Look Away: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 5)

by B. R. Paulson

  His pulse quickened and he sank to the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands while he braced his elbows on his knees. No matter which way he cut it, he was still hallucinating, but what was real and what wasn’t was the important piece he needed to figure out. Was his touch messed up or was his eyesight?

  Okay, think.

  The pounding came again, louder, almost angrier.

  He hadn’t tested his hearing. How did he know if they were there or not? There was something fundamentally wrong with his neural function, but he couldn’t figure out what.

  Could shoes slide onto his feet, if he weren’t moving and no one was around to put them on? He wasn’t sure, but that was less likely than the fact that he might have taken his pants off before.

  A crash against the door, like someone had thrown their body against the flimsy paneling.

  Jackson snapped his head up. He wasn’t normally timid or scared, but when he couldn’t figure out what was going on, his comfort zone was stretched and in this instance, it was broken.

  The banging moved to the glass, shaking the window out of view behind the tall dresser.

  He found the energy to stand and searched the small room. After a moment, he grabbed the sitting chair and dragged it into the bathroom or maybe it dragged him. He couldn’t be sure.

  Taking a deep breath, he kicked off one of the wooden legs. He grabbed either side of the stick and thrust outward with his foot. The stake broke into two pieces, jagged tips on either side.

  Jackson hadn’t brought his guns with him, but he could use the stake to protect himself, if the men broke in. The hammering and yelling grew louder, like they’d moved into the vents above him. They might get into the shower or the tub.

  He lowered himself to the cool tiled floor and leaned against the cabinet housing the sink. He gripped the stake so tightly, his hands shook. Glancing down, he inhaled sharply at the presence of the bright red blood dripping down to his lap.

  He’d cut himself. Or had he. He blinked. Was it his vision messing with him? He didn’t feel any pain. Maybe he had his pants on and his touch was messed up.

  The sound of a low chuckle coming from the T.V. captured his attention. Still holding the stakes in his hand, he pushed himself to his feet. Where was all this energy coming from?

  Glancing down, he stared for a moment at the suddenly absent pants and shoes, wincing at the blood under his feet. He’d cut his bare feet as well. He dragged in shaky breaths, unsure just what he was supposed to do. Had the men gotten into the room?

  More laughter, louder and more confident, called to him and he followed the sound mutely.

  Standing in the center of the room, he stared at Dr. Phil laughing on the screen and pointing at the stakes. “You’ve been looking for a way to end your pain, boy. You have two options right there. Now, quit your whining and get ‘er done.”

  Jackson stared at the stakes in his hands. It would be so easy. He dropped the shorter one and then positioned the jagged tip of the other against his chest. He could drop himself forward, thrusting the stake through his chest. He’d bleed to death, but it shouldn’t take long.

  After a second, he stopped himself from getting into position. The pain was bad, but he’d known it was going to be. He’d expected it. No giving in. No killing himself to satisfy his hallucinations.

  He shook his head. Drolly, he whispered, “Not today, Doc. Not today.”

  Tossing the stakes to the ground by the bed, Jackson fell onto the mattress. The chills were returning and his hands and feet shook uncontrollably. When would the ointment fade away? What kind of a fate had he resigned himself to?

  How much more could he withstand?

  Chapter 11

  Bailey

  Watching Cady as she stared at Jessica and explained the use of the oils, Bailey was hit with the reality of what was happening like a slap across the face.

  Cady was sick. No longer was it a matter of time or just a case of red eyes. Bailey had more to worry about than just Scott being sick or the possibility that Cady might get sick. Bailey had to plan for the eventuality of Cady’s death, because wasn’t that what it was? Cady had pretty much warned her that if she got sick, she would most likely die. There was no evidence of anyone surviving the sickness. They didn’t even know what the symptoms looked like or how they presented themselves.

  All Cady was doing with the oil information was telling Bailey how to make her death less painful. What a horrible way to say goodbye. Make me comfortable this way, because I’m going to die.

  Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, Bailey smiled as her mom stood and went to bed. She put on her brave face but she wasn’t sure if it was for Jason or for herself. Jessica didn’t care as she sucked peacefully on the pacifier in Jason’s arms.

  Jason spoke softly, staring at Jessica. “Does it make me like a baby, if I admit that I’m scared?” He turned fearful eyes toward Bailey who looked at him in wonder. A pink flush flooded his cheeks as he cast his eyes back down to his cousin. “Never mind, ignore that.” He cleared his throat.

  She shook her head, the tightness spreading from her throat to her chest. She made fists at her side, tucking them between the thighs and the couch. “No. I’m scared, too.” She was only… wait, her birthday was the next day. She wouldn’t be able to say she was only thirteen for very long. Cady hadn’t mentioned anything about it. But what did Bailey expect she would say, I’m dying, happy birthday?

  What a birthday it would be as she cleaned the coop for the chickens and put their waste into the compost heap. What a celebration she would have as she tossed out scratch for the hens and they would cluck around her as if singing a song to her. She could pretend that the eggs were presents and that the flowers struggling to break through the last pieces of winter’s shell were like Mother Nature’s balloons.

  She would be fourteen in just a few hours and she felt like she’d aged ten years over the last few weeks. How had she survived her father’s death only to be chased by the virus that would kill her mother, but leave her an orphan? And, somehow, she was now a mother figure to an infant, a property owner, a nursemaid, and more that she couldn’t comprehend.

  Telling Jason wasn’t an option. At least, not right then. She didn’t want to acknowledge that a normal thing was happening the next day – not when there wouldn’t be anything to celebrate it. Jason didn’t need the added stress of trying to make her day special. He was just the type of guy who would do that, too.

  Unaware of the turmoil wreaking havoc inside Bailey, Jason turned Jessica in his arms so that she could rest against his chest and he leaned back on the couch. Reaching for Bailey’s hand, he smiled softly at her. “At least we’re not alone.” The warm of his touch let her relax her hand enough to hold his fingers back.

  The movie continued running. What if celebrities had somehow had more of a chance with the virus? What if the actors in the famous zombie show were more prepared because of their acting? That didn’t make sense, because it was all fake, but what if they’d picked up some kind of a skill that left them less vulnerable?

  While Jim Carrey left the safety of the fake world he’d been raised in, Jason ran his thumb over the palm of her hand. Maybe, if she told him tomorrow it was her birthday tomorrow, he would be her first kiss. There were a lot of possibilities. Where was her friends when she needed someone to ask if him if he liked her? It wasn’t like he had any other options. They were probably the last two teenagers on earth. Her friends were probably dead anyway. Especially if they were the last two.

  That sobered her quickly. What if they really were the last two teenagers alive? All of her friends, all of his… She squeezed Jason’s fingers in hers, needing the comforting tightness to anchor her back in the moment. They sat there on the couch watching the movie, as if they had no other worry in the world.

  “I’m glad I’m not alone.” She smiled softly at him. Bailey couldn’t contain her gratitude. She was glad she wasn’t sitting there by herself w
hile her mother retreated to her bedroom. Even if Jason did nothing but hold Jessica, his companionship was worth more than anything else he could do.

