Try Hard: a post-apocalyptic thriller (180 Days and Counting... Series Book 7)

by B. R. Paulson

  Rachel longed to ask them to stay quiet, but they were kids and needed something to release the emotions overtaking them. A small knot of envy pushed at her heart. Beau could run and be carefree, even for the moment, the gravity of the situation too large for him to comprehend.

  Rachel would never escape the images in her heart.

  A small hand slipped into her fingers and Kayli’s body pressed against Rachel’s side. She looked down at Kayli’s thick auburn hair glinting in the strengthening light of day. A sniff escaped her daughter. Rachel knelt down and placed her hands on the little girl’s waist. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  Everything.

  Large swimming green eyes looked at Rachel, and Kayli whispered, “Daddy isn’t with us. Why not?”

  And the question knocked Rachel on her butt. She hadn’t considered the possibility that the kids wouldn’t understand what had happened right before their eyes. What did she say? How did she explain it? Did Rachel even understand herself? Her training hadn’t prepared her for juvenile grief. She dealt with behaviors, mental instabilities and insecurities. Fear. Not grief.

  Basics. She could remember the basics, right? Rachel cleared her throat for more time. Logic. Approach everything with honesty and logic. Even with her mate missing in a world shot to hell in a hand basket, she’d treat everything with logic. “Kayli, do you remember the house that fell down? The one with the fire?” At Kayli’s timid nod, Rachel continued, tears welling in her eyes. “Daddy was inside, honey. He’s not going to be with us now.”

  Kayli’s eyes widened. Her lower lip quivered and the rest of her features screwed up in a mask of pain. She tightened her fists at her side and shook her head, never taking her eyes from her mother’s face. Rachel’s stomach turned. “I’m sorry.”

  Her daughter choked on a sob and stood frozen, trapped in her grief and unable to vocalize it. Rachel knelt down and pulled the small body into her arms. Holding Kayli with the fierceness of a mother bear, Rachel vowed in her heart to protect her children from the horrors that might come. Even if she had to steal, go hungry or kill. They’d lost their dad, she’d be damned if they would lose themselves. The kids were all she had left of Andy.

  Some of her earlier psychology training had covered loss. Recalling the exact steps was impossible, but she had a copy of her psych book at the cabin for light reading. She’d check for more information on ways to treat grief in children.

  Kayli’s heart wrenching sobs abated and she hiccupped against Rachel’s shoulder.

  “Should we get things unpacked and settle into our ‘cave’? Like Batman?” Rachel patted Kayli’s back and looked up. Her two boys watched them a few feet away. Cole guarded against showing anything, even to his mom. Beau’s confusion tore at Rachel more than Kayli’s tears.

  Standing, Rachel grabbed Kayli’s hand and Beau’s and corralled Cole with her arm to the cabin. “Come on, guys. We need to get settled before we do anything else and I think I hear tummies rumbling. Want something to eat?”

  The mention of food lightened the mood. How could anyone be dead when the normalcy of eating needed to be attended to? The incomplete family pretended Andy had stepped out to stack a cord of wood while Mom made lunch. For the space of a few seconds, each one needed the situational delusion for their sanity’s sake.

  If Rachel let herself, she could lie until even she believed it. But could she accept the sadness that would come, if she didn’t deal with the truth? She didn’t know. The gravity was stilting and, maybe, if she just placed one foot in front of the other she could get her kids through it.

  She’d bury her heart in the garden later.

  ~

  “Cole, let’s put the compost items on the side of the plot where Dad had it last year. Here’s the remains from lunch, would you, please?” Rachel handed the newspaper bundle of orange peels, bread crust and tomatoes over and smiled at his grossed-out expression. “Just wait ‘til the compost starts doing its job. You’re going to wish I was changing diapers again.”

  Moments later, Cole returned to stand by Rachel in the circle of the kitchen. He hung his head. Setting the broom to the side, Rachel grabbed Cole’s hand. Fourteen-year-olds. “What’s the matter?”

  He lifted his chin, eyes red. “Dad died because of me, didn’t he?”

