Darkness Ahead of Us | Book 2 | Darkness Falling Read online

  She couldn’t afford not to trust her sister.

  She’d been down that path before. It was lonely, and there was only death waiting at the end of it.

  Her sister wouldn’t turn on her. Not now. Their father had lost his power over her a long time ago.

  When Sarah didn’t move, Anna switched on her torch. “Sarah?”

  A single tear rolled down her sister’s cheek. “It was a bit more complicated than that,” she whispered.

  “Did you hurt the soldier?” Anna asked, but Sarah shook her head. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’ll tell you later. You’re right. We need this weapon.” Sarah removed the gun from the soldier’s grip, bending his fingers back one by one.

  Anna knew better than to pry. Later, Sarah had said, and whenever Sarah didn’t want to discuss something, she meant it.

  She watched as Sarah checked the soldier’s pockets and belt for ammunition. He was carrying a spare magazine and Sarah put it and the gun into her backpack.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and Anna bit her lip.

  Fear coiled in her stomach like a snake—its touch cold, spreading like ice through her veins. Ahead of her lay a journey leading her back to her father, and now that her sister had gone quiet, Anna suddenly felt alone.

  She didn’t want to go.

  You never had much sense, he used to say. I hope it’s not too late for me to knock some sense into you.

  Her mother had tried to protect Anna, but Sarah had believed her daddy. Had believed that Anna deserved their father’s wrath. That Anna could have stopped him, if only she’d behaved.

  If only she’d been more like Sarah.

  Sarah had only been six when he’d given Anna a black eye for the first time. Before then, it had been screaming, shouting, humiliation. A slap here and there. A burning cheek. Shame. Tears.

  But when she was eleven, he’d caught her putting on make-up to go to a birthday party. You never had much sense. And he’d punched her.

  Later that night, when Anna had been crying in bed, Sarah poked her head into the room. Dad wouldn’t have to get angry if you behaved, you know, she’d said. Like me. He never gets cross with me.

  It had taken an expensive therapist for Anna to understand that her father’s anger hadn’t been her fault.

  And that it hadn’t been Sarah’s fault either.

  They’d forged a fragile friendship during their mum’s brief illness. Their father would sit on the sofa, drinking, while the sisters took care of their mother together.

  She’s ugly now, he’d said, pointing at her hair falling out in clumps.

  The experience bound them together, and Anna had been taking care of Sarah ever since.

  Anna could only imagine what Sarah would have achieved if she’d been the one to move out early and hadn’t been stuck in an empty house with him after their mother’s death. If she hadn’t fallen apart and sought refuge in a string of endless parties and alcohol.

  By that point, Anna had closed herself off. Built a wall around herself.

  But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that they needed shelter to survive.

  She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was to come. “Let’s go.”

  Half an hour later, they reached their father’s bungalow and, thankfully, hadn’t had to use their firearms or come across any more dead bodies. The property was surrounded by a big garden, hidden away from the road, shielded by hedges and trees.

  He’d bought the house with the help of a small inheritance from his aunt shortly after he’d married their mother.

  Still, he’d never called it their house. Always his. That should have been the first sign that she should have divorced him, Anna thought. But their mother had always insisted that she’d made a promise to God and she wasn’t going to break that promise. No matter what.

  They turned off their torches and approached from the other side of the road. Large windows looked out onto the driveway. His dirty old BMW was parked in front of the house.

  Anna’s former bedroom was to the left of the front door. All the curtains were drawn. Two candles illuminated the living room on the other side. A curtain twitched, revealing a woman’s figure silhouetted against the candlelight and Anna ducked down, kneeling behind the hedge. “Somebody else is inside.”

  “Are you sure it’s not him?”

  Anna nodded. “It looked like a woman.”

  “Any sign of Dad?”

  “No.”

  “He could be hurt,” Sarah said. “They could be burglars.” She removed the gun from her belt.

  “Do you even know what you’re doing with that?”

  “I think so.”

  Anna raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “I just turn off the safety, and—”

  Anna winced, protecting her ears with her hands.

  “I’m not going to fire it now, silly.”

  A bright streak on the horizon announced the coming sunrise.

  “Let’s sneak in through the garage just to be safe,” Anna said.

  Her sister didn’t acknowledge her words and instead rushed across the driveway. Anna followed, apprehension drying her mouth.

  As far as she knew, he was living by himself. At least he had been the last time she’d visited. To be fair, that had been Christmas. A lot could change in seven months.

  Perhaps a neighbour was staying with him?

  Anna tried to remember the neighbours from her childhood, but apart from Louisa who to this day lived three houses further up the road, she drew a blank.

  Louisa did his washing, had been doing so for a small fee ever since their mother had passed away. She was a seventy-year-old widow who was glad to have something to do.

  But the woman behind the curtain had looked far too young to be Louisa.

  Sarah used her key to open the garage door. In the dark, they couldn’t see anything standing in their way. Anna knocked over a metal watering can and froze, covering her mouth with a hand. She held her breath and listened. No sound came from inside.

