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

by May, L M

  Instinctively, Christopher cradled her against his chest. One hand automatically stroked her soft, wispy hair to calm her as Megan tried to tame the wobbly rope ladder.

  A thin, pale arm came through the hatch, dumping a large navy-blue diaper bag on the roof. A moment later Megan's head appeared, startled blue eyes widening as the reality of the situation hit her.

  Biting her bottom lip, Megan reached for the cables to pull herself out.

  “No," Christopher snapped, "they're covered in grease.”

  “Oh.” Megan's gaze fell on the metal ladder.

  Christopher could see her thoughts churning as she realized what came next.

  Megan closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Then bracing herself with her arms, she pulled herself up until she was sitting on the edge of the hatch, her skinny jean clad legs dangling down.

  Thankfully Becky had quieted, but she was still holding onto his neck for dear life, her little face mesmerized by the fire above.

  “Is now a good time to mention I'm afraid of heights?” Megan asked.

  Shit. Now what? He was close to panic himself, and this little announcement didn't do anything for his racing heart.

  “Actually terrified would be more accurate,” Megan amended.

  Christopher just stared at her, but when Becky nuzzled into his neck, his years of working with clients kicked in.

  “The way I see it, you have two choices,” Christopher grunted.

  “I do?”

  “You can stay here and let your fear kill you. Or you can deal with it.”

  “You're right.” Megan nodded, the struggle to stay calm shining determinedly in her eyes even as her hands shook as she pulled the bag toward her.

  She took a striped purse out of the side compartment, and tried to jam it into her jeans pocket. It was hopeless. The denim was so tight it looked as though it had been painted on.

  “Pain in the ass to replace all that plastic,” Megan shrugged.

  She had no idea what had happened! That her plastic was just plastic.

  Christopher pointed at the bag, his tone gentle. “Do you have anything in there I can secure your daughter with?”

  “Um – no – I don't think so.”

  Megan's eyes suddenly brightened. She detached the plastic clips holding the strap to the bag.

  “That's a good start,” Christopher approved as she held up a sturdy length of canvas.

  Megan unzipped the bag, and started pulling things out. Diapers, an empty bottle, a fruit box, a package of wipes. “We could put her in the bag.”

  Christopher shook his head. It was a good idea, but there was no way he'd be able to heave the bag up the ladder with a struggling child in it.

  “My jeans,” Megan said.

  “Your jeans?”

  “We could use them to tie her to me.”

  “I think it would be better if I took her,” Christopher said carefully.

  Christopher saw the struggle in Megan's eyes. The need to keep her daughter close. But then Megan looked dubiously at the ladder again, and with the fear of a mother who knows the danger that lies ahead, she nodded her head solemnly.

  “I would be wearing my granny panties,” Megan scowled.

  Christopher gaped at her, quickly averting his eyes as she unzipped her jeans.

  “Granny panties, huh?” Despite the awkwardness of the moment, Christopher couldn't help the chuckle that rose in his throat. “Never heard that one before.”

  Christopher balked at the idea of the frightened young woman having to climb the ladder, her rear end exposed, in her granny panties. “Wait. It would be better if we use mine.”

  “It would?” Megan asked.

  “My legs are longer than yours,” Christopher said. “But you're going to have to help – your daughter doesn't seem to want to let go of me.”

  To prove his point, Becky whimpered as he tried to relax her fierce grip on his neck.

  “She feels safe with you.” Megan finally pulled her dangling legs from the safety of the hatch. “She can sense that I'm a nervous wreck.”

  “Are you okay to hold her?”

  Nodding her head, Megan slowly stood, glancing down into the darkness beside them. “Just how high are we?”

  “Keep your eyes on me,” Christopher said, seeing the beginnings of panic in her face.

  Megan nodded her head quickly, almost desperately, her words tumbling from her mouth. “That shouldn't be too hard. You're pretty easy on the eyes.”

