Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (20 page)

“I'm sorry we can't offer you anything to eat,” Christopher said regretfully as he got to his feet.

Brad held up his water bottle. “This was more than I could've hoped for. Just as long as you don't run short yourself.”

Christopher pointed to the long road ahead of them. “There's a river about sixty miles that way – I'm hoping to reach it by nightfall.” Realizing it would take them longer to reach it on foot, he added, “Plenty of streams before it that should be running. Especially with all the rain.”

“Well, all the same,” Brad got to his feet, offering his hand to Christopher, “I can't thank you enough.”

Even riding at a steady ten miles per hour – which is what Christopher estimated they were doing – it would be another six hours before they reached the river. His urgency to reach it by nightfall had only grown after hearing what Brad had to say.

Between them and the river was the busy intersection that connected the urban area west of them with the rest of the country. A densely packed metropolitan with close to half a million people. The city proper was less than a hundred miles away, the outlying districts a hell of a lot closer.

If the city they'd just left was any indication, there was no telling how busy pedestrian traffic would be. Word was that thousands had fled – what percentage of the population was that? Less than a percent, he figured. One or two for every thousand.

And it would only grow heavier; as Gemma had pointed out earlier – around two percent of the country fed the other ninety-eight percent. As food supplies dwindled, it was only natural people would head for the country.

Almost three days had passed since the pulse hit, though it felt like it had been a hell of a lot longer. How many would bunker down and just hope for the best? How many had family or friends living in the country? Or loved ones they were trying to reach?

Christopher had no idea where the nearest nuclear power plant was, and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know. But he feared what would happen when word got out they were melting down.

All he knew for sure was that he was glad they'd gotten out when they did. That they hadn't been trapped in the surge of people leaving the city.

He kept up a steady pace, and spurred on by what they had learned , Gemma rode by his side without complaint.

They made good time, but before they were even close to the intersection it was startlingly clear how bad things already were.

From their vantage point they could see the north and southbound lanes drawing together toward the intersection.

Across the flats of the farmland on their left was a dense, steady stream of ant-sized people.

Christopher had never seen anything like it before. People as far as the eye could see. More people than he'd ever seen in his life. Miles and miles of them.

He couldn't help comparing them to a herd of cattle as they moved steadily forward, splitting off as they reached the intersection. Those on the far side veered left, toward the north. The rest continued forward onto the east road he and Gemma were headed for. Few came their way; only the desperate would head for an even bigger city.

There were few disturbances at the intersection; not many tried to get through the swollen, surging mass. Most just followed the crowd. As though they didn't have any particular destination. Or perhaps they'd already gravitated toward the road they wanted.

Both the north road and the east roads were so densely packed he could no longer see them.

There was no way they would get through on the bikes. Even the land on the side of the roads was thick with people. Small groups rested willy-nilly. Others jumped fences and headed across farmland.

Their journey had just gotten a hell of a lot tougher.

The lush green fields on the left – probably reserved for grazing cattle – were speckled with small dots of color; tents and people who had decided to call it a night. Ringing an oval dam was a larger group. Smoke curled from a fire in their midst, the breeze carrying the rich scent of barbecued meat.

For the first time Christopher noticed there wasn't any cattle in sight. That there hadn't been for a long time.

His stomach trembled so violently he felt sick. “I'd kill for a fat, juicy steak.”

“Let's just hope it never comes to that,” Gemma said darkly.

“I didn't mea-”

“I – I – know,” Gemma choked out, her shoulders convulsing. “But you – you should have seen the look on your face.”

Christopher chuckled at her delight, but then a darker thought stopped him. “Makes you wonder what it would take.”

Gemma's laughter died instantly.

They stopped the bikes, staring silently at the intersection.

The sound of many filled the air; a low, steady drone.

Though the masses moved steadily forward, and the disturbances were few and far between, Christopher worried about what would happen when night fell. When the cover of darkness allowed the less scrupulous to roam unseen.

“What are we going to do?” Gemma sighed.

It was the sound of a gunshot that pulled them out of their stupor; the lack of a reaction. There was no panic; no rush to get away. Just the constant, steady stream of movement. It was eerily terrifying.

They would have to stop. Hope they could ride through in the early hours of the morning while people slept.

Christopher scanned the roadside. The shadows of the darkening night danced like wraiths in the light breeze.

About two hundred yards away was a dirt road. It led to a ramshackle two-storey farmhouse that looked like a creepy dollhouse in the distance.

As though reading his mind, Gemma cut across him, and headed for the narrow road.

24

Gemma broke her cookie in half, digging out a chocolate chip with her fingernail. Christopher hadn't said a word since they stopped and it worried her.

“Are these magic cookies or something?” Gemma tried to tease him back to her. “Like the–”

Christopher looked at her blankly.

“–milk?” Gemma finished weakly. “They never seem to run out,” she added, but her heart wasn't in it.

She was too exhausted to make conversation.

