and takes another sip. “And you lost a wife and daughter.”

“Yep.” Brad works the lure using short tugs on the fishing pole. He lets the lure drift for a moment and takes a pull from his coffee cup.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nicole asks.

“Nope.” Brad places his coffee cup aside and returns to the fishing pole. He reels in the lure and recasts. After five more casts and no hits, he switches to the lure he caught the black sea bass on yesterday morning.

Nicole sets her coffee on the rail and stands and stretches. “Do you have a final destination in mind?”

“Someplace that hasn’t been bombed to shit.”

“Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?” Nicole bends over and touches her palms to the deck. She glances up, her head cocked sideways. “No, let me rephrase. Are you always unpleasant?”

Brad’s cheeks pink up again. “No, not always. Only when people try to steal our boat.’”

Nicole stands, places her hands on her hips, and leans to the left. “I wasn’t, nor am I currently, trying to steal your boat.” Nicole returns to center and arches her back before stretching her arms over her head.

“Could have fooled me,” Brad says.

Nicole returns to center and sighs. “I’ll never convince you, will I?”

“Never is a very long time. Your stay aboard won’t be quite that long.”

Nicole changes the subject. “You’re reeling the line in too fast. Mind if I give it a try?”

Brad hands her the fishing rig. “Fish aren’t biting, but knock yourself out.” He sits and retrieves his coffee, watching her.

She reels in the lure, digs through the tackle box, and pulls out a heavy sinker, which she attaches to the line two feet in front of the lure. With that accomplished, she cuts off the lure and installs a double hook. She pulls a plastic squid from the tackle box and slides it on to conceal the hooks. “It’d be better with live bait, but let’s see what this does.” Nicole casts the lure out and once it hits the water, allows the lure to sink to the bottom. Bobbing the pole up and down, Nicole slowly cranks the reel. Within minutes she gets a hit and yanks on the pole to set the hook. She glances over her shoulder. “Would you mind grabbing the net?”

Brad scowls as he stands and pulls the net from the gunwale and moves to the stern. When the fish is within reach, he nets it and pulls it aboard. “Looks like you snagged a flounder. And a big one at that.”

Nicole smiles.

Brad unhooks the fish and Nicole casts out again. She quits after catching four more good-sized flounder.

“What were you doing different than me?” Brad asks.

“If I told you my secret you wouldn’t have any reason to keep me around.” Nicole smiles. “It’s all in how you work the pole, no pun intended.” She attaches a stringer to the extra fish and tosses them in the water.

Brad sets to work fileting the flounder while Nicole works on a second cup of coffee. Watching Brad butcher the job, she stands, takes the knife from his hand, and pushes him out of the way. He leans over the side to rinse his hands before heading below to fire up the stove. Tanner wakes up when the fish hits the pan. Brad glances up to see Nicole standing at the hatch, watching. “Am I cooking it wrong, too?”

Nicole smiles. “Smells good to me.” She turns to look at Tanner. “Good morning, Tanner.”

“Morning, ma’am,” he says before ducking into the head.

Once the fish is cooked, Brad plates three equal portions and carries them topside. “Never thought I’d be eating fish for breakfast,” Tanner mumbles, digging in.

Brad swallows the food in his mouth and says, “We need to eat fish when we can and save the canned stuff for bad-weather days.” He turns to Nicole. “Where did you learn to fish, Nicole?”

Nicole takes notice of his first use of her name. “I grew up around Chesapeake Bay. My dad would take my brother and me out fishing every weekend until I hit high school and decided it wasn’t cool anymore. I haven’t fished in years, but I guess I retained some of what he taught us.”

“How did you catch this flounder?” Brad asks around a mouthful of fish.

“I was drift-fishing the bottom where the flounder live.”

Brad puts his fork down. “That’s what I was doing.”

Nicole holds up a finger. “No, not exactly. You were dragging the bait through the mud. I put the sinker on there to keep the lure off the bottom.” She takes a bite and turns to Tanner. “What grade would you be going into?”

“Eighth.” Tanner sighs. “And it was going to be the first year for me to start on the basketball team.”

“I can see why. You’re a tall young man. I bet you can bury the three at will.”

Tanner smiles. Brad notices because it’s the first time Tanner has smiled since boarding the boat. “I can. They don’t call me Deadeye Dixon for nothing.”