  Her mouth dropped open, forming a perfect O. “Sorry – I didn't mean to say that. It's just – it's my nerves. Makes me ramble. And hot guys like you always make me nervous. Geez – see – there I go again.”

  His mind on what they needed to do, Christopher ignored Megan's outburst. “You'll have to undo my belt,” he said. She was still far too shaky to hold her daughter.

  Megan's face flushed bright red, and Christopher deliberately lightened his tone. “And no perving, young lady.”

  “I won't – really. I promise,” Megan said. Then realizing he was joking, she smiled uncertainly, a bit of fire returning to her eyes. “Not that you aren't totally perv worthy.”

  A few minutes later – the two of them a little redder in the face – Christopher held the squirming infant at an awkward angle as Megan pulled the pants over her daughter's legs and chest.

  As soon as she was done, Becky wrapped her legs tightly around Christopher's waist again.

  “Okay – now tie the legs behind me as tight as you can,” Christopher instructed.

  Megan shuffled behind him, yanking at the pants.

  "Maybe not quite that tight," Christopher gasped.

  "Sorry." Megan tugged at the pants. "Do you think it will hold?”

  “How many knots are there?”

  “I don't know, about ten? I just kept going until there was nothing left.”

  “It'll hold,” Christopher said.

  He tried not to let the worry show in his voice. Because once they were up there – if Becky wasn't secured properly – the consequences would be fatal.

  “Now what?” Megan asked.

  “The strap. Pass it to me.”

  Craning his chin over Becky's shoulder, Christopher threaded it through the belt loops at the back of the pants.

  Amazingly the child didn't wriggle or squirm. Maybe she sensed how important this was.

  “Here, let me.” Megan took over. "Give me your arm."

  The strap was a long length of canvas that had been joined at the ends. Megan threaded one of the ends over his arm, up to his shoulder, then did the same on the other side.

  Christopher shrugged his shoulders. The strap slid down his arm. “It's too loose.”

  And even if it were tight enough it would restrict his movements.

  “I'm not done yet.” Megan grabbed his belt, all traces of the terrified teen gone as she focused on her task.

  She stood behind him and threaded it between the straps behind his shoulders, pulling it into the centre of his back.

  “Clever girl,” Christopher said, rotating his shoulders once she'd secured it.

  “I'm still not done.”

  She grabbed a green sweater from the bag, and standing in front of him, poked it under the straps. She drew them in until they were about three inches apart on his chest, taking the pressure of his shoulders and securing Becky close to his chest.

  The light suddenly flickered and dimmed.

  Megan let out a tiny shriek that she attempted to stifle, but when the light went out completely, she clung to Christopher as fiercely as Becky.

  As ink-black dark pushed in on them, Christopher felt his heart stutter. Disorientated – and with no idea how close to the edge they were – all he could do was bend his knees against the sudden weight of Megan.

  6

  Christopher scrambled to gather his wits. The weight of the dark was thick and oppressive, making it hard to think.

  He had no idea what he'd done with Ge
mma's key-light and searching for it wasn't exactly a viable option.

  With one arm circled around Megan to steady her, he slowly tilted his head, afraid of making any sudden movements.

  His senses had kicked into overdrive. He could smell a musty oil odor mingling with the flowery scent of Megan's shampoo.

  “Hang on,” Robert shouted.

  A miniature flame flared, then the second, smaller torch was burning. It wouldn't last long.

  “Where's Gemma?” Christopher asked.

  Donavon's head appeared. “She went with Anne to try and put another torch together.”

  Christopher heard the warning in Donavon's voice.

  “Megan?” Christopher said softly.

  Megan looked up, bumping his chin, her eyes wide and scared.

  Hating what he felt he had to do, Christopher made his voice firm. “You need to go up the ladder. Now.”

  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he turned her so she was facing the ladder.

  “You go first.” Megan stared into the darkness beside them.

  “Megan, you can't let your fear overtake you,” Christopher said gently.