Savoring the taste of the chocolate chip melting on her tongue, Gemma was in slightly better spirits. She wasn't sure she could have gone another ten seconds let alone ten miles.

They'd been forced to take cover behind a thick clump of bushes as they approached the farmhouse; there were two men out front with guns.

The undulating trill of the cicada's song saw the night in; the ever-deepening blue hues casting a solemn landscape of shadows. Even the seductive pull of the stars glistening above wasn't enough to distract her from the yearning of her hollow belly.

“Are there any more?” Gemma reached for the bag, wondering how they'd lasted so long.

Sudden realization dawned as she pulled out the last cookie.

A surge of emotion almost crippled her. She should have realized; the way Christopher made her put them in her pocket – prodding her to eat half a cookie every hour or so.

She'd assumed he'd been doing the same. But there just weren't that many cookies in a bag.

Tears stung the bridge of her nose as she studied Christopher's darkening profile; she'd been such a bitch to him.

Christopher watched the house through a gap in the trees, his eyes narrowing as it grew darker. His back was against a tree, one knee drawn up to rest his arm on.

When was the last time he ate? Had it been the tin of beans they'd shared?

She didn't remember seeing him eat a cookie when they stopped earlier. She'd been too focused on her own.

The hunger had passed some time ago. Now it was thirst that was the bigger issue; her dry, cracked lips and her thick, furry tongue that was never sated no matter how much she drank.

But the scariest part was how detached she was beginning to feel – both emotionally and psychically – and whenever her thoughts strayed back to what Brad told them, she found herself thinking about it analytically. As though she were just a passenger, observing from a distance.

But what Christopher had done woke her up.

Christopher's jaw was dark with re-growth. The dark pockets under his eyes contrasted with his skin even in the limited light, showing through the dappled tones of his bruised eye.

She didn't know what to say; what he'd done made her feel like crying and for some reason this made her angry.

Gemma held the last cookie out to Christopher, her voice soft. “Christopher?”

Christopher stared at the cookie without seeing it.

Gemma moved in front of him, and grabbed his hand.

Christopher flinched at her touch, and when he saw the cookie he finally met her eye.

“Why?” Gemma asked.

“Because you needed them more,” Christopher said, his voice flat and emotionless. “My muscles are more accustomed to cycling than yours.”

“Eat the damn cookie,” Gemma said.

Christopher's eyes found hers again, and she felt his hand closing around the cookie. Not that it would do much, such a small cookie.

His dark eyes were smoldering, shining slightly under the light of the moon. Searching her face, her lips.

An expression she wasn't sure of overcame him, and his hand tightened; the cookie crumbled to dust, falling through their fingers.

Christopher pulled her to him, his lips crashing against hers, and suddenly the cookie was the last thing on her mind as fire burned through her body at his touch.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Christopher said, before claiming her with his mouth once again.

They grabbed frantically at each other as need consumed them in the waning light of the evening.

It had been so long since she'd felt this – these sensations of need and desire that were overtaking her.

She moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at him as she tried to get closer. Needing some sort of release. This release. To forget for a moment what lay ahead.

Christopher's hands ran down her back, his warm fingers sliding under her shirt. As her tongue danced with his, a delicious shiver ran through her as his hands circled her waist, his thumbs grazing her ribs.

She arched against him, sucking in her breath as one hand came up to cup her breast.

This time the gun shot was louder, and both of them jumped.

Christopher pulled Gemma protectively against him.

Gemma dragged the backpack closer, and unzipped the front pocket.

“Stay here,” Christopher warned as he got to his feet.

“I thought you knew me better than that,” Gemma muttered as she peered at the house through the trees.

There was only one man out the front now. Where was the other one?

Which direction had the shot come from?

Christopher stood behind her, his back pressed against her body. His arm came over her shoulder, pointing to the left. Gemma followed the path of his finger, and saw the flashlight beam. It was about four hundred yards away on the other side of the house.

“Are you smelling my hair?” Gemma asked softly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It had been almost a week since she'd washed it. And the last time she'd come close to clean was when it rained.

Christopher's only answer was to bury his face in the nape of her neck, nuzzling softly at her with his nose.

“Are you crazy?” Gemma hissed. “There's a man out there with a shotgun, you know.”

Reluctantly Christopher pulled away.

The two of them backed further into the trees where they'd left the bikes. They might need to make a quick getaway.

They sat on the grass, their backs against a sturdy old trunk as they faced the house. The sides of their bodies were pressed together, and as the night wore on, Gemma found she was no longer leaning on the tree, but on Christopher.

She suspected she fell asleep more than once as they waited out the night, still worried about the gun shot. Somehow Christopher's arm ended up behind her and her head found his shoulder.

When it was obvious it wasn't going to get any darker Christopher pulled her closer, his hot breath fluttering across her ear. “I'm going to see if the farm road leads to the other side of the intersection.”

“Not without me you're not.”

“Gemma – just stay with the bikes,” Christopher said.

