Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

His mother steps up beside him and places a hand on Gage’s back, the other still cradling Olivia. “We wanted you to have a chance to say good-bye, son. I’m sorry he won’t get to meet this beautiful little girl.”

“Did he ever wake up?” Gage asks, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“No.”

Gage nods. “Was he in pain?”

“No. We had some leftover Oxycontin from his shoulder surgery last year. I’ve been crushing them up and mixing them with a little water to spoon into his mouth. He drifted away peacefully this morning.”

Gage turns away. “I’ll get Garrett and we’ll dig the grave.”

“It’s already done. Your brother’s been working on it for the past couple of days.”

“Where?” Gage asks.

“Under that big oak tree by the barn.”

Gage wipes away a tear. “That was his favorite place.”

“I know, honey,” Ginny says, stroking her free hand across Gage’s broad shoulders.

“He used to come in out of the field, grab a couple of cold beers from the fridge, and sit out there until dinner. It’s perfect.”

“That’s what we thought, too. I’ll get him fixed up if you want to go round up Garrett, Juliet, and the kids.”

Gage turns to take one final look at his father, as Holly shuffles over and puts a hand around his waist. “He’s gone too soon, babe,” Gage mutters, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

“I know. I’m sorry, Gage.” Holly takes her husband’s hand and threads her fingers through his. “Come on, we’ll walk down to your brother’s house.” Holly leads Gage away from the bed.

At the door, Holly takes Olivia from Ginny and snuggles the baby against her chest. They step outside and walk toward Garrett’s house, two hundred yards away. The home is a well-kept three-bedroom rancher with a detached two-car garage that Garrett and Juliet built soon after their wedding. Gage hears a screen door slam and looks up to see his brother and the girls coming their way. Gage and Holly move into the shade of the old oak tree to await their arrival. Both Emma and Elizabeth are in pigtails and the braids sway back and forth with each step they take.

When they arrive, Garrett steps up and gives his brother a hug before moving on to Holly. The girls squeal at the sight of Olivia as Gage steps over to give Juliet a hug. Together, they amble back to the house.

“I would have helped you dig the grave,” Gage tells Garrett when they’re out of earshot.

“I’m bored out of my mind. Gave me something to do,” Garrett replies.

“Any of the tractors running?”

“Nope. I guess the fields will lie fallow. I’ve got six hundred acres of corn in the south field and nothing to harvest it with.”

“Probably not fit to eat, anyway,” Gage says. “I don’t think I’d want to risk it.”

Garrett sighs. “I know.” He glances at the kids ahead and lowers his voice. “It scares the hell out of me. I got two young mouths to feed.”

“And I now have one of my own. A lot of open country. I guess we’ll go back to hunting.”

Garrett steals another quick glance at his family. “I went out to scout a couple of days ago. Everything I found was dead.”

“They can’t all be dead, Garrett. There have to be pockets of wildlife that are still alive.”

“We’ll have to find them if there are. Any of your cattle survive?”

“Nope. I herded them all up into the barn and even that didn’t help.”

Once they reach the house, Holly, Juliet, and the girls take seats at the picnic table while Gage and Garrett duck into the house. Their father is bound up in the sheet. Gage takes the head and Garrett the feet as they carry Raymond Larson out of the family home for the last time. Ginny follows them and joins the girls and, as dusk descends, the family procession makes their way to the grave amid a shower of tears. The boys, aided by ropes, lower their father into the ground, and each family member takes a turn on the shovel, the white sheet gradually disappearing beneath the red Oklahoma clay.

Off the coast of Hatteras, North Carolina

The Outer Banks are a boomerang-shaped series of barrier islands that stretch for two hundred miles along the coast of North Carolina. The islands vary in size—some narrow enough to be measured with a tape measure while others widen to a mile or more—and Brad is now tacking the EmmaSophia toward Hatteras, one of the larger islands.

As the veiled sun drifts lower on the horizon, Brad works the wheel as his mind works through a quandary. There has been no further discussion of Nicole’s status aboard ship and Brad is now conflicted. Yes, he and Emma had hit a rough patch in their marriage recently—the second time in two years—but is it sacrilegious to now have another, different woman on board the EmmaSophia ? he wonders. Especially so soon after the death of his wife and daughter? He sighs and tries to push the thoughts from his mind.

About a half mile from shore, he drops the mainsail and tosses the anchor overboard. They’ll stay here and fish before moving out to deeper water to bed down. On shore, a hodgepodge of tents and shelters built from scavenged material stretch to the horizon. Cooking fires are scattered among the shelters, creating a smoky haze that lingers now that the wind has died. Brad stands and stretches. “Nicole, work your magic with the fishing pole, please,” he says. He turns to watch as she moves comfortably around the boat in a pair of Tanner’s shorts and one of his T-shirts.

“Any particular species of fish I should be baiting for?” Nicole asks. “What’s your palate craving?”

“Food,” Brad answers. “I guess we’ll eat whatever you can catch.”

“I’m going to rig it for yellowfin tuna and see if I can get any bites. I’ve never fished the Outer Banks before, so it’s going to be hit or miss.”

“I could go for tuna,” Brad offers.

Once Nicole has her pole rigged up, she tosses the lure toward the deeper water. “I can’t make any guarantees. We’ll see what happens.”

Brad notices her gnawing her bottom lip as she works the lure through the water. His gaze drifts lower to her legs and bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” Brad asks.

Nicole glances over her shoulder. “Lost them when you made me jump back in the water.”

“Oh.” Brad looks down at his feet as if searching for a lost valuable.

Nicole yanks on the pole. “Got something. Not sure what. Brad, will you grab the net?”

“I’m on it.”

Tanner ventures up on deck, his dark, wavy hair matted with sleep.

“You fall asleep?” Brad asks.

“Yeah. What’s going on up here?”

“Nicole is about to land another fish. Luckiest fisher-person I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t think luck is the right word, Dad. She could probably teach you a thing or two.”

Brad scowls at this son before turning back to the water. As the fish draws closer, Brad leans over the rail and scoops up the fish, placing the net on the deck. Nicole bends over to work the hook out.

“What kind is it?” Brad asks.

Nicole blows the hair out of her face. “A mackerel. If Tanner’s not too fond of fish, we should probably throw it back. It has a distinct fishy taste.”

“Throw it back,” Tanner says.

Nicole grabs a pair of pliers and jiggles the hook out of the fish’s mouth and Brad tosses it overboard. He looks up to see a dead powerboat coming their way, two makeshift paddles rowing on either side of the boat . Brad grabs the rifle and jacks a shell into the chamber. When the boat cuts the distance in half, Brad orders them to stop. A tall man with a large round belly works his way toward the bow of his boat. He looks to be in his midsixties and is outfitted with paisley swimming trunks and a stained white T-shirt.