  Sarah pressed her ear against the door to the house. “It’s quiet inside.” She unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

  Anna unclipped Oreo’s lead and dropped it to the floor. “Stay close.”

  The master bedroom was on the left, and light spilled into the hallway through the open door. Anna tiptoed over the worn carpet.

  Whoever she’d seen was in the living room at the front of the house. She considered sending Oreo ahead, but the small Border Collie cowered behind her, his tail between his legs. Could he smell her fear? Hear her pounding heart?

  She took a deep breath and gave her sister a nod before entering the master bedroom.

  Their father lay in his bed, covered by a thick duvet.

  Anna raised her torch and switched it on, pointing it in his direction. His chin was scruffy with grey stubble visible from afar. His face was pale, his skin almost ashen. His breathing appeared laboured.

  Oreo approached the bed and sniffed their father’s face. He whined.

  “Dad?” Sarah whispered. She rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “He feels clammy.” Her fingers found his neck and after a few seconds she turned to Anna. “His pulse is quick. Erratic.”

  Anna sniffed. “It smells weird in here. Like nail polish remover.” She illuminated their father’s face with her torch.

  Dried vomit caked his chin and the top of the duvet.

  “Dad?” Sarah asked, shaking his shoulders. “Why won’t he wake up?”

  Anna sniffed the air again, then swallowed. It was permeated by the sickly smell of acetone. “That smell. He needs insulin. His sugar levels must be through the roof.”

  “Check the fridge?” Sarah suggested.

  Anna shrugged. “No electricity, remember? He might have stored the insulin somewhere else.”

  Sarah rummaged through the bedside table. Movement caught Anna’s eye, and she turned around.

  A woman stood in the doorwa
y. She was clutching a serrated knife, her eyes wide, her face contorted with a mix of fear and fury. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Her voice was shrill and piercing.

  Oreo wagged his tail and scurried to the stranger to say hello.

  2

  Chris stopped behind a bench near the towpath leading up to the canal lock and placed her hands on the backrest. The pounding in her head had dulled, but her taut neck muscles felt as if they were on fire. She stretched her calves by gently pushing one leg back and waited for the tightness in her muscles to ease.

  Tom skimmed a stone across the water, his features indistinct in the dark.

  Chris closed her eyes and listened to the gentle burbling of the river. It was a mild summer night, warm but not overly so. So far, the weather had been ideal for living through an apocalypse. The power going out in the middle of a blistering January night in the French mountains—now that would have been different.

  She frowned thinking of winter, wondering whether a mild summer meant they were more likely to get heavy snow. The universe’s idea of a joke.

  Without heating—

  Don’t think about that just yet.

  Winter was several months away. They had time to prepare. Who knew if they’d even still be ali—

  Don’t think about that either.

  “Are we following the river for much longer?” she asked her son. Without her phone, she was hopelessly lost. And although she was more comfortable in her car, she still relied on the Sat Nav’s directions.

  She had no idea how to get to the farm on foot. James had been Tom’s best friend for over a decade, but it had been his father, Tony, who’d usually picked up and dropped off the boys.

  A mosquito buzzed next to her ear, and she swatted at another that had settled on her arm. Staring at the bloody insect smeared on her palm, she shuddered, then wiped it off on her trousers.

  “Depends,” Tom said, throwing another stone across the water. He pulled a crumpled map from his pocket. “We’d be faster sticking to the road, but you said it would be safer along the river.”

  “Hm.” Chris shifted her weight and stretched her other leg.

  As far as she knew, London had been plunged into chaos. Of course, thirty days without food was all it took for people to starve, but they’d turned on each other much faster than that.

  Had it really been two weeks already since most electronics had stopped working? Everyone had to know the situation was dire by now. Even those who’d initially believed the government would be able to repair the national grid and turn the lights back on had to be scrambling for supplies.

  Anyone they came across was a potential threat. People like the soldier, John, who had thought his family’s survival the only thing that mattered. Someone willing to do whatever it took to keep their loved ones safe. Even kill.

  Or worse. Someone like her manager, Mike, who had been eager to finally be in charge, take matters into his own hands and declare himself the new sheriff in town.

  You’re willing to kill, Lester’s voice reminded her. You poisoned that soldier to make sure he wouldn’t come back.

  Chris hoped people like them were unlikely to walk along the river. What for? There was nothing down there. No food, no supplies. Only murky water and a gravelled towpath.

  Tom studied the map.

  He’d been a Scout for two years before joining the football club. He despised camping, but Chris had told him that he needed to pick at least one activity that took him outdoors and kept him moving. Unlike his computers.

  What he did had been up to him.

  Chris doubted Tom much preferred football to camping, but he never complained. He knew when not to argue with her.

  He stuck out his tongue in concentration as he traced the map with his index finger.

  Chris smiled at the sight. Her son was gentle and kind. Always had been. She never saw a trace of the anger she carried within herself.

  And she’d searched for it—had watched him like a hawk.

  As a child, she’d ripped the heads off her dolls and punched her cuddly toys. Sometimes, she’d thrown them at the wall before removing their stuffing.