“What – we share one passionate kiss and suddenly you own me?” Gemma flared, trying to keep her voice low.

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“How about I see where the road leads and you stay with the bikes and worry about whether or not I'll come back. After all, I'm the one who knows how to use a gun.”

“Fine. We'll both go,” Christopher said tightly.

“Damn right we will.”

“But the guns stay here.”

“No chance,” Gemma muttered, reassured by the feel of the hard steel pressing into her lower back.

Did Christopher know she was carrying it? She'd kept her back planted firmly to the tree – she didn't want him to know just how scared she was.

There had been two gunshots since they came within sight of the intersection. It terrified her. Who would look after CJ if she didn't make it home?

Gemma had no idea if she would be able to shoot someone. She hoped to God she wasn't about to find out.

The dirt road passed close to the farmhouse. It was an old two-storey structure that Gemma thought would be well-placed in a horror movie. The moon shone behind it, casting thin slivers of light on the steepled roof. The side they approached from was dark; the shadows of the balcony a yawing mouth filled with gloomy menace.

A dim light flickered in the lower windows at the back. The second story loomed threateningly.

A narrow road forked away, circling the house.

They veered behind an enormous, rickety looking barn, hesitating before leaving the safety of the cover it provided.

Three hundred yards away was a thick wooded area, the space between open and exposed.

Christopher fumbled for Gemma's hand, and she grabbed it, turning her head. His features were cast in shadow, but she knew that he was facing her.

Christopher squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, and then they sprinted across the springy grass, keeping low.

Though they were alert for any sign of trouble, it soon found them. It came in the form of a dark shadow stealing quickly through the night.

They dropped to the ground, their breath coming hard and fast. The smell of the earth was strong. The stiff grass tickled Gemma's nose and prickled at her exposed skin.

It was a long time before they moved again, and when they did, it was to shuffle back to the barn.

They were still thirty yards away when a gunshot cracked loudly, shattering the silence.

A flashlight beam pierced the darkness, coming from the side of the house.

A tall, lithe figure started running, the flashlight bobbing up and down.

“Dad?”

“Get out of here, son.”

Gemma's heart pounded against the ground – the first voice sounded young. Just a teenager.

“That's right,
son
– do what your father says,” a deeper voice growled.

Suddenly the flashlight went out. The teenager faded into the shadows, moving toward a line of trees.

A moment later another shot rang out.

Christopher stiffened beside Gemma, his eyes wide in the moonlight. The shot close enough to catch the whiff of sulfur in the light breeze.

By then Gemma's heart was thundering. Her hand was on the gun at her waist.

As the shot died away, the teenager shouted, “Next time I'll shoot you.”

“Somehow, I don't think so,” the deeper voice answered.

“Get out of here, Jerry.”

“Dad? Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine. Now go. Look after your mother and the girls. There might be more of them.”

“Are you sure?”

Gemma searched through the darkness for the boy's father and the intruder. She spotted two dim figures about a hundred yards away as a scuffle broke out, and then another shot filled the air.

“Dad?” Jerry screamed.

There was no answer.

One of the men was on the ground.

The boy started running, shooting wildly at the man still standing. The man turned and took off, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the night, favoring one leg.

“Gemma?” Christopher's eyes were on the gun she was holding.

Gemma stared down at the gun, hardly aware she'd even pulled it out. She tucked it back into her pants, her hand still resting on it.

“Come on.” Christopher jerked his head back the way they'd come. “Might be safer going through the intersection after all. We'll be less of a target if there's more people around.”

Gemma looked warily into the inky black night. Christopher was right. She'd lost sight of the intruder. He could be anywhere.

“What about them?” she said as the boy reached his father.

“We can't help everyone, Gemma.”

Even so, both of them watched and listened as the teen tried to rouse his father.

A moment later Christopher exhaled heavily as the man lurched to his feet.

They backed toward the safety of the barn as the boy helped his father back to the house.

“Damn it,” Christopher said.

A dark figure limped out of the shadows, moving fast as it angled in the direction of the house.

“We have to warn them,” Gemma hissed.

“I know,” Christopher said. “Just,” he glanced back, “let's get behind the barn first.”

The intruder was less than a hundred yards away – and closing in fast – when they reached the barn. His shotgun was pointed at the ground as he moved stealthily toward the unsuspecting farmer and his son.

He was cutting across, headed straight for her and Christopher.

Christopher drew in a deep breath, his mouth opening.

Gemma nudged him, her voice a low hiss, “Let me do it – a male's voice might make them panic.”

“And a female's voice might make the other guy cocky,” Christopher shot back.

“Well you can be a hero once they're down on the ground.”

“What are you talking about?” Christopher said sharply.

“Shh. I'm concentrating.” Gemma stood at the corner of the barn, the gun in her hands.

The world narrowed – her focus on the intruder.

Fear crowded her mind, and she hesitated.

If she shouted a warning, would the intruder shoot at her and Christopher?