Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (14 page)

18

Christopher watched Gemma's face change as the girl's words rang in the air.

“Of course we're not.” Christopher knelt down beside the frightened girl, holding out the carton of long-life milk he'd dug out of the trailer. The child was about the same age as his niece, Mackenzie.

“See this here – this isn't just any ordinary old milk.”

“It isn't?” the girl asked, big brown eyes on the milk.

“Nope. It's magic milk.”

“It is?” Her eyes widened.

“Sure is. But it only works when you are being good. So you have to do whatever your mom tells you, okay?”

“I will. I promise.” The girl's eyes shone as she took the milk.

Christopher could feel Gemma watching him as the girl ran over to her mother, squealing excitedly as she handed her the milk.

“What?” Christopher said, the word coming out a little rougher than he intended.

“Magic milk?” Gemma mouthed, a smile curving the corner of her mouth as she raised her eyebrows.

“I'm not completely clueless when it comes to children,” Christopher said. “I do have a niece and nephew you know.”

“And do they like magic milk too?” Gemma asked innocently.

“They can't get enough of the stuff,” Christopher scowled. She was making fun of him again. But it was worth it to see their smiles as the mother carefully filled the baby's bottle, before holding the carton to the children's lips; something as ordinary as shelf milk now something special.

And it had been barely twenty-four hours since the pulse hit, Christopher worried.

“That was a mighty fine thing to do.” The man held out his hand. “The name's Geoff.”

Christopher took the offered hand, feeling the strength of Geoff's sturdy grip. “Christopher.”

Geoff's face broke into a smile as he watched his grandchildren. “Magic milk, huh,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “magic milk indeed.”

“You just watch,” Christopher grinned ruefully. “Your granddaughter there's going to turn over a new leaf.”

“Now that would be something to see,” Geoff said. “She's a stubborn little thing.”

“I can relate to that,” Christopher sighed heavily, glancing over at Gemma.

Gemma looked up, giving him a quick smile before turning back to speak to Jimmy.

“Got your own hands full then, I take it,” Geoff chortled.

“You better believe it,” Christopher growled, and Geoff roared with laughter.

Geoff's mother had fallen asleep in the car. She was such a frail little thing, and Christopher doubted she'd be five foot even if she straightened the rounded hump of her back.

Gemma was leaning over the stroller, her dark hair falling over her face as she made goo-goo faces at the baby. She looked up when the mother spoke to her, one of her fingers caught in the tight, chubby grip of the baby.

Gemma smiled and nodded at the woman, then the woman said something to the children that made them turn tail and race toward Christopher.

“Thank you, Mister,” the girl shouted as she ran, her ponytail swinging as she looked over her shoulder to make sure she was beating her brother.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, holding out his hand when he reached Christopher.

“That's a good handshake you've got there, Jimmy,” Christopher praised the boy.

It was time go – before he was tempted to give them everything he owned.

Christopher's heart sank when he saw Gemma holding the baby.

These were good folk, and he wished he could do more for them.

He turned to Geoff, meaning to wish him luck; if they made it to the exit, at least there was the promise of water – assuming the old woman could make it. The way only got steeper from here.

His eyes fell on the stroller. “Geoff – how much does your mother weigh?”

Geoff shrugged. “About eighty or ninety pounds I guess. Why's that?”

Christopher told Geoff his plan, the older man's eyes lighting up as he spoke.

Twenty minutes later Christopher and Gemma were pushing their bikes up the steep slope, feeling much better about themselves.

Gemma glanced back, giving him a wide smile, but Christopher hardly noticed. His eyes were on her rear end and the sway of her hips in the tight denim.

“Hey Mister, you never told me what sort of magic that milk does,” Sarah said, and Christopher looked down at the child on his bike seat.

“Actually – it does all sorts of magic,” Christopher stalled.

“Like what?”

“Well for a start it – uh – has protective powers.”

“It does?”

“Sure does. It will keep anyone who drinks it safe.”

“It will?” Sarah's eyes widened. “Even from nukes?”

“Even from nukes,” Gemma said knowingly as Jimmy made motorbike noises, tightly gripping the handles of her bike.

“Mommy,” Sarah hollered. “You haven't had any milk yet.”

“Yes I did, you just didn't see me,” Carroll said.

“You did?” the little girl sounded uncertain. “Well – what about nanny?”

“I had my milk, child.” Beverley craned her head out of the stroller to see her great-granddaughter.

“Granpop? You have some?”

“Yup,” Geoff said, removing a hand from the stroller to pat his stomach.

Carroll smiled gratefully at Christopher, baby Jessica's legs waggling happily from the holes of the basket on the walking frame.

He'd managed to bend and twist the metal with the tools in his bike kit, and Gemma padded it with her black sweater, using the arms to tightly secure the child.

The sides of the mountain started to close in on them, the road cutting through what had once been part of the mountain. Before long they were fully enclosed, the flat of the exposed tan and yellow-orange stippled rock-face rising high above them.

The air had cooled slightly, the sun no longer visible in the narrow strip of hazy blue sky, but they hardly noticed. They were too busy focusing on putting one step in front of the other, their shirts firmly plastered to their backs.

“Why are you breathing all funny?” Jimmy asked Gemma.

“Cause she's tired, stupi–” Sarah broke off as Christopher arched a brow at her. “They're just tired, Jimmy,” Sarah amended.

They heard the angry crowd long before they saw them, and as they came around the final bend to the exit, they faltered, casting worried glances at each other.

“Wow!” Sarah spoke what the rest of them were thinking. “Look at all those people.”

