Dark Days: The Long Road Home, a post apocalyptic novel by L M May Page A

dim light coming from one of the headlights that was partly blocked by the rear end of the car it had run into. Two of the men had flashlights.
    Gemma felt her heart shudder to a stop when she recognized the man with the tattoos. He'd given that poor woman a mouthful.
    “It's wedged in.”
    “We'll have to push 'em out of the way.”
    “Gerry, shine the light over 'ere.”
    “Hold your horses.”
    “A horse'd come in handy 'bout now,” a thick voice slurred, the man laughing at his own joke.
    “Shut up, Reynolds. Here, give me some of that.” The man with the tattoos snatched the bottle of alcohol, and chugged it back, the glass catching in the beam of a flashlight.
    Becky chose that moment to wake, letting out a startled cry.
    “Well well well, what do we have here?” The man with the tattoos spun around, shining the flashlight in their faces.
    “We don't want any trouble.” Robert put down the carton of drinks he was carrying, and stepped forward, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of peace.
    “Shut up, you fat fuck,” tattoo man growled as he stalked toward them, swaying unsteadily as he took another swig from the bottle.
    Megan cradled Becky close to her chest as she tried to hush her, but Becky's cries only grew louder, and the man turned his attention on her. “Shut that kid up, will ya,” he growled.
    “Leave her alone, Wally,” someone said. “She's just a kid herself.”
    “Didn't I just tell you to shut up, Harris?” Wally growled.
    “Nah. That was Reynolds you idiot.”
    “C'mon. Let's just move these cars and get the fuck outa here before everything's gone,” another man said, this one thin and reedy with a long, straggly brown beard and a tired, lined face.
    “Yeah – come on, Wally. There'll be nothin' left soon,” Reynolds whined.
    “Nah – look – they got stuff don't they. B'sides, be nothin' left by now anyways. Barb said some guy at Aldi took off without payin'. Next thing she knew she got pushed out the door cart 'an all when everyone panicked. They thought he knew somethin' they didn't.” Wally started to laugh uproariously as he choked out his words. “Turns out he did.”
    “Then you don't need nothin' then, do ya,” Reynolds said.
    “And we already got plenty anyway,” the thin reedy man said. “It 'aint right to take what they need for the kid.”
    “Barb only went for some shit paper,” Wally growled. “Stupid woman. Always missin' opportunities when they present themselves.”
    “Put everything down,” Christopher said softly, his eyes on Wally as he lowered his bike slowly to the ground.
    Gemma's grip on the stroller tightened as Donavon and Anne put down the cartons of drink they were carrying.
    “See, look. They want us ta' take it,” Wally said, handing the liquor bottle to the thin reedy man so he could reach down to scoop up a carton of Dr. Pepper.
    “We'll be going on our way now,” Christopher said as he backed away, gesturing to Gemma and the others to follow him.
    “Come on, Megan,” Gemma urged as she eased the stroller forward, trying not to strain at the weight of the water.
    Wally slung the Dr Pepper onto his shoulder, and stepped toward Gemma with a leery grin.
    “Oy – 'old on,” Wally growled, shining the flashlight on the stroller. “What you got in there?”
    Gemma's heart slammed against her chest. She could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath, and a long forgotten helpless anger surged through her. She'd known one too many Wally's thanks to her mother.
    Anne stepped in front of the stroller. “That's my grandson.”
    Wally moved around Anne, reaching for the blanket.
    "I'll check." The thin reedy man knocked Wally's arm away. "Get off, Wally. You stink so bad the kid'll get drunk off the fumes.”
    The man's beady little eyes darted up to Megan and her daughter. “My fella's 'bout the same age as your l'il one,” he said softly as he grabbed the edge of the blanket.
    Megan nodded her head stiffly, her eyes