Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (15 page)

“They're coming back,” the teenager shouted into the sudden silence.

Christopher threw himself amongst the surging stragglers suddenly rushing for the exit, wondering what was happening. Gemma was at his side, the backpack clutched tightly to her chest.

All around them people held their hands high in the air, shouting to be heard as the noise levels rose again.

“Look,” Gemma shouted in Christopher's ear, pointing out what he had just noticed.

There were thick black numbers drawn on the back of their left hands. The woman in front of him had a nine, the man beside her a six. Many had two numbers, separated with a decimal place. Two point three. One point four. Eight point two.

“What do you think they mean?” Christopher said.

A woman turned, glancing down at Christopher's unmarked hand. “It's so they know who's next.”

Christopher checked her hand. Nine point three. “You haven't had anything to drink since nine-thirty?” he asked.

The woman gave him a derisive look. “That's what time I got here. I haven't had anything since yesterday.”

She motioned to the north. “I got stranded. Was on my way back to the city when the pulse hit.”

Her casual mention of the pulse alerted Christopher. “How did you find out that's what it was?”

“Don't remember,” she shrugged. “That's what everyone's calling it." She faced the front again, raising her hand higher.

“Oh – now I remember.” The woman turned her head sharply, her eyes brightening.

Christopher's heart sped up as he waited for her to go on. “And?” he pressed.

“There was a guy – he said we were at war. That someone had let a nuclear bomb off.”

“Was he sure? How did he find out?”

“He ran out of gas. Said his radio still worked.” The woman turned her back on them again.

“Did you hear the broadcast?” Gemma asked eagerly.

The woman shook her head without turning. “Wouldn't turn it on. Wouldn't even say which car was his. Said he didn't want the battery to run down.”

“What time was this?” Christopher asked.

“This morning sometime,” she said as the crowd parted to let someone through.

“Well – was it an official broadcast? From the government?” Christopher asked.

“How would I know. I didn't hear it.” The woman puffed out her chest. “Why would anyone lie about something like that?”

“That's not what I meant,” Christopher said. “I just meant it could be speculation at this stage.”

But the woman was no longer listening.

Christopher could only imagine the chaos – the masses fleeing, fearing a subsequent attack – regardless of whether it was true or not. Had Anne heard the broadcast? He reached automatically for his phone, before realizing what he was doing.

Would she leave the city? What about Megan and her daughter? They didn't have access to a working radio.

Gemma turned frightened eyes on Christopher, and the word war pounded a dull, dreary beat in his head.

19

As the crowd parted Gemma caught a glimpse of an old white diesel pickup. It had large gaping rust holes in its body, and people were piling out of the back tray, carrying assorted containers filled with water.

Standing guard was a single row of officers in uniform.

A stocky, sandy-haired man moved toward his family, holding a milk bottle and two Coke bottles filled with water. There was an enormous smile on his face as he watched his children chug back the water.

The man leaned close to his wife, his lips moving, the expression on his face putting Gemma on high alert as two men in uniform approached the family.

The woman suddenly brightened, eagerly picking up her young daughter as the man scooped up his son.

A loudspeaker cut through the air, and Gemma turned to see a man with brown hair and a droopy moustache standing on the back of the pickup. The top half of his uniform was visible over the crowd which had once again closed tight.

“Most of you know the drill by now,” he said, pausing until the crowd quieted. “Anyone who arrived recently – move over to the side here,” he gestured, “and an officer will be there to talk with you shortly. But be warned,” his voice rose. “Any man, woman or child that does not do as they are asked will be sent on their way.”

A soft murmur rose through the crowd at this, and those with children pulled them close.

Gemma wondered how the small force – she'd seen maybe half a dozen officers – could possibly hope to contain so many people, or even force them to move on. The more time that passed the more desperate people would become. What would they resort to when forced to watch their children dying of dehydration when the lake was so close?

And what about when the rest of the city caught up? The rumor of war on top of dwindling resources meant that millions could come this way.

“The rest of you stand back – allow the people the officers are escorting through.”

“I heard you ain't taking no more people,” shouted the man with the tattoo.

“Since you're obviously a newcomer, I will allow your question,” the officer said. “But,” he warned, “any trouble from you and you
will
be sent on your way.”

“An' what about my kid? You gonna send him on his way too?”

The officer's face turned hard. “Don't make me warn you again.”

The people surrounding the man hissed at him to be quiet, but he ignored them, his face red and angry, filled with indignation. “You can't stop people coming through – our tax dollars paid for that reservoir.”

