Then Zach. Her husband had abandoned her. Wasn’t that what he’d done? He always refused to wear his seatbelt. Would he still be alive then, if he’d just once done what he was supposed to? Or would he be sick and dying? There was no way he would have done the things Cady had gotten Scott and Bailey to do. He would have fought every step and argued all the ways Cady was wrong.
Scott had relied on her for her knowledge and her friendship. She’d let him down by hiding her knowledge about the vaccine and not taking better care of his nephew and niece. She’d dropped the ball with that one and she didn’t even know if she had it in her to cry about his death. Cady wouldn’t ask Bailey what had happened. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to know he was dead with a definitive answer.
Cady had even killed her neighbor. She’d hurt more people than she’d helped.
All she had left was her daughter. Everyone else would be dead by now, or worse off than she was. She hadn’t helped anyone and now she was paying for it.
Cady didn’t have the right to complain, yet she longed to end her suffering with the Glock hiding under her bed. Yet, what could she possibly hope to accomplish with a bullet in her brain? She’d make more of a mess for Bailey to clean up. Was that fairer than just dying slowly?
Slowly lowering herself to the ground from the comfort of the mattress, Cady put herself into a prone position and placed her cheek on the floor. Lying on the floor beside her bed, she reached under the mattress and pulled the gun from its position of safety. The weight was comforting as she tightened her fingers on the handle. She squeezed her eyes shut and slumped back to the carpet.
Nothing was soft or calming. The threads of the carpet abraded her skin, every nerve screaming to be left alone, yet itching at the same time.
It would be okay for her to end it. No one would know. No one would care. It would be a relief for Bailey. The pain would end. She could leave everything behind and not have to worry anymore.
She blinked as she stared under her bed into the dark. Cady was better than that. She knew better. If she killed herself, every sacrifice would be in vain. Her daughter’s pain would be for nothing.
Cady dragged a breath through her swollen and cracked lips. She closed her eyes again, unwilling to open her eyes and find the sun beating through the window. She didn’t want to acknowledge the chill in the air as an illusion to a fever. She just wanted all of her blankets on top of her, warming her in the sun. The thought made her cringe. Was she delusional? Was the sun even out?
Half-heartedly, she reached up and tugged on the blankets hanging from the bed, but couldn’t budge them. She squeezed her eyes at the effort, but still didn’t peek. What was she thinking about? Oh, right, killing herself. Everything would be a waste. Cady didn’t like waste, and all of that would be the worst kind.
She couldn’t find the energy to climb back onto her bed. Stretching out her hands, she felt along the carpet for anything that might be warm, her fingers clamping onto a fallen t-shirt lying in a crumpled mess a few inches from her hip. She pulled it over her arms and rolled to her back.
Cady groaned as the heat of the sun – imaginary or not – caused pain while it warmed her. She had to take the bad with the good. Relief. She just wanted relief.
If only Jackson had sent enough of the vaccine. But Jackson wasn’t benevolent. If Cady survived the horrible virus, she’d find him and she would make him pay.
~~~
The virus is taking its toll and claiming who it wants. People are going to die. Three generations of women are trying to survive the crazy they’re caught up in. Cady wants revenge, but she has to survive, first. Find out who the virus claims in Find Them, book 6 in the 180 Days and Counting… Series. Keep reading!
Sign up for my newsletter and get free reads and so much more delivered to your inbox. It’s a chance for us to connect!
Find Them
The virus delivers more surprises as it takes more lives.
Who dies and who survives?
The world is choking as each survivor faces more terror beyond just the sickness of others and themselves.
As the virus moves across the country, who wins and who loses?
Survive with Cady and her family or don’t… Either way, you won’t be able to stop reading.
Dear Reader,
Things are getting crazier and crazier. Thank you for sticking with Cady, Margie, and Bailey so far. I’m still washing my hands after I finish writing.
Have you started questioning your rashes and your fevers? I do that. I have shingles and I’ll tell you what, it bothers me that this story ended up having a focus on them. My training in microbiology and biophysiology taught me enough to take these viruses and twist them. If my training was enough to conjure those thought processes, what are others out there doing?
