Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (21 page)

What would the boy and the father do?

Damn it – she wanted to shoot the gun right out of the bastard's hand, but it was too dark to see properly. She was just as liable to kill him. Or the boy or his father.

It had been such a long time since she'd fired a gun.

Should she fire a warning shot instead? Make everyone drop to the ground?

Or would the intruder return fire?

She had no idea what to do, and she was running out of time.

The intruder was less than sixty yards away, coming up on the boy's blind side.

Did the teen still have his gun?

“What are you waiting for?” Christopher hissed.

How long would it take the intruder to reach her and Christopher if he came after them?

Or would he dive for cover?

“Gemma?”

The intruder raised his gun.

“Get down. He's behind you,” Gemma screamed, firing a shot at the ground behind the intruder.

The teen turned at the sound of her voice, as did the intruder.

When the gunshot cracked the air, the boy and his father dropped.

The intruder twisted his body as he went down, shooting in her direction.

Gemma dove to the ground as the bullet tore through the barn ten feet above her.

Wood cracked and splintered, spitting fragments.

Gemma turned. Saw Christopher safe on the ground.

She fired a warning shot in the air – hoping it would keep the intruder down – and stuck her head out.

The intruder was still on the ground, his gun aimed at the barn.

Gemma pulled her head in. Damn it. Now what was she supposed to do? She was a science teacher for crying out loud.

“Give me the gun and get out of here.” Christopher wiggled up beside her.

Gemma ignored him. There was only one way out of this that she could see – unless she planned on shooting the intruder.

It was too late to run.

She
was in the best position here, not the intruder. The barns flimsy walls provided some cover at least.

Was he creeping toward them even now?

25

Christopher had no idea what to do. He'd never been in a situation anything like this before.

He hadn't thought past warning the boy and his father.

Gemma lay silently on the ground beside him, her breathing even and steady.

He wanted to scream at her to get away before she got herself shot.

How the hell could she be so calm?

Why wouldn't she just give him the gun and get out of here? He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her.

His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, making it hard to think. He hadn't realized how loud it would be.

Christopher got to his feet. He had to do something before the damn fool woman got herself killed.

If he shouted a warning, the intruder would know Gemma wasn't alone.

Would he retreat when he realized he was outnumbered?

Why didn't I bring the rifle
? Christopher berated himself. Not that he'd even know what to do with it.

He could fire a shot in the air like Gemma had. He thought he could manage that much at least.

“What are you doing?” Gemma hissed. “Get down.”

“Put your gun on the ground,” Christopher shouted. “We have you surrounded.”

“Seriously?” Gemma snorted under her breath.

Christopher knew how pathetic he sounded – like he'd watched one too many cop shows. But what else was he supposed to say?

“Just fire the bloody gun,” Christopher said, his voice low.

“What? You worried he won't believe you?”

Christopher had already figured out these sorts of responses were a result of Gemma's fear. He tried not to let it bother him. If anything, he was encouraged. He'd been starting to worry; Gemma had been becoming a little more detached with every passing hour. Amazingly, he even started to miss the niggling comments.

“I won't warn you again,” Christopher shouted as Gemma pulled herself to her knees.

She looked sexy as hell, the side of her body pressing against the barn. Her elbows bent. The gun near her head, paralleling her profile.

As the gunman fired – the bullet nicking the corner above Gemma's head – Gemma let off two rounds close together.

Ears ringing, Christopher grabbed Gemma's arm. He hauled her to her feet, steadying her as she turned to face him.

A shot rang out as they ran for the other end of the barn, and Gemma paused long enough to fire the gun behind her.

But the intruder wasn't shooting at them.

Two more shots sounded at almost the same time.

The teenager still had his gun.

Christopher rounded the corner of the barn, indicating to Gemma to fire again.

The way he saw it, their only hope was to confuse the intruder.

Make him think there was more of them than there were.

He had no idea where the shots were coming from. He hoped the intruder was having the same trouble.

The house came into view on the left as they reached the corner.

Christopher stuck his head out. On the ground he saw the dark shape of the teenager wriggling army-style toward the house.

