Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel (4 page)

Patting Gemma's hand, Anne got to her feet. “I think I need a stiff drink, then I will be heading home to my babies.”

“Babies?” Gemma said.

“My dogs,” Anne smiled ruefully. “They don't like the dark.”

“Oh,” Gemma said. “Do you live far?”

“Not as far as you, dear,” Anne said, then walked swiftly across the room toward Sasha, who was now chugging back vodka straight from the bottle.

Smoothly swiping the bottle right out of Sasha's hand, Anne said, “I believe you have had more than enough.”

Gemma chuckled at the look on Sasha's face as she pouted at Gordon, but Gordon looked relieved and nodded gratefully at Anne.

“She's a tough old bird,” Christopher said fondly as he eased himself down onto the seat beside Gemma, and Gemma had trouble reconciling this Christopher with the one who had so easily dismissed his son.

Christopher leaned over so that his back was curved with the weight of his worry, his elbows resting on his long legs just above the knees. For a long moment he stared at the floor between his feet, his head bowed.

Gemma brought her hands together on her lap, very much aware of his maleness as she clasped the photograph of CJ in her fingers.

“If the power doesn't come back on...” Christopher stared at the floor, as though not sure what came next. His face was all hard lines and angles as he turned to face her. “If this is what you think it is, we need to get prepared. Leave early in the morning.”

Gemma's mouth dropped open. “Leave? How?”

Christopher didn't get a chance to answer. Gordon had leapt to his feet, his tone panicked. “Wait – where are you going?”

“Home,” Anne said. “Which is exactly what you should be doing.”

“But – we have to stick together,” Gordon said. “We're stronger that way. Sasha said we can all go back to her place.”

“You have been reading too many books, young man. I have a lot more faith in society than you,” Anne said primly as she picked up a bottle of scotch. With steady hands she filled the glass, lifted it to her lips, and knocked it back in one shot. She put the glass down and faced the door, steeling her narrow shoulders for the journey ahead.

*
 
*
 
*

Christopher was feeling a little out of his depth. He had no idea what one was supposed to do when they found themselves in this sort of situation. The fact the government knew – that there had been some sort of report – how could that be possible? Why hadn't they been better prepared if they knew this could happen?

Deciding the only thing to do was face things as they came, Christopher got to his feet.

“I'm going to see Anne home safely – and get some supplies. I'll be back as soon as I can,” he told Gemma.

“You are not leaving me here with them,” Gemma hissed, casting a dubious look at Gordon and Sasha. “I'm coming with you.”

Christopher shook his head. “Gemma, Anne lives at least an hour and a half away by foot. Save your energy. We've got a tough week ahead of us,” he trailed off, realizing the vast understatement of what he'd just said. According to the statistics both she and Gordon had been quoting, there was a good chance none of them would get out of this alive.

He didn't have the same faith Anne had. He suspected that when people realized their biggest problem wasn't the fact that their cars and electronic gadgets no longer worked, things would get crazy pretty quickly.

They had to prepare for the worst case scenario and he believed Gordon had been far closer to the truth when he said it would be every man for himself.

The evidence was all there – when parts of the city lost power after a hurricane a few years back, people had been rioting within hours and looting had been rife.

Christopher could feel time ticking, and a deeper fear had begun to take root. Because if the EMP had been caused by a nuclear bomb detonated above the city, they were in a lot more trouble than they could possibly imagine. It was possible they were at war, and until they knew for sure, they needed to act accordingly.

As much as he'd tried to convince himself that Gemma and Gordon had things all wrong, there was too much evidence in their favor. This was like no situation any of them had ever seen before; what else could explain the fact that not only had the power gone out, but cars had stalled in the street and a plane had fallen from the sky right before their very eyes?

When he'd argued that there might only be a small area affected, and that help could come from another state, Gemma had knocked that idea flat out of the equation. She put up a convincing argument, saying that if the pulse was strong enough to wipe out cell phone signals and stop cars and planes dead in their tracks, that it had probably affected most of the country. And when he suggested that maybe in a few days, or even weeks, another country would help, Gemma had scoffed, her words ringing with an alarming truth: “If another country got hit by a nuke, do you think we'd be running to their aid anytime soon? Think of the repercussions. It would be like waving the proverbial red flag.”

