Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (7 page)

It had been barely three weeks since she'd promised Caroline she'd look out for CJ. Now she had no idea where he was.

Daphne had insisted on driving Gemma to the station at Carlisle. Forty miles from home, the small city was a popular shopping destination. When Gemma said she was happy to drive herself, Daphne said she'd already sealed the deal by promising to take CJ to watch the latest Ice Age movie.

Gemma had no idea if they made it home before the pulse. For all she knew they were trapped in Carlisle with no way to get home.

8

Christopher kneaded his shoulder muscles, applying downward pressure with his hand as he rotated the joint. Gemma was firmly ensconced under his other arm as they made their way down the corridor.

He was still feeling shaken, and couldn't get rid of the horrible images that had plastered themselves in his mind. He'd truly thought his arm was going to fail him. Just knowing how close the child watching him over Megan's shoulder had come to plunging to her death still haunted him.

Fear for his own life had never come into it at the time. It wasn't until he was out of the shaft that he realized his own fragile mortality, and he'd felt suddenly shaky as the effects of the adrenalin surging through his system faded.

Megan took the news calmly when Robert told her about the pulse. “I knew something big had happened when everyone left.” She turned blue eyes on Christopher. “But when I realized the risk you were taking to save us...” Megan trailed off with a weary shrug as she stroked her daughter's head.

The small group stayed close together, the reality of what might be facing them when they left the building weighing them down.

The glimpses of sky through the office windows they passed showed how fast night was descending, the thick smoke in the air adding an extra layer of gloom. Dark would fall earlier than usual.

They paused when they reached the sitting area window. In the distance the smoke was thick and heavy as a fire raged out of control in the general vicinity of Peak Mountain, visible through the gaps in the buildings.

Christopher was beginning to feel like he was in the middle of a warzone. For all he knew, he was.

It had taken Gordon all of ten minutes to declare that terrorists had nuked them, his little piggy eyes gleaming as he told them they wouldn't have been able to hear or see a thing if it was detonated high enough.

It had been Gemma who assured them they weren't in danger of radiation poisoning.

Images from the media in the wake of nine-eleven stormed his brain – news clips of missiles hurtling through the night skies of Afghanistan, putting fear into the hearts of all that World War Three had broken out.

He hoped to God they weren't at war – that the fault belonged to mother nature.

His need to get Gemma safely out of the city heightened as bright orange flames flickered in the distance. He was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to wait until morning, and he doubted he'd be the only one to see it that way.

He also couldn't help feeling responsible for Megan and Becky – what if he'd only prolonged the agony of the weeks to come? Without food and water, what hope did the young mother and daughter have – what hope did any of them have?

Christopher knew he was ill-prepared. As a child food magically appeared when Mrs. Smyth, the housekeeper, placed it in front of him.

With the security of a job that paid well and a healthy trust fund to supplement his income, there was always someone to take care of his every need. Eating out most nights meant his cupboards were almost bare. It had been years since he'd even entered a supermarket – he hadn't needed to since the day he'd impulsively hired one of his clients, a single mother who'd been struggling financially.

Angela had become a godsend. At first she'd slipped unobtrusively into his apartment while he was at work to do the cleaning. Before long she was stocking the fridge with his favorite coffee beans, milk, and the other things he liked to have on hand. He couldn't remember the last time he had run out of shaving cream or soap.

“What are you doing?” Christopher asked when Gemma pulled away.

“There's food in there.” Gemma disappeared through a doorway.

“She's right,” Anne said. “How much food do you have in your fridge?” She raised her eyebrows knowingly at Christopher.

Anne had a point. But the idea of scavenging food that belonged to others didn't sit at all well with him.

“Fine.” Christopher nodded, casting a worried look at Megan and her daughter.

With communication systems down there was no telling when – or even if – anyone would come to their aid, trucking in water and other supplies.

Fifteen minutes later there was a rather pathetic looking pile of supplies by the stairwell, stuffed into trash bags and whatever else they could find.

