180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 1 - 3

by B. R. Paulson

A loud yell from Tobias’s group announced the man’s arrival as he plummeted toward the red-head with outrage. He lunged at the man who had killed the leader of his group, wrapping his arms around his waist and grunting as the knife struck him repeatedly on the shoulder and back.

  Randy reached forward, his youthful strength more than the older men could overcome. But as Randy moved to pull them apart, the knife swung upward, pointing up through his diaphragm and into the rib cavity. He didn’t stand a chance as the blade struck his heart. He faded, his eyes dimming in moments as the blood spurt from his chest.

  Margie clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she tried to think strategically rather than letting shock take over.

  Her gaze clashed with the newly arrived mother’s who had worked her way carefully around the group and stood at the opening of the lifeboat with the children. Fear made her chest rise and fall rapidly as she clutched her children around her. “Please.” She mouthed, her eyes begging.

  Jerkily, Margie nodded, motioning her into the boat. She just had to reach the red button and close the door without being noticed behind them.

  Then the crank to release the boat. That’s it. That’s all she needed to do.

  “Find your seats and get settled. I’m sure it’s going to get rocky.” Margie’s whisper reached the mother who nodded frantically.

  She had to step into view of the mob outside to reach the button to close the door and release the boat. Did she have enough time?

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the doorway. Searching above the doorframe, she reached up, wincing as a man called out, “The boat! They’re leaving without us!”

  Margie hit the red button, stepping back as the door closed with extreme slowness as the group clamored to get to the opening.

  Who would be the first one in?

  Chapter 7

  Cady

  Taking out the garbage was the worst job. It didn’t matter if it was the end of days or a normal Tuesday. But when you added in the fact that Cady had nowhere to take the garbage and she had to teach Bailey how to sort it according to potential use, potential burning, or just as trash, you got a task that was going to be less than tasteful.

  Bailey was still mad at Cady, but at least she was sucking it up and trying to learn.

  Cady pointed toward the double garage doors on the left of the man door. The garage faced east and they had an over-sized three car garage. The single garage door was on the north side of the man door. They were sorting the garbage on the patch of concrete in front of the garage while enjoying the fresh air. “Bailey, can you grab a plastic bag for this stuff, please? We’ll try to figure out a way to get it to the dumps or get rid of it another way.” Cady stood back, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist exposed between her sweatshirt cuff and glove.

  She tried catching her breath, staring at the stack of garbage she and Bailey had come outside to organize. How had they gotten so much? Most likely because Cady had put them into quarantine well before the rest of the world had stopped functioning clearly.

  News reported the White House officials had released a statement that the President was sick and the Vice-President would cover for him until further notice. Or, Cady liked to add, more likely until they all died.

  “I didn’t know it was so much work.” Bailey huffed beside her, removing her gloves and brushing her hair back from her face. “Just one bag? Or do you want me to bring the box?”

  “Maybe let’s start with one. I don’t want to go through all of them the first week.” Cady stared at the stack of items they’d already separated.

  Burnable items would go into the burn pit on the north side of the property to be burned on a rainy day. Recyclables or items with the potential to be repurposed were set to the side to be rinsed and stored in a Rubbermaid bin for later. Then the actual trash would need to be dealt with. Food products never made it out that far since Cady kept a large red bowl beside the kitchen sink to put food scraps in for their chickens. Feeding leftovers to the chickens kept the food bill down.

  Thankfully, the electricity still worked and Cady hadn’t been forced to turn on the generator. She had set up the transfer switch and had only been forced to use it twice in the past. So far it hadn’t blown up the house, but who knew what could happen. The water was a community well and didn’t need power to run.

  There was a lot of things to keep track of, but Cady considered it a real test to see if her things were in order.

  The only places where things were noticeable that society was affected by a sickness with no name was the spotty TV channels. Cady only watched to see if anything new had been reported, but some channels had gone to just an image of the station logo, and others were only on at certain times. Her favorite World News wasn’t on anymore.

