Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (17 page)

“Course I do,” the boy boasted. “Pop even showed me how to gut what I catch.”

“In that case, son, you'll have to teach me.” The man put his hand on his son's shoulder. “I ain't never been fishin'.”

“Sure, I'll teach you.” The boy held his arms out wide. “Caught one this big once.”

“Go on then,” Christopher told the boy as he tossed a box of matches to his father. “If you hurry, there should still be enough daylight left.”

The boy's father nodded his head at Christopher, his nostrils flaring with emotion. “Thanks. Both of you.”

Then the two of them turned, the boy waving at them with the yellow fishing reel in his hand, a promising jaunt to their steps.

“I tried to warn you,” Gemma told Christopher a few minutes later. She gently pressed her water bottle against his puffy eye. “Battle fatigue can make people snap at any little thing.”

“How's that going to help?” Christopher pushed the bottle away. “It needs to be cold.”

“Well – I felt like I had to do something,” Gemma said. “It's swelling shut.”

“Let's just go,” Christopher said.

“Ugh,” Gemma grunted. “You Daleys are all so damned uptight. It's infuriating.”

They were both gasping for breath when they finally crested the mountain.

“You weren't kidding, were you!” Gemma stared at the next mountainous slope. “You don't happen to have another one of those fishing reels?”

“Yup.”

“Yup? Since when do you say
yup
Mr. Daley?”

“Since I'm too tired to open my mouth properly.” Christopher's words ran together.

“Just over the other side you say?”

“That's what I hear.” Christopher thrust half a banana at her, beginning a long-winded explanation about potassium and muscle cramps.

Gemma glanced back at the two small figures. Guilt hit her as the banana's sweetness exploded in her mouth.

“I'm surprised you didn't give them something to eat,” Gemma cut in. So much for being too tired to open his mouth properly.

Christopher shrugged. “Wouldn't have made any difference to them in the long run. What about tomorrow? And the next day? If they don't learn to stand on their own two feet they've got no hope. But we are not – and I repeat
not
– stopping for anyone else.”

Gemma agreed wholeheartedly. It was just too hard emotionally.

She was cursed with some innate quality so deeply instilled in her that it made it hard to walk past someone in trouble. Both of them were.

If only she were back home, tending to her chickens and pottering in the garden. Eating her lovely strawberries. Normal, everyday things.

“How long do you think it will take us to get home?” she asked.

“At this rate – three days.” Christopher pointed to the mountain standing between them and dinner. “After that, the way's mostly flat.”

“Maybe we'll get lucky and it will rain,” Gemma mused.

“You want it to rain!” Christopher spluttered.

“Not here.” Gemma knew she sounded irritable but she couldn't dampen it from her tone. “Back home. I was worrying about my garden.”

“The majority of the population is worrying about water for survival and you're worried about a few flowers?”

“No, you idiot. I'm worrying about my vegetable garden.”

“Oh,” he said, a thoughtful look on his face. “I'm glad you have a garden. It will make things easier for you and...”

He couldn't even say his son's name.

Gemma mounted her bike. She was too tired to have this argument again. “So – about that fish?”

“What – now you're a mind reader too?” Christopher said lightly, his eyes wary.

Gemma stared at him. Since when did Christopher make jokes?

“What? I do have a sense of humor you know. At least I thought I did.” He looked suddenly worried.”Am I really that uptight?”

Gemma chuckled at the look on his face as she pushed off, then the wind was in her face, and her hair was whipping back behind her.

Forty-five minutes later, at the peak of their limits, they reached the top. Here they came upon a sight that would make many weep.

A wide concrete bridge stretched over the saltwater river that snaked its way through the valley below, feeding the enormous basin to their right.

The water glistened like broken glass, reflecting the sun in a way that made it seem as though someone had sprinkled fairy dust across its vast expanse. On the far side of the basin tiny houses dotted the landscape.

Scattered in between was an archipelago of tiny islands that belonged to the wildlife.

“Wow,” Gemma sighed. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“It sure is,” Christopher said hoarsely.

Christopher's tone made Gemma swivel her head so fast she was at risk of whiplash.

Her stomach rippled. What those dark, smoldering eyes were doing to her was disturbing.

Now was not the time to be thinking about her starved libido.

“I thought you said it was flat after this,” Gemma accused. The mountain on the other side of the bridge surpassed the others, and was a far safer topic.

“I said the way was
mostly
flat,” Christopher corrected.

“What? So now you're handling me?” Gemma snapped defensively, even though she did it to her students all the time – sometimes it was the only way to get through a lesson they wanted nothing to do with.

