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

by B. R. Paulson

  “Did you find any keys for the motorhome?” The motorhome? Sandy had said Margie’s R.V. was the only one on the lot. They wanted her motorhome? How did they know it was there? Margie had been the first one to sign up for the oversized R.V. garage.

  “No. Not in here.” Their feet moved, turning as they turned to face the front and Margie’s position. If they sat on the desk or bent down to tie a shoelace, they would see her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Please. Not my R.V.

  “What do you think the odds are that these keys are… look, these have Coachman keys on them. What do you think?” The scrape of keys on the desk top made Margie grimace.

  Not her R.V.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” The slower voice kicked the orange bag and they left the office.

  They would know. Margie had to get out of there. She didn’t have any other choice. They would take the R.V. and maybe other items from the other units. Who knew how long they would stay.

  The truck engine told her she had time to get out, but not much. She left her hiding spot and bit back the overwhelming depression the loss of the keys brought about. They had no keys for the R.V. and David was too weak to move much.

  Why had she stopped there? Why hadn’t she pushed them earlier? She had given into her weakness and her fatigue. She should have searched for the keys to the storage unit. She’d known the number. She and David could be long gone by now, sleeping on the side of the road in their own bed.

  Margie braced her arms on the desk and hung her head, staring at the single scuffed, silver key with a Volkswagen symbol on it.

  The only key she had left was to the Bug. Was it worth trying to escape in that? Could she get David in before the men returned? What if the Bug didn’t start?

  What if they’d gone as far as they could?

  Chapter 14

  Scott

  Jason handed Scott a ready-to-use bottle and Scott pulled over to the side of the road. They weren’t in a residential area and they weren’t in a commercial zone. It was more like a cross between a developing zone and lots of parks.

  “Lock your door. Here.” He lifted the baby into his arms and then showed Jason how to hold her, helping him position the bottle. She latched onto the nipple, eating greedily as if she hadn’t eaten in a long time – if at all since she’d been born.

  Scott didn’t doubt her desperation. He glanced at his niece and nephew as the oldest held the youngest. “Let me take a picture to send to your grandma and then I need to let Ranger out to relieve himself.”

  Jason angled the baby more to the side and smiled as Scott snapped a picture with his phone.

  Smiling at the photo, Scott attached it to a text message. The text read:

  What’s the baby’s name? Card on crib was blank except for Baby Martin.

  Hopefully, texts were still getting through. The minimal size of the message hopefully wouldn’t need a lot of a connection to complete sending. Scott had to connect with his parents one more time. True, they’d said goodbye, but the picture might give his mom some hope and she’d try to get up to his place.

  Hope was more powerful than people gave it credit.

  “When she pauses drinking, put her on your shoulder and carefully pat her back.” Scott glanced around, taking in the area around them as the sun slowly worked its way up in the sky. “Come on, Ranger.” He cautiously opened the door and let out the large dog. Ranger bounded out, rushing around the rig and peeing on whatever he could lift his leg over. After another moment, he stopped, hunching down and raising his hackles.

  Scott snapped his fingers and Ranger jumped into the rig.

  Scott didn’t even look around for the danger. He jumped into his seat as well and shifted into gear, driving off before he could find out what had triggered Ranger’s warning. He mentally patted his own back at keeping the engine going when he’d stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Jason craned his neck around but not as much as he could’ve if his arms were empty. He held the bottle to the baby’s mouth with a careful hand.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m not sticking around to find out. You never know where the looting is going to begin, or if it’s already begun.” Scott glanced in the rearview mirror, not soothed by the lack of movement or evidence anyone was there.

  “But isn’t everyone sick?” Jason shifted her to his shoulder and patted the baby’s back while watching his uncle.

  Scott shrugged, his grip on the steering wheel tight and unwavering. “Look at us, we’re not sick. There’s no doubt we’re carrying and there’s no doubt we’ve been exposed. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time for when we do get sick. Germs affect each person differently. Think about it, when you or your brothers and sisters got sick, your mom or dad didn’t get sick right away, right? Like they had super powers or something. Then, after everyone else was better, they would get sick, if at all. That’s kind of what this is like. There have to be other people like us. I’m not 100% sure one way or the other, if we’re going to get sick or not, but I’m sure others are thinking the same thing and counting on the fact that most people are sick. It’s a strong temptation to steal what no one is protecting.”

  A sense of pride swelled in Scott’s chest. Look at him being all big-uncle-teaching-a-lesson. He wanted to brag about it to his mom or Cady or someone who would get it. He smiled at Jason who had returned the baby to her lounging position and offered the small infant her bottle again.

  Turning onto another street, headed north, Scott yawned. They needed more sleep than just the few hours they’d stolen in the wee hours that morning.

  Scott’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from between his legs where he’d tucked it. Swiping the screen to open, he couldn’t wait to see what Mary had said about the baby.

  Jessica. That’s what Stephanie wanted. I haven’t heard from Bryant. Jason looks like a natural. He’s going to be a great big cousin.