His father was providing cover, firing at the intruder.

Gemma's head appeared below him as she edged her way in.

She quickly took in the situation, letting off a quick volley of shots.

One. Two. Three shots.

How many bullets did she have left?

“Put your gun down,” Christopher roared into a silence that was suddenly deafening.

His left ear was ringing. His right ear had lost all sensation.

“Do what the man says,” the farmer shouted.

Christopher heard him dimly in his left ear. His other ear failed him.

He poked his head out again – sure he was going to be shot dead – and saw the dark lump that was the intruder on the ground. The glint of his moonlit gun wavered between them and the farmer.

The boy still had a good forty yards to go.

A shot came from the house. The man's wife?

Christopher's relief was short-lived; the intruder was retreating.

The danger of this struck him like a bullet to the gut.

If the intruder reached the cover of the trees there was no telling what he would do next.

There was nothing to stop him shooting the exposed boy and his father. Or creeping up behind him and Gemma.

This had to be dealt with here and now.

“This is your last warning,” Christopher roared. “Drop the gun or we'll take you down.”

“You have until the count of three.” Gemma's shout sounded faraway and distorted, and Christopher tugged at his ear, trying to clear it.

“How do I know you won't shoot me anyway?”

“Considering you're all out of bullets, it's kind of beside the point,” Gemma shouted.

Christopher raised his eyebrows. How could she possibly know that?

“Get out of here,” the farmer warned. “Because quite frankly – unlike my friends there – I'd prefer to see you dead.”

“One,” Gemma hollered.

The man didn't move.

“Two.”

The man twisted, bringing his hands to the ground, his body crouched in a sprinters stance.

“Three.”

The intruder started running, zigzagging wildly as he headed for the trees.

“Drop the gun.” Gemma let off a warning shot.

The farmer moved determinedly toward the intruder. “You heard the lady.”

The intruder fell to his knees, his arms shooting up in the air. The gun hit the ground as the farmer approached him.

The farmer kicked the gun away, and the intruder took off, still zigzagging wildly until he reached cover.

Meanwhile, the farmer collapsed to the ground, and a woman ran from the house.

Christopher's breath exploded from him. It was time for them to leave.

Gemma had a difference of opinion. She tucked the gun into the back of her shorts, and moved toward the woman, her hips swinging wildly.

Her mouth opened and closed as she looked back at him impatiently.

Christopher couldn't hear a word she said over the incessant ringing in his ear.

*
 
*
 
*

An hour later Gemma and Christopher were sitting in a cozy, duck-themed kitchen, enjoying a meal of boiled potato and steak that had been cooked on the kitchen fireplace.

Gemma was having trouble making herself eat slowly – it seemed the more she ate the hungrier she became. She savored the sweet, hot coffee almost as much as the food.

The milk was fresh out of the cow that morning, and was rich and creamy.

Christopher sat on the opposite side of the wooden slatted table, chewing intently. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he listened to Bill, who was penning lines on a map.

“Found six carcasses this morning,” Bill said. “We got most of the cattle into the back paddocks when we realized the city was headed straight for us. Lost a few horses too. They took Jen's mare – she loved that horse. Had it since she was wee high.”

Alison – the farmer's wife – was at the kitchen window, a rifle close at hand. Her thin brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that trailed down to her waist.

Jerry stood watch in a room at the front of the house. His sister Jennifer, a twelve year old beauty with dark eyes and dark hair, stood watch from a bedroom upstairs. She was also armed with a rifle – Bill informing them with a sad sort of pride that his daughter was a better shot than the rest of them.

The bikes were safely stowed in the front room with Jerry.

Melanie, the youngest daughter, had cried herself to sleep. She was curled up on the blue spotted couch that could be seen through the kitchen doorway.

Gemma wondered what would become of them as more and more people swarmed through in an ever widening circle.

Bill glanced at his sleeping daughter. His ruddy, weather-beaten jowls sagged with worry. “You sure you won't stay? We've plenty of food, and the rainwater tank is near full. We could do with a couple more sets of eyes.”