“That sure is a lot of people,” Jimmy said.

“I just said that.” Sarah rolled her eyes.

“That's enough, Sarah,” Carroll admonished with the tone of years of habit, her worried eyes never leaving the crowd.

“But Mom – I did–” Sarah's eyes darted uncertainly toward Christopher. “Sorry Mom. I'll be good. Honest.”

Peak Mountain itself was still a long way off, the exit blasted straight through the east side of the mountain well over a hundred years ago.

It had been years since Christopher had visited Peak Mountain, but he still remembered his first breathtaking glimpse of what lay on the other side.

The way the road sloped gently down, then like a flower opening, the walls of the mountain suddenly fell away, revealing the lush green valley below, and the large expanse of the lake in the distance that was framed by Peak Mountain.

Christopher quickly took in the situation facing them. The stretch of road in the corridor before them was flat, a few hundred yards in length. Hundreds of people were milling along it, most crowded around the narrow exit, their tone angry but restrained. Others were spread out, some in small groups, others leaning against the wall of the mountain staring sightlessly ahead.

A group of teenage boys had come together about forty yards away. Three of them sat on the roof of a black Mercedes. Another two sat on the hood.

They were trying to look all cool and tough and manly and unaffected, but it didn't seem that long ago that Christopher had been a teenager himself. Under their aloof manner he saw their fear and restlessness. But that didn't stop them preening and pea-cocking when a pretty blonde girl approached them with a hesitant smile.

Christopher worried that the restless crowd at the exit would become an angry mob at any moment, and to be honest, he wouldn't blame them. Some of them had been walking since the earliest hours of the morning, the thought of the crystal-clear waters of the lake driving them forward.

He glanced at his watch. It was already after four – over twenty-four hours since the pulse hit. How long had it been since they had anything to eat or drink? How long before they stormed the exit?

Gemma stood at his side, a confused frown on her face as she studied the crowd.

Despite the noise levels, they seemed remarkably restrained. Most of the noise he could hear was the roar of many talking to be heard over one another.

An angry-looking man pushed past Christopher, muttering under his breath as he forced his way through the crowd. He was pulling a boy roughly behind him by the hand.

The boy looked resigned, his short legs stumbling to keep up. The man's bald head was red with sunburn, and a tattoo curled around the nape of his neck. A thick beard covered the neck of his black t-shirt.

The man's angry voice broke over the crowd when he couldn't move any further, demanding to be let in, and the crowd suddenly went quiet, many turning to glare at him.

The man faltered, his voice dying away, and the woman standing beside him said something to him. The man nodded his head, looking down at his son, his face still angry, but he remained silent.

Christopher and Gemma looked at each other, the same question in her eyes as his.

Confused, Christopher decided to get closer. Already the soft murmur of voices was picking up again, more subdued this time.

Christopher spoke quietly with Geoff, who nodded his head at Christopher's request to watch the bikes and trailer.

It was partly curiosity that drove him, but he also wanted to find out as much as he could before leaving the family to their fate. It was impossible not to be affected by the gap-toothed smile of Sarah as she'd prattled on, or little Jimmy, trying so hard to be brave.

If it had been his family, his niece and nephew, he'd like to think there would be someone watching out for them.

Christopher moved toward the crowd, stopping when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Sarah.

“Stay with your mom,” Christopher told her.

“I have to stay with you.” She slipped her small hand into his.

“Sarah! Get back here,” Carroll shouted.

“Go on sweetie. Do what your mommy says.”

“But you're not protected.” A tear leaked from the corner of Sarah's eye. “You might get hurt. If I hold your hand then you can be protected too.”

It took Christopher a moment to realize she was referring to the milk, and he tried to hold back the chuckle that rose in his throat. There was real fear in the girl's eyes as she stared warily at the noisy crowd, and it struck him how brave she was being.

He turned toward Carroll. “Where's that magic milk?” he shouted, not giving one damn about the strange looks he was getting.

Carroll glanced down at her daughter's tearful face, understanding crossing her face.

Sarah watched Christopher carefully as he unscrewed the cap, and raised the milk to his mouth, his back to the crowd. Taking as small a sip as possible, he made a great show of swallowing.

“Ah,” Christopher sighed, wiping his hand across his mouth with feigned satisfaction. “That sure is good milk.”

“More,” Sarah demanded.

Reluctantly Christopher repeated his actions until the young girl was satisfied.

Meanwhile, Gemma moved their bikes with Geoff's help, angling them against the mountain wall.

Geoff stood guard in front of the stroller, which was in front of Gemma's bike, which in turn was leaning on the trailer to shield it. Beverley insisted on climbing out of the stroller, her crackly voice a little stronger as she waved her crooked arm in the air. “Just let any of 'em try and get past me.”

Christopher chuckled – they were a sorry-looking bunch as they stood guard. Little Jimmy stood beside Geoff, studying his posture, then quickly spread his legs apart, and crossed his arms, mirroring his grandfather.

Along the sides of the jagged mountain walls people sat on suitcases, or leaned on grocery carts, warily eying the crowd. Strollers carried not children, but bulky loads, covered by whatever could be found to hide the contents from prying eyes.

Had they really come this far – that they worried a person they might once have nodded or smiled at as they passed by, would now take everything they owned?

Christopher found it hard to believe, but here he was worrying about his own belongings.

A scruffy-haired teenager scrambled to his feet on the Mercedes roof, his friends quickly joining him.

The crowd went silent, and a sense of expectation filled the air. Then Christopher heard the sound of an engine laboring up the slope of the exit.