  Rachel pulled Cole to her and peered into his face. “What are you talking about? Did you set fire to that house? Did you scream from inside? Did you give your daddy the inherent desire to help any and all people at every opportunity? No. There is no way you are responsible for your dad.”

  “Mom, you sound mad at him.” Cole’s eyes lowered.

  She was, in a way. But not to the extent her anger could be considered step one of the grieving process. She was… upset that Cole would even consider it was his fault… a strong sense of responsibility his father had had as well. “I don’t mean to be upset with your dad. But I think it’s okay to think that Dad might have been more in control of the moment than you think.”

  Cole’s longish brown hair jerked back and forth as he shook his head. “It’s not his fault. He had to take some time to tell me to get on the quad. He might have made it, if he hadn’t needed to do that.”

  Ah. “Cole, it was Dad’s time. You couldn’t control what happened. You had nothing to do with it. I promise. Now I think we all need to rest. We’ve been up for a very long time.” She would have to make dinner in a few hours and the kids looked like she felt. Their shadowed eyes and downturned lips, sunken in cheeks and slow movements testified to the fatigue of the last twelve hours.

  Cole didn’t argue which solidified naps. One more trailer to put away and she could lie down as well.

  Rachel released her son who disappeared into the back hallway toward his and Beau’s room.

  Three bedrooms and one bath, a pantry, makeshift laundry room and storage area and a hidden escape hatch made up the rooms in the back portion of the hill. Closest to the kitchen, the pantry was stocked with food and supplies as well as outfitted with an in-ground icebox.

  Ice wasn’t involved. One day Andy had left his bottled water inside a crevice while he worked. He’d forgotten about it until later and sent one of the kids to retrieve it. Unscrewing the cap, he’d swigged a mouthful of ice crystals in the water.

  Deep in the dirt, the ground never completely thawed. And with the underground spring burbling feet from the home, the cool temperature was easy to hold, ideal for the summer but would test them through winter-like weather.

  Her icebox was green, never used any energy from the solar panels Andy had backpacked in for electricity.

  She hoped they wouldn’t need the wood fireplace Andy had set up to spread smoke into twelve different chimney pipes along the ground so it wouldn’t give away the location of the house. His mechanical engineering degree had come in handier than they’d thought possible.

  Outside, the air was a touch warmer, but not enough to take off more than one layer of clothing. Rachel eyed the trailer, unsure if anything made completely of aluminum and steel would be light enough to move by hand. But if Cole could do the other one, then for the love, she could, too. She crouched down and put some force into lifting the tongue of the wagon. Empty, the trailer flipped up like a misshapen teeter-totter and back down on her toe. Rachel gasped at the pain. Wow, it was turning into one doozie of a day. Could it get any worse? Andy was the one who did this crap. Not her. Andy… where are you?

  Applause echoed through the trees. Rachel whirled and stepped closer to the door. Her smaller .223 was inside, loaded and ready to be discharged. Her pulse raced and she had no qualms killing to protect her babies. Heck, she had sworn it not too long ago.

  Tanned skin and blonde hair spiked from under the edge of his cowboy hat. The man was familiar but too far away to see the details of his face. The distance shortened, but Rachel couldn’t place him. She orbited around the door, keeping her body between him and her kids as he moved closer.

  “I didn’t know women could l
ift a metal trailer. Are you Superwoman?” He drawled the last question, hooking his hands in his front pockets.

  Dang her inability to hide even the mildest emotion – according to Andy. She averted her face to check on the gun. Polite women were dead women. She didn’t reply, just eyed him and stepped forward to push him back. He didn’t budge.

  He raised his eyebrows and looked over his camo encased shoulder. A glance tossed toward the sky and he stepped under the tree at the front of the house. “Do you mind if I come in? I’ll store the trailer, but we need to get out of sight. Excessive movement could catch their eye and I don’t want to do that just yet.”

  Come in? He wanted in her house? Where her kids rested… Who were “they”? And how did they know Rachel and her kids were even out this far? She and Andy had been so careful… “Who are you?”

