Death Days: post-apocalyptic survival story (180 Days and Counting... Series Book 10)

by B. R. Paulson

“It’s not hard. You point your gun and shoot. Easy as that.” Perry narrowed his eyes as if the question might be a sign of rebellion. “Let me make this clear. We need more workers. I don’t care if they’re men or women. We need that wall built. We’re the elite, men. We’re the ones who are going to build this country back up from the hole in the ground it has fallen into. We’re the only way this world is going to get put back together. Us.” He thumped his chest on us.

  Perry slowly walked around the group, meeting each man’s eyes. His voice lowered to an intimate level and he softened his expression. “I’m done playing nice because I want you to have the best. You deserve the best. Why do they think they get to keep things from you? Why do we let them withhold from us? No more. Do you understand me? No more. We deserve this. We’re the important ones. We survived the virus because we’re integral to the plans of the Creator of this world. We’re important.” He narrowed his eyes. He had to push the point home.

  The men started puffed out their chests, doubt blurring from their faces.

  Perry pressed harder. “I haven’t heard from Dick all night. Let’s start with the Parks. Let’s show them what happens when they defy us. That’s treason and we’re not going to allow treason, are we, men?” He raised his voice. “This is our country. We don’t allow treason, right?”

  They shouted no – loud and hard like they fully believed everything Perry spouted at them. And why wouldn’t they? He knew how to play a crowd, how to manipulate them and get them to do what he wanted.

  He really was done playing nice.

  Chapter 22

  Bailey

  Elba cradled Jessica close and Bailey pushed her dizziness to the side. She didn’t have time to be weakened by the sickness that was itching her neck, upper shoulder, and back. She couldn’t stop to take a breather. Bailey could rest when they were safe.

  Elba had instructed Bailey to poke the pistol into one of the small gun holes Dusty had built into the log walls. Instead of a hole that pointed straight from the inside to the outside, Elba had explained that Bailey would need to pull one of the plugs out and then look at an angle to see where the shots would go.

  She pulled a long silicone piece from the hole that was about eight inches in length. Looking down the inch-wide hole, Bailey gasped when she saw people running in and out of the line of sight. She whispered over her shoulder, “I can see them, but I can’t fire at them when I want to.”

  “There’s another hole right above it.” Elba’s whisper carried softly over the rug in the center of the floor. Their words wouldn’t carry outside. Even if they did, the invaders wouldn’t hear them as they ran back and forth in search of a way into the home.

  Bailey turned back to the wall and searched for the hole. About a foot above the gun hole, another plug waited for her to pull it out. She withdrew the plug and got into position. The gun muzzle just barely fit and who knew if it would shoot straight out. The variables were unreal, but at least it was doing something. Protecting them in some way.

  Waiting for a man to cross in front of her view, Bailey then she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The blast was loud in the small confines of the home and while Bailey expected the wall to explode, she was pleasantly surprised to hear someone scream from outside the house.

  She glanced at Elba over her shoulder, grinning. “I think I got one.” But Elba wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong?” Besides the obvious.

  “I smell smoke. Do you smell it? We need to find where it’s coming from.” Elba’s hands shook with fear and she set Jessica softly on the couch, propped into place with a throw pillow. She hurried down the hallway. After a millisecond, her muffled shriek carried back to Bailey as she ran back through the living room and into the kitchen.

  Elba’s eyes wide, she had her arms outstretched as she reached for the sink.

  Staring in the direction Elba disappeared, Bailey pushed away from the wall and rushed toward her hostess in the other room. “What’s going on? What happened?” She stopped her mad rush into the kitchen and watched as Elba scrambled around, her hand to her neck.

  “The south wall is on fire. Just by the front door. I can put it out, but I need to go at it from the window above. In the attic.” She swallowed, stooping to get a bucket from under the sink and quickly dumping water from bottles inside. She tossed the empty plastic into the center of the kitchen floor. “Get Jessica and get into the cellar, Bailey. There isn’t time for anything else.”

  “Wait! What are you going to do? I need to help.” Bailey shook, her head to her toes, her entire body wanted to shake and tremble.

  “Get Jessica and hide. The smoke will fill the house soon. She can’t breathe this. Save her.” Elba nodded tightly as she grabbed the half-filled bucket and rushed down the hallway.