  Cady had dressed warm and she’d been working hard. A drink sounded about right and she removed her gloves to join Bailey in the garage.

  Her daughter stood at the shelves, watching the small television Zach had set up for when he’d been wood working. She glanced at Cady, her lips downturned in something worse than a frown. The colorful images were a definite sign of improvement on the screen and Bailey motioned toward the news channel. “Mom, they’re saying there’s a cure.”

  “What?” She’d heard about it, but had assumed that was just rumor. Cady sidled up beside Bailey and stared intently at the screen. The newscaster’s face was distinctly yellow with a line along the lower jawline as if they’d added as much color as they dared with her in a blue three-piece dress suit. Her faint smile trembled as she nodded at someone off screen. “Yes, that’s what I said, Tom. A cure. This ointment will take the initial pain away from the bumps, rashes, and sores, and then, according to doctors, will decrease the fever. If it’s administered in time, it could cure you from the disease and save your life.”

  She took a breath, reaching out to steady herself with a hand flattened to the table. “Yes, that’s right, save your life from this disease that has so far increased in deaths and has been so debilitating, more than ninety percent who have it are unable to move much after day eleven. This ointment…” The woman held up a jar with an orange and white label for the camera to see. “Is supposed to be the fix we all need.” The text on the label read CJ180d Pt. B.

  Cady raised her fingers to her lips, horrified as the newscaster unscrewed the lid and scooped the shiny ointment from the bottle. The woman cooed as she lifted a dime sized amount in her fingers. She glanced at the camera. “It tingles but feels like it’s numbing the papercut I got earlier.”

  She glanced off-screen again. With a delighted shrug, she smiled. “Okay, folks, I’m going to be one of the first to try it. I have the sores along the back of neck, where most people first show them. As you know, most of us here at KXSW have the virus, there are only a very small few who are able to work, bringing you the best in news – oooh.” She closed her eyes mid-sentence as she rubbed the cure over her rash. “I can’t even tell you how much my skin hurt earlier. Of course, I don’t need to. I’m sure many of you already know what it feels like. This ointment. Wow.” She grabbed more and rubbed it on the other side, thick and fast.

  Cady gasped, moving closer to the TV.

  The woman was going to die. The ointment. Jackson had warned her of the ointment.

  After a moment, the news anchor opened her eyes, the lines of pain faded around her mouth and eyes. “I can’t believe how great it feels.” She heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping as if in relief. “This is definitely helping, folks. It’s not very expensive. I think ten dollars at any pharmacy and you don’t need a prescription. If you have the extra funds, you might donate money and buy some for those who don’t even have that much. Everyone is infected and everyone needs this cure.”

  Cady turned away from the television, shaking her head. She pulled her cellphone from her pocket and dusted off her hands.

  Dialing Scott’s number, she closed her eyes. “Pick up, Scott, pick up.” Cady paced b
ack out to the driveway where she’d been working on the garbage. She thrust her hand on her hip and stared toward the trees on the east side of the property.

  But after a few rings she went to voicemail. After the beep, she nodded tightly and spoke with conviction. “Scott, it’s Cady. Whatever you do, do NOT use the ointment they’re claiming is the cure. The name of the ointment is CJ180d Pt. B. That’s the second part of his plan. Think of it with your conspiracy mind, Scott. Don’t go anywhere near that cure.” She lowered her voice, dropping her head to rub at her neck. “Be careful. I hope…” But she didn’t finish.

  Hanging up, she lifted her head, starting at the sudden appearance of Kent, her neighbor to the east. He wore a white undershirt with a button-up shirt hanging over it. The buttons weren’t secured and the wrinkled state of the material suggested he’d just thrown it on.

  Twisting her head to the side, Cady searched around him, looking for his wife. She never let him come onto the Warren property because she was a jealous woman and Cady was usually by herself. “Kent? Are you okay? Where’s Linda?”

