180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6

by B. R. Paulson

  Cady shrugged, offering him a sad smile. “You have no idea.” Neither of them did, and that’s what terrified Cady.

  Her timeline had shrunk. There was no going back.

  Chapter 13

  Phil Staltzman

  Phil’s rash had started earlier that morning. His wife and kids had left a couple days ago to stay with her parents in Tacoma, Washington, and Phil had stayed behind to work.

  Work. He didn’t work at a nuclear plant or a hospital. People didn’t want him at work because they wanted to see him, or needed his help. No, the population needed him at work. They needed him in the guard office as the prisoners of the Washington State Penitentiary also struggled with the difficulties of the sickness.

  He’d been at work all morning and couldn’t figure out the magical combination on the Sudoku page he was on. Coughing had become as normal as breathing. He moved slower, and didn’t care that he’d missed multiple scheduled times – like letting them medium security inmates out of their cells for socializing. He didn’t care.

  He was alone. There were no other guards there to help him. Everyone had called in sick or just not shown up – mostly the latter. Along with that fact, Phil faced the debilitating reality that he couldn’t help the men inside. He wouldn’t leave the main office. He couldn’t face the men who were sick, or who shared a cell with a dead body.

  There was nothing he could do by himself. If he went inside the blocks, he probably wouldn’t make it out again.

  The prisoners knew something was up. They knew the security was down. How could they not? They hadn’t seen a guard in a few days. Their food had slowed to a trickle. Many of them weren’t waking from whatever the horrible disease was that had spread inside the prison walls faster than discontent.

  Phil was at the end of his rope. He glanced up at a security camera and jerked backward, dropping the Bic pen to the floor.

  The prisoners had gotten out of their cells. They ran up and down the yellow and gray catwalks with a jerking determination. How had they gotten out and what was Phil going to do about it?

  There wasn’t much he could do. He coughed again, reflectively lifting his hand and coughing into his fist. He was really just tired and wanted to go home. There was no way he could control that prison. With over two-thousand inmates and no way to count how many were still alive, Phil didn’t know if it was even worth trying.

  How many of the normal population had died outside the prison walls? His own wife was extremely sick and Phil just wanted to join her. He didn’t want to be there.

  Phil pushed aside his sense of responsibility. The men had gotten out of their cells. They’d be able to get food and water. If they were lucky, they’d figure out a way to escape, but hopefully not until Phil was long gone.

  The chair scraped on the painted cement floor as he pushed back from the table. He stood, so tired. Could he make it to the car?

  A knock on the door which led to the inner workings of the pen made Phil gasp and turn. The prisoners had made it to the office. If Phil didn’t get out the collection of doors to his car, he’d never make it out alive.

  He froze, staring at the man grinning back at him through the glass on the office door.

  Manson Stint. He was in maximum security and known for his brutality.

  Phil didn’t shift his glance from Manson’s face as he slowly edged closer to the red button that would lock down the entire prison. Every door would lock and make it impossible to leave. There was no other way.

  If men like Manson Stint were released out to the public – sick or not – there would be no standing at the Pearly Gates for Phil. He’d be shunted down to hell like a piece of trash.

  He leaned to the left, his gaze trained on Manson’s smile with a chipped front tooth. He kept his hair slicked back and he was wiry, with more muscle than fat, but at only five-foot-two-inches, he didn’t even have a lot of that. Manson’s eyes pinned Phil and then flicked to the side. He widened his gaze and shook his head, jimmying the doorknob with a ferocity that frightened Phil to move faster.

  Slamming his hand down on the button, Phil glanced back as Manson broke through the door with a crowbar. He’d made it through just as the high security locking system did its job. How had a prisoner gotten a crowbar? The metal was rusty and as Manson rushed Phil, raising the tool in his hand, Phil was actually a little relieved.

  He didn’t want to die from the sickness and he didn’t want to go out the way he’d heard prisoners could kill guards.

  As the crowbar descended, Phil wished he could see his kids and his wife one more time. Maybe they’d be there.

