Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (16 page)

“Good enough,” Geoff said, taking the man's offered hand. “Now get out of here Carroll, before he changes his mind.”

20

Christopher and Gemma coasted down the steep slope on the other side of the exit, relying heavily on the brakes.

The man-made corridor fell away to reveal densely packed trees and greenery on either side, and the dips and peaks of the mountain chain surrounding them.

Christopher's heart was feeling considerably lighter. He honestly thought he would be leaving the family to their doom when he first saw the crowd. He didn't realize how much it had been weighing him down until they said their goodbyes.

A short time ago he'd been angry on behalf of those who'd made it as far as the exit. Now he also felt for the small, weary force that would have hundreds of thousands – perhaps millions – hitting the exit in the following days and weeks.

Peak Mountain was a small town, nestled at the foot of the mountain. It wasn't right, what they were doing, but it wasn't wrong either. They were just looking out for their own. Their families, their friends, their neighbors.

“You know,” Gemma spat the windblown-hair out of her mouth, “in the Irish hunger strike in '81, Thomas McElwee went seventy-three days without food before he died.”

“How do you even know things like that?” Christopher was amazed at Gemma's ability to spout random facts and figures.

“Just smart.” Gemma grinned ingenuously. “Actually – I taught a history class last year.”

The slope of the mountain was almost clear – most vehicles had coasted to the bottom when their vehicles stalled, some possibly not even realizing what had happened with their quiet, modern engines.

Dozens of vehicles were clumped together on the straight before the next rise. A small furniture-removal truck was the cause of a pileup, its contents strewn across the lanes.

There weren't many people – just a few small, vague shapes moving up the rise on the other side. And about a hundred yards away were two figures – one half as big as the other – sitting on a blue couch in the middle of the road.

Gemma made a small sound of exclamation and took off, her dark hair flying behind her.

“Gemma!” Christopher shot forward as he released the brake.

The woman was completely lacking in self-preservation skills.

Gemma skidded to a stop, and leapt off the bike. It fell to the ground with a clatter as she shrugged the bag from her shoulders, calling out as she approached.

“A lady asked me to give this to you.” Gemma held up the water bottle.

The trailer wobbled – in danger of flipping – as Christopher braked. His feet hit the ground, his body tense and alert as he scrutinized the man.

The boy leapt up eagerly, but the father hadn't reacted to their presence.

Christopher's wariness changed to puzzlement. The man was staring straight ahead, his expression blank.

Gemma smiled at the boy as she stepped cautiously past his father.

The man reacted fiercely; biceps bulging, he grabbed Gemma's wrist.

Christopher started running.

“Leave us alone.” The man's voice was hoarse and gravelly.

By the time Christopher reached the couch he had let go of Gemma, and resumed his vacant stare.

The boy gulped down the water, eyes bulging.

Gemma reached for the bottle, “Slow down.”

The boy backed away, still drinking.

“She's right,” Christopher said. “You'll make yourself sick.”

“Besides,” Gemma edged away from the man, “your dad's probably thirsty, too.”

The boy shot a guilty-faced look at his father, then shouted, “Dad.”

The man didn't respond.

“Hey – your son is talking to you,” Gemma said.

“Been like that since we stopped.” The boy looked at the ground, his narrow shoulders drawing in. “Is there somethin' wrong with him?”

“He's probably just tired.” Gemma studied the man's face as she answered. “Have you come far?”

The boy nodded, taking a modest sip from the bottle, his eyes hard blue balls of defiance. “We was on the bus an' it just stopped. Was real scary – I mean – I weren't scared. The driver was. Cause we was on a hill. An' it was goin' real fast an' he was havin' trouble steering.”

“That would have been pretty scary,” Gemma agreed. “Were you on your way to see your mother?”

“No,” the boy said angrily. “She's dead.”

Gemma faltered. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's her own dumb fault.”

Gemma's mouth dropped open, and her brows disappeared beneath her hair.

The boy's father still hadn't moved. His back was flat against the couch, and his hands were splayed out at his sides, palms up.

Christopher didn't know what to do.

How they kept getting themselves into these situations was beyond him. At least the others had happy outcomes – but he wasn't so sure this one would.

He pulled Gemma aside, his voice low. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“Battle fatigue – at least I think it is,” Gemma said uncertainly.

“You're saying he served?”

Gemma shook her head. “No – that's just where the term came from. They also call it shell-shock.”

“I know that,” Christopher said.

Gemma bit her lip, a frown creasing her brow as the boy tried to get his father's attention.

“Dad? Come on. You got to drink.” The boy held the bottle to his father's lips. A small stream of water ran down the man's chin.

Gemma leaned closer to Christopher. “He's shut down. Emotionally and physically.”

“Great. This is all we need.” Christopher ran a hand through his hair.

“Shh,” Gemma hissed.

The boy was watching them.

“Well it's true,” Christopher muttered. The way things were going he was likely to get battle fatigue himself. If they stopped to help everyone, it would take them forever to get home. He was sympathetic to their plights – but what about his own family? What if they didn't make it home in time? Or didn't make it home at all? How much was too much?

“It's not the boy's fault,” Gemma said.

“What about CJ?”

Gemma threw her arms in the air. “So
now
you're worried about CJ? You are unbelievable!”

“Who's CJ?” the boy asked.

“CJ's his son.” Gemma glared at Christopher.