  Eyes red-rimmed, Kent stared at her. “Linda… well, she can’t move. Did you just say something about a cure?” He blinked slowly, then turned his head toward the garage. “Where’s Zach? I need his help… but I can’t remember why. I’m so tired.”

  The jump in topic threw Cady off and she adjusted her position to keep herself in his view. She didn’t want him to go searching for Bailey or Zach. Something was off.

  “Zach is dead, Kent. He died a couple weeks ago.” She’d lost count of the days since her world had changed – long before the end had arrived at her doorstep. “Remember, I sent you the announcement. Linda sent over flowers.”

  Kent reached up and scratched at his neck, shaking his head. “No, I heard he had died, but… it didn’t seem right.” He coughed, a dark, tarlike stream ran from the side of his mouth. The whites of his eyes seemed to glow as the veins around his nose bulged. “Do you know what’s going on with this sickness? I overheard your call. There’s a cure?” He stepped threateningly toward her, but the multiple piles and bags of garbage stopped him from getting closer than ten feet.

  Cady held up her hands. The breeze ran through her fingers toward him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come any closer and he could leave the way he’d come. He was downwind from her, not the other way around.

  “They’re saying there’s an ointment, but, Kent, it won’t work. It isn’t going to work.” Cady pressed her lips together as she watched him brush aside her words.

  “But there’s a cure. Thanks, I’ll head into town. They wouldn’t lie, you know. All of you conspiracy theorists. You’re all going to get sick and die because you won’t take the cure.” He waved his fingers her direction and turned on his heel which was bedecked in slippers. The shift in his personality was startling. Normally, Kent was mild-mannered and complimentary. He liked to visit and talk about anything, no matter what the political clime may be.

  For the first time, Cady took in the pajama pants he wore. The hems soaked up dirty, slush water as he slogged through the melting snow.

  A bright red rash ran up the back of his neck with long scratch lines running up under his thinning hair line.

  Cady stayed back. She couldn’t follow him. She still felt fine. Kent was her first exposure to the illness that she was aware of. She had to get Bailey out of the garage so Cady could spray herself down with a bleach and water mixture. She would have to hide her exposure from Bailey.

  They didn’t touch. She hadn’t touched him. It wasn’t too far off to hope she hadn’t been infected. If her luck held, she could clean off and then come back out to finish sorting the garbage.

  But Cady hadn’t seen the spittle fly from Kent’s mouth to land on the tops of the un-sorted bags of garbage at her feet.

  Chapter 8

  Scott

  Scott hadn’t planned on seeing his parents’ home so soon, if ever. He’d hoped they would get better and head his way and no more worry would crease his forehead.

  The house was dark as was most of the street. He turned to Jason, parking on the far side of the driveway so as not to wake up his parents with lights in the windows. “Lean your seat back and lock your door. We’ll sleep in here for a few hours. I’m not sure what’s going on or even if she’s awake enough to let us in. She’s not expecting us, right?” Scott continued at Jason’s nod. “I’ll let Ranger out and then we’ll just crash for a bit, okay?”

  Jason agreed, his stress seemingly abated a bit with the fact that he was at his grandparents’ home again. They had to try and Scott saw that. He was more than a little ashamed it had taken his nephew to get him back on track.

  They settled in. The next few hours needed to supply them with enough energy to get through the next few days without getting sick. They hadn’t eaten in a while either. Scott reached into the glovebox and pulled out protein bars, handing the German chocolate cake one to Jason and keeping the confetti sprinkles one for himself.