  Bailey turned back to the living room, the gun hanging limply in her hand. She couldn’t help Elba if she was with Jessica and she couldn’t help Jessica if she was with Elba.

  With her sickness coming on strong, Bailey wasn’t the smart choice to stay with the baby. She wasn’t the smart one to be left alone with the infant. Hadn’t she learned that with Jason?

  Bailey blinked at the brightness in the house. The sun was hitting the slim windows at just the right angle and dispelling the gloom from the night. Morning had come and the men were still there. They’d been working all night to get at them. Now they were resorting to fire? Something wasn’t adding up. Why would they start a fire there? Why would Elba need to put the fire out in that specific spot?

  They had to know they would try to put it out and putting the fire right by a window was like they wanted someone to try to put it out. Bailey jerked around, reaching in the direction Elba had gone. She glanced at Jessica and then carefully put her down on the cushions in a place she wouldn’t fall off.

  “Wait, Elba! Don’t go out there. I think it’s a trap.” Bailey rushed toward the steps leading up to the attic. She climbed the rungs one at a time, forced to tuck the gun into the waistband of her jeans.

  She had to stop Elba but she wasn’t sure exactly why. Something didn’t feel right and it wasn’t the sickly sensations cascading through her from the virus. No, her instincts screamed something wasn’t right and she had no doubts left about trusting her gut.

  Now she had to convince Elba to let Bailey do the job. If anyone should get shot, it was Bailey. She was too close to dying as it was.

  Chapter 23

  Margie

  The truck bumped over the ruts in the driveway, but Margie didn’t slow down from the thirty miles an hour speed she held the truck at. She had to get to the Parks’ place before too long. Something was pushing her and it could just have been as simple as worry for her daughter.

  With Scott’s death behind her, tainting her, Margie wasn’t sure what emotions were natural and which ones were colored by the losses. She couldn’t put a finger on what she was supposed to be feeling. That was fine. She could cope with it later.

  Unfortunately, Margie had to face the fact that later might be too late.

  The Parks’ place was the first home along the river before the foot path and bridge across the small river. The car bridge was closed with roadblocks – the first step of The Grove toward securing their borders.

  Smoke drifted into the air about a hundred yards ahead of them into the blue sky above the treetops. Mid-day sun kept the heat coming down. Glancing in her sideview mirror, Margie scowled at the cloud of dust puffing up behind them on the trail. Someone would know they were coming, if they were watching.

  Margie slowed but only imperceptibly. She wasn’t going to rush into anything, but she also wasn’t stupid. Dusty Parks was a military man. The only reason he’d have a fire going was if an emergency called for it. His smoke distillation system had his fires covered for the last ten years or so.

  This was a real fire and it was outside.

  Why? The only thing she could thing of was that maybe he didn’t have control of his home anymore.

>   Margie drew through the woods, coming to a break as if the trees parted to let them in. Ranger shifted beside her and Ryker leaned back, his eyes wide.

  Men dashed back and forth around the fortified home. Dusty had taken his job of protecting his wife seriously.

  A small fire burned at the edge of the front door and Elba with her long hair hung precariously from the window above, trying to dump water onto the flames from a cream-colored kitchen bucket.

  A man stopped running and knelt, raising his rifle to sight in on Elba.

  Margie revved the engine and raced toward him. A few men closer to the house turned in alarm, probably unused to hearing truck engines lately. But the man with the gun didn’t turn. He pulled the trigger and Margie hit him with the full brunt of the grill at the same time.

  Ryker cried out, but Margie didn’t care about the man. She stared up at the house, gasping and covering her mouth as Elba slumped forward, dropping the bucket to the ground below. Her long silver hair hung down toward the flames which were slowly dwindling.

  Dusty had packed clay in most crevices which he’d once told Margie was a design to prevent fire spreading around his house. He wasn’t able to be fully prepared for every instance of attack, but he was prepared for most of them.

  Fire. His wife had been trying to stop the fire from the attack.

  The men whooped and hollered and turned, determination on their faces as they headed toward Margie’s truck.

  Margie didn’t shift into park or reverse. She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “Get your gun. It’s time for some target practice.” She’d always wanted to say that and that this situation called for it only irritated her more.