  Maybe they’d escape the virus, too.

  At least he’d been able to keep Manson locked inside. That was the best thing. No one wanted Manson out.

  He might be worse than the virus.

  Chapter 14

  Margie

  How much more pain would Margie be expected to survive? Would she be stuck in a perpetual pit of despair? Since they’d found out about David’s prognosis, Margie had steeled herself to the day he would die. But no amount of preparation had prepared her for his death. Nothing could prepare her for him shooting his brains all over the Bug.

  She raised her hand and pressed it against the lower half of the window, the glass cool on her flesh, soaking up her warmth. She couldn’t breathe normally, her breath hitching just at the end of each inhale and double-catching as she exhaled.

  Margie had been prepared for his death, but she hadn’t thought he’d die with a self-inflicted bullet. She’d imagined he’d go while they were on the cruise, maybe after having a delicious dessert and he’d tell her what a good life they’d had together. He could have called Cady and told her how much he’d loved her.

  Or maybe, when Margie had shifted her plans and gotten them off that ship, she could have gotten him back to their daughter’s place and he could have died watching Cady’s chickens. Something. Anything had to be better than the horror that had just happened.

  This way… the way he’d gone out. Margie didn’t even have the comfort that someone else had taken his life to explain the suddenness. He was just gone. He’d gone and hadn’t told her his plans. He just left her with questions like how long had he been waiting for her to leave him in the car? How much pain had he been in to force that kind of move? What had he been thinking?

  Kelsey sank to sit on the ground beside Margie, her gasp loud enough to be heard over Margie’s panting. “I… Did he just kill himself?” She stared out the window, her painted lips turned down.

  Margie leaned forward, her forehead thumping onto the glass beside her hand as she tried to catch her breath. She nodded, her whisper dragging from her like acid. “Yeah, he killed himself.”

  He’d taken his own life and knowing David, it was because he hadn’t wanted to burden Margie anymore. She didn’t care what the reason had been. There wasn’t enough… he hadn’t been work she couldn’t handle. He’d been worth it.

  David hadn’t been a burden. He’d been her meaning for going on. What was her reason now?

  Kelsey’s hand on her back startled her, but Margie didn’t pull away. The offer of comfort was welcome. She’d pretended to be strong for so long and hadn’t realized the drag on her until then.

  Guilt ravaged her as she realized an underlying emotion was relief. She wasn’t responsible for his death. She hadn’t pulled the trigger. She hadn’t lost him to the virus. She hadn’t fallen behind and left him in someone else’s hands.

  He’d made the decision which hurt, but at least he’d gone out his way.

  Margie reached out and gripped her bag with a desperation she hadn’t known she could feel. Knowing all of that, that it was his decision, didn’t help Margie find her center.

  What else was there to live for? Nothing. Not when she was stuck in Easton with no way to get home to her daughter and granddaughter. She had nothing to focus on.

  Unsure what to do, Margie winced at the sudden appearance of headlights shini
ng through the glass. She just wanted a break from the pain and there was another car. Was Kelsey going to try to get them inside, like she’d gotten Margie?

  Bullets plinked on the glass of the door. Skittering backwards on her rear, Margie ducked with each clunk. She shrieked as she dropped back further. “What are they doing? Can they get in here?”

  Kelsey exhaled tiredly. She shifted to her side and lifted herself up, bracing her hands on her knees as she stood. “No, they do this every night. I’m not sure if they’re trying to prove a point or what. Quite honestly, it’s getting old.” She held out a hand, and waited for Margie to accept. “Come on. Let’s go in the back, it’s easier to deal with.” Shaking her head, she walked around to the counter. “I need to turn off all the gas to make sure they don’t somehow coerce the machines to give them more. I’m not sure how they’re getting their fuel, but who knows.”

