Darkness Ahead of Us | Book 3 | Darkness Lifting

by Spencer, Leif

The haze in her brain was clearing, revealing new memories every day. Guilt stirred in her chest. How had she got everything so wrong?

  “I wanted to, but I knew that I couldn’t get there and back in a day. I was worried about leaving you alone for that long, and what if something had happened to me on my way to Harlow? Who would have looked after you? Who would have brought you food and medicine?” He shrugged, but there was an element of defiance in his voice as if he was angry at himself for not going home to bury his father. “I can always go back another time.”

  Another time. Chris wondered if that was what he had told himself even though every fibre in his body must have urged him to go.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t…I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

  He scoffed but his features softened. “Birthdays no longer matter.”

  A sad look had fallen over his face and as she studied him, she felt a twinge in her chest. She extended her arm, and he put his hand in hers. Smiling, she leaned towards him and kissed his knuckles. “We’ll bury your father as soon as we can. I promise.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.” He pulled back his hand and absentmindedly stroked the knuckles she’d kissed. “Or smart.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “A lot has happened in the last two months, Mum. It wasn’t nice out there before, but now…now it’s terrifying. People are starving. They’re killing each other for supplies. Gangs have taken over. I hid and watched them. Listened. I knew you’d have questions once you were…”

  “Gangs?”

  “They’re offering armed protection for people’s allotments and gardens. They patrol farms, and they trade medicine for food. All for a sizeable cut of the profit of course.”

  “Tell me more about that family you helped?”

  “The doctor’s name was Paul. He’d stolen an old vehicle from a war museum to drive his family up north.”

  “Clever,” Chris observed.

  Tom grinned and nodded. “His father-in-law owns a dairy farm up there. It’s miles away from the nearest village, and Paul said that they had everything you need to survive.”

  Chris worried her bottom lip, drawing blood. “Weren’t you tempted to go with them?”

  Tom shook his head. “Paul told me about London. It’s burning just like Emily said. No one can get in or out without passing checkpoints manned by armed gangs.”

  “And you trusted that man enough to give me those pills…”

  Tom paled. “Was that a mistake? They made you better.”

  “How do you know he’s really a doctor and wasn’t lying to you?”

  “He set his wife’s wrist after her fall. The bone had—” Tom grimaced. “It was a bloody mess.”

  Chris closed her eyes, once again searching for the memory of the doctor examining her, but there was nothing. She remembered talking to Tony in front of the small barn conversion behind the farmhouse. She remembered the look on Harry’s face and Tom’s disappointment at hearing that she’d killed Maggie.

  There was nothing after that.

  It was as if her brain was a recording device that had malfunctioned at precisely that moment in time.

  “Be honest, Tom. Are we…are we running out of food?”

  “Not quite yet. I’m doing everything I can to keep that from happening.” He pointed at the bookshelves near the sofa. “Those are all about hunting and preparing meat. I’ve been learning.”

  Chris frowned. “You don’t have a rifle.”

  “I’ve made traps.”

  Pride filled her chest. Her son was such a clever young man. “That’s impressive. Did you have to make them yourself? Or did whoever used to live here leave some behind?”

  A self-satisfied grin played on his lips. “I actually made them myself. I followed the instructions in the books. I’ve been using food waste as bait, and I’ve caught a few rabbits which I’ve been grilling over an open fire outside. I’m still not great at the skinning and gutting part, but I’m getting better.”

  Chris grimaced. “Really? Rabbit?”

  “We never had rabbit at home. I like it actually. I prefer it to—” A shadow fell over Tom’s face, and he bit his lip.

  “To what?”

  “Dad’s weekly salmon,” he said softly.

  Chris chuckled. “He made that dish every Tuesday night, didn’t he?”

  “Every. Single. Tuesday. Night.” Tom leaned back and laughed. “Until I couldn’t stand the taste or smell of salmon any longer.” He sighed and wiped his red-rimmed eyes. She wondered when he’d last slept a full eight hours.

  “Is that why you spent almost every Tuesday night at James’?”

  A sheepish grin appeared on his lips. “Yes.”

  “Bless. Your dad was just trying to help.”

  “Did he really only know that one recipe? Couldn’t he have learned to cook something else?” Tom rubbed his neck. “I would have eaten anything as long as it wasn’t salmon. He could have made pasta with tomato sauce every now and then instead. It’s not that hard.”

  “Lester was always very proud of that dish.”

  Tom tilted his head. “I miss him.”

  “I know, sweetie.” I miss him, too. Chris let out a long sigh. “But on the bright side, you might never have to eat salmon again. I doubt we’d catch many on the coast of Essex.”

  Tom pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and showed it to her. “I found this the other day.”

  Chris was reaching for it when a loud crack startled her. Someone was outside. Tom raised his index finger to his lips and gestured for her to duck. He crawled to the window, then waved her over. They sat with their backs against the wall.

  Chris held her breath, listened.

  Another crack, followed by muffled voices.

  Placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder, Chris waited for him to look at her. “Have you locked the door?” she mouthed almost inaudibly.

  He nodded.

  A figure blotted out the light, casting a shadow across the wooden floor. Chris looked up. A man stood with his nose scrunched up against the glass, both of his hands pressed against the window.

