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

by May, L M

  He was tempted to feign sleep – but it was too late now. She knew he was awake.

  The circles under Gemma's eyes were darker than ever, but her face was no longer the ghastly shade of gray it had been before the transfusion.

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he said hoarsely, hoping to steer her away from whatever it was that had put that steely glint in her lovely green eyes.

  “You should know I'm tougher than that by now,” Gemma said. “And stop trying to change the subject.”

  “I didn't know there was a subject,” Christopher said.

  “You will still keep your promise, won't you?” Gemma searched his face. “The fact I didn't die doesn't change anything.”

  He tried to keep his expression neutral. “You should get some sleep.”

  “You can't just run away from this.”

  “I'm not running away from anything,” Christopher said. “Besides – you're going to be fine. You heard the doctor.”

  “I can't believe you.” Gemma's face twisted as she tried to pull herself up, anger flashing through the pain in her eyes. “You really haven't changed. You're nothing but a pampered little rich boy who never had to take responsibility for anyone but himself.”

  That hurt. “You really don't know when to stop, do you?” Christopher got to his feet, but quickly realized he wasn't going anywhere. His head swam, and his vision fuzzed over.

  “Fine – you want to have this out,” he growled, the blood pumping to his head. “Let's do it.”

  Gemma looked suddenly wary. But she'd pushed him too far this time; his mind was in turmoil. All the years of hope and frustration, anger and regret, had taken him over.

  There was no stopping the torrent that wanted to be unleashed. Words he'd spoken to no one. It had all bottled up inside him and demanded release.

  “The first time Melinda thought she was pregnant, I was over the moon. I told anyone who'd listen I was going to be a father. Couldn't wipe the grin off my face for weeks.” Christopher hated the sympathy he could see in Gemma's face, but he couldn't stop the words spewing from his mouth. They just kept pouring forth.

  “The sixth time,” he finished a few minutes later, his anger almost spent, “I painted the nursery for a child that never existed. Melinda insisted. You think I would have learned my lesson by then. But she was so damned sure. Every time. And every time I hoped it was true. Imagined holding my child in my arms even as I worried I was going to come home and find Melinda on the bathroom floor in tears.

  “And then there were the weeks after – when she found out she wasn't pregnant after all.” Christopher shuddered as the memories converged on him. “It nearly broke her. But in the end it was our marriage that broke.”

  “And now you have what you always wanted,” Gemma said softly, reaching for him.

  “You don't understand,” Christopher spat as he pulled away. “CJ can't be mine because I'm sterile. Shooting blanks. Half a freakin' man. All those years – putting back the pieces every time – and it was my fault.”

  “You're right – I don't understand,” Gemma said. “What you went through...” she trailed off, finally at a loss for words.

  “I don't want your sympathy,” Christopher muttered. “I just want you to let it alone.”

  Gemma flared again. “No. It's you who doesn't understand. Caroline wouldn't lie about something like this.”

  “Didn't you hear a word I just said?”

  “Where's my bag?” Gemma said.

  Christopher's head spun at the sudden turn in topic. It wasn't like Gemma to just drop things like this.

  “I don't know,” Christopher muttered, glad for the reprieve. After tomorrow, they would go their separate ways. Never would he have to have this conversation again. The idea that Gemma would look at him the way Melinda had in those final days – like he was half a man ... Christopher's heart tightened painfully. Shouldn't he be glad to be finished with her? The damn woman irritated him at every turn.

  So why the hell was he missing her already? Just the thought they'd go their separate ways caused the same dull ache it had all those years ago.

  Christopher clenched his jaw so painfully it hurt. Somehow she'd wormed her way into his heart again. How the hell had he not noticed?

  When had a simple attraction to a beautiful women from his past turned into something more?

  “What the hell are you doing?” Christopher shot to his feet.

  “I need my bag,” Gemma said stubbornly.

  “Just – just lie down. I'll get it.”

  “Did you ever get tested?” Gemma asked softly before he could reach the door.

  Christopher glared at her. She hadn't dropped it after all. He stormed out of the room, in half a mind never to return.

  “Christopher?”

  “I thought you wanted your bag.” Christopher rested his head on the wall outside the room, feeling suddenly drained.

  “It's in here. On the other side of the bed.” He heard a grunting sound, then, “Don't worry, I'll get it.”

  “Stay where you are.” Christopher ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on his emotions. No one had the power to make him as angry as she did.

  Without looking at Gemma, he returned to the room, collected the bag, and dumped it on the bed.

  He turned to go again.

  “Wait,” Gemma said.

  “I need some fresh air.”

  “You know I'll just follow you, right?”

  “Damn it, Gemma, you're going to rip your stitches open at this rate.”

  “Just sit.” Pain flashed across Gemma's face, and she clutched at her belly.

  “Gemma?” He was by her side in an instant. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Just hurts.”

  “Do you want me to get the doctor?”

  “No.” Gemma's face twisted again, and she paused a moment before speaking. “I want you to sit down.”

  “I'll stand,” Christopher said as Gemma tried to unzip the front pocket.

  “Here, let me,” Christopher scowled, grabbing the bag, and when he saw the look in her eye he realized that's exactly what she wanted.

