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

by May, L M

  “Sure is, squirt,” Katy agreed, eliciting another scowl from the boy.

  Epilogue

  Gemma watched Christopher and CJ striding across the yard toward the chicken coop, a soft smile on her face at how alike they were, even in their walk.

  She was sitting on the front porch in the rocking chair her father made when her mother was pregnant with her; the only thing left of her father or the farm.

  Most of the garden had been salvageable, and as soon as they arrived, Christopher had done a quick round of the small farm, checking the coop for dead chickens before asking CJ to show him where the feed was.

  To Gemma's relief she hadn't lost any of the chickens, though Christopher said the long, narrow water trowel designed to catch the runoff from the rain was almost dry.

  But what really pleased her was the big strawberry patch that was thriving, the bright red strawberries drawing CJ as soon as he saw them.

  She'd have to hunt down Daphne's great-great-grandmother's jam recipe next time she was in town.

  An overwhelming wave of sadness passed through Gemma for the woman who'd been a mother to her in her teenage years.

  She tried not to think about what Daphne had gone through in the last week, and whenever she did, she heard Daphne's voice in her head.

  Look to the future. Don't keep glancing over your shoulder. Acknowledge the past, then let it go. Only then can you fly free.

  What Daphne had done was nothing short of incredible, and her sacrifice would never be forgotten. It would be there every time Gemma looked into CJ's healthy, smiling face. But it stretched further than that – the shock of one of their own succumbing to dehydration when there was a river flowing less than a mile away woke the town up.

  Don Berkley – an old friend of her father's who'd retired from the military a few years back – stepped up and quickly rallied the town together, putting together various committees to take the action needed to ensure the town's future.

  They'd spoken to Don before coming to the farm, and it seemed to Gemma that the man had taken on a role of leadership he hadn't wanted or expected.

  Gemma couldn't think of a better man for the job and was confident that under Don's firm guidance, the small community would pull through this crisis with far fewer casualties than they would've otherwise had.

  It turned out Don knew quite a bit about EMPs, and what to expect, and he'd already been advising the sheriff about what measures to put in place. But it wasn't until Daphne's tragic death that he was finally taken seriously.

  Most people had assumed help would come – that things would be fixed – just like they always had been in the past.

  Gemma was impatient for her wounds to heal, restless with all that needed to be done. The idea of just lying around like Christopher expected was driving her slightly insane, even if it was for her own good.

  But really, she was pleased not to lose CJ yet, and the thought that Christopher was going to be around for a little longer was almost as pleasing. Not that she was going to share that little tidbit with him.

  Gemma stubbornly told herself that she'd just gotten used to Christopher's company. That it was nothing more than that.

  Even as she imagined him wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her close. Pressing his lips against hers.

  Gemma shook her head, straightening as she heard Christopher and CJ coming toward her.

  “Aunty Gem-Gem, you should see how many eggs there were,” CJ said, carefully holding out his bulging shirt.

  “Yeah Aunty Gem-Gem,” Christopher teased, holding out his own shirt, “look.”

  Gemma scowled at Christopher. The endearment wasn't quite so cute coming from him. She was going to have to do something about that – he was getting too cocky for his own good – next thing she knew he'd be walking around the farm as though he owned the place and she'd never be able to get rid of him.

  A warm flush rushed through her as Christopher met her eye, and she wondered if that would be an entirely bad thing.

  As the afternoon waned on, Gemma found herself drifting in and out of sleep in the lazy heat. She'd never been so tired in her life, and for all her whinging and whining about having to stay still, she felt as though she could sleep for a week.

  “Aunty Gem-Gem,” CJ shouted as Christopher pushed the wheelbarrow across the grass. “We're going to make a fire.” His eyes were wide and excited.

  “You are?”

  “Uh-huh. Look – we got stones from the stream to make a fire pit.” He looked uncertainly at Christopher, his face wrinkling as he tried to figure out what to call him. “He,” CJ pointed at Christopher, “said it's safer.”

  Christopher's strong arms flexed as he dug out a shallow fire pit in the hard earth, and Gemma watched with amusement as CJ mirrored his father's every move.

  Unaware of his audience, Christopher pulled his shirt off, and wiped his forehead with it before tucking it into the back of his shorts, throwing her a worried, bemused look as CJ pulled off his own shirt.

  Before long the two of them had assembled an impressive-looking fire pit, ringed with stones from the stream. They filled it with the firewood they had collected, and Christopher showed CJ how to light the kindling – delivering a long-winded speech on the dangers of playing with fire.

  CJ lapped up every word.

  As the flames flickered before them, CJ was just as entranced with his father as he was with the fire they had built.

  “Here, Aunty Gem-Gem.” CJ handed Gemma a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, gave her a bright grin, and hurried back to sit next to Christopher.

  Being ordered to rest had certain advantages. She could get used to this sort of special treatment.

