Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

Melissa shudders. “And this is just one city.”

“Yes. We’ll never know the exact number of those killed in the initial attack. And since then, a good number of people would have succumbed to their injuries or are currently suffering radiation exposure that could linger for a month or more.”

Melissa swivels in her seat, pulling her left leg under her. “How many of us do you think are left?”

“Lauren and I had this discussion. We have no idea the state of affairs in other countries. But when we were running scenarios at Global Strike Command, many of the results suggested two thirds of the world population wouldn’t survive the first week.”

“That’s unbelievable. Do you know how large that number would be?”

“Yes, I do know.”

They ride in silence for several miles, each consumed with their own thoughts. The highway eventually curves back to the east and McDowell mutters a string of curses and slows the truck to a stop. The loop road has led them to a spot that’s maybe a half mile from their original position before they were forced to turn back.

Melissa scoots to the edge of the seat. “Where did the highway go?”

“It got bombed to hell when they were nuking the Air Force base.” McDowell sighs. He spins the wheel and backtracks to the next exit. After driving west for about three miles, McDowell cuts back south, then east, and returns to I-35 south. An hour later they zip across the Oklahoma state line.

“It’ll be dark in a few hours,” Melissa says. “And we haven’t had much luck with our previous nighttime arrangements.”

“The last few nights have been a nightmare. I’m hoping tonight we can drop in on an old friend.”

Weatherford

After getting the all clear from Henry, Gage starts the arduous process of climbing back down the tower. When he reaches the bottom, he ducks through the door and locks it behind him, before making his way over to Henry. “Is the transformer working?”

Henry glances up, a smile on his face. “Yes. On the out-feed side I’m measuring a consistent 34.5 thousand volts.”

“And what happens from here?”

“Well, if any of the other step-up transformers on the grid are operational, they’ll up the voltages significantly to provide more power to more places.”

“How are we going to know who has power?” Gage asks.

Henry closes the access door on the transformer. “We’ll know when it gets dark.” Out of habit, Henry moves his right arm to pick up his tools and mutters a few choice curse words. “Why’d the bastards have to shoot me in the right arm? Ever try to work left-handed when you’ve been using your right for sixty-eight years?”

Gage gathers up the tools. “You’re damn lucky you can move anything. A couple of inches to your left and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Henry sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”

They make their way to the truck and pause to watch the turbine in action before climbing in. Gage repositions the shotgun and fires up the pickup. When they pull into the drive of the Reed home, Henry shouts, “Hot damn.”

“What?” Gage asks.

“Look at the kitchen window.”

Gage stops the truck and stares at the window. When you’ve spent your entire life seeing something everyone took for granted, it takes a few moments for Gage’s mind to interpret the image. Then it does. The light above the kitchen sink is on. “I’ll be damned—we’ve got power.”

“Yes, we do.”

Gage pulls the truck around behind the house and stops. “I need to run an errand, Henry. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Henry reaches across his body with his left hand and opens the door. “Where are you going?”

“To see if my mom and brother have power.” Sounds like a sensible lie to Gage’s ears.

“If not, invite them out here. If we can’t make room in the house, the barn’s heated. We’ll make it work.”

“I’ll tell them.” Henry exits and Gage turns the truck around in the wide gravel area fronting the barn and eases back by the house, picking up the road into town. After a few minutes of driving, he steers into the doctor’s neighborhood and winds through the neighborhood streets until finding the white Volvo. He pulls in behind it, puts the truck in park, and kills the engine. After a long look at the shotgun, he exits the cab empty-handed.

Gage climbs the steps and he raps his knuckles on the door. He hears footsteps and the same man, holding the same gun, opens the door.

“Yes?”

“Is Dr. Samia here?”

The man eyes Gage for a moment. “You were here the other night, correct?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Holly’s husband.”

The man nods and moves aside. The interior of the house is dim, but there’s enough light to see most of the front room. The place is tidy, a stack of magazines precisely arranged on a wooden coffee table, and two wing chairs flanking a large leather sofa. On the far wall hangs a large flat-screen television—all things he didn’t see the night Holly gave birth.

“She’s in the kitchen,” the man says.

Gage nods and steps deeper into the house and finds Eliana Samia seated at the kitchen table, surrounded by a pile of books and a half-dozen lit candles.

She glances up and stands. “Gage, is Holly having complications?”

“No, ma’am, she’s fine. It’s the baby we’re worried about.”

Dr. Samia waves to a chair and Gage sits as she returns to her spot. “Tell me what is going on.”

“Doc, Holly’s milk still hasn’t come in. The baby cries all the time. I was hoping you might have some infant formula.”

“I don’t, Gage. I’m in charge of the mother and baby until birth. After that, the pediatrician is responsible for the baby’s health. The only items I have are several bottles of prenatal vitamins.” She puts a finger to her lips. “I don’t remember who you and Holly selected for a pediatrician.”

“We chose Dr. Abbasi.”

Samia visibly winces at the name. “I’m sorry to tell you, Gage, Dr. Abbasi was killed on the second day when a group of thugs broke into the hospital.”

Gage’s shoulders slump. “Maybe he kept some formula at his house. Do you know where he lived?”

“His home, I believe, was in Oklahoma City. He would come out here three to four days a week. His wife is a tenured professor at the University of Oklahoma, so they were forced to choose who would do the bulk of the commuting.”

“What about other pediatricians? I’m desperate, Doc.”

“Gage, I believe Holly will soon begin producing milk. You need to be patient.”

“When, Doc? And what do we do in the meantime?”

“Let nature take its course. You might supplement the baby’s feedings with a bottle of warmed broth. Do you have any broth at home?”

Gage nods, “Yeah, I think so.”

Samia stands. “Babies are resilient little creatures, Gage. Closely monitor the baby’s weight for the next day or two and supplement Holly’s feedings with the broth.”

Disheartened, Gage pushes out of the chair and stands. “And if the baby is losing weight?”

“Two or three ounces shouldn’t be an issue.”

“And if it’s more?”

“Let us not go there, Gage. See how she does over the next twenty-four hours.”

“Will you tell me where another pediatrician might live?”

Samia walks toward the front door, Gage following behind. She stops near the open door and turns. “I do not believe it is my position to involve others. Give it time, Gage.”

Gage nods and brushes past. He’s working hard to tamp down his growing anger as he climbs back in the truck. “I’ll find out one way or another,” he mumbles as he backs out of the drive.