by May, L M
“Th – thanks,” Sasha said, half sob, half hiccup.
“You know – that stuff will be probably be more valuable than gold soon.” Gordon eyed the liquor bottle.
Sasha glowered at Gordon before turning a bright smile on Christopher, thrusting her chest out. “I don't understand why shom-someone can't just turn the – the surge protector thingy back on.”
“Gemma already explained,” Christopher said tersely, uncomfortable with the sudden attention.
“But what's the point of it if it doesn't work?” Sasha pouted, her eyes large and not at all innocent as she linked her arm through Christopher's, and rested her head against his shoulder. Christopher gently untangled himself, taking a step back. Her husband, one of their wealthiest clients – not that it apparently meant anything anymore – was only a few rooms away.
Gemma glanced up, her gamine green eyes showing faint traces of amusement at his discomfort. But her face was weary, her shoulders slumped, and he felt the sudden urge to go to her, to comfort her. Heck – if he was honest with himself he was being purely selfish. He was the one that wanted comfort. He wanted to lose himself in her smell, to escape the grim reality they had suddenly encountered. But already she was looking away, replying softly to something Anne had said.
“The surge protectors weren't designed for something as extreme as an EMP,” Gordon told Sasha's breasts, and realizing she wasn't getting what she wanted from Christopher, Sasha turned her attention on Gordon.
“You know it's a natural reaction under the circumstances,” Donavon said quietly beside him.
“What's that?” Christopher said, unable to take his eyes off Gemma.
“To want comfort in the face of disaster.”
“Comfort?”
“No one wants to be alone right now.”
Was that the reason he wanted to charge over to Gemma, and pull her into his arms – why he wanted to kiss her senseless and wipe away the fear in her eyes?
Gemma glanced up, as though she sensed him watching, her olive-green eyes meeting his. She still had the power to take his breath away even after all these years. The helpless, raw vulnerability in her eyes brought back memories, and for a moment he was seventeen years old again, young and angry and indignant as he held her in his arms, trying to comfort her even as he wanted to hurt the person hurting her.
Gordon's voice was a low monotone, bringing more gloom and doom. He'd found a captivated audience in Sasha, who was staring at him wide eyed, inching closer to him as he spoke.
“The first thing to worry about is food and water. Most people have enough food to last at least a few days. But water will be the priority.”
“But – we could just go to the store,” Sasha said. “There's heaps of water there.”
“That's the first thing everyone will do – probably already happening as we speak. What's there won't last long – the bigger supermarkets have to restock their shelves every day, even twice a day, to keep up with demand.”
Gordon was pacing now, getting himself worked up, his voice coming in quick, staccato spurts. “Besides, hardly anyone carries cash anymore. And credit cards won't work. Most of the stores would have tried to close as soon as the power died. But anyone looking at the street will know something big has happened. It wouldn't take much to start a panic. Most likely people will just take what they have and get out of there. If it was me – I would just walk right out with my grocery cart.”
And all it would take for that panic to start was someone like Gordon with his dark tone and impetuous words, Christopher thought dryly.
Gordon smoothed Sasha's hair back from her face, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Money will have no value anymore. It will just be pretty little pieces of paper that mean nothing. So – no, you can't just go to the store and buy water,” he said, softening his voice as he pressed a kiss to Sasha's forehead.
“But,” Sasha's lower lip trembled, “how can we survive without water?” Her fingers closed around Gordon's arm, and Gordon's eyes lit up.
“It's there if you know where to look.”
“It is?”
Gordon nodded gravely, enjoying his newfound role a little too much for Christopher's liking.
“Where?” Sasha asked, and despite himself, Christopher became just as captivated.
“Swimming pools. Rain water tanks. Rivers and lakes, of course, but they’ll quickly become contaminated. Then there’s hot water tanks, toilet tanks–”
“You expect me to drink out of the toilet?” Sasha's eyes popped open.
“Not the toilet, the tank.”
Sasha shuddered, and Gordon put a tentative arm around her shoulder. “Most likely it won't come to that.”
“What about the government?” Sasha's red lips quivered. “They'll help.”
“It's every man for himself now. Survival of the fittest. It won't be long before people will be killing each other for a can of food or a bottle of water.”
“But what about the police?”
Gordon snorted. “When they realize what's happened they won't stick around, especially when the rioting begins. They'll go home to their families.”
“But that's what they get paid for.”
“Money means nothing now. Besides, what can they do without cars? Some might try to maintain order at first, but...” he trailed off, the gleam in his eye leaving little doubt about his opinion on that.