  Kelsey turned off the backroom lights. “The glass is bullet proof. Most of the store is impenetrable. The owner was from Pakistan and after September-11 he got paranoid. There’s a full studio apartment back there. I haven’t had a chance to leave since this all started, but…” She smirked. “I haven’t needed anything except someone to talk to. You’re the first one to actually make it inside. The last one…” She waved Margie forward and pointed down the aisles. “Pick what you want to eat. I’ll get another cot out. I think he had a couple of them back there. I know he had plenty of blankets.”

  Margie clung dully to her bag, walking randomly up and down the aisles, looking for something, anything that might be appealing. Corn Nuts reminded her of David and she squeezed her eyes shut. How long would it take? Certainly, longer than a few minutes, but she needed the pain to numb down now. She picked a chocolate milk from the back cooler, noticing absently that half the alcohol coolers were empty.

  Kelsey grabbed a twelve pack of Keystone and led the way to the rear rooms. They walked through a small hallway with men’s and women’s restrooms as well as a storage and custodial closet.

  Limply holding the milk, Margie wasn’t really interested in eating anything. She wanted to just start walking down the freeway and see how far she got. Walking was her only option. She wouldn’t be able to take the Bug, even if David’s dead body wasn’t in there. It was out of gas and she had no way to force Kelsey to give her more.

  What did she do? She could go outside and face the bullets. What was the likelihood that Cady and Bailey were alive anymore anyway? How delusional was she going to be about the future? Did she want to survive all alone?

  Kelsey held out a foldup chair and motioned for Margie to sit at the card table set up in the back. The homey setting was offset by the cement block walls and concrete floor. A rug or something would break up the austere monastery sensation.

  “What do you think we need to do?” Kelsey pulled out a bag of jerky and sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for something different. I’m sick of the nacho cheese. It tastes like plastic. The hot dogs… I’m just ready for something different. I keep staring at Burger King, but it won’t open, no matter how much I wish.”

  “I have something. It’s not a hamburger, but it’s different from gas station food.” Margie pulled out her bag of cruise buffet food she’d snagged before jumping ship. Offering it to Kelsey with the opening facing her, Margie nodded with little expression. “Help yourself.”

  Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Really?” She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed the bag and dug through the pastries and fruit. “Oh, my gosh, a banana. Do you realize, we probably won’t see another banana for a long time? Things have basically fallen, like Rome, and there aren’t enough people alive… that I know of. I mean, there are idiots like the ones outside, but they aren’t going to bring me bananas.”

  The yelling, honking, and gunshots were severely muted for Margie since they’d come to the back, but the occasional sound could be heard just along the periphery of their conversation. Margie worked not to focus on the bursts as she heard them.

  Sighing, Margie unscrewed the lid to her drink. “I’m not sure what to do. I lost my husband. There’s not a lot left for me to live for. I don’t even know if my daughter and granddaughter are still alive.” She ignored the call to try to reach Cady. Selfishly, Margie just wanted to sink into her sadness.

  “You’re not the only one to lose someone important. My son…” Kelsey shook her head and pulled out a blueberry scone and her eyes widened as she bit off a small corner. After a moment, she continued. “None of that matters. Giving up would be a waste. This is uncharted territory. We have to make a go of it.”

  Margie nodded begrudgingly. “I need to get back to my daughter in north Idaho. I’m not even sure she’s still alive. Sorry, I already said that. I’m…” She was so confused. A lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours and Margie wanted to throw up at the stress load.

  “No more worrying.” Kelsey held up a beer and tilted the bottle toward Margie. “Here’s hoping. Let’s plan on leaving in the next day or so.” She swigged the beer and bit into her scone, wincing as she pulled back. “Ew, not a good mix.” Setting the beer down, she focused on the pastry.

  “You’re going with me?” Margie sipped her drink. As nice as it would be to not be alone with her thoughts and grief, Margie didn’t have any way for Kelsey to join her. “My car isn’t an option.” Maybe Kelsey hadn’t realized what had actually happened. David had ruined the Bug. She couldn’t use the car again. Not ever.

