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

by B. R. Paulson

  Most likely it was Scott. She couldn’t remember a time when hearing another human’s voice was so welcomed. She missed the days when answering a call was more of a pain than something to look forward to because it was easy to take for granted.

  Her relief welled in her as she answered. “Scott. Did you get my message? You didn’t give anyone the ointment, did you? If you’re sick, don’t take it yourself. Do you hear me?”

  Scott’s sigh was rich before he spoke. “No, I didn’t get your message. Text messages are going through, but the calls are sketchy. I barely have two bars. My Mom turned the ointment down. She…” He paused and Cady worried the phone had disconnected. After a moment, Scott’s choked voice came back. “My parents… they’re dead.”

  The inevitable phrase should have shocked Cady. It should have been something that wasn’t expected. His parents were healthy – before the virus – and they had many years still ahead of them. The fact that his announcement didn’t shock Cady was more of a testament to what the virus had retrained her to think. It was a telling point to what killing Kent had shifted in her head. Even with all the changing, Cady’s empathy hadn’t altered and she hurt for her friend. “No. Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry.” Cady hung her head. The traumas would come faster and faster and she wasn’t sure what words were okay to say or what would be just wasted breath.

  Because, if she didn’t hear from her own parents, she would have to make the same assumption and what would she want to hear? What would make things better for her? She wasn’t ready to give in and say that they were dead. Not yet. Cady might never see them again, but she could always hope, even as reality would dictate they had died.

  But Scott knew his parents were dead. The knowledge would be painful, but at least he knew.

  Cady envied him that knowledge. Would she ever have that closure?

  “I… had to save my niece and nephew. I… Cady, I need diapers and formula when I get back. Do you have anything like that?” Scott’s plea was for more than items. He needed help. He needed someone to say they’d be with him by his side.

  All she had to do was choose. Choose between helping her friend or a lonely death that Bailey wouldn’t learn anything from. If Cady helped Scott, Bailey would be able to learn service, even in times of trial. Nodding slowly, Cady cleared her throat. “What size do you need?”

  “All of them. She was in NICU. All of us probably won’t make it, but… I gotta hope, you know?” He forced a jovial tone. “We’re shooting to be home by tonight or tomorrow morning. There’s a dangerous feel in the air. I know it sounds stupid, but… stay home, okay? I’m not sure when the looting will start or…” His voice trailed off as if he couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling, but that he had to warn someone, say something.

  Cady understood. “I’m outside of Athol right now.” She softly shook her head, glancing around for anyone who might be out to harm her. But there was no one.

  “No! Why?” Alarm filled Scott’s voice. He really did care. The thought warmed her heart.

  Time for confession. Time to own what she’d done. She had to tell Scott. If anyone could absolve her of her guilt, it would be Scott. “I… I killed Kent, Scott. I had to. He attacked me with a knife and he was going for Bailey and…” She sniffed as she faced the truth of what she’d done. Scott wouldn’t judge her, but a part of her worried he wouldn’t think the same about her. Which he shouldn’t. She’d taken a life.

  Scott’s silence split the call between them. He didn’t answer for the longest time and Cady was sure he hated her, judged her for something she couldn’t believe she’d done herself.

  But then, just as she’d given up hope he would acknowledge her actions with something, anything, his words came soft, slow, and reassuringly. “I’m sure it had to be done. You hate guns. I’m proud of you for doing what you needed to do.” He didn’t even sound shocked, like he had his own secrets he couldn’t face just yet.

  “I hate them even more, now, but it’s a love-hate relationship. One saved Bailey. I’m not… I’m not completely comfortable with them, but I put on an act for Bailey. She’s learning how to use them now.” She couldn’t tell Scott she was forcing Bailey to learn a bunch of skills because Cady had forced the vaccine on her. That would be more unforgiveable than killing the neighbor. Cady paused, then spoke with a softer tone. “Thanks for your support. I’m glad I could talk to you about it.” She’d changed and she needed to know she was still a good person.

  Whatever Scott had done, he would need to talk to her about it. Cady was ready to listen. They were going to change, and not necessarily for the better. She was already shifting, altering to fit the circumstances of the world and what she knew. Her own daughter had to make adjustments to survive.

  They would do what they needed to.

  If Cady had changed already, who would she be in the end?

  Would she make it to the end and just how much could she allow herself to adapt? Evolution was one thing, but surviving past your time was something completely different.

  How many people would she have to kill to stay alive?

  Chapter 17

  Jackson

  Jackson didn’t wait around inside the house after leaving the ointment for Cornelia and the kids. She wasn’t a generous woman, so she probably wouldn’t take any back to his parents. Jackson wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  He leaned his elbow on the windowsill of his truck and settled into the seat as he watched the neighborhood.

  Was he comfortable knowing his parents would suffer the virus and maybe survive? Their chances were slim to none because of their age, but he was scientist enough to accept the fact that his virus had a less-than-optimal mortality rate. In fact, survivors of smallpox had been many more than that had died. The terror of smallpox had been its ability to kill. Not the percentage that it killed.

  The measles was feared because of what it could do from causing sterility to death as well.