“I'm scared,” Sasha said, and Gordon pulled her close, burying his head in her hair, looking like all his Christmases had come at once when she didn't pull away.
“Don't worry. I'll protect you,” he said, his voice solemn.
“We – Jack and I – we have a swimming pool.” Sasha's eyes welled with tears again.
Gordon eyes widened. “You do?”
Christopher tuned out, worrying about his family. Suddenly what had been an easy four hour drive seemed an eternity away.
How long would it take to ride his mountain-bike two hundred and eighty plus miles? How long to walk it if he damaged a tire beyond repair? Was it even possible? How much food and water would he have to carry? It wasn't like he'd just be able to stop and buy something. Not according to Gordon anyway.
Suddenly his family was more important than ever. His sister, his young niece and nephew. His mother and his younger brother, still in his last year of high school. And what about his older brother? Christopher had no idea where he even was – it had been months since he'd heard from him.
Then there was his uncle. He'd retired a year ago when Aunt Claude lost her long battle with cancer, and a few weeks ago decided to treat himself to a trip across Europe. Was he stranded somewhere, unable to get home? Just how far did this thing reach?
How would any of them survive if it was really as bad as Gemma and Gordon seemed to think?
* * *
Gemma had no doubt about what had happened – and part of her wished she'd never agreed to let Matty Spencer write that damn paper. Maybe she would have been better off not knowing what was in store.
With no idea what the following days held, a feeling of helplessness began to fill her. How was she going to get back home? It was almost three hundred miles to her farm. It hardly seemed possible that a few hours ago she was boarding the train, anxious about seeing Christopher again after all these years. Home suddenly seemed so far away.
Gemma pulled CJ's photo out, the cheeky smile on his sweet young face bringing a lump to her throat. What sort of world would he grow up in? He'd already been through so much.
The boy had been understandably withdrawn, and as he started to realize his mother was never going to walk through the front door again, he began clinging to Gemma whenever she went around to Daphne's to see him. As though afraid she would leave him too.
They were the closest thing Gemma had to a family. Caroline had been the sister Gemma always wanted, and Daphne had been there for her through her tumultuous teenage years, stepping in long before her mother died.
&nbs
p; And now it was Gemma's turn to step in, to raise young CJ. The possibility had terrified her – it still did. She had no idea how to be a mother, how to raise a child. It never even crossed her mind that Christopher wouldn't take CJ on when he learned he was his father. The Daleys were big on family.
Her biggest fears that morning had revolved around the fact CJ would most likely grow up in the city, her and Daphne speculating on how often either of them would get to see him, and if he would still call her Aunty Gem-Gem when the Daleys swallowed him into their family.
“Is that your son?” Anne leaned over to look at the photograph.
Gemma drew in a deep, shaky breath, her eyes going to Christopher. He was deep in thought, his dark eyes somewhere else, and she wondered what was going through his mind. She was still having trouble believing he'd been so dismissive when she told him CJ was his son.
“No,” Gemma said softly. “He's Christopher's son.”
“Oh,” Anne said, obviously surprised. “I didn't realize he had a child ... I would have thought – after all that trouble with Melinda...” Anne’s brow creased with confusion as she looked up at Christopher.
Gemma knew who Melinda was. She heard Christopher had gotten married a few months after the school anniversary dinner, but it hadn't lasted long from what she knew. The Daleys were often a subject of gossip in their small community.
“He didn't know until today,” Gemma told Anne.
“He didn't? Well, that makes sense then,” Anne said thoughtfully, a look of sly curiosity flitting across her face. “How did he take the news that he was a father?”
Gemma looked down at the photograph again. “He said it wasn't possible. He didn't even want to talk about it – then – then this happened.”
“Where's the boy's mother?” Anne asked.
“She – she died. A couple of weeks ago.”
“You were close to her?” Anne's hand closed over Gemma's, squeezing gently.
Gemma nodded, her breath catching in her throat. “She was like a sister to me.”
Christopher was coming toward them when Gemma looked up again, his face set and determined. A flash of anger rose in her, that he could turn his back on his own child so easily. What sort of a man did that?
But she knew that if she was honest, her anger went deeper than that. She was annoyed with herself, angry that after all these years he could still affect her like this. That as he strode across the room, she felt not only anger, but desire.
“Give him a chance, love. It's a lot to take on.” Anne hesitated a moment before continuing. “Our Christopher had a hard time of it with Melinda...” she trailed off, obviously not wanting to say anymore about the man she worked for.
Looking suddenly uncertain, Christopher paused, running a hand through his thick, dark hair, the frustration and the worry no doubt mirroring exactly what he saw in her own eyes.
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 w
as 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.”