As they made their way down the stairs they debated over whether or not to search the other floors of the building.

Carrying her daughter, and eager to do her part, Megan hurried ahead of them. Lighting the tea-light candles Anne found with a box of matches, she set them down every few steps or so.

Anne stopped when they reached Christopher's floor. “There's three or four bottles of water for the dispenser in the store room. And dozens of cartons of drink for the vending machine.”

“There is?” Christopher said. He'd always assumed that some company or other kept the machines well stocked, and said as much.

Anne shook her head. “Your grandfather never forgot his beginnings – said the vending machine was a firm reminder of how far he'd come.”

Christopher knew the story well. His grandfather bought a vending machine when he was young, using the money he'd squirreled away over the years from various part time jobs after school. The vending machine helped his grandfather pay his way through college.

“We won't be able to carry them – not that far,” Christopher said.

“My car's in the garage,” Megan said.

Christopher shook his head, but it was Gemma who answered.

“Your car probably won't start–”

“I know that. But Becky's stroller is in the trunk. We can use it to carry the water.”

“Smart girl,” Robert said, already thinking ahead. “And we can stash what we can't carry in your trunk. You can come back for it later.”

Megan lived in a small apartment about twenty minutes away by foot, and they'd already decided to make a detour so they could see the two of them home safely.

Christopher didn't like the idea of leaving the girl to fend for herself, but Megan had quickly reassured him that Becky's father would get home as soon as he possibly could.

They left their supplies near the door, Gordon suddenly appearing when he heard them.

“Thought you'd be long gone by now,” Donavon said to Gordon.

Gordon shrugged, pulling a crumpled cigarette pack from his top pocket. “Sasha's passed out on one of the couches. Be safer to wait until morning anyway,” he added as the sound of breaking glass came from the street below.

“You can't smoke that here,” Christopher scowled, his response automatic as he moved toward the window.

“Don't you get it? All the rules have changed,” Gordon sneered.

Across the street two youths wearing sweatshirts, their faces shadowed by their hoods, were struggling with a large flat-screen television that was taller than they were. The street itself was almost deserted, the only movement a few fleeting glimpses as shady-looking characters prowled about, obviously far more optimistic the power would return than Christopher and the others were.

Most of the owners of the cars looked to be long gone, no doubt starting their own treks back to their loved ones, or perhaps seeking refuge when the looting began.

The fact his office building was nestled in the business district, away from the supermarkets and shopping malls, gave Christopher grave cause for concern. If it was like this here, how did the rest of the city fare?

“He's right,” Anne sighed, and Christopher turned.

Anne narrowed her eyes at Gordon. “Give me one of those, will you?”

When Gordon hesitated, Donavon pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, flipping it open with his thumb.

Christopher looked at Anne with surprise, but Anne merely shrugged. “Twenty years and the urge still hits me from time to time.”

Donavon's hand shot out in a lightning fast movement, snatching Gordon's lighter. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Anne, making her blush like a schoolgirl as he tossed the lighter back to Gordon.

“Sorry about that, old chum,” Donavon said cheerfully when the lighter landed at Gordon's feet.

Christopher bit back a laugh at the intensity of the scowl on Gordon's face.

Gemma wasn't quite so restrained, earning herself a cheeky wink from Donavon.

“Well – you still shouldn't smoke near the little one,” Robert said.

Both Anne and Donavon flushed at their mistake, going to the nearest office and closing the door behind them.

Drawing in deeply, Gordon deliberately blew smoke in Robert's face as he said, “The kid's as good as dead anyway.”

Gemma and Megan gasped, but Christopher's reaction was instantaneous and primal, his arm shooting out to slog Gordon squarely in the face.

“What? It's true.” Gordon stepped back, rubbing his jaw, his squinty eyes bulging indignantly. “How long's the kid going to last without water?”

“Get out of here,” Christopher bit out. “Before I punch you again.”

Gordon retreated, watching Christopher and Donavon as they heaved the heavy water bottles to the stairwell. Gemma and Robert were right behind, rolling theirs along the floor.