  “Rachel, it’s me. Joshua Hughes? Andy’s friend? I’ve been helping him for over a year. I haven’t changed that much.” He threw a furtive glance around the clearing. “Can we talk about this inside?”

  His blue eyes focused on her and a jolt traveled the length of her spine. Not… “Jay? But Andy didn’t mention you were up here. Wha —” She’d left him at the university. Him and all the memories, the surreptitious glances, the pangs of longing when he jogged by without a shirt, the uncomfortable shifting when he’d walk into the dorm room and interrupted a make-out session. “I don’t…” Rachel cleared her throat and dug her fingernails into her palm. Andy was lucky at the moment he was dead… she wanted to kill him.

  The distance between them narrowed and panic overthrew her thought process. She didn’t worry about him as a stranger anymore, no, Rachel worried about what he would do with his hands if he found out Andy was out of the picture.

  She backed into the doorway and reached behind the wall to grab the Glock 23. The stubby body fit her hand, an extension after the many hours in the woods and on the shooting range. And rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to shoot him.

  But she was irritated and the kids were inside washing up. And dang, she didn’t like the exaggerated reminder that Andy was dead by mere hours.

  Two yards away, his focus shifted and he turned to back into the house, watching the perimeter, the sky, anything and everything but where he should have had his attention. Her hand rose into position and yielded little when his back pushed against the barrel. His hands popped up to his sides like flags. He froze.

  “Good, you remember me.” He sighed. “Do we really need to rehash everything? Andy and I got passed it, can’t you and I?”

  Rachel didn’t answer. She’d been teasing, that’s all. Playing, but the moment had lost itself in the conversation. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

  “I helped Andy build this place. I live just up the way.” Nothing moved. “He had to have mentioned that I was helping.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised.

  She’d never heard Andy mention Jay. But he had mentioned… “Hughes? Not the same Hughes who shot at loggers on his land?” Andy had spoken of Hughes every chance he could, especially after a weekend working on the cabin. He’d never mentioned Jay. But Hughes and Jay being the same person explained why Andy never pushed having her up with him to work on the cabin.

  “The same. Can I come in?” He didn’t lower his hands until she’d removed the pistol from his back.

  “Yes.” Rachel clipped the safety and tucked the piece into the waist band of her jeans. She offered a tight smile. “A girl can never be too careful. Sorry, Jay.”

  “It’s Josh, now. I haven’t been Jay since college.” Turning around, Josh’s smile eased her tension. “No worries. I’d be upset with Andy, if he hadn’t prepared you. Seems like you can handle a gun. Where’s Andy? He didn’t mention me?”

  “Your name didn’t come up often.” She left it at that. He didn’t need to know about the separation and near divorce at the beginning of her marriage because of him. No guy should have that much draw.

  He followed her inside and took a seat at the picnic-style table Andy had built into the wall. She avoided meeting his gaze, looking instead at her fingers wrestling each other in her lap. “Andy… Um, well.” How did she speak words she wasn’t really comfortable thinking? The first time had to come and why not when she was still numb from the shock? “On our way here, we stopped and he ran into a house… on fire to save some… some people and…” Rachel swallowed, “…and the house fell in on itself before Andy made it out.” Not too bad, she’d made it through the initial declaration. And without tears. Maybe she was tougher than she thought.

  Josh leaned away from the table. His cheeks slackened, pupils dilated. “Not Andy.”

  Rachel nodded. She’d done well so far, why push it? She patted his hand resting on the table. If she had to console one more person over her husband’s death, she was going to shoot something.

  Jaw tight, Josh averted his gaze to the middle of the floor. Was he crying? Oh, no. A grown man crying would break down her barriers and she’d… seriously? Rachel swiped at the unwelcome tears. She rested her head in her hands and sobbed in bursts and gasps. “What is going on? I was safe twelve hours ago and now my husband is dead, we’re under attack and the world is ending. The only thing Andy talked about was the possible attacks and war and being prepared. I thought I wanted it to happen just so he’d shut up and stop talking about it, but now that it’s here, I’d much rather go back to listening to him rant and rave over dinner.” She gasped against the deep pain ripping through her. Odd that she’d share her grief with Jay – wait, Josh.

