Tim Washburn: The Day After Oblivion

Brad trims the mainsail and the boat picks up speed. He glances at the map in his lap then glances toward shore. One area that’s surrounded on three sides by water is the most intact area they’ve seen during the past week. But just to the south of that little enclave it’s a continuation of the same—denuded ground dotted with occasional tree stumps. Tanner and Nicole are snuggled under a blanket on the port side, reading. Brad looks at the map again and swivels his gaze toward shore. He spots a pier jutting out into the bay and, glancing at the map, discovers it’s the Cherry Grove Fishing Pier. Brad pulls the folded piece of paper from his pocket and checks the address on Captain Thompson’s letter. Tracing along the shoreline on the map, he finds Bayshore Drive and compares that location to the Cherry Grove location before looking back toward the shoreline. His shoulders sag. The Bayshore Resort no longer exists. Nor does any other resort. He closes the atlas and tucks the letter into his back pocket.

Nicole dog-ears a page, closes her book, and crawls out from beneath the blanket. She stands and stretches, her hands extended high overhead. “Ready for me to catch some dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Tanner says, his eyes never drifting away from the page.

Nicole runs a hand across Brad’s shoulder when she reaches for the fishing pole. “What’s wrong, Brad? You seem sullen.”

Brad points toward the shoreline. “That’s where Captain Thompson’s family was staying.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“Exactly,” Brad says. He, too, stands and stretches. “I think Thompson probably knew in the back of his mind it was going to be a lost cause.”

“I think you’re right. But hope is a hard thing to let go of.” Nicole ties a lure to her line and casts off the stern. She’s been successful drift-fishing throughout the week. She places the rod in a holder and takes a seat next to Brad, taking his hand in hers. The touchy-feely between them has grown in intensity as the days stretch on. They’ve even shared a kiss or three, but anything beyond that is impossible when a twelve-year-old boy is living within arm’s reach. Brad glances to see if Tanner is looking before leaning in and kissing Nicole.

With his eyes never leaving the book, Tanner says, “I know you guys think you’re sneaky, but please, what do you take me for?”

Nicole and Brad laugh. “That’s the first time we’ve kissed,” Brad says.

“Uh, no,” Tanner says. “That’s like number fifty.”

Brad turns to look at his son, his face turning serious. “How do you feel about it, Tanner? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

This time, Tanner looks up. “No. I’m not a big fan of PDA, but I’m happy for both of you. I think it’s a good thing for all of us.” Tanner smiles and returns to his book.

Nicole squeezes Brad’s hand then jumps up when the reel begins to unspool. She grabs the rod, takes up the slack, and yanks to set the hook. Working the pole up and down, she begins to reel in her catch. When the time’s appropriate, Tanner stands and grabs the net—the two now a well-oiled machine. Tanner scoops up the fish and hauls it aboard.

Brad is getting better, but he still has difficulty identifying the different fish species. He peers into the net. “What is it?”

Tanner reaches in and pulls it out and looks at Nicole. It’s a fish he hasn’t seen before.

“It’s a cobia. Very yummy,” Nicole says. “I’d guess about twelve pounds.” She glances over at Brad. “I’m going to gut it and cook it whole. That okay?”

“If you’re cooking, you can cook it any way you want.”

Tanner carries the fish to the swim platform and he and Nicole clean and gut it. With darkness approaching, Brad drops the mainsail and walks across the deck to release the jib. The boat eventually slows to a stop and he drops the anchor. Thirty minutes later they’re eating in the cabin.

Nicole takes a bite and savors it for a moment. “How long until we reach the Bahamas?”

Brad swallows and takes a sip of water. “We’re at the mercy of the weather. A week if it stays like this. Longer if not. Why, you getting antsy?”

“Not at all. This sailing thing is rather pleasant.” She places her fork on the table and turns to Tanner, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you, Tanner, for talking your father into letting me stay.” She takes Tanner’s hand and turns her gaze on Brad, reaching her other hand out to grab his, tears spilling down her cheeks. “And thank you, for agreeing.”

Lubbock, Texas

Stan McDowell’s eyes flutter open and he turns to look out the window as dawn breaks on the horizon. The ash-filled skies diminish the sun’s intensity, but it seems like every day more of the light is exposed. He turns to look at Lauren, who’s snuggled next to him in bed. He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from her forehead. He feels a pang of guilt because she looks even younger when she’s asleep. He watches her for a few moments as her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her breathing. The guilt fades—a bit. So far the relationship has remained platonic, as both come to grips with their feelings as they try to navigate their way through the new world. They’ve held hands, hugged, and even kissed, yet have refrained from taking that last step. Not to say the relationship won’t be consummated at some point, but McDowell’s happy with the slow progression. He tosses the covers aside, climbs out of bed, and quietly slips on his jeans and tiptoes out of the room.

Lauren’s home is a small two-bedroom ranch built in the early ’50s. Complete with hardwood floors throughout and a quaint little kitchen, they’re blessed the home has a working fireplace and, now, a stack of firewood. Set on the west edge of town, they’re luckier than most because her place has relied on well water since the day it was built. Using parts confiscated from a partially built home down the road, McDowell built a pulley-and-bucket system to retrieve water from the well.

He pads into the kitchen and pours a glass of water from a pitcher and carries it to the small wooden dining table and sits. He clicks a lighter and lights the candle in the center of the table. Yes, it offers light, but on the down side it smells like gingersnap cookies and the aroma always makes McDowell hungry. He picks a magazine from the stack, thumbs through it, and places it back. He’s read it from cover to cover already—twice. McDowell stares at the flickering flame, wondering how the Reeds are. Henry had prepared a feast from items in his freezer and McDowell had the luxury of leaving the shotgun and pistol locked in the truck for the first time since the trip began. The kids had a campout in the barn, watched over by Zane and Alyx from their apartment upstairs. McDowell and Henry had shared a splash of bourbon, or two, and talked deep into the night as the other adults slept. He’s stirred from his reverie when Lauren hugs him from behind.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good. You?”

“Like a rock. I still don’t think I’ve recovered from everything.” She slides a hand across his shoulders as she takes the seat next to him. She’s wearing a long-sleeved one-piece nightie that hits her about midthigh, and McDowell’s working overtime to keep from staring at her legs.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“I’m going to meet Melissa at the courthouse to see if anyone has heard from the Hatchers.” The last anyone saw of Hannah’s parents was when they left for the airport for a trip to the Big Apple the day before the bombs dropped. All of the other children are now back with their parents.

“They’re gone, Lauren.”