  The woman was incorrigible, using her pain to get what she wanted.

  “Did you get tested?” Gemma asked again as he fumbled with the zipper.

  “No,” Christopher snapped.

  “What? Worried about your fragile manhood – your damned stupid ego?”

  “Melinda had twins a few months ago,” Christopher flared. “It had to be me.”

  “How long–” Gemma broke off as a cough racked her body. Her hand went to her stomach as she curled herself into a fetal position. When she looked at him again, her eyes were shining with pain.

  Christopher felt his stomach lurch. Why couldn't it have been him that got shot? If only he wasn't so nervous around guns. He should have been carrying the rifle. He should have protected her.

  Gemma pointed at the bag, her chin jutting forward stubbornly.

  Christopher reached into the pocket, a half-smile curling his lip when he saw the smudged smiley face.

  Behind it was the photograph of CJ.

  His hands curled into fists. Damn woman was taking advantage of her injuries. God help him if she found out how he felt about her.

  “Just look at it,” Gemma pleaded. “Please.”

  Christopher sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes to steel himself. She wasn't letting this go anytime soon.

  He looked down at the photo of CJ, but this time – before he could draw his eyes away – he found himself caught by the cheeky sparkle in the boy's eyes. Eyes that were so much like his own.

  Swallowing hard, Christopher took in the thick head of dark hair, and the way it stuck up slightly at the crown. The boy had the same quirky smile he'd smiled in photographs at that age.

  It was true. There was a strong resemblance.

  Was it possible? After all these years? He'd convinced himself he would never be a father.
r />   Christopher shook his head, pulling his eyes away from CJ when Gemma's voice broke into his thoughts. Something strange, something unknown, was flaring inside him.

  “What?” Christopher said. All the fight had gone out of him.

  “I said how long did it take Melinda to get pregnant when she remarried.”

  Christopher shrugged, his eyes drawn back to the photograph. “I don't know. Nearly two years I guess.”

  “Doesn't that strike you as odd – considering she was so desperate to have a child?”

  “I suppose,” Christopher admitted grudgingly as CJ stared up at him.

  “So it could have been her. Melinda could have had fertility treatment ... IVF ... there's so much they can do now.” Gemma's tone was soft.

  “I want to see him,” Christopher said gruffly. Maybe CJ was his – maybe he wasn't. But there was no way he could turn his back on the boy now.

  Gemma took his hand, her eyes shining brightly, but this time it wasn't with pain. There was also a bit of a smug look on her face, and he decided to wipe it away with a kiss that left her gasping for air.

  29

  Gemma watched Christopher's profile as his hand gravitated to his pocket again, unable to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off her face. She tried. She really did, but the painkillers coursing through her system were not helping matters.

  Neither was the fact her lips still tingled from his kiss, leaving her with an odd sense of whimsical expectation.

  Christopher glanced at her, a myriad of conflicting emotions flashing across his face.

  Gemma quickly lowered her eyelids so that she was watching him through the screen of her lashes.

  They were in the back of an old tan pickup about ten miles from home, the sun beating down on them from clear blue skies.

  A musty odor wafted up from the saggy mattress that had been jammed across the width of the back tray.

  With every passing mile Christopher seemed to grow more anxious, the photograph of CJ coming out so often one would be forgiven for thinking it was glued to his sweaty palm.

  Gemma tried to keep a straight face as Christopher's hand slipped inside his pocket, but instead of pulling out the photograph, his head cocked slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

  He was staring at her with such longing that Gemma felt the heat rising to her face as she feigned sleep.

  She was lying on her side in a semi-fetal position. Her hands were tucked in between the side of her face and the dusty old beanbag she was nestled in to cushion her from the bumps. Not that she could feel any pain, anyway, thanks to the morphine shot Martha gave her before they left.

  Christopher was leaning against the cabin, his long legs splayed out across the mattress, one thigh resting against the beanbag.

  “Caroline was sure he's mine?' Christopher asked, fully aware Gemma wasn't asleep.

  The dopey smile and the rush of blood to her face had given her away.

  Gemma chuckled as she opened her eyes, feeling lightheaded from the morphine. She'd lost count of how many times Christopher had asked variations of the same question in the last hour.

  Uncurling her arm, she placed what was meant to be a reassuring hand on his thigh.

  She did her best to ignore the heat passing from Christopher's skin to her palm, seeking a direct path to her center.

  Instead she focused on his face, her eyes softening as she noticed the shape he was in.

  The bruises from the punch he took to the eye were still fading – a dreary rainbow of dull yellows and cacky browns.

  His skin was pale where he'd shaved earlier that morning, contrasting with the tan he'd earned over the days on the road.

  Even banged up and beaten he had the power to take her breath away.

  Before she could remove her hand, disconcerted by the feelings rising inside her, Christopher clamped his hand over hers, flicking the hair out of his eyes.

  Gemma gasped when she saw the large, egg-sized lump on his temple.

  Despite Martha warning them they shouldn't be traveling, they were both determined to get home. Christopher had refused to even let the doctor take a look at him.

  The bikes and the trailer were secured to the far end of the rickety old pickup, rattling a merry tune in time to her quickening heart rate.