The worst thing was the not knowing, but Christopher was really starting to believe it was imperative they got out before the rest of the city caught up with what had happened.

Despite Christopher's protests, Gemma slung her bag over her shoulder and followed him over to Anne, a stubborn look on her face that he remembered all too well.

On the other side of the room Gordon was glaring at them, but he made no move to get up, not that he could even if he wanted to. Sasha had fallen asleep, her platinum blonde hair spilling over his lap. Her thumb was firmly ensconced in her mouth like a small child.

Christopher was relieved when Donavon joined them, a brief nod passing between the two of them that was louder than words could ever be.

“I'm afraid these heels will slow us down a bit,” was all that Anne said as the four of them started down the corridor, but Christopher saw the relief in her eyes and realized Anne wasn't quite as optimistic as she wanted them to believe.

They moved automatically toward the elevator, chuckling uneasily as they realized what they had done, and to Christopher's horror he heard a distant thumping coming from above them.

“Oh my,” Anne's hand went to her throat. “There's someone stuck in the elevator.”

The thin wail of a frightened child greeted the dumbfounded silence that followed Anne's words.

4

Christopher pushed the stairwell door open, staring into the thick, oppressive darkness that met him. The elevator shaft was directly beside the stairwell, and the child's cries seemed to bounce off the walls in the confined space.

Cocking his head, Christopher listened, trying to judge what floor the elevator had stopped on.

“I'll see if can find a flashlight ... or a candle or something,” Anne said, her tone not very hopeful.

Behind him Christopher heard a clicking sound, then a small flame flared. He turned to Donavon in surprise. “I thought you gave those things up.”

“Old habits die hard,” Donavon shrugged. “Not that it will help much.”

“Hang on.” Gemma delved into her enormous black bag.

As she dug around Christopher heard the crinkle of a wrapper and the jingle of loose coins, followed by the unmistakable sound of keys rattling.

A moment later a narrow beam of light shone into the stairwell, tunneling through the inky black barrier.

“Even better,” Donavon approved. “I always meant to get myself one of those.”

“Beats fumbling with the keys at night,” Gemma said as Christopher took the stairs two at a time.

Above him, the child's frightened wails were growing louder. His nephew Jake was afraid of the dark, and he could only imagine the fear the child was feeling; with no source of light the elevator would be even darker than the stairwell had been.

“Slow down,” Gemma's voice echoed. “You won't be much good to them if you break your leg.”

Christopher took her words to heart. No one would come to his rescue if he was injured, something that had always been taken for granted. He didn't even want to think about how the hospitals were coping without electricity.

Accompanied by the slap of feet on concrete behind him, Christopher exited the dim stairwell two floors above his own.

“It's okay. Help is here,” Gemma called as she held the door open, ducking down to position the key-light on the concrete landing so Anne and Donavon could see.

“Hello,” a woman called out hopefully over the cries of the child. “Is someone there?”

“Just stay calm,” Christopher said, the child's wails hiccoughing into sobs at the sound of their voices.

“Please help us,” the woman shouted. “Don't leave us in here.”

As Gemma moved quickly along the corridor, opening office doors to let in some light, Christopher wedged his fingers between the dull metallic doors. His distorted reflection mocked him as he tried to pry them apart.

“It's no use,” a deep voice said.

Christopher turned and saw a rather portly man of about forty standing in the doorway. He was wearing a pale, striped shirt, his belly extending well past the waistband of his pants.

“You need a key.” The man stepped forward.

“A key?” Christopher said. “Why would I need a key?”

He'd watched loads of movies where people pulled the doors open, usually making a miraculous escape just as the power came back on, and narrowly missing being torn apart.

“The elevator has to be within eighteen inches of the doors to trigger the mechanism that opens it,” the man said.