  She cowered, held her breath.

  The man shouted something, his words muffled by the glass. Another voice replied.

  “…appears…no food…a…books…a bed…”

  Chris reached for Tom’s hand and squeezed it. He gave her a small smile, but his eyes were wide with fear.

  Someone rattled the doorknob.

  A loud sound reverberated through the entire house as if someone had kicked the door.

  The wood creaked.

  Fists banged against the windowpane.

  Her heart in her throat, Chris’ grip on Tom’s hand tightened. The strangers weren’t going to leave again. They were trying to break in.

  Without weapons—

  Tom inhaled deeply, the tendons in his neck bulging as he yelled, “I’m a hunter. I have a shotgun. Get out of here now or I’ll shoot.”

  Silence was the only reply.

  Tom held his breath and looked up.

  The man stepped away from the window, letting the sunlight back into the room. Dust danced in the bright streaks of light.

  After a few minutes, Chris allowed herself to exhale. “Are they gone?”

  Tom stood and peered through the window. “They’re gone.”

  “We need some kind of weapon.”

  “I know.”

  Her heart was still pounding, but her headache was gone. Chris got to her feet and walked over to the bed. She reached for the folded paper Tom had handed her.

  Yellowed by rain, it was curling at the edges. She unfolded it, studying the scribbles with narrowed eyes. It looked like someone’s handwritten attempt at designing a flyer.

  We are a small, helpful community. Please consider joining our settlement. The more the merrier.

  Below, someone had scribbled an address next to a badly drawn map.

  �
�Sounds like a bunch of fools.”

  Tom’s face fell. “We need help, Mum. We can’t survive on our own. After what just happened, surely you realise that we should go and check it out?”

  “If I wanted to lure people somewhere…” Chris pointed at the flyer. “This is exactly how I’d do it.”

  “To what end?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Rob them? Kill them?”

  “Why do you always expect the worst of people?”

  Chris silently studied Tom’s face for a long moment. Frustration stirred in her chest.

  Why couldn’t he understand that—

  No.

  He’d survived for two months without her help, and he’d kept her safe. He’d looked after her. He’d procured food, water and medicine.

  She owed him her life.

  Smiling sadly, Chris said, “If you think checking out this settlement is a good idea, we’ll go and check it out. I know we’ve done things my way so far and you’re right…it didn’t go so well. It’s time I listened to you.”

  Tom grinned. “It’s decided then. We’ll leave as soon as you’re feeling better.”

  Chris was deep in thought when the door creaked open. Her heart in her throat, she looked up, but it was only Tom.

  He heaved a suitcase inside, locked the door behind him, then shook himself like a wet dog. Droplets spattered against the wall. “It’s awful out there.”

  Chris acknowledged his words with a frown and peered out of the window. It was late morning, but the sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds. Rain battered the forest ground, turning colourful leaves into brown mulch. A draught blew through the cracks in the wood.

  Outside, the brisk breeze brought with it a hint of the approaching cold front.

  “Are you sure you’re well enough to walk twenty miles?” Tom’s damp curls stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks were red from the chill in the air. He threw the key onto the table and stifled a yawn.

  Chris nodded. She didn’t feel safe and hadn’t stopped worrying about intruders since Tom had chased away the strangers by pretending to own a shotgun the day before.

  At the very least, they needed a weapon. Something they could use to defend themselves.

  “I’ve brought you lemon juice and cayenne chilli pepper,” Tom said as if reading her thoughts. “There’s an empty spray bottle underneath the sink. I should have thought of your pepper spray sooner. I just didn’t…”

  Chris smiled at him. “That’s okay. You’ve never liked the thought of hurting others.”

  “I guess sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “It is.”

  “I found a small plane today.” He shuffled to the door and pulled the battered suitcase into the room. “It had crashed north of Takeley. One of the passengers had gift-wrapped food in their luggage.” He opened it and pulled out a box of Yorkshire tea, waving it around triumphantly. “Tea and biscuits anyone?”

  Chris grinned. “Yes, please.”

  “Give me a few minutes.” He placed a saucepan filled with bottled water over a terracotta pot containing lit tea lights. While waiting for the water to boil, he piled biscuits onto a plate. “There were rats everywhere, gnawing through the luggage.”

  Giving an involuntary shudder at the thought, Chris rubbed her arms. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she peered back outside. The rain was finally letting up, and fine mist rose in tendrils from the forest ground.

  “They’re big. One tried to bite me.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “One suitcase was empty. I don’t think whoever had been there before me realised the gifts contained food.”

  “Tom?”

  He dipped his little finger into the saucepan and frowned. “Yes?”

  “I think I’m ready to leave.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Chris nodded.

  Tom poured the steaming water into two mugs before handing her one. “I had some long-life milk, but I’ve used it all. I’m sorry.”

  His small talk sounded forced, as though he was worried that she might fall apart at any moment if he said the wrong thing.

  “This is perfect.” Chris sat down on the sofa, dipped a Custard Cream into her tea and took a bite. She closed her eyes, savouring the flavours.

