Dark Days: The Long Road Home ✪ free preview

Chapter 3.1

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Twenty minutes later Christopher was staring out the window of the waiting area, trying to absorb what he was hearing. It hardly seemed possible - but if what Gemma and Gordon were saying was true  - they had literally been thrown back to the dark ages.

He had vague recollections about the warnings from NASA early in 2012, but like most of the population, he hadn't really taken any of it very seriously. He led a busy life, he didn't have time for what ifs and maybes.

In the distance plumes of smoke were rising into the air, the reality of what he was seeing starting to sink in as his gaze drifted to the one most likely caused by the plane crash.

On the street below pockets of people were forming into small groups. Others sat in their cars, the doors wide open in the heat of the day. Some sat on the curb, or in bus shelters, waiting for help that was unlikely to come anytime soon. A woman with a screaming toddler under one arm struggled to pull a stroller from the trunk of her car, her frightened face breaking into a smile when a teenage girl grabbed the stroller and set it on the ground, both of them laughing at her clumsy attempts to pull it open.

So far there was none of the panic that Gordon Greenvale– their very own doomsayer – was trying to warn them about. Gordon regarded himself as something of an expert, having coming out of the closet about his secret penchant for apocalyptic thrillers, spurting random bits of fiction as though they were fact. There was an almost manic gleam in his eye as he prowled about.

"You might want to slow down on that," Anne said, the disapproval clear in her tone.

Christopher turned away from the window with a heavy sigh. Anne's face was strained as she watched Sasha attempt to pour another drink, her hand shaking so badly that very little was going into the glass.

Sasha wobbled slightly in those ridiculous high heels as she turned on Anne, her mouth curling into an ugly sneer and her words slurring slightly. "Why? If whash – what – you're all saying is true, it's the end of the world."

"That's no reason to drink yourself into a coma," Anne narrowed her eyes.

"I just lost my husband," Sasha's eyes brimmed with tears, her hand shaking more violently.

"Here, let me help," Christopher's hand closed over Sasha's cold fingers as he steadied her, allowing a small nip to pass into the glass before swiftly pulling the bottle away.

"Th – thanks," Sasha said, half sob, half hiccup.

"You know – that stuff will be probably be more valuable than gold soon," Gordon eyed off the liquor bottle.

Sasha glowered at Gordon before turning a bright smile on Christopher, thrusting her chest out. "I don't understand why shomeone – someone – can't just turn the –  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 that apparently meant anything anymore – was only a few rooms away.

Gemma glanced up, hergamine 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. He was having trouble taking in the enormity of what they were suggesting... surely things couldn't be that bad.