  Smallpox had earned a reputation, but Jackson wondered how patients would do with modern medicine and no vaccination. Would the mortality rate be affected, making it no more fear-worthy than the chickenpox? Or would it have the ability to change and adapt like bacteria had?

  Jackson didn’t track how long he sat in his rig waiting for something like a sign that his brother had gone insane. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He hadn’t been able to test the ointment on more than one old man Jackson had found outside the bar one night. The man hadn’t gotten the virus exposure. No, Jackson had only wanted to test the concentration and to effectively administer that test, he had to make sure the subject was unfettered by the virus.

  The virus would weaken the system, sure, but a healthy person might administer the ointment to a sick person. If a healthy person somehow hadn’t contracted the sickness and might not, either, for whatever reason, that healthy person would be exposed to the Cure. The urtica ferox would soak into their skin and Jackson had to know how it would affect the healthy ones who escaped CJ180d’s clutches.

  The man’s screams echoed in Jackson’s memories. He’d grinned as he’d watched the man go through the stages of the Cure in complete lucidity. He’d been terrified to find Jackson had locked him in a three-inch thick plexiglass box. A vent had allowed air into the top, but nothing else.

  Jackson didn’t need bathrooms for the walking dead. He’d watched the hours pass as the man’s nervous system had slowly begun to respond to the poison. He’d gone crazy, crashing his head into the plexiglass until he’d slumped to the floor, blood streaked against the inside of the box.

  Making his notes, Jackson had left the box where it was. He shut off the air to it and turned away. He had other boxes, plenty, and some were empty and some… weren’t. He didn’t feel bad. Everything was in the name of science and he was justified in his research.

  A gunshot rang from inside his parents’ house, the flash bright in the dark as it pulled Jackson from his memories. Not just one shot, but another. And a
nother. Then some down on the main level.

  Straightening in his seat, Jackson didn’t even flinch. Eyes wide, he watched with a smirk firmly in place. A thrill worked its way around him and licked his lips. More flashes. Was that a scream? It didn’t last long enough to know for sure.

  After a long moment, Miguel burst through the front door, screaming and waving his arms around his head. “Juan!” But he didn’t see as he stared up at the skies, waving a gun around him in the air. He bent over, bracing his hands on his upper thighs, then he stood, stared at the ground, lifted the muzzle to beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

  Jackson grinned as his brother dropped to the ground. The ointment worked. He was more than a little proud of his accomplishments. Look at everything he’d done. He wasn’t sure if Miguel had killed their parents and Jackson wasn’t sure he cared enough to check. He sat in his truck and considered. Did he want to chance exposure to the chemicals of the ointment? Not really. He didn’t care, really, if his parents made it past that point or not. He knew they wouldn’t be able to go far.

  Miguel had killed them, then the entire family had gotten off light. How long had they irritated Jackson? How long had they held him back from true success? How many babies had they just had to make? His family had been one of the many problems out there. Population eradication was a necessity and if Jackson hadn’t been able to secure it for his own family, he wasn’t truly living by his beliefs.

  Jackson turned on his rig. Where to now? Did he rush toward north Idaho? It was probably best to wait for a bit. If Cady had taken the vaccine, she’d have to deal with watching her daughter die as well as those around her. That was a kind of grieving process Jackson had heard was painful. He didn’t need to see Cady go through that. He’d wait until she’d recovered enough to be more open to his arrival.

  He didn’t have anything to rush into anyway. He’d give Cady time to watch those around her die so she’d appreciate him more when he arrived. Plus, he’d always wanted to see what a large log house mansion was like in Montana. Seeing his family reminded him that he had a lot to still see and do before he was ready to settle down with his wife. They could travel and stuff after they were together, but Jackson wanted the chance to do some things on his own before strapping himself to her.

  Plus, what if Cady had given the vaccine to her daughter? Jackson would have to wait a year or two before he could start procreating with her. He didn’t want to have to train her, but if he took the time and expended the effort to make sure she was the type of woman he wanted, then the daughter could potentially be a better option than Cady. She was younger and had more child-bearing years ahead of her than Cady did.

  For survival of the species, the daughter would be the better choice.

  Narrowing his eyes, Jackson realized he hadn’t completely thought things through. He would have to figure out a way to find out which one was going to be his bride beforehand. Maybe Cady was smart and had a landline. He’d find his dream home in Montana and then he’d call her. They had a lot of catching up to do.

  He made his way to I90 and continued north.

  CJ180d was turning out to be the best thing ever. He coughed at the dry air circling around him and then reached forward to turn on the CD he had in the stereo. AC/DC filled the air and he grinned slowly.

  There wouldn’t be any radio channels on and he could listen to truly good music whenever he wanted – commercial free. He’d destroyed that mess.

  Consumerism was gone. Demand was gone. Jackson could have whatever he wanted and if there was anyone left to oppose him, he’d take care of them as well. He wasn’t worried of not having enough. There would always be enough for him.

  And as long as he continued working toward the women in north Idaho, Jackson had no doubt he was on the right path. Everything was going better than he’d planned.

  The virus, his creation, was doing its job.