When they returned – loaded down with cartons of drink – Anne was watching Gordon with shrewd eyes and a stiff back.

“How big is your trunk?” Robert asked Megan softly, glancing nervously at Gordon who was working his way up to protesting if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“Big,” Megan beamed.

Christopher had never liked or trusted Gordon Greenvale. He placed himself between Gordon and their stash as Donavon brought a case of Coke out of the storeroom.

He'd questioned his uncle's judgment when he first hired Gordon, but it had quickly become clear that Gordon's narcissistic ways made him a brilliant litigator. Gordon thrived in the limelight, shamelessly chasing the high profile cases he'd used to make a name for himself, not giving one iota about justice or guilt in his need to win. Christopher had learned to tolerate the man for his uncle's sake. Gordon took on the cases the rest of them didn't have the stomach for.

“You can't take it all,” Gordon pleaded with Anne as she returned to the storeroom.

“I do believe you and
Sasha
have a swimming pool full of water,” Anne retorted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

9

As Christopher and Donavon stocked Megan's trunk by candlelight, Anne put a gentle hand on Gemma's arm.

“Why don't you and Christopher stay at my place tonight? That way you can get an early start in the morning.”

Gemma was touched by the offer, but she wasn't sure that waiting until morning would make the streets any safer. In fact it could very well make them all that much more dangerous. Being cut off would change people. No power, no TV, no radio. No internet or phones. She had a feeling things were going to look a lot different in the morning.

“Thanks Anne,” Christopher looked up from the trunk. “But I want to go back to my apartment. Check the car.” He shrugged. “You never know. The garage might have protected it. And if it hasn't, I can grab one of my neighbor’s bikes for Gemma.”

“Nonsense. Your place is in the wrong direction,” Anne said. “It will add hours to your trip. And you'd have to pass through the city in the morning. It's too dangerous. At least my place is on the way.”

Christopher ran a hand through his hair, catching Gemma's eye. “I don't plan on waiting until morning.”

“You're leaving tonight?” Anne sounded incredulous.

Gemma was flooded with relief. She wasn't used to the city and was already feeling a little jumpy.

She wished she'd never caught the train. That she was safe at home on her farm.

The later it got the more she worried. The idea of crossing the city on foot
before
the pulse would have been bad enough.

They wasted another twenty minutes checking Robert's car, and then Anne's. Gemma was relieved when Donavon said he caught the bus.

Christopher unchained his bicycle, finally giving up on the idea of his own car working.

The thin beam of the key-light barely breached the thick shadows as they headed back to Megan's car to collect the stroller.

Another shattering of glass broke the silence, sounding far too close for comfort.

The garage, which only moments before had been a haven they were almost reluctant to leave, suddenly became ominous. The dark, gloomy depths could be hiding any number of unknown threats.

The stroller was already packed and ready to go, with loose cans of drink firmly stuffed into the tray underneath, and a carton of lemonade balanced on top. The seat was in the recline position, and held two of the water dispenser bottles.

With every sound making them glance nervously into the shadows closing in on them, Gemma was eager to be gone. But Robert insisted they go back for another load from the storeroom, his worried eyes never leaving Megan and her daughter.

In the end, Christopher and Donavon decided to go back as Robert fussed with the contents of the trunk to make more room.

It was another ten minutes before they were ready. Reluctant to leave the safety of the building for the unknown dangers of the oncoming night, they paused at the garage exit. They looked warily up at the sky, the blues and purples of the early evening barely visible through the haze of smoke.

Gemma pushed the stroller. A picnic blanket had been thrown over the top to hide their spoils. Beside her, Christopher wheeled his unsteady bicycle, bags of food hanging from the handles.

Megan stuck close to Robert, holding her daughter tightly to her chest.

“How far do you have to go?” Megan asked Gemma.

“About three hundred miles,” Gemma admitted.

“Wow,” Megan said. “And here I was worrying about having to cross a few roads.”

Gemma smiled at the girl, hoping to reassure her. “You'll be fine.”