  “No. It's not that. I – I'm worried I'll fall.”

  “You're as good as dead if you stay here.”

  “I know. But you need to go first. If – if I fall – I might knock you both off. Please. Go. Before I change my mind. The idea of getting on that ladder on my own...” she broke off, taking a deep breath as she picked up her purse.

  She pulled something out, and thrust it at Christopher.

  It was her driver's license.

  “It has my address on it. Just in case. Becky's dad ... just go. Please.”

  “I'll see you at the top,” Christopher said.

  “Okay.” Megan managed a wavery smile, then holding her nose to her daughter's head, she breathed in the smell of her. “Mommy loves you baby girl.”

  Megan lifted her head. “Go,” she mouthed.

  Turning his back on Megan was one of the hardest things Christopher had ever done.

  But he also knew there was no way Megan would change her mind. Besides, she had a point. And if she froze, he'd be trapped below her, unable to do a thing about it.

  Stepping onto the ladder, he absently kissed the top of Becky's head, before turning to Megan. “Just don't look down.”

  Christopher's chest shuddered as he breathed in deeply, and grabbed hold of the ladder. He looked up.

  Gemma was back. Her dark hair and sweater faded into the inky surroundings so that her face seemed to float above him.

  She looked like an angel.

  * * *

  Gemma found it hard to watch as Christopher moved slowly and deliberately up the ladder, his body angled to compensate for the child.

  So many things could go wrong.

  All she could see was the top of his dark head, contrasting with the small patch of Becky's hair in the gloomy light.

  “Megan? You with me?” Christopher asked.

  “Yep. Don't worry about me,” Megan said. “Just keep going.”

  “Nothing in the world can stop me now,” Christopher grunted.

  “I'm counting on it.”

  The long shadow of Christopher's body blocked Megan's view of the ladder, and Gemma leaned out further, the edges of the jagged wall pressing into her hips.

  A sharp twinge stabbed the muscles between her thumb and first finger, and she adjusted her hand.

  “I can't hear you,” Christopher said.

  “I'm right behind you.”

  Christopher looked up, the planes of his tense face distorted by the shadows of the torch. The whites of his eyes flared as he widened them questioningly at Gemma.

  Torn – not wanting to put any extra pressure on him – Gemma hesitated.

  “No you're not,” Christopher said.

  “But I will be. I just – I just want to make sure Becky's safe first.”

  Christopher locked eyes with Gemma, tension oozing from his pores. His face was clouded with worry for the young mother.

  It was a look she'd seen often when they were together, and guilt flared as the adult in her acknowledged what she'd put him through as a teen.

  For the first time, she saw their relationship in a different light, and she felt her heart softening.

  If she wasn't careful she'd become a gooey mess and fall for him all over again.

  Christopher looped his elbow through the ladder, and twisted his body so he could look down.

  “Megan,” his voice was gentle but firm. “It's time.”

  “I'm scared,” Megan's voice trembled.

  “You can't let your fear beat you,” Christopher said gruffly. “Your daughter needs you.”

  Gemma stared at the torch with horror as the light suddenly dimmed, the fear in Christopher's face mirroring her own as his head snapped back.

  “How's that torch going?” Gemma hissed.

  Robert was holding a thin metal pole steady while Anne and Donavon tied scraps of material to it, their hands bumping together.

  “Almost done.” Anne looked a little frazzled as she swiped her brow, the neat knot of her silvery ash-gray hair sitting slightly askew.

  Donavon’s large hand closed over Anne’s, squeezing tightly.

  “That will have to do–"

  In the shaft there was a dull thud, and Christopher cursed. Then suddenly Becky started screaming.

  Anne's hand went to her chest. Donavon pulled Anne into his arms, resting his chin on her head.

  “Becky?”

  Megan's terrified cry tore through Gemma as she spun back to the shaft. This time the cramp that seized her muscles didn't let up. Her arm twisted.

  She could only watch with horror as the torch smashed against the shaft wall. Small flecks of material broke away, flaring briefly as they floated down.