  “Not to be too crude about it, but I wouldn’t go in your car at this point, if it was the last one in the world.” Kelsey chewed her bite and swallowed. “I can’t stay here. This isn’t living. I’ve just been passing through Easton for ten years now.” She grinned widely, the piercings in her lip moving with her mouth. “I need to leave. Is it okay if we travel together? Two women are better than one. I’m tougher than I look.” She winked, obviously aware that she had a very tough looking exterior.

  “Are you okay with walking?” Margie agreed with Kelsey. Two women had to be better than one.

  Kelsey shook her head, chuckling. “No, we won’t walk. I have a Rabbit. It’s out back with a tarp over it. I have it camouflaged like it’s more garbage alongside the dumpster. We can’t leave at night. We’ll try midday. If we can get through Cle Elum…” Kelsey shrugged. “I would imagine we’d be home free. I haven’t heard of anything past that horror.”

  The more Kelsey drank, the twitchier she became, but she was level-headed and close to normal. Margie could do with a little bit of normal for a while. She ignored the shifting nature of the definition of normal. She didn’t care. Kelsey didn’t seem like she was going to start cannibalizing or stealing from Margie. If she wanted the rolls, she could have them. Plus, if Kelsey had a vehicle, that made her even more appealing in the whole scheme of things.

  Trying not to stare, Margie looked cautiously through the bag of food as well. She hadn’t considered how much Kelsey had been through. She’d said she’d watched people die. How many had she witnessed?

  With the way Kelsey watched Margie it almost seemed as if Kelsey thought Margie was a hallucination or as if she expected Margie to die any minute or disappear. How long had Kelsey been stuck in that station?

  And why, of all the cars out there, did Kelsey have to drive a Rabbit? No matter what Margie did, she was destined to go into the apocalypse in a Volkswagen.

  Chapter 15

  Scott

  Cady loaded the last box of ammunition. The red brake lights glinted off her dark hair and Scott longed to reach up and feel the softness between his fingers. After a moment of staring, he had to question his reality. Had he touched her? She didn’t look at him like he had, so he shook his head and blinked rapidly. Things were getting more unclear and he didn’t like the way he was feeling.

  Taking in a deep breath, he ignored the pain of expanding his chest and the stretch across his skin. Focusing on the environment, Scott rolled his head back and forth. He’d missed the sweet freshness of the air of
north Idaho, how the scent of pine and tamarack added a warm flavor to the air.

  He and Cady had worked on loading the Bronco and Scott’s trailer over the last couple hours, well into the evening. The dark abounded around them and Scott had glanced at her more than once at the intimacy of the moment. He hadn’t acted on it, since he could very well be delusional.

  Not for the first time, Cady stopped and faced Scott, studying him with an intensity he wished had a different meaning. Her voice low, Cady asked, “Scott, are you okay? How are feeling?” She reached out to press the back of her hand to his forehead.

  Did she know how her touch affected him? His heart wanted to pound of his chest. Instead of doing anything remotely assertive, he nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I haven’t slept well in a while.” Scott turned away, hiding the fever creeping along his skin, the itchy red eyes, the deep fatigue in his downturned lips, and the horror working its way from his heart as it ate at his sanity level.

  He could never admit to anyone what he’d done in that hospital. How would he be able to stand before his Maker and own what he’d done? It didn’t matter that those babies had been in pain. What if their parents or another uncle had been minutes behind him? What if they came upon the dead babies and they lost it? Scott chewed on the inner side of his cheek. He couldn’t help feeling that a huge part of him had changed into someone his mother wouldn’t want to know. She’d made him rescue his niece, but she’d never asked him to kill those babies.

  What if his nephew found out what he’d done? No, he had to make sure no one ever knew. Not Jason, not Cady, not Bailey. What would they think? Cady would never understand. He didn’t know how to explain what he’d done.

  He glanced at Cady again. Would she understand? She had killed Kent, but that had been out of self-defense. What had those babies done to Scott? Nothing. They’d wanted to live just like everyone else. They’d wanted to be taken care of.