“You just don't know when to stop, do you?” He did not need this crap right now. He was tired and sore and his shoulder was giving him hell. There was a gnawing, empty hole in his belly. He'd rationed the cookies out to last Gemma the trip home. He had more weight to spare than her, but as a result he was so damn hungry he couldn't think straight.

Gemma started up again. “Well maybe if you take responsibility–”

“I already told you he's not mine.” Christopher kicked the couch, his heart thumping against his chest.

The boy's father looked up.

Christopher felt his lip curl as he snarled in the man's face, deliberately baiting him – an unhealthy part of him hoped the man would take a swing at him. “You need to take care of your son.”

“Christopher!” Gemma warned, but Christopher didn't even dignify her with so much as a glare. If he never saw the woman again it would be too soon.

“What's the point?” The man's voice was flat. His eyes dead and empty. “It's just delaying the inevitable.”

“Daddy?”

“And you have really got to work on that attitude.” Christopher grabbed the man's shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Now get it together. Your son needs you.”

The man reacted
violently
, his fist flying at Christopher.

Christopher's head snapped back with a crack. The sharp sting of pain made him feel alive. Adrenaline pumped through him. Gemma and the boy's shouts were dulled by the blood-rush to his head.

Christopher drew back with the strength of the whole
world's-gone-to-shit
scenario that was their life now, and then his fist was connecting with the man's jaw with a satisfying thwack.

“That the best you got?” The man taunted with a leery grin, eyes gleaming as he rocked from side to side, snapping
his thick neck sharply to the left.

“I haven't even started yet.” Christopher stepped closer, and the next thing he knew the two of them were on the ground, throwing wild, savage punches, and damn it felt good.

*
 
*
 
*

“Christopher!” Gemma couldn't believe what she was seeing. What was wrong with him?

She pulled the boy to her, wanting to shield him.

The boy twisted out of her arms, gave her a contemptuous glare, then turned to watch the two men wrestling across the ground.

With so little energy to sustain them, the fight quickly tapered out. They rolled away from each other, their backs flat on the ground, chests heaving as they gasped for air.

Gemma would never in a million years figure out how the two of them went from there to laughing – maybe it was the absurdity of the situation. She would never understand the way men's minds worked – and was pretty sure she didn't want to.

“Hell, that felt good.” The boy's father looked up at the sky, his shoulders lifting with laughter.

“You better believe it,” Christopher said, a big dopey grin on his face that made Gemma want to punch him herself.

Christopher had no idea how much he'd scared her. She half expected the boy's father to pull a knife or something.

Gemma's shadow fell over Christopher as she scowled down at him. “Well – maybe when you two are ready to grow up?”

Christopher stood, favoring one shoulder as he offered the man his hand. “Help you up?”

Gemma was aghast.

Christopher's left eye was swollen shut.

She hoped it hurt.

The man took the offered hand, a crooked smile revealing bloody teeth as Christopher pulled him to his feet.

The two of them stood there
–
still sizing each other up – then the boy's father started to apologize.

“Forget about it.” Christopher shook his head. “I was deliberately pushing your buttons.”

“Well – I'm glad you did – knocked me back to my senses.”

“What was that all about, anyway?” Christopher asked carefully.

“When they turned my kid away–” The man shook his head with disbelief. He took a deep breath, his face twisting with emotion. “Hit me how hopeless it was ... that they could–” He turned away, knuckling his eyes.

“You know, I wasn't kidding when I said you need to work on your attitude,” Christopher said. “You go 'round like the world owes you something – neither of you'll survive. Things have changed now.”

“Christopher's right,” Gemma said, her eyes on the boy.

“I hear ya,” the man said. “But what hope is there? When ordinary people can turn away a kid like that.”

“You've just got to move forward,” Gemma said, worried the man was falling into a deep funk again as his voice changed, his eyes taking on a slightly glazed look. “Take one step at a time. Your son's depending on you.”

“Maybe you can tell me how I'm gonna feed him then? Since you seem to have all the answers. He ain't eaten since last night and as much as I 'preciate that water – how long's it gonna last?”

“Not long enough,” Christopher said. “You need to keep moving. Find somewhere to refill it. You stay here – you're both as good as dead.”

“Dad?” The boy pulled at his father's shirt. His face was pale and his bottom lip trembled.

The man's eyes cleared as he took in his son's terrified face. He pulled the boy roughly toward him. “No one's gonna die.”

“Mommy did,” the boy said in a small, plaintive voice, his tough guy exterior melting away as he tried to hold back his tears.

“Nuffin wrong with cryin', son.” The man rubbed the boy's head, his own eyes gleaming. “Hasn't cried since she died,” he told Gemma and Christopher. “Was a drug overdose. My boy 'ere – he's the one that found her.”

Gemma tried to hide her shock but failed miserably.

“You ever been fishing?” Christopher asked the boy.

“Pop used to take me.”

“You see that big hill there?”

“Yup.”

“Well, there's an even bigger hill after that,” Christopher said as he strode over to the trailer.

“There is?” The boy groaned.

“Sure is. And over that bigger hill, I hear there's some good fishing to be had.”

The boy's eyes lit up when he saw the bright yellow fishing reel Christopher pulled out of the trailer.

“You know how to get your own bait?”

Gemma's brow furrowed. Christopher had a natural way with the boy. So why was he so quick to reject his own son? It made no sense.

Maybe it was fear? Christopher had lived a privileged life, sheltered by his family's money. She doubted he'd ever had to take any real responsibility for anyone or anything but himself.