by May, L M
He turned back to the trailer. He had no idea how much weight it could hold, or how much one child weighed let alone two. But Gemma would know.
“Gemma? How much does–” Christopher broke off. So far he'd managed to avoid talking about the boy who brought Gemma to the city.
“Huh?” Gemma glanced up.
“I – uh ... how much do you weigh?” He immediately regretted his words. He was such an idiot – he couldn't have been any more intrusive if he'd actually tried.
“How much do I weigh?” Gemma said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Christopher!” Anne admonished as she walked into the garage carrying two pillows. “One does not ask a woman how much she weighs.”
Christopher flushed. But it was too late to back out now. He looked Gemma up and down. A few inches shy of six foot, she was tall and willowy. “You'd weigh about the same as two children.”
“I guess,” Gemma said doubtfully.
Christopher ran a hand through his hair. “I'm just trying to figure how much we can carry in this thing without breaking it.”
“You know, yesterday I would have just googled it,” Gemma said wistfully.
A slow smile broke across Christopher's face. “Yesterday I would have just got in the car.”
“You could always read the label on the back of the trailer,” Anne said.
“There's a label?” Christopher said.
“Must be a safety feature.” Anne leaned over the trailer. “One hundred pounds. Good – you should be able to fit these pillows then.”
“You don't take pillows camping,” Christopher said incredulously.
“I always did,” Anne said. “I'm a grouch if I don't get a good sleep.”
“So am I.” Gemma hugged one of the pillows defiantly against her chest.
“Fine. But only if it fits in the trailer,” Christopher growled. He'd never heard anything so ridiculous; pillows when you were camping.
“Move out of the way,” Anne said. “I always did Troy's packing.”
Christopher grudgingly stepped aside. He knew Anne was just trying to help, but he needed something to occupy his mind. “Let me sort the essentials first,” he said.
Anne ignored him, turning to Gemma. “There's a scale in the bathroom.”
Gemma went to fetch the scale, and Christopher started making two piles, wondering what things were like back home.
It was funny the way he kept calling it home. It hadn't been home in over a decade. He never thought he'd return – not to live – but now he couldn't imagine ever coming back to the city.
He could feel time slipping by. He wanted to be away from the populated areas before daybreak, even if it meant walking the bikes in the dark. Tomorrow the streets would most likely be crowded. Scared mothers and fathers scavenging what was left from the stores. People raiding the homes of those who were away. People fleeing the city like him and Gemma.
His gut told him that by the end of tomorrow, chaos would ensue.
He'd seen the dark side that lurked in desperate parents fighting for custody – ordinary people turned vicious and ugly when it came to their rights to their children. Teachers, doctors, and nurses. Waitresses and plumbers and psychologists. Few had been immune.
What measures would they go to when it came to keeping their children alive?
He tried not to speculate on the cause of the pulse, but he couldn't help it. Especially when Gemma said that according to the experts – who admitted to knowing very little themselves – there were three different levels of pulses. Because of this some thought it unlikely a solar storm would affect vehicles.
She also said they should have had plenty of warning if it was solar – and in the same breath told him about a solar storm that knocked out the Hydro-Quebec power grid in North America, leaving over six million people without power.
He didn't even want to think about the ramifications of a nuclear attack. They might not be in danger of radiation fallout, but the results of a nuclear device being detonated at a high altitude would be far more catastrophic than one dropped at ground level in the long term, with one or two well placed nukes having the potential to black-out the entire continent.
And a particularly strong solar storm had the potential to knock out the entire world.
A sudden burst of frustration mixed with equal parts anger had him kicking the garage door.
“I feel like doing that myself,” Anne said. “But if I do I might not stop.”
Christopher reigned himself in, her message loud and clear.
But he could still feel it churning inside. For the government that hadn't prepared despite the warnings. For Anne who refused to leave the city. For the young mother and her daughter, and those who'd been in the sky.
And they were just the beginning.
12
Gemma watched Anne as she fussed with the contents of the trailer, slapping Christopher's hand away whenever he tried to interfere.
“That stays.” Christopher picked up the gas cooker Anne had just removed.
“You can eat out of the can,” Anne said.
“Wait – we need that too,” Christopher said as Anne removed the kettle.
“You can't survive without a coffee for a few days?”
“No – I mean yes – but we need it for water. If we run out we can boil some from the stream.”
Anne returned the items and tallied up the weight. “You're over by ten pounds.”
She studied her list, then pulled out one of the tents. “You'll have to share. Now is not the time for modesty.”
Christopher turned to Gemma, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“I wasn't born yesterday, you know,” Anne tutted as she got to her feet. “I've seen the way you've been looking at her.”
Gemma felt her face flush and concentrated her attentions on the trailer as Anne picked up one of the pillows, laying it across the top of everything.
“I thought we were over the weight limit,” Christopher said gruffly, studiously avoiding Gemma's eye.
“A pillow doesn't weigh much,” Anne huffed. “And your young lady here is just as guilty of – what do you call it these days – checking you out whenever you're not looking.”