  Another text popped up before Scott finished reading that one.

  I’m saying goodbye, Scott. Don’t wait for us to show up to your place. We won’t make it. I’m taking steps to protect us from worse. We love you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Get home, Scott. Protect those children. If you hear from any of your other siblings, tell them we love them, too.

  Scott slowly lowered the phone to his lap again, the need to vomit strong as bile crawled up the back of his throat. He was tired of the tears springing up because of the circumstances. He hated that he’d been too late. He could’ve been more insistent when Cady had first warned him about being prepared. He’d let his mom think things were okay to wait through. His first instinct was the one he had to listen to from then on.

  There were so many things he could’ve avoided, had he done what he knew he should do. He wouldn’t have had to euthanize those babies or that nurse. He wouldn’t have had to leave behind his parents as they got so bad his mom was willing to kill them. Because, of course, that’s what she was doing. There was no holding on when you got to that point. When you could look at a picture of your grandchildren and you could still declare your end was near, there was no holding on.

  Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to survive with his mental capacities fully intact. He couldn’t block out the horrible way he’d abandoned his mother and father. He couldn’t ignore the aching in the back of his head at the memories of the small babies as he took away any chances they had to survive. What if their parents showed up, or someone who loved them, like Scott had for his niece? He’d taken their hope away with the simple plunging of eighteen syringes.

  Eighteen.

  The last two…

  Scott couldn’t even take into consideration that the killings had been merciful. Not yet.

  Thou shalt not kill.

  He’d broken a commandment. One of the top ten. One of the ones that was non-negotiable and he’d done it as if he had any real justification to do so. Scott doubted that anyone at his church was available for a consultation to help him
get through what he’d done.

  Talking to his mother wasn’t an option. She was past the point of understanding or being able to help. He couldn’t talk to his nephew. How would he explain that part of what had taken him so long had been the fact that he had committed a mass murder? His hands shook as he gripped the wheel tighter, trying to control the shaking in his limbs.

  There would be no returning to his parents’ place. He took the closest on-ramp north that he could find. All hope was gone in that arena.

  Scott knew a goodbye when he read it.

  Chapter 15

  Mary Jensen

  Mary wiped her thumb across the picture Scott had sent her of her oldest grandchild and her youngest together. The baby looked well. Mary had no idea what conditions Scott had found the baby in, but at least she was with them, at least she had a chance. Even if their safety was only guaranteed for a little while, it was still enough Mary could find peace in her heart.

  If anyone could survive the next few days, months, or years, it would be her kid. He’d always been the self-reliant one as he’d forged ahead on his own paths.

  Lying beside Mary, Michael couched, his body arching up and then back down. Her husband’s cough didn’t release anything, the rough shake in his chest jarring as he shook the bed.

  The longer he coughed the deeper blue his lips became. He wasn’t getting oxygen and a crusty rash of bumps had spread across his back neck and down his chest. The pain was increasing and he was so dehydrated his urine had taken on an orange tint – when he could make it to the bathroom.

  Mary had tucked towels under his hips in case he had an accident. She wasn’t doing much better, but at least she hadn’t fallen into the coma-like state Michael had. His body shifted between shivering and shaking to an almost death-like state. The varied stages were terrifying and Mary wasn’t sure what was next.

  According to the last solid news report and multiple status updates on social media, if you went into a coma, you wouldn’t make it out and your suffering was worse. Mary didn’t want to wait that long and she didn’t want to put her husband through that. After fifty-one years of marriage, she had to do better by him. She loved him, too much, to let him suffer and she was too much of a coward to face that kind of pain on her own.

  Her mind made up, Mary rolled painstakingly to her nightstand, pulling open the drawer. She withdrew the revolver Scott had given her for a Mother’s Day present a while back.

  Michael didn’t feel Mary’s fingers intertwine with his warm ones, or her damp kiss as tears rolled down her cheeks, sticking to her lips as she cried silently. She murmured softly, “Michael, I love you always. I’m sorry.”

  Nudging his head to the side, she placed the muzzle of the gun at the base of his head, pointing upward for the maximum damage. His body convulsed with another attack of coughing. He moaned afterward, confirming the pain he was in.

  She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want to kill him. But she pressed the barrel tighter to his skin, a desperate ache clenching around her chest. Closing her eyes, Mary murmured to anyone who would listen, any deity she might miss, to take his soul into their safe keeping and to forgive her for her mistakes as well as her actions.

  On top of begging the universe for forgiveness, she had to hope that her children never returned to her home. They couldn’t find them like this. They couldn’t know that their mother had committed a murder-suicide. They would never understand.

  Her stomach tightened and she almost talked herself out of putting them both out of their misery. But no. She had to do it. No one else was there to help them. They wouldn’t make it. Something deep inside her knew there was no surviving what she and Michael had. Mary had control for a little while longer and she could decide how she went out. She could release her husband from the pain he was in.

  Biting the soft skin on the inside of her cheek, she held her breath, staring once more at the noble silhouette of Michael’s face. She would love him well into the end of the universe. She didn’t breathe as she glanced once more at his features and then turned her face away.