“No ... I was ... encouraging you?” Christopher said weakly. “Trying to keep up your momentum.”

“Well don't.”

Christopher wisely kept his mouth shut, and twenty minutes later they were sitting on the grassy shores below the bridge, Christopher gripping the bright yellow reel so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Massaging her calves, Gemma watched the water hungrily. “How long does this usually take?”

Christopher ignored her. Just like he had ignored most of her other fishing related questions.

“Just trying to make conversation,” Gemma said.

Christopher's grip on the wheel tightened.

Ten minutes later she'd pulled most of the contents out of the trailer to get to the gas cooker and matches.

Fishing was boring.

“Do you think you could be any louder?” Christopher said.

“Just catch the damn fish already.”

Gemma went through the trailer – more quietly this time – looking for something to cook on. There was nothing. Anne had taken out the skillet.

She repacked the trailer, and skulled back a Coke before Christopher even realized it was open.

“I thought we agreed to save the cans,” Christopher said. “We need to drink the juice before it goes off.”

It was hard to take him seriously when he looked so odd with his eye all swelled up like that.

“We need something to cook this mythical fish of yours on,” Gemma said, fuming silently as she sliced the can open with a filleting knife.

Christopher apologized when he realized what she was doing and she felt guilty as hell. She should have at least shared the Coke with him, but she'd been so inspired by her idea it was gone before it even crossed her mind.

She played around with the aluminum can until it was flat, feeling pretty pleased with herself as she presented it to Christopher, hinting that anytime soon would be good.

Just the idea of fresh fish was making her belly do flip-flops, and there hadn't been so much as a nibble.

Still feeling guilty about the Coke, Gemma offered Christopher one, but he refused which only made her feel worse.

Making a peace offering of sorts, Gemma took out one of the new pairs of underwear Megan had given them, and dipped them in the cool water. She pressed them gently to Christopher's swollen eye.

Ten minutes later she was roaming the area around her, having almost fallen asleep on Christopher's shoulder. The familiar musky scent under the stink of his sweat had comforted her more than she wanted to admit.

Her jeans were damp with sweat, and they stuck to her skin as she walked, adding to her irritation.

She fetched the filleting knife, ducked behind a bush, and when she re-emerged – thwacking a stick restlessly on the ground – her jeans were shorts.

“You're going to scare away the fish.”

“What fish?” Gemma snorted. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I'd like to see you do bet–” Christopher broke off, staring at her bare legs. “Fishing is a sport of patience.”

“It's hardly a sport.” Gemma snatched the fishing reel from his hand.

“What are you doing?” Christopher said as she reeled the line in.

“Showing you how it's done.” Gemma cut a generous length from the reel before handing it back to him.

She secured one end to her stick and moved further down the bank, having had more than enough of his company.

Finally – almost an hour and a half after they stopped – Gemma slipped a piece of warm fish into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she said smugly.

“Beginner’s luck,” Christopher said. “Besides, I couldn't see a thing with my eye.”

“You do have two eyes.” Gemma popped another delicious morsel between her lips. “Pass the salt, will you?”

Gemma couldn't believe it. Christopher was sulking. He was so old-fashioned that way. Always had been. It was really irking him that he hadn't been able to come to her rescue.

21

Christopher wanted to kiss the smug smile off Gemma's lips, a prospect he found both infuriating and intoxicating. How the hell could he be so attracted to someone who so easily irritated him? Granted, the situation wasn't exactly normal.

Maybe if things were different, if the pulse hadn't hit ... he should be wining and dining her in a fancy restaurant, not eating fish cooked on an aluminum can while he held a pair of underwear to his swollen eye. She deserved better than that – they all did.

Except that wasn't Gemma's style either.

What was he thinking – he hated what Gemma did to him. She made him feel completely unbalanced.

The tip of Gemma's tongue darted out to lick the juice from her lips. She then proceeded to pop her fingers in her mouth, one at a time, to suck them clean.

Christopher suppressed a groan.

The fact he was attracted to her wasn't helping matters at all – she was a magnetic force as powerful as the one that had changed their world – and to his dismay he was falling under her spell all over again.

Something inside him was unfurling. A part of himself he'd long since closed off. And he didn't like it at all.

Slamming a wall up against the direction his thoughts were taking, Christopher scrubbed furiously at the aluminum with a handful of gritty sand to clean it. Using the can had been a good idea – not that he'd said as much to Gemma – she was already sitting a bit too smug after catching dinner.