Gemma's mortification was complete, but Anne wasn't done yet. Anne turned to Donavon, lowering her voice. “I give them three days before they're sharing that pillow too.”
Donavon chuckled. “You're far more optimistic than me.”
“We can hear you, you know!” Christopher said.
“You were meant to,” Anne said a little primly, then her face turned serious. “Now are you sure I can't convince you to stay the night.”
“No. Thank you.” Gemma glanced at Christopher.
Christopher shook his head.
Anne looked as though she was about to argue, but instead pulled Gemma into her arms, holding her tight.
“Take care of him,” Anne said softly.
“I will.” Gemma nodded.
Anne turned to Christopher, her concern for him showing in her eyes as Christopher and Donavon shook hands and patted each other on the back the way that men do.
Anne grabbed Gemma's hands, keeping her tone low. “Give him time, love. When he meets young CJ, he'll see what I did the moment I saw that photograph.”
Before Gemma could answer, Anne pulled away and moved toward Christopher.
Christopher stood awkwardly for a moment, as though not sure what to do. Then Anne opened her arms wide and said, “Come here,” and hugged him tightly.
Gemma picked up the backpack, glancing at the trailer.
Both the rifle and handgun were directly under the pillow for easy access at Anne's insistence.
Still leery after the trouble with Wally and his lot, Gemma hesitated.
Edging her way to the trailer while the others talked, Gemma lowered the backpack so that it was out of Christopher's line of sight.
She eased her hand through the easy-access hatch, and
pulled out the handgun.
Anne glanced up, nodding her approval as Gemma slipped the gun in the front pocket.
Christopher turned, glancing down at the backpack. “Ready?” he asked.
“As I'll ever be.” Gemma closed the zipper, hoping she'd never have cause to take the gun out.
She pulled the backpack on and grabbed the handles of the bike as Donavon manually opened the garage. Anne hovered over Christopher like a mother hen, throwing any sort of advice that came to her at him as he made sure the trailer was securely attached to his bike.
“Just wait a minute,” Anne suddenly said, and scurried back into the house, returning a moment later.
She pressed something into Christopher's hand, closing his fingers tightly around it as she spoke. “It was Troy's. It was his father's before him, and his father's father before that. We weren't able to have children of our own.”
At her words, a brief shadow passed Christopher's face and his jaw tightened, the expression so fleeting Anne didn't seem to notice as Christopher smiled warmly at her as he opened his hand.
“I'm honored.” Christopher's voice was thick with emotion as he slid the silver watch over his hand.
“One day you might even want to pass it down to your own children,” Anne said, causing that same look of pain to cross his face.
Anne gave Gemma a knowing look as Christopher wheeled the bike and trailer onto the driveway.
“Not everything is what it seems,” Anne said, but Christopher didn't seem to hear her.
Besides, Gemma realized as they walked away – Anne's eyes had been on her, not Christopher. But she had no idea what to make of Anne's words.
* * *
It was too dark to navigate safely, so they walked the bikes side by side, dodging the black shapes that meant something was in their path.
At first Gemma expected her eyes to adjust, but it quickly became apparent that with the thick haze of smog and smoke blanketing them, it wasn't going to happen.
She persevered, growing more and more frustrated. As far as she was concerned, the sooner they reached the highway, the better. Then they could find somewhere to rest for a few hours. It had been a long day.
Gemma wanted to use the flashlights so they could ride the bikes, or at least move faster than they were.
Christopher firmly believed it would announce their presence to gangs roaming the streets.
After their second argument on the subject Gemma walked in silence, brooding heavily, until her foot found a crack in the pavement. She stumbled, using words that were more commonly the domain of her students, making Christopher laugh.
Gemma threw him a dirty look, the fact he couldn't see it only infuriating her more. She was used to doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Not having to obey someone who thought their way was better.
As far as she was concerned, Christopher was being maybe a little on the wrong side of paranoid. The streets were dark and silent.
She knew she was being pathetic as she argued her point yet again – that she was sulking even – especially since she was the one who'd hidden a gun in her bag. But she didn't care. She was tired before they even left Anne's. She'd hardly slept at all the night before, and had gotten up long before the sun had risen.
When Gemma wheeled her bike into Christopher for the third time within a few minutes, she wasn't entirely sure that it was an accident.
Christopher cursed, and grudgingly pulled two flashlights out of his bag.
She didn't care when he insisted they only use them to walk faster, keeping them firmly pointed at the ground. She felt like she had won a small war as she twisted the flashlight cord around the handlebars, the beam pushing some of the darkness away.
She thought about apologizing but decided to save her strength. They still had a long way to go.
The streets were almost deserted, the silence broken only by the occasional sound of an engine in the distance, and the soft click of the wheels and the tread of their feet. The few people they did see moved with hunched shoulders, their heads down as they crossed the street to avoid her and Christopher.
