Tim Washburn: The Day After Oblivion

“I don’t think little begins to describe it,” Brad says before introducing himself, then Tanner and Nicole.

“Mind if we come aboard?” the captain asks.

“Please,” Brad says.

The sub crew tosses down a net ladder and tie lines to the two officers’ harnesses and they climb down the net onto the deck of the sailboat one after the other. The captain frees his harness. “Just a little insurance in case we miss a step.” He steps across the deck and steps down into the cockpit, followed by Garcia. Brad steps forward and offers his hand. After a round of handshakes they all take a seat.

“Would you two like a glass of wine?” Nicole asks, clicking on a couple of flashlights.

“We would love a glass of wine,” Garcia says without checking with his boss. Nicole ducks below and returns with two more glasses and another bottle from the stash. She fills them and passes them across.

“Looks like you suffered a nasty bump on the head,” Thompson says. “You get rocked around a little?”

“Again, little doesn’t begin to describe it,” Brad answers.

“Want my medics to check you over?” Thompson asks. “That’s the least we can do.”

Brad waves his hand. “No, I’m fine. But I do have a request.”

Thompson takes a sip of wine and smacks his lips. “Shoot.”

“You have a desalination plant aboard, correct?”

“We have a lot of things aboard that I can’t divulge, Brad.”

Brad’s shoulders slump.

“But the desalination plant isn’t one of them.” Thompson laughs and takes another sip of wine.

Garcia puts a radio to his lips and orders a hose lowered to the EmmaSophia .

“Water’s about the only thing we do have to offer,” Garcia says. “Glad we can accommodate you.”

“Are you out of food?” Tanner asks.

“Not out, but we’re close. We’ll make it stretch for a few more days.”

“Speaking of food, can you two stay for dinner?” Nicole asks. “We have some fresh black sea bass.”

Thompson and Garcia share a glance before Thompson says, “Black sea bass sounds wonderful.”

Nicole pulls the cork on the new bottle and refills the four glasses.

Brad thanks her, picks up his glass, and takes a sip. “We were about a mile away when those Chinese ships launched a barrage of missiles.”

Thompson squirms in his seat as Garcia answers. “They took out one of our destroyers, the USS Grant .” Garcia pauses, swirling the wine around in his glass. “The captain was one of our good friends. We’d been sailing together for a couple of days, but were out of range when they attacked.” He glances at the fires in the distance and says, “I think their shooting days are over.”

“I’ll say. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Brad says. He tilts his wineglass and lets the wine fill his mouth, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing. “You said one of —are there more of our ships out there?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Thompson says, his voice subdued. “But you’d have to think some survived.”

“Have you had radio contact with anyone?” Brad asks.

“No,” Garcia says. “We established a sight-line radio link to talk to the Grant , but that’s it.”

Nicole places her wineglass on the helm. “Tanner, will you help me with the fish?”

“Sure,” Tanner says. They step to the stern and pull the fish aboard. Tanner helps Nicole clean and fillet them while Brad ducks down into the galley to fire up the stove.

Garcia appears in the hatch with the hose. “Where’s your freshwater tank?”

Brad kneels and lifts a hatch then steps up and takes the hose from Garcia and feeds it into the tank. After another radio call from Garcia, a stream of clean water jets out the end of the hose. “Give me a shout when she’s full,” Garcia says.

“Will do,” Brad says. “Enjoy the wine.” He pulls a large pan down and places it on the stove to heat and bends down to pick up a handful of spice containers. “That’s tomorrow’s project,” he mutters. Tanner arrives with the fillets and Brad places them in the pan as his son returns topside to rinse his hands. Once the fish is cooked he fills the plates with heaping portions and Nicole helps him carry them topside. “Dig in,” Brad says, taking a seat next to Nicole.

They eat at a leisurely pace, interspersing the food with pleasant conversation. There is no talk of war, or the dead, or the future. Most of the conversation is centered on recent adventures or past experiences of life before doomsday. Above them, sailors stroll along the deck of the submarine and the muted conversations or occasional laughter drift down to the EmmaSophia .

Brad occasionally checks the water level of the tank, and on the next trip discovers the tank full. Garcia radios the boat and the water is turned off and the hose retrieved.

“How long are you going to stay surfaced?” Tanner asks.

“We’ll slip under the water before daylight,” Thompson says. “On a normal deployment we never surface. Too many eyes in the sky.”

“How long’s a deployment?” Tanner asks.

“Usually seventy days—some missions stretch to ninety days.”

“And you’re under the water the whole time?” Tanner asks.

“Yep, we only surface when we return to port.”

“I don’t think I would like that,” Tanner says.

Garcia laughs. “Some people can’t handle it, but you do get used to it. Hey, Tanner, you want a look inside the boat?”

Tanner scoots forward on the bench. “Yes. I’d love to.” He glances at his father. “Dad?”

“Fine with me. But keep your hands off the buttons.”

They all laugh, something they’ve done very little of since it all began. Garcia makes a radio call and leads Tanner to the bow of the sailboat, where he straps him into a harness. “Now the hard part, Tanner. You have to climb the net.”

It’s a struggle for Tanner the first few times, but he eventually gets the hang of it and scampers up the net. After another hour or so of conversation and with the wine bottles empty, Thompson and Garcia push to their feet as Tanner returns as excited as Brad has seen him in a very long time.

“How was it, son?”

“It’s awesome. Everything’s computerized and the bridge looks like the control room of the Starship Enterprise . And they let me look through the periscope.”

“So you ready to sign up?” Brad asks.

“Uh, no. It was okay, knowing I could climb out the hatch anytime I wanted. But I get the willies thinking about being in there for days.”

Thompson and Garcia laugh. Garcia says, “Once you’re on mission, you don’t really think about being underwater.”

Tanner thanks them and eagerly shakes their hands.

“Where are you headed?” Nicole asks the captain.

“Probably the U.S. Virgin Islands. We’ll see where we end up. What about you?”

“We were hoping to dock or anchor at Key West,” Brad answers.

Thompson shakes his head. “Key West is a no-go. There’s a big naval air base on Boca Chica Key, about four miles north of Key West. I have no doubt it was hit, and hit hard.”

“If not there, then where?” Brad asks.

“That’s a tough one to answer, Brad. There are some very large military installations in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Your best bet is probably the Bahamas.”

“I guess that’s where we’re headed,” Brad says. “Good luck to you in your journey.”

“May I have a word, Brad?” Thompson asks.

“Certainly,” Brad replies.

Thompson takes Brad by the elbow and leads him to the back of the boat. He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to Brad.