  Once they had eaten their fill, CJ – though clearly exhausted – insisted on going with his father to get some more water.

  The air was growing cool, and Gemma pulled the bright patchwork blanket her mother had knitted up over her chest, a smile on her face as she watched them walk toward the stream.

  Safely home in her own little patch of the world, Gemma allowed herself to feel hope for the future as she drifted off to sleep.

  “Gemma?”

  Christopher's soft voice had Gemma opening first one eye, then the other. She was glad to see it had grown dark, because she had a feeling she'd been drooling.

  Christopher walked carefully up the steps, a worried look on his face.

  CJ was attached to his chest, sound asleep.

  “What do I do now?” Christopher asked.

  “You put him to bed.” Gemma yawned, letting her eyes close again.

  She heard the squeak of the floorboards as Christopher moved through the house. It was a long time before he returned, and she pictured him standing over CJ's bed, just watching him, like she had done herself so many times.

  “Come on, let's get you to bed.” Christopher held the rocking chair steady so she could get to her feet.

  “I'm not tired,” Gemma said, but the huge yawn that racked her body gave her away.

  “But your body is,” Christopher said.

  “Fine. I'll go to bed,” Gemma said, “but I'm too tired to find the spare sheets.”

  “I'll find them,” Christopher said.

  “No. You're tired too,” Gemma said pointedly.

  “I am?” Christopher's brow furrowed.

  Damn – did she have to spell it out?

  “Oh – I am,” Christopher said as he stifled his own yawn. There was amusement in his eyes as he continued. “Far too tired to be searching for sheets when there's a perfectly good bed already made up.”

  “Fine. Let's just go to bed,” Gemma growled.

  And that's what they did.

  The End

  Hungry for more? Read on for a sneak peek

  Sneak peek....

  As the early morning rays spilled into the room Christopher watched Gemma as she slept.

  There was so much left unsaid between them, spanning right back to the moment when she had knock
ed on his bedroom window in the darkest hours of the morning, tears streaming down her face, and blood on her hands.

  Gemma changed overnight. She became cold and distant, refusing to discuss it.

  It festered between them, and whenever he tried to bring it up – to tell her it wasn't her fault – she changed the subject.

  And then he had gone to college.

  At the time he felt as though that was what she was waiting for, that she didn't have the heart to just break things off.

  Especially when she didn't return his calls.

  He hoped that time would bring her back to him, and didn't want to push her. He hadn't been ready to give up on her, or their future.

  Then he went and ruined everything.

  He went back during break, his head full of big plans to bring them closer and regain what they had lost. He booked a table at Lassiter's, a fancy restaurant in Carlisle.

  Gemma had been reserved during dinner, and when he dropped her home and tried to kiss her she pulled away.

  He'd spoken without thinking. "Damn it, Gemma. Either we're together or we're not. I can't keep doing this, it's killing me. If you want to break it off, then have the guts to do it."

  "Is that what you want?" Gemma had asked.

  "No," he'd exploded. "I want you – I want it to be how it used to be."

  "It can never be how it used to be."

  "I need more than this. I need you. I need you to want me."

  She'd nodded her head, biting her lip. Her eyes so wide and vulnerable it hurt.

  But it was his parting words that had been their undoing.

  "I'll leave you alone – give you time to work out what you want. But if I don't hear from you ..." he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders, giving her an easy out.

  When she didn't call he regretted his words. So many times he had picked up the phone to call her.

  But he didn't want to be the love-sick fool who failed to get the message, and still had some small measure of pride left.

  After two weeks the hurt was a little less, and then his roommate invited some girls over for drinks, telling him to stop moping about waiting for a call that was never going to come.

  By the time Christopher finished his third drink he suddenly wanted to forget. To escape the pain of losing Gemma.

  And that was the night Gemma decided she wanted him after all.

  The night she decided to surprise him.

  God – he could still see the hurt on her face – hear her angry words, and even then she blamed herself for taking too long.

  He drove to her house the next morning, but he knew it was too late when he saw the look on her face. She had closed herself off to him.

  And then her mother died, and time moved on.

  Christopher shifted in the bed, moving closer to Gemma.

  A cry from the room beside them had him sitting up, alert.

  CJ.

  Christopher froze. He had no idea what to do. Should he wake Gemma? Or should he go to him?

  When CJ cried out again, Christopher slipped out of the bed and crept down the hall. He hesitated at CJ's bedroom door.

  CJ was tossing restlessly in his sleep. His face was screwed up, and a low, soft mewling sound was coming from his pursed lips.

  Christopher padded quietly across the floor. He reached out, his hand hovering over his son's head for a moment, before letting it come down to rest on his warm forehead.

  CJ stilled, becoming quiet.

  Encouraged, Christopher smoothed his son's hair back from his brow. CJ's face relaxed, and his breathing became even and steady.

  Christopher sat in the chair beside his son's bed, watching him sleep. He wasn't prepared for the strength of the emotions that surged through him.