“Maybe we should stop here for the night,” Gemma said, her weary face tilting as she surveyed the mountain.

Christopher frowned. Gemma had no idea how stiff and sore she was going to be in the morning, and he wasn't about to say so. Not with the mood she was in. The mountain would look a whole lot more formidable in the morning.

“I thought you wanted to get home to–” Christopher caught himself just in time. “To your garden?”

“I want sleep more right now.” Gemma yawned. “You know – even my little toe hurts.”

“That's your own fault,” Christopher said as he closed the trailer cover.

Gemma rolled her eyes. “It wasn't my fault you made me so angry I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“Well maybe if you hadn't taken your shoes off–”

“I wanted to soak my feet.”

“Come on – we need to keep moving.” Christopher kept his tone neutral. He could feel his body shutting down. It was going to be hard to get motivated again. “We have no idea what this road will be like in the morning. The more distance we put between ourselves and the city the better.”

“I guess you're right,” Gemma agreed reluctantly.

Christopher offered her his hand. He expected her to reject it – to slap it away at the very least – but she surprised him. Her small hand slid into his.

Gemma put her feet flat on the ground, and he tugged her toward him. Pain stabbed his shoulder and he felt something give. He lurched forward at the same time that Gemma pulled.

Then they were both falling.

He was going to crush her.

His arms shot forward. His palms hit the ground, one on either side of her. His shoulder gave out again, and the side of his face landed on the soft swell of her breast.

Christopher could have happily stayed where he was for the rest of the night, but he doubted Gemma would appreciate it.

He rolled his weight onto his good elbow and lifted his head.

Gemma's stunned face was directly below him.

Their breath mingled. He could smell the faint trace of fish, and wondered if he would be able to taste it on her lips.

Gemma planted her palms firmly against his chest and pushed. “Time to conquer that mountain.”

The warm fish in their bellies gave them a second wind. After tackling the mountain, they coasted down, using the momentum to power up the next slope.

“Come on,” Gemma teased, looking back when he lagged behind, “there's a pillow with my name on it.”

Christopher ignored her; the trailer wasn't designed for speed.

The land started to flatten, and soon they were approaching a small town.

An officer stood by the side of the road, one hand resting casually on his holster. He had what looked like a child's battery operated walkie-talkie in the other hand.

Glancing warily at each other Christopher and Gemma slowed.

Christopher had no idea if they were expected to stop. The officer gave no indication either way.

The officer continued to stand there without a word, his eyes boring into them.

Christopher nodded as they drew level on the opposite side of the road.

The officer tipped his hat, and turned to face the highway, speaking into his walkie-talkie.

Uncertain, the two of them continued in silence, unnerved by the strange encounter.

As they approached the general store Christopher had the surreal feeling he was stuck in an old western movie. The wooden deck at the front of the store was lined with men sitting on mismatched chairs. They ranged in age and had an assortment of guns and rifles on their laps.

The windows were boarded up with thick planks of wood. The doors were padlocked and barricaded. A handwritten sign plastered across the front declared martial law had been invoked,
effective immediately
.

“Already,” Gemma muttered.

Christopher looked at her sharply, but Gemma just shook her head wearily, looking shaken.

It was like passing through a ghost town. The absence of life as they wove through the maze of stalled cars made the situation hit home harder than ever. There were no children playing in the streets. No one was out walking their dogs. At the park the barbecue area was empty, the swings were still and silent, and there was an out-of-order sign on the restroom doors.

A cluster of cars were parked outside the local bar, and the doors were barricaded like the store.

It was as though the world had taken a deep breath and paused, giving them a brief glimpse in time.

Two officers – a man and a woman – stood outside a small police station.

People stared out at them from their windows as they passed.

Christopher found it creepy. All those people watching them with flat, emotionless faces.

He was glad when they reached the other side of town.

Another officer stood in wait, lifting his walkie-talkie to his mouth when he spotted them.

The officer swaggered over, a wide grin on his face. “Howdy folks. Where you headed?”

“Home,” Gemma said.

The officer nodded, scratching at his chin. “Got far to go?”

“Far enough,” Christopher said.

Turned out the officer was bored out of his mind, looking for a bit of gossip and a
chinwag
.

When they were on their way again, Christopher found himself thinking about what the officer had said, and wondered what would become of the many small towns along the highway.

At first, the kind-hearted community had quickly rallied. They took in those that were stranded nearby and set up an emergency shelter at the school. Many had taken families with young children into their own homes.

In the hours after the pulse, quite a few cars had passed through. Eager for news the frightened townspeople had welcomed those that stopped with open arms.