  She’d never found biscuits particularly exciting and preferred a savoury snack instead. What a difference two months made…

  Her thoughts drifted to Anna and Chris wondered—not for the first time—if the woman was still in her small flat on Fifth Avenue and whether she was all right. Anna was the only reason they’d made it this far. If she hadn’t told Chris to stock up on supplies the night of the EMP…

  But that wasn’t important now.

  They were safe. Tom and her.

  That was the only thing that mattered.

  Chris took another bite of her biscuit before dunking it back into her mug. She watched as it darkened, soaking up the tea. The mug warmed her hands and she sighed contentedly.

  “Do you know what would make this perfect? Hot chocolate made with milk. None of that add hot water to powder stuff. I’m talking about a proper hot chocolate.” She pushed the rest of the biscuit into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  Tom’s eyes darkened, and Chris wondered if he was thinking of Adam and his kitten. At least that’s what came to her mind whenever she thought of milk. She felt a pang of sadness knowing that she hadn’t been able to save the young man.

  She’d tried so hard to prove that she was invaluable.

  It simply wasn’t fair that he’d died at the tender age of eighteen from a burst appendix of all things.

  Adam should have lived a full, long life—his twenties filled with parties and girls—settling down with a lovely wife in his thirties. Or not settling down at all. Adam should have had the choice to do whatever he wanted. Instead, life had been ripped away from him. No one deserved to die crippled by a debilitating fever, screaming in pain, chin coated in spit.

  She looked up and met Tom’s concerned stare. “Are you sure you’re well enough to—”

  “Stop fretting. I’m fine, Tom.”

  He handed her another biscuit. “Chocolate Digestive. Your favourite.” He smiled, and for the first time since she’d clawed her way out of the fog, it reached his eyes.

  She took his hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you.” Hope warmed her chest. Hope that her son was able to forgive—

  Stop lying to yourself. You’re a monster.

  Chris gave a sudden jolt at the vicious tone and almost dropped her mug.

  “Mum? What is it?”

  Chris shook her head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” What was she supposed to say? I just don’t know how to shut up the voices in my head.

  The fog in her mind had lifted, but the voices remained. Stubborn. Loud. And cruel.

  Chris finished her tea and handed the mug back to Tom. “When are we leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning.” Tom retrieved the map from his pocket and spread it out on the table. His handwriting was all over it. He’d marked their location, crossed off spots. “We’ll head east until we find the A120. It should take us right to the settlement.” He looked up and scratched his chin. “Didn’t Anna walk along that road on her way to Colchester?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did she mention having any problems along the way?”

  Chris frowned. “If I remember correctly there was a roadblock near Braintree.”

  Anna had walked the entire way with a bad knee, desperate to find her sister, and Chris wondered what it felt like to love a sibling. Anna had been limping by the time she had returned to Harlow, her knee causing her much distress.

  Chris studied her son’s face. She knew what it was like to love a son. Love washed over her whenever she looked at him, but she’d never liked her brother. And Stuart most definitely didn’t like her.

  If someone told her that he had died, she wouldn’t feel pain, wouldn’t grieve.

/>   Family beyond Lester and Tom had always been a foreign concept to her.

  See? You are a monster.

  No!

  It wasn’t her fault that her brother blamed her for their parents’ death. It wasn’t her fault that her grandmother had been a cruel woman.

  Chris had made mistakes. More than one. But she wasn’t a monster.

  Leave me alone, please. I’m begging you.

  Maggie only cackled in reply, the sound reverberating in Chris’ mind. She pressed her palms against her ears, muttering to herself.

  “Mum?”

  The sofa cushions moved as Tom sat down next to her. He frowned. “I don’t think we should leave just yet. You need a few more days to recover.”

  “No. You were right. We need to leave. We’re defenceless here. We can’t survive on our own. I’ll be…I’ll be fine.”

  Chris threw a harsh look down at herself. She’d stopped at nothing to keep her son safe, and perhaps that had been wrong.

  No. She knew that it had been wrong.

  She’d made mistakes.

  Especially with Maggie, but the woman—

  You’re dangerous!

  Tony wouldn’t have let them stay, not if Maggie had told him that Chris was a liability. A danger to his people.

  Unstable.

  A monster!

  “No,” Chris said out loud, gritting her teeth. She’d made mistakes. That didn’t make her a monster. It made her human. She’d accept any other term: ruthless, cunning, unscrupulous.

  But she wasn’t a monster.

  She lifted her chin defiantly, facing Maggie’s image looming at the edges of her mind.

  Tom was alive because of her. That didn’t make her a monster. It made her a fierce mother.

  She’d do anything to keep her son—

  No! Thinking like that had got her into this mess. Thinking like that was the reason they’d had to leave the farm.

  Her memories of how they had left were still hazy. Chris remembered Emily’s sweetness and the soft meows of Adam’s kitten. She remembered Harry’s gruff smile and the family’s silent grief after Adam had died.

  She remembered looking at them hugging each other, wondering if that was what it felt like to be part of a family.

  The fog in her mind was lifting, it was no longer a thick curtain, impenetrable and dense. Instead, it was now a light mist. She could wander through it, but some memories remained stubbornly out of her reach.