  His heart seemed to both tighten and swell at the same time.

  "Couldn't sleep." Gemma stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

  "I heard CJ." Christopher shrugged. "How do people do this without going crazy?"

  "What?" Gemma came closer. "Be a parent?"

  Christopher nodded. He'd never suspected what parents went through every day. Never understood what motivated his clients as they battled for custody.

  But now he did.

  CJ looked so small and fragile, his limbs splayed out on the bed to escape the heat of the blanket.

  The fear and the worry was crippling. What if he couldn't keep his son safe? The world had been a scary enough place before the pulse.

  And then there was the way CJ had mimicked him – it was both heartening and terrifying.

  "What if I mess up?" Christopher asked.

  "You will," Gemma said softly.

  Christopher looked at her.

  "And so will CJ. You just have to do your best – figure out what works for you."

  "What if my best isn't enough."

  "Welcome to the fears of parenthood," Gemma said.

  Christopher nodded, aware that he was staring at her long, naked legs as she walked toward him.

  Gemma looked suddenly sheepish. "I meant me. Before..." she trailed off.

  Christopher met her eyes, saw the raw, stark vulnerability as she opened herself to him.

  "That I couldn't sleep," Gemma added. "I've gotten used to you being there."

  Christopher's heart flared. Maybe it wasn't too late for them after all.

  Gemma offered him her hand. "Come on, let's go to bed."

  Christopher wanted to hear those words every day for the rest of his life.

  He had a few weeks at most until Gemma healed. To show her they were a perfect fit – all three of them.

  He took her hand, and smiled. She had no idea what she had just done.

  Then he saw the look in her eye and realized that maybe she did.

  From the Author

  This story is close to my heart for many reasons. I always grow attached to the characters, but this story is different to others. As Gemma and Christopher consumed my life, I kept wondering what was happening to Megan and Becky. Would they make it? Would Mike find his way back to them? And then there's Robert. I developed a soft spot for him.

  When they arrived at Peak Mountain a similar thing happened.

  And Brad and Melina? What was in that damn suitcase. Why wouldn't Melina let go of it?

  But it's not only the characters that have stayed with me. It's the 'what if...' behind the story. I'll be honest, voicing something I never thought I would share with others before writing this story.

  Most days I just plod along like everyone else. I go to work. I look after my son. I write whenever I can. But some days there is this sort of underlying feeling ... a feeling that we are rushing towards something unknown, something unseen. It's not quite a feeling of dread per se, but a feeling of quiet expectation.

  That society is headed for some sort of breakdown. Whether it be an EMP, a deadly virus that overwhelms us, or something entirely different.

  I used to think this was paranoid thinking ... but over the course of my research I discovered something. I am far from alone in this feeling. There are millions out there who feel the same way. And perhaps millions more that, like me, don't voice these feelings for fear of coming across as paranoid. Perhaps you've felt it too, that quiet dread and expectation that sometimes creeps up ...

  Meanwhile, like everyone else, I keep plodding along, living my life ... but this story changed something in me.

  It also made me realize how much we depend on our respective governments to keep things running. How much we rely on others for our everyday needs.

  I don't live my life waiting for something to happen, but if it does, I want to be prepared. I don't want to rely on others for the continued survival of myself, my son, or my loved ones.

  Sadly, I think that in my lifetime I will see an occurrence of some kind that will completely change things. I think the way we are rushing ahead, it is inevitable that something has to give.

  But I digress. I plan to continue Gemma, Christopher and CJ's story
, and I wanted to share that with you.

  I hope that you've enjoyed their story so far, and that you will forgive me for any inconsistencies or editing errors that have been overlooked.

  It is an intimidating process putting your work out there for others to see when it hasn't been backed by a publisher, or looked at by one of their experienced editors. And it is terrifying when you don't know what sort of reception your work will receive. I think that is the biggest fear that faces indie authors – we won't know if we are that kid that gets laughed off the stage on American Idol until it happens, nor will we know if we have what it takes unless we put our work out there so that our peers can judge us.

  I'm not going to beg for reviews. But I would like to say they would be very much appreciated. You are my peers, and I value your opinions. While reviews are for readers, they also help us improve as writers. They encourage us to continue, and they help our stories find a home with like-minded readers. And sometimes they help sales so that we can afford to continue writing.

  And on that note I would like to thank my son who has been so supportive of my writing even as it stole time away from him.

  My dream is to write full-time, but for now I dream of the day when I can cut back at work a little so I have more time to write. Thank you for purchasing this story, and bringing that dream a little closer.

  Ellem May

  If you would like to find out more about the Dark Days series, or learn more about EMPs, I have started a website, which includes links to some of the information referenced in the story.

  Dark Days website

  Copyright Notice

  Dark Days: The Long Road Home

  Text © L. M. May, 2012

  Cover © Ellem

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please respect the hard work of this author.