  The cat she had tried to strangle had been the first living thing she’d hurt physically.

  She’d never done that again.

  Not until two weeks ago. Not until Mike had threatened her and her son.

  The cat’s bulging eyes haunted her to this day.

  Chris hadn’t liked how it had made her feel afterwards. Once the initial surge of power had died down, and the guilt had bubbled to the surface.

  But the act had released the pressure of her anger. Deflated her like a punctured tyre. As if someone had opened a vent and all the pent-up frustration had oozed out of her.

  As a teenager, she’d learned to hurt with words instead. She’d always liked the way it felt when they hit the bull’s eye. When people’s faces fell, or when their expressions shifted ever so slightly as they tried to hide that she’d hurt them.

  But words never helped alleviate her anger, and so it had become her permanent companion—a fury she could neither contain nor control. Until she’d met Lester.

  It had never surfaced around Lester. Somehow, his touch had soothed her rage. For a time.

  That’s why she’d liked being in his arms.

  She’d never told him. Never confessed that sometimes—often—she wanted to hurt everyone in the world. Even him.

  Chris never knew when her companion would make an appearance either. Sitting in traffic, stuck behind an elderly person at the till, walking behind dawdling pedestrians taking up the entire pavement, and suddenly her anger would show its ugly face.

  Happy one moment, she’d wonder what it would feel like to kick the person in front of her the next.

  And then rage would consume her.

  She wouldn’t see red. She’d be red. All of her. It filled her insides, seeping into every corner of her body and consuming her whole.

  She’d never found another vent, another way to get rid of it.

  A hug from Lester or later from Tom kept it at bay. Kept it silent. They’d grounded her. Kept her sane.

  But now Lester was gone. Tom barely spoke to her. And she could feel her companion waking up.

  Chris sniffed, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. What was she going to do? How was she going to keep Tom safe in this dangerous world without Lester’s help?

  The previous evening, after they’d left Anna’s flat, Tom had immediately asked to go home and bury his father. Begged. But she’d refused. Burying Lester meant walking across town. It wasn’t safe.

  He’d poked his bottom lip out and glared at her with a mix of defiance and sadness before pulling out a map from his back pocket and guiding them past a small church down to the river.

  Any other teenager would have left her standing there and taken off on his own.

  Tom looked up from the map but didn’t meet her eyes. “We need to cross the bridge once we reach Roydon, then continue along the river on the other side. It shouldn’t take us longer than three hours to reach the farm.”

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Let’s go,” he said coldly, shouldering his bag.

  She hurried after him, proud that he was willing to take the lead, annoyed at his constant defiance. Roydon wasn’t far, and she soon spotted the bridge in the distance.

  Boats lined the water’s edge, cold and abandoned like everything else. A row of houses stood on the other side of the river.

  They walked hastily past a narrowboat docked on the water, eager to reach the bridge, when something caught her eye. Smoke billowed from an open door at the rear. It smelled of bacon.

  Chris quickened her pace even more.

  “Mum? Are we going to walk through the night?”

  Chris nodded. “I believe it’s safer at night.” She peered back over her shoulder at the billowing smoke. I hope I’m not wrong.

  They reached the bridg
e, and Chris stopped to catch her breath. A train sat stranded on a level crossing near the river. Its front carriage had derailed as it had come to an abrupt halt. Broken glass littered the road.

  Chris glimpsed a body through one of the shattered windows and quickly looked away. She was glad to see that Tom was not paying any attention to the train. He’d seen enough in the last few days, and she didn’t want to traumatise him further.

  She hurried across the bridge. The towpath on the other side led to the Roydon Marina Village. Chris smiled, looking across the river. There was an amazing Italian restaurant on the edge of the water that she’d taken Lester to for their fifth and ninth wedding anniversary. A pang of sadness diminished her smile and she sighed.

  Tom took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, as if he knew what she was thinking about. She smiled at him, but he averted his eyes, pulling his hand away.

  Chris swallowed. He was thirteen. He should be out with his friends, not fighting for survival. He was a teenager, and hormones made everything so much worse. So much more intense. He’d seen so much, and he had to be feeling so many conflicting emotions.

  First his father’s death.

  Then Anna’s betrayal.

  Her anger spiked at the thought of the big-nosed woman living on Fifth Avenue. All Chris had done was try to keep them safe. She’d made sure the soldier who had robbed them wouldn’t return with his friends.

  She’d risked her life to bring back food from the Poundland warehouse.

  Yes, she’d sent away Anna’s sister, telling her that Anna had left. But what else could she have done? They could have got by, just the three of them.

  Four would have made it tough.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision, but she hadn’t actually hurt Sarah. Had only lied to her and told her Anna had left.

  Chris couldn’t understand Anna’s reaction—her overreaction. Trying to poison Chris? In front of Tom?

  “Mum?”

  Chris blinked and focused on her son. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. She took a deep breath and pushed her anger back down.

  Tom’s brows were furrowed with concern. And—