  Squeezing the trigger took no effort, but ripped the energy from her. She closed her eyes before the bang, jumping as it the sound crashed through the confines of her bedroom.

  She couldn’t look at the mess she’d made of her husband. Mary kept her eyes closed as she breathed through her nose, inhaling the sharp iron smell of his blood in the air.

  In a penny, in a pound. She’d killed him. Now she had to do the same to herself.

  Holding her breath to avoid the scent, she noticed how quiet her room was, with a random drip on the other side of the bed.

  His blood. His blood was dripping to the floor with a steady plop.

  Turning the gun toward her own temple, Mary couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. A sob broke up the cough trying to break free. She had to pull the trigger before she lost her nerve.

  Before she lost control of her body to the sickness.

  Someone, anyone, keep my children safe, protect my grandbabies, all of them. Forgive me for my weakness. Michael… I love you.

  Slowly, slowly, she squeezed the trigger, the cough never making it out of her throat.

  Chapter 16

  Cady

  Cady hoped her rubber gloves were on all the way. Sweat dripped down the curve of her spine as she worked, pushing Kent’s body onto the trailer she’d attached to the four-wheeler. Taking a car wasn’t an option. If she climbed into a vehicle, they wouldn’t be able to use it again because of the virus. So far she hadn’t been exposed, as far as she knew, and she didn’t want to increase her odds.

  Plus, she could bleach down the four-wheeler and the exposure to the cold may or may not decimate the virus’s efficacy.

  She dragged and pushed and finally rolled him face down, then face up, then face down, and face up until he came to a stop at an angle on the trailer and she could lock the ramp in place. She honestly didn’t care that his leg hung precariously over the railing. He’d stopped being human to her. She couldn’t look at him as anything else while she stamped down her inner horror at killing the man.

  Self-defense aside, she couldn’t believe she’d done it. She’d always refused to kill anyone, or even use a gun. The lessons with Scott had been purely out of necessity. Cady had never believed she would actually use them.

  Pulling out of the drive, Cady waved at Bailey over her shoulder. She stopped and opened the gate then drove through. Going east, she took the dirt road up the main paved road of Clagstone. The four-wheeler pulled the trailer effortlessly, slushing through wet piles of snow spotting the road.

  Spring was almost upon them and the sun struggled to warm the still-cool temperatures. Cady’s face stayed warm with a mask over her mouth and her homemade hazmat suit in place. She reached the stop sign at Highway 54 and turned left.

  A few acres of prairie gave way to the forest as it surrounded the homes and small farms hiding along the main streets. Midday didn’t demand the use of lights, but a couple of homes had their porchlights on, as if they didn’t have the energy to turn them off or as if they weren’t there and had gone on an extended vacation.

  The more homes Cady passed, the more she noticed a red door knob hanger on some. Maybe they marked the presence of the sickness or the death of loved ones inside. Or maybe Cady was being ridiculous and the hangers were nothing more than pizza fliers used for marketing.

  Cady hoped it was the pizza marketing idea and not the other. She didn’t want that many people to be sick. Not in her neighborhood, her town, or her county. The more people who were sick, would die. How many had already died?

  She didn’t see another car or soul in sight, hard as she looked. Cady couldn’t make herself go into town. She didn’t want to witness anything that would destroy the smallest piece of humanity left inside her already damaged heart. She’d killed Kent. What did that mean she was capable of? If she could so easily put multiple bullets into a gentle man’s che
st, how much more did civilization have to deteriorate to change everyone?

  The overpass to the highway that ran north and south was through town and Cady couldn’t make herself go into Athol. Not just to dump a body. The pull wasn’t strong enough to exposure her to more people and potentially ensure her exposure. So far, she wasn’t sure she had been exposed.

  She stopped the four-wheeler at the top of the hill leading down through the thick forest and then into town. An embankment to a small valley would be the place she would drop Kent off. Trees obliterated the view of anything past the guardrails.

  With no one in sight, Cady parked the ATV, snapping the brake handle into its hold position and testing to make sure the wheels didn’t roll.

  Sliding from the seat, she stepped onto the side away from the road and walked to the trailer. She might not be strong enough to kick him over the rail, but she could at least nudge him to the space between the rail and the mountainside.

  As she worked at Kent, to get him off the trailer, she realized she was too tired to get him further than off the ramp. She wasn’t going to be able to roll him behind anything. The more she touched him and maneuvered him, the less she could do. She wasn’t getting sick, she could tell that much. It was more of a weakness of spirit and mind.

  As much as she hated doing it, she left her neighbor’s body out in the open, in the chilly air of the late winter weather, along the side of the road for anyone to see. Reclosing the trailer, she sighed and climbed back on the four-wheeler.

  Her shoulders slumped and she sat there for a moment, trying to figure out what she was doing.

  Her phone rang and she pulled her glove from her hand, careful to keep the infected rubber off her skin. She’d have to put it back on, but she’d done harder things. Calls were few and far between these days.