Gemma shook her head as she swallowed, but it was Christopher who answered.

“We've got our own families to get back to.”

Bill nodded, looking as though he expected nothing less. The farmer was clearly exhausted, his eyes red and bloodshot. His open shirt was stained with blood, and a thick white bandage was wrapped around his chest.

The farmer had been lucky. The wound was clean, the bullet grazing his ribs.

Alison had cleaned it with alcohol as Bill bit down on a wooden spoon so fiercely he left dents. She then proceeded to stitch the wound neatly closed – as though it were nothing more than one of the many needlework's that adorned the walls.

Bill slid the map across the table so Gemma and Christopher could see it. “Now this is where you are, right here. And this road,” he ran a thick, sturdy finger across the red line he'd drawn. “It leads to the old highway. It's run down but it'll see you most of the way home. Runs parallel with the highway for the most part – only thing is it passes through a bunch of small towns that'll most likely be on edge.

“Most you can circle round. It will take you a bit longer. You're going to have to pass through Carlisle – there's no avoiding it no matter what road you take. But then you'll be almost home.”

“I can make up the beds in the spare room,” Alison offered. “You could get a good night's rest, and have a warm breakfast before you leave.”

Bill shook his head. “Much as I hate to say it – you'd be safer leaving right away. Most folk stop not long after dark sets in. Once you reach the old highway you can camp by the river until morning.”

Gemma was tempted by the offer of a real bed. Boy was she tempted. But Bill was right. Carlisle was only another sixty miles away. Home only forty after that. With a good meal behind them, and the promise of the fresh eggs and bread Alison was wrapping in a cloth for them, they might even make it home by nightfall.

With tired, aching muscles, and a belly full of warm food and drink, they said their goodbyes, wishing the family well.

With the end in sight, Gemma and Christopher rode their bikes slowly along the farm road by the light of the moon. It had been two hours since they'd seen the intruder. With luck he'd be long gone, looking for easier prey.

*
 
*
 
*

It took them close to an hour to reach the old highway – a pockmarked road with tufts of grass growing through it at regular intervals. By cutting through the farmer's property they'd managed to avoid the bulk of people at the intersection.

The gurgle of water in the river beside them was all Christopher could hear, the sound muted but discernible in his left ear. The ringing was no longer so intense and this gave him hope that the damage wasn't permanent. At least not in that ear. His right ear was still dead.

The dark, shadowy shapes of sleeping bodies littered the banks of the river at the beginning of the old highway, and occasionally he heard dim, muffled voices.

Almost two hours after they left, they took shelter under a huge weeping willow a few yards from the river. Its long, stringy branches arched over them, and the smell of the earth was strong, providing an almost cave-like atmosphere as they wheeled the bikes in.

Exhausted, they rolled out the sleeping mats in silence, then Christopher pushed his way back through the long tendrils sweeping over them to relieve himself. When he returned, Gemma was curled up under her sleeping bag, one arm tucked up over the top, snoring her pretty little head off.

Tired, but too restless to sleep, Christopher leaned against the trunk with the rifle across his lap. When they got home, he was going to ask Gemma to show him how to use it. Meanwhile, he wanted to become more accustomed to the feel of it; his aversion to firearms was still strong.

But if violence was the way of the future he wanted to be able to protect his loved ones.

Christopher hadn't let on to Gemma how scared he'd been when faced with the intruder. He'd seen the damage a firearm could do. The families torn asunder by their destruction; only six months ago, Gordon Greenvale represented a family whose daughter was brain damaged in a schoolyard shooting. It had been a big case for the firm, and resonated with parents and families across the world, attracting international media attention.

Christopher hoped that his family was together, supporting each other. His mother would be a tower of strength, but what about his sister? How was she coping with her two young charges? She'd already been through so much after losing Simon.

And then there was his younger brother, Jamie. He was in his final year of high school, and had gotten himself into a bit of trouble the year before.

There were so many things he should have done differently. He wished he'd spent more time with them; that he'd helped guide Jamie into adulthood now that their father wasn't around.