“Have you tried prying it open with something?” Christopher asked as Anne and Donavon emerged from the stairwell.

“Of course I have,” the man grunted.

“Please don't leave us here,” the woman inside the elevator started shouting, and the child began to cry again.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” Anne called.

“Megan. My name's Megan. My daughter's name is Becky.”

“Just try to stay calm, love. We're going to get you out of there as soon as we can.”

“Just promise me you won't leave us here.”

“I promise,” Anne said quickly. “Where's everyone else?” she asked the man standing with them.

“They left – and I – I couldn't just leave them in there alone...” he looked at the elevator doors. “But I couldn't bear to hear that poor child crying like that–”

“You did the right thing,” Anne said gently.

“Do you know what happened?” the man asked. “The others – they said we were being attacked. That a nuclear bomb had been let off above the city.”

“We don't know any more than you do,” Anne told him.

“What about that hatch thing?” Gemma said. “They always use that in the movies.”

“Too dark to see down the shaft,” the man said. “Some of us already tried. They're about five or six floors down from the emergency panel.”

“Show me where it is,” Christopher demanded, aware that his voice was curt, but not caring.

It would be hours before it grew dark, but already the thin light coming through the office doorways was growing dimmer.

*
 
*
 
*

As Gemma and Christopher followed Robert up the stairs, Gemma had to restrain herself from rushing ahead when little Becky's cries started up again. The big guy was obviously struggling, puffing heavily with every step, and she hoped to God he didn't have a heart attack when she noticed him clutching at his chest.

“Most elevators don't even have a shaft panel,” Robert huffed as he pushed open the door, revealing a dim corridor with pale walls and speckled carpet. “This one was put in a few years back. After the maintenance guy got trapped on a long weekend.”

“I remember that,” Christopher said. “They had to smash through the wall to get to him.”

“Yep,” Robert nodded his head. “That's where the hatch is now.”

“What? Why?” Gemma said.

“Because the maintenance guy had the key, so they couldn't open the doors.”

“But – why didn't he just climb out of the hatch in the roof?”

“It's latched on the outside.”

“You're kidding, right?” Gemma couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Uh-uh.” Robert shook his head. “Bunch of kids got killed elevator surfing so now they have to be shut from the outside.”

“I had no idea.” Gemma was aghast. “I assumed you could pry open the doors, or climb the ladder to some – some magical room.”

“Afraid not.”

“You're saying if I get stuck in an elevator I have to wait until someone comes and rescu–” Gemma realized the futility of what she was saying. Her world had changed too suddenly.

“Damn things are death traps now. I hate to think how many other people are..." Robert shook his head, unable to finish, and a chill passed through Gemma.

“Here we are,” Robert said as they reached a large, jagged hole in the wall.

“Let me guess,” Christopher said dryly. “You didn't have a key?”

Robert started laughing. A big, deep belly laugh that was too loud, too forced. “You got it,” he choked out.

They stared into the dark space below. The thin beam of the key-light was useless.

Gemma could hear the faint voices of Anne and Donavon as they tried to keep Megan calm.

“It's too dark,” Robert said as Christopher studied the narrow ladder inside the shaft.

Christopher nodded, his face grim. “How old do you think the little girl is?”

“She couldn't be any more than one or two,” Gemma said, her heart sinking. Nowhere near old enough to climb the ladder. And carrying her would be risky.

“She'll be one next month,” Robert said, adding, “I asked,” when they both looked at him.

“You don't happen to have any rope handy, do you?” Christopher leaned over the edge at a dangerous angle, making Gemma's heart beat a little faster.

“I'm afraid I'm all out of rope.” Robert tried to keep his voice light, but Gemma sensed the fear behind his words.

She couldn't believe the others had just left, and her respect for the man only grew as he tossed out a few ideas, instead of panicking and going home to his own family.

“Do your offices have curtains?” Robert asked. “We could make a sling. We had a sling for...” he trailed off, his broad shoulders sagging. Sadness crumpled the lines of his face.

“No.” Christopher shook his head.