The windows of the homes they passed were mostly dark, making her wonder what filled the dreams of the people inside, and what was going through the minds of those who couldn't sleep.
It was obvious people knew this wasn't any ordinary blackout. The fires that were still burning, filling the air above them with a thick layer of smoke, were testimony to that. There was no one to put them out.
Gemma knew it made more sense that they'd been hit by a nuke from the data she had read, but she wasn't entirely convinced. Not with all the sun activity recently.
Besides, a lot of the science was only theory. According to physics the highly charged interstellar space-cloud their solar system was passing through shouldn't even exist. The same space-cloud blamed for mass bird and fish deaths by some scientists, who believed the earth's shifting polarity was weakening the magnetic field that protected earth from the sun's radiation.
Wasn't it possible that it had all compounded – that the highly magnetized space-cloud had charged a solar storm so powerful it could wipe out the electronics even in cars?
It had been a long time since she'd studied physics – she was a science teacher. Not a scientist.
Was it possible the delicate balance of their solar system was committing mass extermination? That this was mother nature's way?
There were many who believed along those lines, that earth could only sustain so many before mother nature would have to respond.
The sky above them was alien and unfamiliar, though it was the same one she saw every night at her farm. Feeling homesick, Gemma tried to identify the different clusters and constellations. But even though the lights were out, and the city was dark, it was impossible. Even the moon seemed to be hanging its head in shame, not visible through the haze above them.
Sticking mostly to the sidewalk, neither of them seemed to have much to say, and the few halting conversations they started quickly died away.
“What time is it?” Gemma was exhausted, and her feet were aching. They'd been walking for hours.
Christopher twisted his arm under the flashlight, his voice dull. “Three fourteen.”
“How far do you think the highway is?” She didn't intend for it to come out so whiny. Especially when it was obvious Christopher was struggling too.
A surge of guilt hit her. He also had the added weight of the trailer, and she certainly hadn't been making things any easier for him.
“Another hour or so,” Christopher said, slowing slightly. “It's getting lighter. We should be able to ride soon.”
He was right. The smog was thinning as they moved further away from the densely populated urban areas.
Gemma searched the sky, pleased to see the moon hadn't deserted them after all. It was sitting right where it should be, toward the end of its cycle, its silvery sheen struggling through the hazy mist.
“We should stop to eat. Refuel for tomorrow.” Christopher gestured to a traffic island.
* * *
Christopher leaned his bike against a tree in the middle of the traffic island, too tired to fumble with the kickstand. Every muscle in his body seemed to burn.
He straightened slowly, teasing out the muscles of his back and neck as he assessed his injured shoulder.
The wise thing would have been to accept Anne's offer and get a good night's sleep, but he firmly believed the smart thing to do was get out of the city before it woke.
Once the shock faded and reality set in, people were going to be thinking beyond the limited supplies of their refrigerator.
Pity filled him for those who went to bed with full bellies, believing help would arrive in the morning. For the law-abiding citizens who would have struggled with the idea of taking what wasn't theirs while the realists cleaned out the supermarkets.
The dull ache in his back concerned him. He'd had to compensate for the extra weight of the trailer so he didn
't do further damage to his shoulder.
Gemma dumped her bike – the flashlight beam shooting briefly up the street – and landed on the ground beside it.
Christopher turned his flashlight off, indicating she should do the same. “We need to conserve the batteries.”
Gemma crawled the short distance and switched it off, then sat cross-legged where she was – challenging him with dark, tired eyes as she twisted the flashlight free.
His stomach tightened. Even when she was annoyed she was breathtaking. Not to mention stubborn – he was fairly certain she'd rammed the bike into him on purpose, but she'd been right. They'd made better time.
Keeping the flashlight pointed down, Gemma switched it back on and pulled the loaf of bread from her bag.
A look of surprise crossed her face. “Anne made us sandwiches.”
“She did?” Christopher grinned. He thought they'd have to eat the bread dry.
“I need to see what I'm eating,” Gemma said defensively as she cradled the flashlight in her lap to block the light. “Never know what might've crawled in.”
Christopher hardly heard her – he was lowering himself carefully to the ground. Maybe he could lie on the grass for a bit. Stretch his back out straight – no – that wasn't going to work. The burn in his back intensified. The muscles had been in that position far too long.
Gemma smiled up at him. He only knew she was smiling because of the whiteness of her teeth; her face wasn't much more than an ink caricature in the dark.
It took him a moment to realize she was passing him a sandwich.
Christopher reached forward. His back seized and he grunted involuntarily.
The whites of Gemma's eyes grew bigger.
“It's nothing. Just a cramp,” Christopher said.
“Where?”
“My back.” He tried rubbing the cramp out. It intensified. “Damn it.” This was all he needed.
Then suddenly Gemma was behind him, her sure, sturdy fingers probing his back.
“Here?” she asked when he flinched.
Christopher nodded as she pushed his shirt out of the way. Grunted again as her fingers hit the worst of it, then a moment later he felt the pressure easing.