“It's not me I'm worried about.” Megan's voice shook as she buried her face in her daughter's soft, downy hair, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“I know,” Gemma said.

The low murmur of voices reached them before they even got to the road, and Christopher stopped just ahead of Gemma, using his hip to prop up his bicycle.

In the middle of the road was a small group of men standing around a station wagon. There was a dim light coming from one of the headlights that was partly blocked by the rear end of the car it had run into. Two of the men had flashlights.

Gemma felt her heart shudder to a stop when she recognized the man with the tattoos. He'd given that poor woman a mouthful.

“It's wedged in.”

“We'll have to push 'em out of the way.”

“Gerry, shine the light over 'ere.”

“Hold your horses.”

“A horse'd come in handy 'bout now,” a thick voice slurred, the man laughing at his own joke.

“Shut up, Reynolds. Here, give me some of that.” The man with the tattoos snatched the bottle of alcohol, and chugged it back, the glass catching in the beam of a flashlight.

Becky chose that moment to wake, letting out a startled cry.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” The man with the tattoos spun around, shining the flashlight in their faces.

“We don't want any trouble.” Robert put down the carton of drinks he was carrying, and stepped forward, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of peace.

“Shut up, you fat fuck,” tattoo man growled as he stalked toward them, swaying unsteadily as he took another swig from the bottle.

Megan cradled Becky close to her chest as she tried to hush her, but Becky's cries only grew louder, and the man turned his attention on her. “Shut that kid up, will ya,” he growled.

“Leave her alone, Wally,” someone said. “She's just a kid herself.”

“Didn't I just tell you to shut up, Harris?” Wally growled.

“Nah. That was Reynolds you idiot.”

“C'mon. Let's just move these cars and get the fuck outa here before everything's gone,” another man said, this one thin and reedy with a long, straggly brown beard and a tired, lined face.

“Yeah – come on, Wally. There'll be nothin' left soon,” Reynolds whined.

“Nah – look – they got stuff don't they. B'sides, be nothin' left by now anyways. Barb said some guy at Aldi took off without payin'. Next thing she knew she got pushed out the door cart 'an all when everyone panicked. They thought he knew somethin' they didn't.” Wally started to laugh uproariously as he choked out his words. “Turns out he did.”

“Then you don't need nothin' then, do ya,” Reynolds said.

“And we already got plenty anyway,” the thin reedy man said. “It 'aint right to take what they need for the kid.”

“Barb only went for some shit paper,” Wally growled. “Stupid woman. Always missin' opportunities when they present themselves.”

“Put everything down,” Christopher said softly, his eyes on Wally as he lowered his bike slowly to the ground.

Gemma's grip on the stroller tightened as Donavon and Anne put down the cartons of drink they were carrying.

“See, look. They want us ta' take it,” Wally said, handing the liquor bottle to the thin reedy man so he could reach down to scoop up a carton of Dr. Pepper.

“We'll be going on our way now,” Christopher said as he backed away, gesturing to Gemma and the others to follow him.

“Come on, Megan,” Gemma urged as she eased the stroller forward, trying not to strain at the weight of the water.

Wally slung the Dr Pepper onto his shoulder, and stepped toward Gemma with a leery grin.

“Oy – 'old on,” Wally growled, shining the flashlight on the stroller. “What you got in there?”

Gemma's heart slammed against her chest. She could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath, and a long forgotten helpless anger surged through her. She'd known one too many Wally's thanks to her mother.

Anne stepped in front of the stroller. “That's my grandson.”

Wally moved around Anne, reaching for the blanket.

"I'll check." The thin reedy man knocked Wally's arm away. "Get off, Wally. You stink so bad the kid'll get drunk off the fumes.”

The man's beady little eyes darted up to Megan and her daughter. “My fella's 'bout the same age as your l'il one,” he said softly as he grabbed the edge of the blanket.

Megan nodded her head stiffly, her eyes wide with fear as Anne tried to slap the man's hand away.