  At least they weren’t alone… for now.

  ~~~

  Bailey woke to the soft sound of snoring coming from Jason’s bed. They’d split the largest bedroom on the end of the house of the top level so that they could take turns watching Jessica. The small baby still woke at night and with the arrival of the rash, she was fussier than she’d been. Cady didn’t need to be bothered while she was trying to rest and fight the virus.

  Jessica wasn’t fussing, so the baby wasn’t what had woken Bailey. She stared into the dark, trying to put her finger on what the disturbance had been. Something was off, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

  She threw off her covers, leaning over the makeshift crib to make sure Jessica wasn’t stirring. Maybe she’d woken and then fell back to sleep. Swaddled in a peaceful slumber, the baby didn’t move.

  Pulling a robe on over her soft pajama t-shirt, Bailey slowly walked down the hall, listening at each room for the change. The hallway muffled most sounds with its thick carpet and closed doors.

  As she got closer to Scott’s room, she reached out a hand to rest against the panel. Moaning and crying came from inside like someone was beating him with a scalding chain. The amount of pain he had to be in to make those sounds scared Bailey. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t go in. She just couldn’t. Not yet. What if he tried to hurt her?

  Cady had said the oils would bring relief, but what if he didn’t let her apply them? What if he fought her off?

  Bailey closed her hands into fists and pressed them to the base of her throat. She stared at the doorknob. Could she make herself go inside? She had to. One way or the other, she had to get in there. That was her responsibility now.

  Cady’s bedroom door, set perpendicular to Scott’s, opened with a snap. Cady stood there, peering out at Bailey as she struggled to breathe. Cady nodded toward Scott’s door and spoke slowly. “Get me the oil and I’ll do it this time.” She didn’t say last. She reached out and grabbed Bailey’s wrist before Bailey could disappear. “Hey, happy birthday, kiddo. I wish…” Cady screwed her lips to the side and let her daughter go, regret appearing in the form of sparkling tears on her lashes.

  Bailey nodded, unable to smile while Scott whimpered in pain. “I’ll get the oils, Mom, just a second.” She thundered down the stairs, rushing into the living room. Her bare feet flew over the hardwood flooring. It would probably be smartest to leave the oils upstairs and within easy reach of both of the bedrooms.

  Grabbing the oils, Bailey returned upstairs in seconds, handing them over and watching as Cady went into Scott’s room. She was fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to rely on Cady rescuing her next time.

  Next time… it would most likely be Cady that woke Bailey from her sleep.

  ~~~

  Bailey had a hard time sleeping and crawled from bed sometime around dawn. Jessica and Jason continued to sleep and she made her way down the hall again, pausing to listen at Scott’s door and then Cady’s.

  The soft light from the sun rising pinkened the sky through the skylight.

  Bailey continued creeping downstairs, grabbing a blanket from the living room couch. She quietly slid the back door open and claimed an Adirondack rocking chair set up on the covered wraparound porch. The blanket kept off the early morning chill and let Bailey find some peace.

  Fourteen. Her birthday. Only a month ago, she’d been making plans with her best friends for an all-girls’ party; dinner at Bailey’s with spa options like face masks and hair treatments. Just a girls’ night in. Nothing fancy.

  Now, Bailey wasn’t even sure if any of her friends were alive and she was too terrified to try calling them again. The last time she’d reached out, no one had answered.

  What if this time, they did, and Bailey couldn’t do anything to help them? What if they begged her for help? She couldn’t even go into Scott’s room.

  Bailey rocked back and forth as she huddled under the blanket, reveling in the quiet and the capability to pretend that maybe her dad would join her any minute or she would have to run up and get ready for school soon. She’d never missed science class so much.

  After a while of peaceful seclusion, the slider opened and Jason stepped through, carrying Jessica.

  He claimed the chair beside Bailey. She stretched the blanket across to his chair and he scooted even closer to share its warmth. “Thanks.” He smiled, adjusting his hold on his cousin and shaking the bottle he’d brought out for her.

  After he got her settled, he lifted his gaze to Bailey’s. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.” Bailey’s smile froze and she glanced away as if to move the blanket higher into position. She wasn’t worried about how he knew, about how he’d surprised her with his soft, happy words.

  Jason’s red rimmed eyes reintroduced the panic she’d been avoiding. If Jason succumbed to the sickness, everything would be left to Bailey.

  Fourteen or not, was she ready for that?

  Chapter 12

  Beth

  Beth wasn’t sure how long it took for survival to kick in, but she dragged herself off the couch where she’d crashed into some kind of blubbering pile of grief and she hadn’t left since finding Tim and Liv’s bodies. Of course, she’d tried to make herself do something other than screaming into the throw pillow until her voice quit working.

