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

by B. R. Paulson

  From his position he’d been able to see the fires as far away as Airway Heights. Stray bombs had torn up the old Catholic church near the hospitals. He didn’t know who or what was hit. But old alarms, remnants from for World War I and II, had wailed into the night.

  The brunette looked at him with confusion in her eyes and the tilt of her lips. Her hands shook.

  “Okay.” How did he tell her? What and how much did he share? “Um… There’s been at least one attack.”

  “Besides us? On who? My parents? The same man?” A quaver in her voice declared she was close to her limit on how much she could take.

  “No. I don’t know exactly who dropped the bombs, but it seems they targeted the Air Force base and struck Fairchild. Stray missiles and damage hit downtown.” He placed his hand on her upper arm. “I’m sorry.”

  They sat together in the large grouping of bushes, protected for the moment, but for how long? A time table had been constructed for Tom, but he had no idea what it meant or the goal behind it.

  He was stuck in the middle of calculus without a textbook or pencils and he had to define a slope without numbers. And the cute girl he’d been watching all year witnessed him screwing up.

  She turned to him. “What do we do now, Tom?”

  “Stay alive.”

  Her gaze fell past his shoulder and she stared as she took in his answer. Jenny Peterson didn’t have the cheap-platinum look like most cheerleaders. Soft angles in her cheeks and jaw platformed large chocolate eyes lined with thick, thick black lashes. Her skin was pale and smooth, free of the blemishes most girls her age sported. And the lack of makeup let her real beauty show which stood out more than any other girl Tom had known before. Why couldn’t he have spoken to her before the world came under attack?

  Tom looked at her until she met his gaze. For a long drawn out second, they ignored the branches poking their sides and necks. Tom cleared his throat. “I need to get going. Where’s your car?”

  Jenny clutched his hand, her skin warm and soft. “Don’t leave. What if those men come back?”

  “I don’t think they will for now. Hopefully, there’s time to get away.” Tom hooked the straps of his backpack at the waist and bear crawled out of the bush. He leaned back to offer her a hand.

  But she wasn’t looking at him. “Where are you going? I… I don’t have anywhere to go.” She stared in the distance of the campsite. “Or anyone else, now.”

  Oh, no. He had to watch out for himself. How was he going to help her? Looks didn’t matter in war. Tom was only human and had weaknesses. And Jenny Peterson was one of them. “Come on.” She followed him. They stood up outside the leaves after a long look around. “Did you guys bring a car?”

  She nodded and walked around the edge of the plant. Tom stayed a close distance behind. At the corner of the bathroom, he realized where she was going and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? Your friends are dead. They were shot. Do you want to see that?”

  Jenny stopped and looked down. Stray hair fell around her cheeks. “How can they be dead? We were just planning on going for a run and eating breakfast.”

  “Trust me, they’re dead. And I hate that I’m the one telling you.” He pulled her the other direction. Tired. He felt so tired. “We need to find your car.”

  Jenny was remarkably strong. She pulled against him and yanked her arm free. “Are you kidding?” She pulled at the waistband of her pants. Her eyes flashed. “Do these look like they have room for car keys? Everything’s back at the camp.”

  Tom shot a harried look at her tight pants. Nope, no way could she fit a key in those pants. His hands might fit. He shook his head and met her gaze. She’d seen him checking the pants out a little too close. Heat flooded his face. “Sorry. Okay. I’ll get the keys. Where are they? And while I’m there, do you need anything else?”

  “Can you get the pink and white tie-dyed duffel bag for me? The keys are sitting on the camp chair closest to the fire.” Sadness rounded her lips and faded the sparkle in her eyes.

  Tom peeked around the corner and listened. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Dang, he’d better not be walking into a trap. That would really cramp his plans. He tossed one more look over his shoulder. Jenny watched him which bolstered his courage.

  Heart pounding, in the eerie quiet, every step a boom from a bass speaker, Tom’s stomach hurt. Too much adrenaline and too little sleep. He’d been scared thinking about getting himself out. Taking on Jenny would give him an ulcer or gray hair, or both.

  The pup tent guarded his view from seeing the rest of the site. He slowed and each step lasted three counts. He approached from the east and a slight breeze rushed the coppery scent of blood into his face. Buzzing. So much buzzing. And he saw them, the two girls, lying face down in the dirt covered in hovering yellow and black hornets. Innocence splashed on the dark brown and black dirt.

  Seconds. He’d been gone seconds.

  Searching the woods, partly to check for returning chasers and partly – well, mostly – to keep his mind from registering the details of the scene, Tom edged the borders of the site. Pink and white tie-dyed duffel by the tent. Check. Keys… keys… on the camp chair. Oh no, he had to walk over the girls.