They knew this wasn't just any ordinary black-out, but none of them had heard of an EMP before.

By the time night fell most of the community had gathered at the park, hoping to learn more from the travelers that stopped to use the restrooms.

When they learned the power wasn't coming on anytime soon, people had willingly opened their freezers to strangers, and small work groups formed to feed the hungry, the coin operated barbecues in the park doing overtime.

But as darkness descended, restlessness set in, and fear began to show its ugly face. Then during the night the occupants of a car passing through had helped themselves to the goods in the small store, and the town had changed its perspective. The officers were there to make sure people kept
moving on their merry way
. No exceptions.

*
 
*
 
*

Gemma struggled with the tie on her sleeping mat while Christopher pulled out the sleeping bags. Her fingers felt fat and numb and her joints had seized up.

“Do you want me to do it?” Christopher asked.

Gemma shook her head, attacking the tie with her teeth.

The highway stretched into the distance, a graveyard of their times. The shadows of the night crept in, casting an ominous aura over the silent vehicles.

A chill racked her as a lone bird of prey flew overhead, cawing loudly, and – eyes on Christopher's back – she used her foot to discreetly slide the mats closer together.

When they stopped early that morning she had been too tired to think. But now, with the flat planes of the land surrounding them, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

Gemma climbed into her sleeping bag, massaging her aching fingers. “My hands think they're still attached to the bike.”

Christopher twisted into his sleeping bag, and faced her.

“I should have warned you to flex your hands.” Christopher enclosed her hand in his and gently teased the rigid muscles out.

His touch set her pulse racing, and waves of heat traveled straight to her centre.

She pulled away, not trusting herself to speak.

She was still awake twenty minutes later, willing sleep to come, but knowing Christopher was so close made it difficult.

It didn't help that he tossed restlessly behind her, worrying about the exposed trailer. Or at least that's what he told her.

It wasn't until she felt the weight of his hand settle on her belly, and his knees curl in behind hers, that she felt herself drifting, her muscles throbbing in time to the rhythm of her heart.

They had been too tired to bother with the tent, but when morning came they wished they had.

“I can't believe I said I wanted it to rain.” Gemma glared at the overcast sky as her foggy brained realized what was happening. “I jinxed us.”

“Huh?” Christopher mumbled, pulling the sleeping bag firmly over his head.

Gemma looked down at her sleeping bag with horror – the damp patches seeping through – and realized she must have done the same thing as Christopher.

“Christopher, get up.” Gemma wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and gathered it to her chest, using her body to shield it.

She rammed it into the trailer, then remembered her pillow.

“Christopher,” Gemma shouted as the soft pattering became a steady drizzle.

She tugged at the pillow.

Christopher squinted as the side of his face hit the mat.

“Honestly.” Gemma hugged the pillow as she glared down at him.

He had fallen back to sleep.

She grabbed the edge of his sleeping bag, and yanked it as hard as she could as she took in the cloudy sky.

The air was muggy and humid and her shirt was already clinging to her skin.

By the time Christopher came to his senses and jammed his sleeping bag in the trailer, they were saturated.

Gemma thrust the pillow at him.

Christopher cursed as he tugged and pushed and pulled as he tried to squeeze it in.

Gemma choked back a laugh, her cheeks filling with air.

“We could just leave it here,” Christopher said.

“Admit it. You love that pillow just as much as I do.”

Christopher ignored her. She was getting used to that by now. But it was true.

“Now what?” Gemma held her water bottle up to the rain.

“We keep moving. The rain will keep us cool.”

Christopher's muscles flexed as he stretched his arms high into the air. His damp shirt clung to his chest, showing the sculptured outline of his toned torso.

“You been working out?” Gemma asked.

She quickly turned away, the heat rising to her face. She really had to learn the art of thinking before speaking.

But those rippling abs, and the suggestion of a well-defined six pack made it hard to draw her eyes away; she
was
only human.

“No,” Christopher said innocently, but there was a knowing smirk on his face. “What makes you say that?”

Gemma tore her eyes from his chest, her tone abrupt. “What about the sleeping mats?”

Christopher refused to open the trailer. “The rain will get in. Besides, they won't fit. Not with the sleeping bags shoved in like that.”

“You sure they won't fit?” If they didn't do something soon the mats would be soaked through, and there was no way she was sleeping on the ground.

“We might be able to fit one if we squash the air out. But if we open the trailer, the sleeping bags will get wetter than they already are.”

“I know that,” Gemma groaned. “What are we going to do with them then?”