“I'll try and find something,” Gemma said, casting a curious glance at Robert.

She moved quickly down the corridor. The sun was on the other side of the office block, and the light that did get through was filtered by the buildings in the street.

The modern offices were sparse and tidy. The windows bare.

Gemma flicked absently at the lighter Donavon had entrusted her with. Even if she did find something to make a sling with, there wasn't anywhere near enough light to safely navigate the narrow metal service ladder.

Come on, Gemma. Think, damn it!
There had to be a solution.

Every minute that passed put them in further danger. Already people would be getting nervous.

If the internet sites she'd trawled through after reading Matty's paper were anything to go by, those not aware of the pulse – or what it meant – would find out soon enough.

Word would spread fast in a city this size, leading to fear of epidemic proportions that would create panic like they'd never seen before. There would be no stopping it once it started.

How long until the rules they'd lived by disintegrated and everyone stormed the supermarkets, taking all they could carry? Or was it already happening?

How long would it be before desperation took over, and people took matters into their own hands, worried only about the survival of their own family?

She only had to ask herself how far she'd go to save CJ to know the answer.

Survival of the fittest – the very term put fear into Gemma's heart, even as the fact Robert stayed behind, not wanting to leave Megan and Becky alone, gave her hope.

How long would it be before her own survival instincts kicked in? Before she saw the vulnerable as the walking dead instead of people in need?

Gemma flicked the lighter again, staring at the flame as her dark thoughts consumed her. Until she realized that at least one of her answers had been staring her in the face all along.

Fuelled with purpose, Gemma returned to the lunchroom where she'd seen a broom with a metal handle.

Once the cold metal was gripped firmly in her hand, she searched through the cupboards under the sink.

She pulled out a bottle of citronella oil and set it on the counter.

When she discovered a small red and white first aid kit in the overhead cupboard, Gemma let out a grunt of triumph.

She took out two fresh bandage rolls, tossed the kit on the counter, and grabbed the bottle of citronella. She was already pulling the little clip off one of the bandages as she hurried toward the door.

She stopped. Dumping her shoulder bag on the floor, she shook her head, unable to believe her own stupidity.

She pulled out the useless laptop and replaced it with the first aid kit.

Unwinding the bandage, she wrapped it tightly around the end of the broom handle as she moved down the corridor. She had no idea how long the oil would burn, but figured it would be safer to have two makeshift torches.

She used the lighter to check the small, dark closet in the restroom next to the sitting area, and found an old string mop and bucket.

Pleased with her discovery, she returned to the sitting area and sat cross-legged on the speckled carpet near the window.

Working quickly, she tied a series of knots through the mop head, layering them one over the other, packing it as densely as she could for maximum burn time.

She wrapped the second bandage tightly
around it, poured the citronella oil into
the mop bucket, and shoved the bandaged ends in to soak up the fuel as she made her way back to the others.

“Not just a pretty face,” Robert chuckled as Gemma lit the torch, the corridor filling with the soft orange light of fire and the stink of citronella.

Despite the old-fashioned and decidedly sexist remark, Gemma couldn't help but feel pleased and knew he meant well.

The night was fast approaching. There was no time to waste. Gemma poked the flaming torch into the shaft.

All three of them squeezed their heads into the opening, shoulders bumping shoulders, letting out identical sighs of relief when they saw the dim outline of the elevator.

The relief didn't last long. The fear Gemma felt for Christopher was wrenching; it was going to be dangerous enough navigating down the narrow ladder, let alone come back up with a small child.

With her heart in her throat, Gemma pulled the torch out. She moved to the side, and Christopher swung his leg over, giving her a quick grin.

Gemma wanted to reach out and stop him.

With one foot planted firmly on the floor, Christopher rolled his sleeves up, revealing impressive forearms. He gave Robert a quick nod of his head, then turned to her.

Though he tried to hide how he felt, Gemma saw the faint traces of fear and worry in his face, and her heart lurched.

Before she realized what was happening, Christopher's eyes filled with a look that belonged to the past.