  He couldn’t go around, to one side he’d hit the tent and the other way was blocked by more chairs. He didn’t want to make more noise than necessary. And he hated hornets. But they seemed busy with the girl laying face down on the ground. She must be the one shot in the head.

  He stepped over the girl who’d been pierced by a bullet above the collarbone, meeting her eyes with his own. Her eyes flickered. Holy crap! Did she know him? Tom hadn’t seen her since the last basketball game against their school. Her hair was lighter.

  Tom dropped down to his knees and pressed two fingers to her throat. A thready pulse, softer than the beat of the irritated hornet wings, pushed against his fingertips.

  Tom pushed his hand to the open hole at the base of the neck. She moaned, but couldn’t move. Tom rolled her off the dead friend and looked at the wound in the back of her neck. Minute bone fragments laced the macerated edge of the golf ball-sized wound. Crap. Her spine. He swallowed the bile racing up his throat. Cross medical school from his goals.

  He gently returned the girl to her back. Unable to move her head, she focused on his face with her eyes and another groan escaped her parted lips. Specks of red rode the shattered breath escaping her mouth. And for one more second her body was stiff, fighting for life. In the next, limp, and she was gone.

  Wiping his hand down her face to close her eyelids, Tom contained a gasp. Enough. Get the keys. His fingers dripped red but he stood and clamored to reach them. His sanity held on by wisps of air.

  Stumbling back to Jenny, Tom wiped his bloody hands on his pants before handing her the keys. “Run. We need to get out of here.” He carried her duffel while packing his own bag on his back. Somewhere safe. But where? They opened into a run just faster than a jog. When Tom had been out that morning looking around and watching, listening, he’d seen people flocking toward the large Arena on the north side of the river. A stray bomb had disabled the bridges. Headlights and flashlights had gathered and traveled in lines toward the schools and large churches. People had collected together like mercury.

  In all of his research, he’d learned initial attacks were followed by more. Kick the victims while they’re down. The attacking entity would wait for the majority of people to group and then do more damage when people hoped for a reprieve.

  Dry pine needles from the previous fall crunched under their feet.

  Jenny pointed at a red Subaru Outback. She gasped, “There.” Whipping the jingling keys into her hand, she pushed a button on the remote and the Subaru’s lights lit up. A subdued beep acknowledged their arrival. She slid into the driver’s seat and Tom threw the bags in the back.

  “Where to? Your house? Or should we check on my parents?” Jenny shifted and peeled out of the parking lot.

&nb
sp; “No, I’m sorry, we can’t go to the city or anywhere a lot of people might be. I’m afraid it’s just us for a while.” Tom turned to look out the back window in case they were being followed. “And we can’t go to my house because that’s where those men chased me from.”

  “I can’t go check on my parents? Or my little sister?” Jenny’s lower lip trembled and real tears threatened. She swerved, missing the wooden posts lining the drive to the exit by centimeters.

  “Hang on, Jenny. Calm down. We can’t get into town right now anyway. Too much is going on. I promise, I don’t know how, but we’ll find out about our parents.” He faced forward. “Mine were working the graveyard shift at Deaconess Hospital last night.” If he focused on her too long, he’d let her have her way regardless of the danger.

  “My parents live just up the hill from there. Nobody would attack a hospital, right? That’s just wrong.” Jenny steadied the wheel. The ranger toll station guarded the entryway, short and squat with the roof shaped like a mushroom. “We need to warn these guys. Hold on. It will just take a second.” Pulled up to the window, Jenny rapped with her knuckles on the glass through her lowered window.

  A pale-faced man brought his nose to the microphone. A sheen of moisture shined on his forehead. “Y-yes?” The heat of the day hadn’t yet begun but already a fan whirred in the upper corner of the booth.

  “Sir, there are some dangerous men in the campground. You need to be careful. Here, I’ll write down a description for you.” Jenny dug through her purse, but Tom’s eyes never strayed from the man whose hand shook as he reached for the window.

  A red spot of light glimmered behind the man’s ear. Alarmed, Tom met the petrified man’s gaze. He shook his head and the ranger’s blood splattered the window. Jenny screamed, dropping her purse, hands frozen in the air.

  Tom leaned across the seat and jammed his foot onto the accelerator. The front panel screamed against the metal guard rail. His leg brushed against hers, but for once, he didn’t care.

  Cranking the wheel, Tom kept his foot on the gas and fought to stabilize the vehicle. “Jenny! Snap out of it.” His words cut through her screeching. She pushed him out of the way and replaced his hands with hers. The car barely slowed as she took control of the pedals as well. He settled into his seat and looked behind the car. “We need to find a place to stay. Head east. I know someone in Post Falls who might be able to help us.”

  The car responded to Jenny and zoomed away from the park. Tom leaned his head out the window. Cool air rushed past.

  He vomited down the red paint.

  Keep reading!

  The End

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

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