“Like I said, it's my grandson. And God help you if you wake him.” Anne glowered at Wally. “And you, young man, should be ashamed of yourself. Scaring young Becky here like that.”

Becky let loose with the full force of her lungs, as if in agreement, and Wally took a step back. “Geez, you sound just like my mom,” he said, quickly adding, “God bless her soul.” He crossed his chest in a ritual born of habit.

“Well if she could see you now she'd be ashamed of your behavior,” Anne said tartly.

Gemma couldn't breathe as the wiry little man looked up at her knowingly as he lifted the blanket. She opened her mouth. She had no idea what to say. Horror filled her. This water could mean the difference between life and death, and from what they'd overheard it sounded like the stores had already been well and truly raided.

“Settle down, love,” the man hissed under his breath. Throwing a quick wink at Megan, he turned back to Wally. “Let's go – it's just a kid, like she said. And one screamin' brat's more than enough.”

“You got that right.” Wally glared at Megan. “Can't you shut that bloody kid up?”

*
 
*
 
*

Christopher's fists were so tightly clenched he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms as Wally and his men returned to the car, taking the cartons of drink with them.

He didn't know what he would have done if they'd tried to take the water too. Between them, they might have been able to take them on. Especially considering they'd been drinking. But there was always the risk they were armed.

Christopher hesitated. What about his bike?

Wally turned, coming back for seconds.

Christopher left the bike where it was. They moved quickly down the street, none of them daring to look back when they heard the wrenching, grinding sound of metal as the men tried to free the station wagon.

He was angry about the loss of supplies. But without the bike, getting home was going to be a lot harder, and Gemma was anxious to get back to CJ.

His gut clenched at the reminder that he was the reason Gemma had been in the city in the first place. He couldn't help but feel responsible for seeing her safely home.

He had no idea why Caroline claimed the boy was his. Caroline had always been a little on the flighty side, but he found it hard to imagine any reason why she'd say CJ was his – she didn't strike him as the gold-digger type.

Maybe she'd just been clutching at straws, wanting to provide security for her boy when she realized she was dying. Maybe she really did think CJ was his; timing wise, the night of the school dinner probably fit with the boys age.

Christopher was ashamed of the fact he hardly remembered the night in question. His thoughts had been on Gemma and the man he'd seen her with, the reminder of how much he'd screwed everything up driving him to the bar.

Caroline had shown up when he was well and truly plastered.

When Christopher heard Melinda had twins with her new husband, it cut deeper than he thought it would, and he while he was happy for her, it was yet another reminder of the one thing he couldn't have. Instead he'd thrown himself into his career, earning ridiculous amounts of money when what he wanted was the one thing he couldn't buy; his own flesh and blood.

When they reached the corner and turned, Christopher's shoulders finally relaxed.

“I thought none of the cars were working,” Megan said.

“Only the ones with electronics – some of the older ones will still work,” Gemma said.

“Until they run out of gas,” Donavon said dryly.

“Oh – well – I still don't really get it. Why everything just stopped working,” Megan said.

“An EMP is a powerful blast of electromagnetic energy,” Gemma told Megan. “Think of it like lightning, but invisible and a whole lot bigger and faster.”

Now
that
Christopher could understand. When he was a kid lightning had struck a power line near his house, causing a power surge that killed the television and blew the electric socket clean out of the wall.

“So you're saying it fried everything?” Christopher asked.

“Sure did. It would have traveled along anything made out of metal. Wires, antennas. Power lines. Destroying everything in its path. The longer the line the more energy absorbed. The electromagnetic energy in the air also interferes with radio and television signals.”

“How come we didn't feel it? If it was that strong?” Donavon asked.

“The same way we don't feel the radio waves in the air." Gemma shrugged. "Most of the energy is absorbed into the ground, but it isn't attracted to us–”

“It's attracted to metal,” Anne finished.

“Get back.” Christopher urged them deeper into the shadows when he heard the unmistakable whine of a car engine turning over.

A moment later it roared to life.

Christopher could feel the softness of Gemma's body against his side as they backed against the wall.