“Looks like he's never worked a day in his life,” someone muttered.

“I ain't askin' for me,” the man pleaded, raising his embarrassed, red-faced son high above the crowd. “Just give my kid some water.”

“I won't warn you again,” the officer snapped impatiently. “Now all newcomers, off to the side. Immediately. An officer will be waiting for you.”

“Make me,” the man shouted. “I got nothin' left to lose. What are you gonna do? Shoot me?”

“I won't need to.” The officer slammed his foot down on the pickup tray, and the engine roared to life as he stepped down. “The pickup will return when you're gone.”

Gemma couldn't believe what she was witnessing as the vast majority of the crowd surged toward the man and his child, pushing the two of them toward the north end of the highway.

Gemma's jaw dropped as she scrambled back so she didn't get caught up in the tide; how could they so easily condemn a child?

The man lowered his son, his face filled with disbelief as the boy clung to his neck.

“Let 'im stay,” the man said desperately as he pulled the clinging boy away from him. “I'll go. He can meet me down the road when he's got some water.”

The crowd hesitated. Some walked away, shaking their heads miserably at the ground.

“Just go,” a woman shouted. “They won't come back until you do.”

At this the crowd reacted, swarming forward, forming a thick human-wall across the highway until Gemma could no longer see the man or the boy.

“Please,” the man pleaded. “Let my son stay.”

Gemma stared helplessly at the faces surrounding her. No one would meet her eye.

Two officers approached with the family she'd seen earlier, and what was left of the crowd parted down the center, Gemma and Christopher getting caught on opposite sides.

The woman held her daughter tight, staring at the mob pushing the man and his child back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she met Gemma's horrified gaze.

A fierce expression crossed her face as she angled determinedly toward Gemma, pressing something against the bag Gemma clutched to her chest. “Make sure that poor boy gets it,” the woman hissed.

Gemma nodded, too stupefied to respond, her hands wrapping around the bottle of water as the crowd closed in again.

As she was jostled to and fro, Gemma fumbled with the backpack, jamming the water bottle inside. She hoped she would get a chance to give it to the boy.

Christopher forced his way toward her, wearing the same look of shame that she wore.

It was another twenty minutes before the pickup returned. The man's angry cries could still be heard beyond the thick line of bodies blocking the road.

“This is wrong,” Christopher muttered, shaking his head, and those close by glared at him warningly.

Gemma felt Christopher's arm come protectively over her shoulder, and she moved closer, worried trouble was coming. She held the bag tightly to her chest, her hand on the front pocket.

“Any more newcomers?” a voice shouted.

“Come on.” Christopher lifted his arm off Gemma's shoulder and grabbed her hand.

Gemma held on tightly, drawing strength from him. Together they made their way to the small, anxious looking group gathered in front of two uniformed officers.

Her mind was still reeling; she hated what things had come to. It made her feel so powerless.

Jimmy smiled shyly when he saw them, hiding behind his mother's dress as she bounced the baby on her hip.

Gemma offered Jimmy a smile she didn't feel, wishing she could remove the fear from his eyes.

“Bad business, this,” Geoff's tone was low and grim.

“All right then.” A middle-aged officer with a thick, dark beard clapped his hands together sharply.

The younger officer – a thin, lanky man – straightened. Both of their weary faces were lined with exhaustion.

“Firstly, we're no longer taking any newcomers,” the older officer said, planting his hands firmly on his hips.

“Can you tell us why that is?” Geoff asked, his voice shaking with the effort to contain his anger.

“Dad,” Carroll warned, shifting the baby to her other hip.

The officer stared at Geoff for a long moment, his top lip twitching. Finally he answered. “We took in near a thousand last night. We just don't have the resources to cope with any more.” Regret weighed down the jowls of his face.

“A thousand,” Christopher said incredulously.

The officer turned sharply toward Christopher.

“You don't believe us?” the younger one said defensively, his tone laced with anger.

“Steady on, son,” the older officer put his hand on the man's arm. “They couldn't know.”

“That wasn't what I meant.” Christopher's face was tense. “I just don't understand the numbers.”

Neither did Gemma. There just hadn't been enough time for so many to reach the small town of Peak Mountain.

“We took in hundreds when a train stopped 'bout twenty miles back. Then there's all the people that got stranded on the highway. Took a whole bunch in last night.”

His jowls sagged further. “Most of Mount Ashmore went up in flames,” he said gruffly. “Conditions were ripe – just tore through the bush. Only a few hundred managed to get through.”