  Gemma would have been glad if she never set eyes on them again, but she knew they would be a godsend in the coming months. A way into town. A way to see CJ.

  She was shocked at herself, and the turn her thoughts took as Christopher's dark eyes moved to her mouth; already she was adjusting, ruthlessly planning on using young CJ as an excuse to see Christopher.

  It's just the drugs talking, Gemma reassured herself.

  There was no way in the world she was going to let Christopher steal her heart away again.

  It's already too late for that, her heart and her thoughts mocked her. Far too late.

  Gemma tried to ignore the feeling of sorrow creeping up on her. They hadn't discussed CJ's living arrangements yet, but she assumed once Christopher acquainted himself with his son, CJ would live at the Daley family home.

  She'd gotten a little too used to Christopher's company, and the long days and lonely nights on the farm stretched before her almost painfully.

  As though sensing her change in mood, Christopher squeezed her hand, and she offered him a shaky smile.

  She felt suddenly uncertain. She blamed the drugs for the odd swooning sensation rising in her as Christopher's eyes moved back to her lips. The sort of sensation she'd only ever read about, and had openly scoffed at.

  She also blamed the drugs for the swelling warmth that bloomed in her belly and her heart.

  Closing her eyes, Gemma breathed in deeply, her cheeks puffing out slightly as she exhaled with force.

  “Gemma?” Christopher's voice was a soft caress, filled with concern.

  When Gemma opened her eyes, Christopher's gaze seemed to reach into the very depths of her soul.

  Feeling self-conscious, Gemma wondered what he saw. Her hair was lank and oily, and she could only imagine how ripe she must smell.

  Christopher curled his fingers through hers, bringing her hand to his mouth.

  He pressed his lips against her palm, still watching her, then sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, he closed his eyes. His breath whispered across her palm, warm and comforting and ever so erotic.

  Who would have thought that something so simple could feel so good. So right.

  She felt her lips part of their own volition. Her mouth went dry.

  The fluttering in her heart made her feel lightheaded and giddy.

  Christopher opened his eyes, his expression intense. Dangerous.

  Before Gemma had a chance to register what was happening, Christopher was leaning over her. He was so careful – so gentle – as his strong hands cupped her face. He rubbed his thumbs ever so lightly across her skin, as though she were made of glass.

  It made her feel suddenly fragile. Like she might break. And for reasons she couldn't fathom, tears pricked the bridge of her nose.

  Without warning Christopher's eyes darkened. He lowered his head and claimed her mouth with a hungry kiss.

  Gemma responded immediately, without thought. Only aware of the spiraling sensations overtaking her, and the caress of his warm, soft lips on hers.

  Christopher tasted her with his tongue, igniting a fire at her core. She opened her mouth with a low moan, letting him in.

  The kiss deepened, their breath mingling, so that Gemma no longer knew who was breathing for whom, or if they were even breathing at all.

  Then Christopher pulled away so suddenly that her eyes were still closed – her lips still parted – when he uttered a curse.

  “I'm sorry.” Christopher ran a hand through his hair.

  “Sorry?” Gemma said in a strangled voice. He was sorry? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he sorry he kissed her? Sorry because he wasn't feeling it the way she was?

&n
bsp; The only thing Gemma was sorry about was the fact it had stopped.

  She swore she'd never be one of those needy females. That she wouldn't be like her mother. But she couldn't help the word that escaped her mouth. “Why?”

  “Why?” Christopher looked surprised by the question.

  “Forget it.” Gemma wished she could turn away. That she didn't have to see him looking at her like that.

  “I'm sorry I took advantage of you,” Christopher said, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Oh,” Gemma said. “And here I was thinking I was the one taking advantage of you.”

  Christopher chuckled softly, his fingers tangling in her stringy, knotty hair as he brushed it away from her face.

  He kissed her forehead, and Gemma wondered if his heart was beating half as fast as hers. If he felt the hot fire of desire that burned in the pit of her belly, demanding attention.

  It was still burning strongly as they turned off the highway onto the long road that led to town. Filled with melancholy, Gemma's thoughts turned to what awaited them.

  There was no telling what they would find. It had been nearly a week since the pulse.

  Christopher's face was relaxed as he studied CJ's photograph, his eyes full of hope and possibility.

  Gemma kept her fears to herself. They would know soon enough anyway.

  She wondered if Daphne would agree to stay on the farm with her, so far from town; cut off from her friends and whatever limited medical facilities there were, not to mention her young grandson.

  Gemma's gut told her that the very fact the farm was cut off made it safer. That bad times were coming. She worried for the older woman, but there was no way she could stay in town. Not when there was so much to do on the farm.

  Up until last night Gemma had assumed it was a given – that the three of them would live there – her and Daphne looking out for young CJ.

  But now CJ was no longer in the equation.

  Before Gemma knew it the farmland started to peter out, and when Christopher noticed her struggling into a sitting position, he shifted to help her.

  “I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt,” Gemma scowled irritably. She knew she shouldn't take her worry out on Christopher, but she couldn't help it. Besides, in a few more hours she was going to have to manage on her own anyway.