  Ryker didn’t flinch beside her. He pulled out the handgun she’d helped him get at Cady’s from the fallen men and checked it the way Margie had shown him.

  He nodded as he opened the wing window on his side. He pointed the gun toward a man approaching from his side and shot, leaving a hole in the man’s arm. Screaming, the man ran the other way, pulling the attention of the others.

  Margie pressed her foot to the pedal, peeling forward and knocking over three more men who tried to run at the last second. She’d add their deaths to things to contemplate when she got to the safety of her home.

  Stopping the truck, Margie slipped the transmission into park. “I’m going after that one, he looks like the last.” She slid from the seat with a shotgun in her hand, fingers shaking as she positioned the bead on the man’s head. He looked indecisive as if unsure if he should run or attack. He didn’t have a gun in sight.

  Margie didn’t give him a chance to choose what to do. She breathed out and squeezed the trigger, the sound reverberating around the clearing.

  The silence as the shot faded seemed to suck the life from the clearing. None of the men moved – there were only five in all. Margie turned back to the house, calling to Ryker, “Are you okay?” Five… She’d add them to her regrets.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Ryker reached over and turned off the engine, climbing down with his gun in his hand. He held the door for Ranger and closed it once the dog bounded out, sniffing each dead body in turn.

  Elba was dead. Even the smoke had started to dissipate, leaving behind little evidence that the house had even been threatened by flames.

  Glancing around, Margie called out, “Dusty?” The man was nowhere in sight and that concerned Margie. Where would he have gone that he’d leave his wife unattended?

  In the window behind Elba, there was movement and then screaming. The sound familiar to Margie. She worried she’d never hear the voice again.

  Margie jerked forward, searching for the injured person. But the girl wasn’t hurt and as she got closer, Margie inhaled sharply. Her granddaughter, Bailey, stood over Elba with her eyes shut and her mouth open.

  She’d found her granddaughter – alive. Maybe not worse for wear, but at least she was alive and she wasn’t with The Grove. She was there.

  Where Bailey was, Cady was.

  Bailey glanced out at Margie and froze, raising her fingers to her lips. She stopped screaming and stumbled out of sight. In less than thirty seconds, Bailey lunged from the front door, sobbing openly as she rushed into Margie’s arms.

  Margie could breathe normally. Her girls were safe. Now it was just a matter of figuring out what to do next. They could do that. She had no problem doing that.

  ~~~

  Book 11 is just around the corner. When Margie finds out Cady isn’t as safe as she’d assumed, a mother’s revenge might be worse than the virus. Or maybe she’ll have to choose to let Cady go.

  Reviews are so important. Can you please go to this link and leave a review for the books in this series? They mean so much and help out as authors try to get seen by more readers. I appreciate you so much!

  Hey Survivor!

  Book 11 is coming for 180 Days and Counting… Series.

  Thank you so much for sticking with me on this series. I love this trio of women so much. They remind me of women in my own family.

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  Digging this book and craving more? Let’s kill together! Paulson books have crazy, end of the world, time to find that killer, stalking chaos that keeps you turning the page long into the night. Survive the pages! Survive, Paulson style!

  ***BR Paulson Books***

  180 DAYS AND COUNTING… SERIES

  No Time, bk 1

  Last Chance, bk 2

  Hold On, bk 3

  Too Late, bk 4

  Look Away, bk 5

  Find Them, bk6

  Try Hard, bk 7

  Move On, bk 8

  Fit In, bk 9

  Death Days, bk 10

  Long Gone, bk 11

  No More, bk 12

  WORTH OF SOULS SERIES

  Cost of Survival, bk 1

  Exchange Rate, bk 2

  Worth of Souls, bk 3

  BoxSet books 1 - 3

  INTO THE END SERIES

  Into the End, bk1

  Through the Flames, bk 2

  Out of the Ashes, bk 3

  BoxSet books 1 - 3

  BARELY ALIVE SERIES

  Barely Alive, bk 1

  Falling Apart, bk 2

  Mostly Dead, bk 3

  Viral Intent

  BoxSet books 1 - 4

  Copyright © 2018 Bonnie R. Paulson/Captiva Publishing, LLC/B.R. Paulson

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