Tim Washburn - The Day After Oblivion

8 miles south of Portsmouth Island, North Carolina

After a good morning of sailing, the breeze gradually diminished in the early afternoon and the EmmaSophia is now slowly drifting south toward Cape Lookout. Brad climbs on top of the cabin to examine the hull for damage from the flaming shrapnel. He scrambles across the top of the cabin and inspects the furled jib for burns or gashes. Nothing is apparent, but he won’t know for sure until they unfurl it. He works his way back along the perimeter and discovers a couple of pockmarks in the hull. He kneels down for a closer look. It appears the shrapnel chipped the paint and did no permanent damage. Brad sighs with relief and stands.

Nicole is at the stern, drift-fishing after swapping the sweatshirt for a T-shirt. Tanner is curled up on the side bench, his nose buried in Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 . To look at them you wouldn’t know they had witnessed a naval battle that put their lives in jeopardy only hours ago. Brad steps down into the cockpit and resumes his place behind the wheel.

Nicole, sitting sideways in the seat, reels in her line to make sure the lure is still attached. It is and she recasts, letting the boat’s wake pull the lure farther out. She swivels around. “Where do you think the Chinese went?”

“South, is all we know,” Brad says. “My bet is we encounter them again.”

Tanner dog-ears a page and closes the book. “Dad, who’s in charge?”

“Of what?” Brad asks.

“Well, I guess the world.”

“No way to know, Tanner.”

“Is it the Chinese?”

“No doubt they have a hand in it. But we don’t know what’s happened in our own country, much less the rest of the world.” He turns to Nicole. “What do you think?”

“I think it doesn’t really matter. What’s left to take charge of? A group of devastated countries with more problems than anyone could ever imagine?”

Tanner brushes the hair out of his eyes. “We studied China last year in social studies. I know they have to import a lot of natural resources to keep up with demand. What if they take over our country for the oil?”

“Hadn’t really thought about that, Tanner,” Brad says. “If that’s true, their presence here, now, would add some legitimacy to that idea.”

Nicole tucks her legs beneath her, the fishing pole still in her hands. “And we have no way of stopping them, if that is indeed their intent.”

Brad turns where he can see both Nicole and Tanner. “Some of our military assets must have survived. Someone was shooting at those Chinese warships.”

“Could have been Russians, for all we know,” Nicole says. “Either way, there is little doubt the other ship was destroyed or they would have continued their pursuit.” Nicole feels a tug on the line and jumps to her feet and looks back over her shoulder. “Even if some of our military assets survived, who’s left to command them?” She tugs the pole up and reels on the downswing, over and over again.

Brad finds himself admiring the strain of her shoulder muscles beneath the T-shirt and is not quite sure how he feels about it.

“Tanner, will you grab the net?” Nicole asks.

Tanner stands, grabs the net, and steps to the back of the boat.

Brad watches as they work together. At the beginning of the trip, Tanner had been withdrawn and depressed. But since Nicole came aboard he’s gradually returned to his normal self. It could be he simply emerged from his period of grieving or, more likely, Nicole has played an important role in his recovery—maybe for both Tanner and himself.

“Scoop it, Tanner,” Nicole says.

Tanner bends over the rail and nets the fish, pulling it aboard. He reaches into the net to pull the fish out, and Nicole puts a hand on his arm. “Better let me do it, Tanner. It’s a bluefish with razor-sharp teeth.”

“I can handle it,” Tanner says. He digs into the net and grabs the fish by the gills. “It’s heavy.” He pulls the fish out and holds it up.

“Maybe fifteen pounds,” Nicole says. “Time for a feast.”

Thoughts of the Chinese taking over the world fade from conversation as Nicole teaches Tanner how to clean the fish and Brad lights the propane stove. Once the catch is cooked, each carries a plateful topside. Brad disappears back inside and returns with a bottle of chardonnay—one of four on board—and three glasses. He pulls the cork, pours, and passes out the drinks. Tanner takes a sip and scrunches his nose. “Is this supposed to be good?”

He sets the glass aside, Brad and Nicole chuckling.

“It’s an acquired taste, son.”

“Yeah, if you say so. I’ll stick to water for now.”

They finish their feast, and Tanner and Nicole rinse the plates off the stern. Tanner’s statement had struck a nerve. Brad sneaks downstairs and pulls up a hatch in the floor. He’s been hesitant to look, knowing the news won’t be good. He grabs a flashlight from a drawer and kneels down. His heart sinks when he sees the freshwater tank nearly empty.

Edmond, Oklahoma

Stan McDowell is still mulling over Lauren Thomas’s proposition when he sees a sign announcing: EDMOND NEXT SIX EXITS. Having flown in and out of Oklahoma City numerous times, he knows Edmond is a suburb just north of the state capital. By McDowell’s reckoning, he has about ten miles to make a shit-or-get-off-the-pot decision. He had told Lauren and Melissa he would travel with them to the Texas state line before going their separate ways, but really, Oklahoma City is the point where the decision needs to be made. From here, it’s a straight shot south to Dallas on I-35, or a straight shot west to Amarillo on I-40, then on south to Lubbock. McDowell switches hands on the steering wheel and sighs.

They pass a giant cross that’s nestled up close to the highway then a string of businesses situated on a hill overlooking the interstate. All have been looted, with the unwanted or unneeded items thrown across the parking lot. McDowell glances at Lauren, who had moved back inside at their last stop. “I wonder why they didn’t leave the things no one wanted inside the store.” He points out the window. “See, look at all those tires bunched up in a pile. Who needs tires?”

Lauren slips off her shoes and pulls her legs under her, sitting cross-legged. “Those stores have probably been searched a dozen times or more since all this happened. Maybe someone thought they could use a few tires for something and carried them outside and realized how pointless they were. Or, maybe there are dozens of people camped out inside the Walmart and they needed the space.” Lauren smiles. “We could stop and try to solve the tire dilemma.”

“I think we’ll pass.” McDowell eyes the gas gauge. “Although, we’re going to need to stop somewhere soon to refuel.” McDowell’s gaze flicks to the rearview mirror out of habit, something he’s done continuously throughout the journey. Every other time the result has been the same—nothing behind them except a static image of areas they’ve already passed. This time it’s different. “Looks like we have some company.”

Lauren swivels her head for a look. “Where did they come from?”

“No idea, but it’s smart when you think about it.” McDowell zeros in on the semi in the rearview. “Looks like an old Peterbilt or Kenworth, but the tanker looks to be of a more recent vintage. Must be nice for them, not having to search for fuel all the time. But, jeez, would you look at that truck. It looks like it’s been through a demolition derby.” The front end of the semi is battered, with both front fenders hanging on by a thread.