  None of it was fair. Why did they have to die, but she hadn’t? She’d given them all of the same treatments that she’d taken – albeit she’d downed a significantly larger amount of the elderberry syrup and she’d taken more vitamin C than the whole neighborhood, probably. What was she going to do when she had to go into her room? Or into Liv’s or S.J.’s? What was she doing? Why hadn’t she killed herself yet?

  She was strong enough she could do it. Beth didn’t want to live her life alone. That’s what she was doing now. She was alone. Waiting. Waiting for what? What did she think she was doing? Oh, her mind. She couldn’t handle the pain or the thoughts. What was she going to do? She couldn’t even think. Nothing made sense. Not the pain in her chest. Not the emptiness in her gut. She wasn’t whole anymore. She wasn’t Beth. For so long she’d been a wife, a mother, a caregiver and she’d lost who she was as an individual. As she faced her life alone, she realized that she didn’t want to be without her family.

  Even her abusive husband had some worth to her in that moment. He could at least grieve with her. He’d loved their children as much as she had. It wasn’t their fault that he’d stopped loving Beth, if he ever had loved her.

  She sniffed, her vision black as she held her face smashed into the cloth pillow with the blue flower. She’d bought the pillow as a defiant move against Steven. He hated blue. Hated it. She’d bought it because it was her favorite color and she’d wanted something that was for her in that house.

  She had to get out of the house. The smell of their bodies permeated the living room and she couldn’t go in to remove the corpses. If she thought of them as her children, her sanity would snap. If she didn’t move soon, she would wet her pants and be part of the problem.

  Survival kicked in and she didn’t let herself sit there to wait for death.

  When she’d thought that holding her mind together was going to be next to impossible, her body kicked in and she suddenly had a clarity of her mind.

  Gathering essentials, Beth moved her living space out to the garage where a modicum of fresh air leaked in through the slats of the garage door. She pulled down Steven’s old camping gear from the top storage shelf against the far wall and shoved boxes to the middle of the floor space, creating a roomlike area away from the mandoor that led into the house.

  The other mandoor was in the corner on the same wall as the house door and Beth steered clear of blocking it with her new living space. She checked to make sure the deadbolt was in place, but other than that, she left it alone.

  Mu
ltiple trips inside to gather items used up energy and helped tire her out. She really just wanted to close her eyes and rest. Block out all of her losses. But she wasn’t finished. She wasn’t dragging enough from fatigue.

  Setting up a cot with a sleeping bag, Beth also plugged in the small fridge Steven had never gotten around to using. The garage was supposed to be his man-cave of sorts, but he’d never been home to utilize the space. His absence had made it easy to turn most of the garage into storage as well as a work space for Beth’s oils and tinctures. All of her oil making products were stacked against the wall on a plastic shelving system she’d acquired from Wal-Mart. They were fairly portable, but she’d set them up to create an order shortly before the whole mess had started.

  Steven had stored an extra gun in the small safe under the workbench. He’d never changed the code, so Beth pulled it out and loaded it. She couldn’t remember what kind it was, but the blued steel barrel could shoot and she at least remembered how to load and handle it. She wasn’t the best shot, but Steven had once said – back when he had cared – that it didn’t matter if you were a crack shot, so much as it was important that you were willing to shoot. Too many people got to the point where they held a gun, but they weren’t willing to use it. That was always their fatal mistake.

  She had to be willing to use it.

  Beth had listened more to Steven than he knew. He’d once said that the gun had a five-pound trigger weight and that it wouldn’t be easy to accidentally fire. She wasn’t brave enough to move with it in her pockets. She chambered a bullet to be ready. After the incident with the neighbors, she might not have enough time to put one in place.

  Tucking the gun into the waistband of her tight jeans, Beth moved to sit on a camp chair she’d set beside the makeshift bed. What was she supposed to do now? Maybe she could scavenge for food and check on her neighbors at the same time. She honestly didn’t want to face the house and her dead family. She didn’t want to face the smell or the fact that her failures reeked more than the rotting bodies of her children.