  Oh, he longed to know how much it was affecting the rest of the world. Would there be anywhere on the planet that wouldn’t be exposed? Jackson wasn’t sure. Take out planes, trains, and ships and it didn’t matter who was out there. The world had suddenly gotten a lot larger. There was only so much you could do if you didn’t know how to fly or drive a boat. How far would you be able to get in the world without those capabilities?

  Jackson didn’t need world domination. He’d already turned it into his playground. He had no doubt the majority of the population would succumb to one stage of his plan, if not both.

  Maybe his offering could be considered a sacrifice. He’d never thought of it that way.

  He’d sacrificed the entire world for the protection of the earth.

  That had to earn him some brownie points somewhere, right? Not that he was worried. Someone who could create a virus and wipe out a world had more of a god-like status than his modesty would allow him to claim.

  But Jackson grinned. Jackson, a god… he liked it.

  Chapter 18

  Margie

  Time could have been standing still, but Margie doubted it as her heart rate thundered and her breathing quickened.

  Margie wasn’t sure how long they had until the men returned to the front of the storage units. She had to rouse David one more time, at least to get him into the Bug. What if she woke him, got him out to the car, and it didn’t start? Margie didn’t take too long to think things through. She looked around the office for anything else she might need beside her bag and the one key the men hadn’t taken.

  Rushing out to the car, she stashed her bag in the back and slid into the seat, starting the engine on only the second try. So much faster than she’d thought possible. She couldn’t waste anymore time. She’d wanted to try calling Cady, but that chance was gone with so many other opportunities.

  She rushed back into the building, glancing down toward the aisle where the truck had disappeared between the storage units. They weren’t returning… yet.

  Crouching beside her husband, she shook his shoulder, pulling at him as she half-dragged him to a sitting position. “David, David. I need you to get up. I’m sorry. One last time. We need to go in that car. I’m so sorry. David!” Through the open door she could hear the soft rumble of the diesel engine of the Bug and in the distance a louder engine she recognized as that of her motorhome.

  “David!” She knelt, jerking on his arm and half-dragging him closer to the door where the cold air could reach him. Half-sobbing, Margie begged her husband to come with her. “Please, for me. Please.” Would she have to make the choice to leave him or stay with him and suffer whatever consequences came her way?

  Somehow, David did as he was told and he flopped into the passenger seat, his head lolling to the side. She didn’t bother buckling him in. Slamming the door to make sure it closed, she blinked at the rain only sprinkling around her.

  Margie rushed around to the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror. Her pulse sped at the sight of the motorhome and truck edging onto the main lane of the storage units. She shifted, glancing toward the man she was trying so desperately to save. He would survive. He had to. She was willing to do whatever it took to get him back to Cady’s and safety.

  As she pulled out, leaving behind their home on wheels, Margie hoped she wasn’t chasing their deaths. But what choice did she have? She didn’t have much but she could at least hold onto the fact that she’d proven she had guts. When push came to shove, Margie could at least say she was willing to steal a lifeboat and drive around in a Volkswagen during the apocalypse. Who else was that crazy?

  Exactly.

  Finding I90 to head toward Spokane was easy in the midafternoon light. If nothing else got in their way, they would get to Cady’s in five hours. Five hours. That was nothing. She could do it. They would pull in just as the sun was setting. Margie could get David into bed and she could sit with Cady at the counter and have some tea. Maybe Cady wouldn’t have dinner on just yet and they would get to eat some of her famous spaghetti or they would be in the middle of
canning some of the meat in her freezers.

  Whatever it was, they would be together. Margie could stop worrying about Bailey and her mother, because Margie would be there with them. That was the goal. Get to Cady’s.

  Get to Cady’s.

  The snow was muddy and crusted toward the top of Snoqualmie Pass. A rest area tempted her from the side of the road, but she didn’t need to go that bad and David wasn’t awake enough to ask. She would have to help him angle toward the open door to relieve himself onto whatever ground they stopped on.

  If the presence of the men was any indicator, stopping would be a test of faith in itself. The rickety Bug didn’t instill much confidence in her as the engine shuddered every ten miles or so. Margie held it to a constant fifty miles per hour and didn’t push it harder. The fuel gauge was the only true worry point for her. At just under half a tank, Margie wasn’t sure how far she would be able to get on that much gas.

  The last time she’d owned a Bug had been before she and David had been married. The gas mileage wasn’t something a woman remembered after that long. She did remember it was good, but how good? As the gas needle fell, she realized she would need to top off the gas in Cle Elum.

  Snoqualmie spread out a ways and Margie focused with her hands on either side of the steering wheel, concentrating on keep their position on the road steady. The manual stick shook with the speed. The windshield wipers swished back and forth, the end of the passenger side one had a split and squeaked as it rubbed across the glass.

  Rain came steadily but at more of a lazy pace than it had that morning.

  Margie jumped as David placed a clammy palm on her forearm. Even with the heater running at full blast, David’s touch sent a shiver down to Margie’s toes and not in a good way.

  She glanced at her husband, forcing a smile as she kept her focus on the road. The pass wasn’t known for its safe surfaces and combined with the state of the car and most likely close to bald tires and Margie’s nerves and it wasn’t much of a reassuring situation.