  No one could say he didn’t know how to celebrate the end.

  ~~~

  The morning light woke them and Scott bent his head forward to work out the kink sleeping in his seat had caused. He needed to relieve himself and judging by the whimpers from Ranger, the dog had the same problem.

  Jackson stretched beside him, opening his eyes and sitting upright quickly. “Can we go in now?”

  Scott reached out, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “We’re not going in there. They’re going to have to come out.” He ignored Jason’s balking expression and continued. “Let’s see if they’re awake and see if they have the energy to come with us. Remember, we came back to get them, not force them.”

  Jason considered his uncle’s words. “Then where will I pee?”

  Pointing toward Mary’s prized rose bushes, Scott raised his eyebrows. “Don’t say you’ve never wanted to. I know I’m hitting them up.” He’d had to weed those things so many times over the years. The chance to pee on them had never presented itself. He could almost be satisfied with life, if he did that.

  Jason chuckled, sliding from the rig and calling Ranger out with him.

  Scott followed and the made themselves presentable before approaching the front of the house.

  The rest of the neighborhood was quiet with an almost coma-like sensation. Even the wind didn’t dare touch the branches, even though Scott’s hair moved with its presence.

  He studied the front door and the porch around it. After a moment, he motioned back toward his nephew. “Jason, stay back. I’m going to ring the doorbell and see if they’re up yet. Maybe they’re feeling better.” Scott offered the hope as he approached the porch cautiously.

  His mom had put up a large red construction paper sign that read in black block letters:

  Go away. Sick inside.

  Sick. His mother had delegated herself with a label – sick.

  Scott blinked back tears. The label said a lot since his mother hated them. She would go out of her way to avoid stereotypes or any label of any kind.

  Things had gotten bad enough that she’d labeled her and her husband with a singularly horrible four-letter word. She probably wouldn’t let him in, but he had to try. He had to get them to come home with him. He had to try. He pushed on the doorbell, stepping back to let her open without fear of him crowding the door and pushing his way inside.

  She rustled the window blinds after a moment, raising them from the inside all the way to the top. After a moment of studying him in wonder, she slumped her shoulders and shook her head. She raised her voice to be heard through the glass. “Go away, Scott. Save Jason.”

  He raised his hand and reached for her, but stopped as she shook her head more vehemently. “No. Your father is in a coma. It’s getting bad. My rash is worse and I can feel my lungs filling with fluid.” Her revelation pushed Scott back a step with shock.

  Jason stepped forward from behind Scott. He’d crept up behind his uncle and Scott hadn’t even kno
wn. “Grandma, there’s a cure. I can go get it.” His earnestness was strong and even Scott wanted to do whatever he could to help his parents.

  Scott held up his hand. He had to go slow with his mother. She wasn’t too taken with the idea that Scott had returned. Evidence that Jason was still in danger wouldn’t sit well with her.

  Her eyes narrowed as she flicked her eyes between Scott and Jason. She lifted a hand and coughed into a fist, her body racking with the effort. Fatigue darkened the shadows under her eyes. “Scott, get out of here.”

  “I’ve already been exposed. I need to help you. What can I do? I can go get you the cure, too. Jason and I can get it.” He half-turned, but turned back when his mother slapped the glass of the window.

  “No. I don’t trust that cure. You stay away from it.” She tapped her fingernail on the glass, her eyes wide with authority.

  “Why? It’s a cure. It’s supposed to make everything better almost immediately.” Jason lifted his hand and dropped it with desperation.

  Scott had to do something for his parents. He had to. He hadn’t come all that way – twice – to abandon them again.

  Mary offered a sad smile. “I’m surprised at you, Scott. How can they have a cure when they still haven’t labeled what it is we have? Doctors can’t agree what it is – smallpox, chickenpox, the plague. No one knows, yet they have a cure?” She reared back, her eyebrows knit together. “Come on.”

  Scott studied his mom, a smile spreading across his mouth. “Wow, my conspiracy theory side is rubbing off on you.”

  “Proof you can teach an old dog new tricks.” She winked, but her humor didn’t reach her eyes. They fell silent, the finality of the moment not lost on either of them. Jason’s gaze volleyed between them, until even his own understanding came and his gaze fell to the floor.

  Scott raised desperate eyes to his mother. “Please, Mom, I have to do something for you. Come back with us. Be sick up there.”