  Silence brooked no argument and Rachel lifted her head when Josh shifted in his seat. “What? Did I miss something?”

  “No. It’s terrible. But I think you need to brace yourself,” he leaned toward her, “it’s going to get a lot worse.” He moved his finger as if to etch the words on the table.

  Unbelievable. Her stomach clenched. “How? Oh, crap, is this one of your conspiracy theories you worked on Andy? He used to come home freaked out sometimes and the next day go out and buy ammo or insulated sleeping bags. How much money did you fleece out of him for sky-falling-scares?” Out of nowhere her tears of sadness turned to anger.

  Andy had taken out a second job to pay for items that would “green” their cabin, more gadgets and survival tools to pack in the trailers, more and more and she and the kids had seen Andy less and less. And he’d made good money with his first job.

  The majority of buying sprees fell after visits into the forests and helping Josh. How much time had her family lost because of Josh?

  Her anger was misplaced, she had enough sense to understand that, but more than enough anger to not care.

  “Conspiracy theories? That suggests it isn’t true. Did you happen to look around while you drove up here? Did it look theoretical to you?” He bit his words off beneath the wipes of his arm across his face. Rachel gave him a moment, pretended it was sweat and not tears he swiped at.

  “You didn’t come up with this one.” She scoffed and shrugged off the look he shot her way. She didn’t want to hear from his mouth the same things Andy had spouted. A portable gun reloader and unregistered weapons were crazy. Crazy, she’d said to Andy. The world is sinking, he’d said.

  Her guest removed his hat, releasing shorter blond waves which fell to his cheekbones. Fingers through his hair, he sighed. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. I don’t… Andy was a great friend. I’m going to miss him.”

  Pulling a small radio from his front flannel pocket, Josh slid the yellow piece across the table. “We’d planned for the possibility of something like this happening. Andy has a charger in the pantry. I’ll keep mine on. You beep me if you need me and I’ll come here to check on you. Every day at this same time, I’ll come by. If you’re not here by choice, tie a red towel on the door handle before you leave.”

  She didn’t know what to make of him and his “orders”. Irritation laced her tone. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don’
t need a babysitter. I’ll take the radio, but please don’t trouble to come all this way.” Andy had talked of the whereabouts of Josh’s place, but Rachel hadn’t been interested and assumed one more zealot lived in the woods of Idaho, great. She hadn’t listened – hadn’t cared. But now, seeing who Andy had hidden, she wished she would have invested more time in checking up on her husband.

  “Okay. Do you need anything? Can I get you wood?” He stood, his broad shoulders drawing her eye. He wasn’t Andy. The discomfort sparked with a palpable burn between them. Rachel didn’t have a reason to be uncomfortable with him… anymore… except he was the man she’d considered leaving her boyfriend for.

  The tension of the attacks and fatigue combined with the loss of her husband mounted against her. The weight was enough to snap an elephant femur.

  But he was Andy’s friend who’d been dealt a load of bad news, too. He probably had left his college-day crush on her in the past. She had. She’d quiz the crap out of him later. He had to know more than he was letting on.

  Rachel wasn’t lost to the grief and disbelief. She had no excuse to be rude. She pushed away from the table and ran her damp palms down the sides of her jeans. “I’m sorry. Josh, you didn’t…” A tic formed at the corner of her eyelid. “I appreciate the help. Let me settle in and we’ll ease into the neighbor thing.”

  Josh tucked his chin and eyed her. “Did you get any news?”

  She bit her lip. He wasn’t taking the hint to leave. She had always been terrible at the art of subtle suggestion. “A radio broadcast, sporadic at best.” Manners prevented her from telling him bluntly, but what was she supposed to say? Get the heck out, I want to mourn my husband? At least she didn’t have to go through the arduous task of securing each and every entryway Andy had developed. How had she traveled so far from the profession that made up who she was – defined how she reacted? She had more training than that. She could handle it.