Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel

by May, L M

  “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 serv
ice 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.

  He grabbed her face, crushing his lips to hers.

  She didn’t have a chance to react before he let go, her traitorous lips burning for more as he eased his head and shoulders into the opening.

  Christopher grabbed the ladder, the muscles in his arms straining. The veins rose to the surface as he pulled the rest of his body through.

  Gemma could still feel the echo of his mouth on hers, and brought a finger to her lips as she stared after him, his dark eyes locked on her as his head bobbed down past the hole in the wall.

  “He might be needing that light now,” Robert said softly.

  Gemma flushed as she thrust the torch through.

  The uneven flicker of the flames cast strange, distorted shadows on the rungs, and she worried he'd misjudge his step and fall.

  As Christopher's confidence grew he moved faster, the dull clunk of his shoes causing a cheer to come from below.

  Christopher's face broke into a grin as he looked up, and Gemma nearly melted then and there as the years suddenly fell away, her heart stuttering like a lovesick schoolgirl.

  * * *

  Christopher gripped the rungs firmly. He'd never been so scared in his life, but the worry on Gemma's face made him hold it in check.

  The memory of the softness of her lips against his, and the faint smell of her that seemed to linger, drove him on. He knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he held her in his arms again.

  Torn between his own safety, and the need to get Gemma out of the city before all hell broke loose, Christopher moved as quickly as he could.

  His body was tensely coiled, and he had to make a conscious effort to relax his neck and shoulders.

  In the gloomy light below he could see the cables holding the elevator in place, and the dark void beside it.

  He'd always thought himself reasonably fit, but already there was a slow, dull burn in his muscles.

  It didn't help matters when Becky started to cry. The sound of her scared, pitiful wails had him tensing up all over again.

  Gritting his teeth, Christopher tried to block it out.

  As his foot came down on the next rung, he heard a soft, almost broken hum coming from below.

  The humming grew louder, and in it he could hear Megan's battle over her own fear as she tried to settle her daughter.

  Hush little baby, don't say a word

  Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird.

  From above came the low, deep rumble of a man's voice as Robert picked up the lullaby, his head appearing beside Gemma's.

  If that mocking bird don't sing

  Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.

  The child's sobs tapered off, and Megan's voice grew stronger, her sweet tones mixing with Robert's deep baritone.

  Accompanied by the sounds of their voices, Christopher felt his muscles relax as he continued, and he was surprised when he swung his foot back and his heel hit the edge of the elevator.

  His breath exploded out him.

  The singing stopped.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello," Christopher said as he switched on the key-light, all too aware that one wrong move could have him tumbling to certain death.

  Still gripping the ladder firmly, he stepped onto the elevator roof.

  “Please don't stop,” Megan shouted at Robert when Becky started to whimper again. “It makes her feel safe. It – it makes me feel safe.”

  Christopher lowered himself to his hands and knees, not sure if the movement he felt was the elevator shifting, or the strange, dim flicker of the torch that made it feel that way.

  Locating the latch, he slid i
t across, and pulled the hatch open as the soothing rumble of Robert's voice swelled around him.

  Megan squinted against the dim light with a smile so wide it threatened to split her tearstained face apart.

  “You've got no idea how glad I am to see you,” Megan breathed.

  5

  “Come on, let's get you two out of there,” Christopher said.

  Megan was young, most likely still in her teens. She had the same strawberry-blonde hair and pale face as the little girl clutching her neck. Becky popped her thumb in her mouth, her tiny tear-streaked face staring up at him with wonder.

  Fear made Christopher's mouth go dry. He had no idea how the hell he was going to pull this off.

  “Please, take my daughter,” Megan begged as she tried to pry Becky's arms away, but the little girl only clung harder.

  “Did you find the ladder?” Robert shouted.

  Christopher brightened. “Ladder?”

  “There should be a rope ladder in a box near the hatch.”

  “Robert, I could just kiss you,” Gemma said.

  “Don't let me stop you,” Robert joked with a self-conscious laugh.

  When Gemma planted a noisy kiss on Robert's cheek, Christopher couldn't help but wish he'd been on the receiving end.

  Locating the box, Christopher tugged at the ladder. His mind jumped ahead – he could use it to secure Becky.

  “Damn it,” Christopher growled.

  “Christopher?” Gemma's voice was filled with concern.

  “It's nothing,” Christopher said, the disappointment sharp. The ladder was securely attached to the inside of the box.

  “It didn't sound like nothing.”

  “I Just – just hurt my hand.”

  He didn't want to worry Megan. The girl obviously hadn't thought past getting out of the elevator. She had no idea of the climb ahead of them.

  Megan stepped back as the ladder rolled down. She pulled her daughter's arms from around her neck, and ignoring the screams, lifted her high into the air.

  Christopher grabbed the thrashing child, quickly yanking her up through the hatch.

  Still screaming, Becky immediately circled her arms tightly around his neck. Her breath was hot on the side of his face as her legs gripped his waist.