  “She's fine,” Christopher grunted over Becky's screams. “Your daughter's head is hard as a rock. She clocked me good and proper.”

  Wincing, Gemma grabbed the torch with her other hand, alarmed to see that the fragments were barely holding together.

  The last threads burned away. The scraps of bandage flared bright red as they fell past Christopher and Becky. Then the shaft was plunged into darkness again.

  “Gemma?” Christopher roared.

  Gemma's heart contracted. “Quick. The other torch.” She pulled in the metal handle, the tip glowing bright red.

  Donavon flicked the lighter several times.

  It was dead.

  “Shit. What are we going to do?” Gemma could feel panic rising.

  “Gemma. Get some light down here,” Christopher shouted as Becky's screams grew louder.

  “Becky. Becky?”

  The terror in Megan's voice cut through Gemma as she stared at the useless torch.

  Anne touched the tip of it to the red ends of the metal handle Gemma was still holding. The bandage smoldered. A small black hole formed.

  Then miraculously a bright flame was ripping across it as it consumed the oil.

  “Out of the way,” Robert grunted.

  Gemma moved aside as Robert poked the torch into the shaft.

  Megan – her maternal instincts far stronger than her fear – was half a dozen rungs below Christopher, her voice a soft murmur as she tried to soothe her daughter.

  Megan's face looked strangely contorted as she clung to the ladder. Her shoulders shook as she made a strange sort of choking sound.

  “What?” Christopher's voice was urgent.

  “Nothing,” Megan choked back.

  “You're laughing?”

  “Would you prefer it if I started screaming?” Megan asked, the fear creeping back into her voice. “Because that could easily be arranged.”

  “No,” Christopher said carefully. “I'm just having trouble seeing the funny side to this.”

  “It's just,” Megan paused. “I – I think I preferred it when I couldn't see.”

  “That has got to be the craziest thing I've
ever heard,” Christopher said.

  “Well – you've lived a pretty sheltered life then,” Megan responded. “Now move that cute tush of yours before I remember how scared I am.”

  “That's the girl,” Robert said.

  “You have to admit,” Anne said demurely, “he does have the most delectable rear end.”

  “Anne!” Donavon was shocked, but Gemma couldn't wipe the grin off her face.

  Anne winked at Gemma. “What – it's the end of the world and I can't speak my mind?”

  “Since when have you not spoken your mind,” Donavon said, but there was a smile on his face.

  “I can hear you, you know,” Christopher growled, which only set Megan off again.

  “How's Becky?” Gemma squeezed in beside Robert, realizing how quiet the child suddenly was. What if she had a concussion? She'd hit Christopher's head pretty hard by the sound of it.

  Gemma immediately regretted her words, but to her relief, it was Megan who responded.

  “She screamed herself to sleep. Happens all the time when she's teething.”

  It was another ten painful minutes before Christopher's sweat covered face was level with Gemma's, his dark gaze never leaving hers after a terrifying moment when Megan lost her footing.

  The shadows in the building had grown so deep that the light cast strange, eerie shadows on the walls behind them.

  Robert pulled the torch out, and the walls nearest them absorbed its orange glow.

  Gemma normally liked the soft light of fire. But with Megan shaking in the dark below Christopher, it held an ominous quality to it.

  “Did I say I liked it better when it was dark?” Megan asked shakily.

  “Chin up,” Robert said. “You'll be out before you know it.”

  His eyes still boring into Gemma's, Christopher moved to the edge of the ladder.

  He was so close. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She squeezed her fists so hard her nails bit her palms. He wasn't out of danger yet.

  Christopher's body tensed as Becky stirred. Fear clouded his face.

  Becky sighed loudly, and drew her thumb deeper into her mouth. Her rosy cheek mashed against Christopher's chest as she burrowed into him.

  “Donavon? I'm going to need your help,” Christopher said, and Gemma started to move out of the way.