“But Mount Ashmore has thousands of people,” Christopher spluttered.

“Those poor people.” Carroll clutched a hand to her mouth.

Gemma closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Horrid images tried to press in on her mind. Her stomach recoiled.

“My cousins never made it out.” The younger man's voice cracked.

Gemma exhaled heavily, taking a closer look at him. He was younger than she first thought. Early twenties. The uniform and the hard expression made him look years older.

“They might've made it out.” The older officer put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. “My brother – your Uncle Teddy – he knows them there mountains like the back of his hand. And it's only been a few hours since the last lot got through,” he added forcefully.

“You done over there?” a voice shouted.

Gemma turned and saw the man who'd been standing on the pickup striding over impatiently.

“Keep your britches on, Bob. You ain't sheriff yet,” the older officer shouted back good naturedly before turning back to them.

“Sorry,” he apologized, pulling out a thick black marker. “Be hours before you get your turn.”

“We won't be staying,” Christopher said. “Just wanted to make sure our friends here were safe.”

“Wise decision. Don't know what's gonna happen tonight. Car passin' through a few hours back said thousands more were coming.” He shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. “Reckons they only got through on account'a they had a gun – said he saw a mob take another car. Smashed in the windows an' pulled some poor family right out.”

“Maybe we should keep moving too, Dad.” Carroll's arm swept out to pull Sarah and Jimmy closer.

“Maybe not.” A calculating look crossed Geoff's face. “Those people – from the fire,” he said. “Reckon a lot of them might be injured. Have burns and stuff.”

“You'd reckon right.” The officer's face was grave.

“My Carroll here – she's a nurse.”

“Is that right?” The officer's gaze moved to Carroll. But then his eyes turned dull. Carroll came with quite a bit of baggage. “That old woman with you, too?” He jerked his head at Beverley.

“Now I reckon,” Geoff put a hand on Carroll's arm to stop her talking, “if you take in Carroll and her kids here, she might be able to help tend to your injured.”

“Dad,” Carroll shook her head, “I'm not leaving you and grandma.”

“Hush, love. I'm doing business,” Geoff said, turning back to the officer. “What say you?”

“Hey Bob – get over here.”

Bob swaggered over, a deep scowl marring his brow.

“This woman's a nurse.”

“You treated burns before?” Bob asked, interest flickering in his eyes.

Carroll refused to answer, shaking her head at her father.

“I've heard enough.” Bob started to move away.

“Wait.” Carroll's eyes filled with tears. “I've plenty of experience with burns. I'm a surgical nurse, worked in the burns unit for a while when I did my training.”

Bob's eyes lit up. “A surgical nurse? Well heck – why didn't yer say so. All we've got is a couple of aging GPs. Old Doc Harding wouldn't know a kidney from his backside.”

Sensing his daughter's value had just gone up, Geoff stepped in front of Bob. “Now – while Carroll here's busy tending to your patients, she's going to need someone to watch over her kids.” He reached for Beverley. “Come here, Mom.”

Bob raised his eyebrows when he saw how old and frail Beverly was. He turned back to Carroll. “You reckon you could take out an appendix?”

Carroll shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

“You at least know where the appendix is?”

“Of course I do,” Carroll said. “And my grandmother is a wonderful babysitter.”

Bob looked at Beverley doubtfully, and Geoff pulled him aside.

“I don't want my mother to die on the roadside,” Geoff said, his voice low. “Without her medication...” he trailed off. “You won't need to feed her for long.”

Bob nodded his head, surprising Gemma when he patted Geoff's back in commiseration. “Lost my mother last year, God rest her soul,” he said quietly.

“Here's the thing,” Bob told Carroll, his hands returning to his hips. “Got a young feller who was meant to have his appendix out. On account of what's happened the surgeon from the city didn't make it. So we don't got no surgeon. But what we do got is a retired veterinarian who ain't done a lick o' surgery in well over a decade.”

“Now that we can work with.” Carroll grabbed her grandmother's arm firmly. “So,” Carroll said slyly. “Who's the boy?”

“Peak Mountain's a small town,” Bob said evasively.

“And the boy?” Carroll pressed.

“My godson,” Bob admitted.

Carroll indicated her father with a pointed look.

“Chip off the old block – eh,” Bob contemplated. “Quite the negotiators. The both of you.”

Bob scrutinized Geoff. “Might be able to use someone like you to help keep this lot calm. Our men have been at it since early this morning." Bob scratched his head, glancing at the crowd. "Tell you what, you show us what you're made of, then we can decide.”