I hope you’re staying healthy and that those around you aren’t sharing their germs. I’m the furthest from a germaphobe you’ll ever meet (my kids pick things up off the floor and eat them – stop! But I don’t stress it) and this series has me questioning my sanity.
Let me know what you think of the virus. I’d love to know your experiences with any of the zosters – chickenpox, cold sores, shingles, etc. Drop me an email at [email protected]! I hope you enjoy this series. Hopefully, you’re not too mad at me for what happens in book 7. I’m not looking forward to it. Death is not my favorite thing to put my characters through, but unfortunately, it happens. I’m just very attached to my people.
Who do you think is going to die next?
Stay alive, my friend!
Paulson
Chapter 1
Scott
Ranger’s matted fur consoled Scott as he intertwined his fingers in the mess. Keeping his voice low, he murmured, “Good boy. We’re almost there.”
There being Scott’s house. They had to get to his house to get a gun so he could protect them. The need for quiet and protection was directly related to the pack of coyotes slowly stalking Scott in his weakened state.
The virus had left Scott confused and debilitated. He even thought he could take care of himself, if he could just get back to his house.
He couldn’t breathe fully, each pant for air a desperate inhale as his lungs tried to compensate for his weakness.
Moonlight broke through the treetops and Scott stumbled, his bare feet softened by the wet ground and torn up by the gravel and large rocks protruding from the packed dirt of the road.
A soft yip from a fringe coyote made Ranger stop and growl louder. The sound came from deeper in his throat than a bark. Scott could feel the vibrations in his hand as he held onto his dog.
He was so glad to have Ranger back. He’d thought he’d lost his best-friend south of Coeur d’Alene. Ranger didn’t look worse for wear. The dog had made it home and he felt like he hadn’t lost too much weight in the last few days.
Even as Scott faced the danger of a pack of hungry coyotes, his elation and relief at seeing his dog was noticeable.
His muscles wanted to give up. He wanted to sleep. He needed rest.
As much as his body wanted him to give up, Scott didn’t want to stop. They had to keep going. The house wasn’t more than twenty yards away. He could see the shape of Rachel, his neighbor, as her dead body lie on his grass. The gun she’d shot herself in the head with would be somewhere right in that area.
The moon was high in the sky, casting tree shadows across the road.
Glancing at Ranger, Scott debated running without him, or grabbing Ranger’s collar and hanging on. No matter what Scott did, he wouldn’t have the energy for more than a few seconds of action. He was getting better, but not enough to fight off the pack of coyotes. Thank goodness, they weren’t wolves.
No, wolves would be a nightmare he’d never wake up from. At least with coyotes, there was a chance. Maybe.
Scott limped forward, determined to reach his house. He had to reach it. If he could get that gun, then he could protect both him and his newly returned compan
ion. Where was the weapon? Would his feet get him over the grass and onto the concrete pathway leading to his porch?
Goosebumps rose on Scott’s skin. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the early spring breeze that carried a hint of winter still on its edges or if his fever was returning or worse. What if he sensed something from the coyotes – like a sixth sense of a prey.
He dragged his feet forward, forcing each step. Fifteen yards.
Scott glanced at Ranger who stalked alongside him. Ranger flicked his glance to Scott and something passed between them. Scott suddenly knew what to do. He had to make it to that gun. That’s all that mattered. Ranger would give him backup.
Not even taking the time to tense up and prepare, Scott bolted toward his yard. The sudden burst of energy came grudgingly as if even his body didn’t want to live long enough to save them. Scott ignored the soft padding of the chilly grass beneath his feet as he left the roadside. Even the damp blades hurt his tender skin, trying to impede his every step.
His sudden sprint away triggered the predators waiting and watching. The coyotes sprang forward. Yipping and snarling chased Scott’s heels. He pumped his arms with an intensity for survival he hadn’t felt since his high school football days.
Ranger wasn’t running beside him. Scott couldn’t afford the time to look back when Ranger’s growl turned into a bark and a snarl.
Scott had to get to that gun and now.
He reached Rachel’s body, ignoring the flesh torn from her bones. Her face was no longer recognizable, but Scott would focus on that later. Gun. Gun, where was the gun?
Her hand had fallen to the side, beside the bushes and Scott dropped to the ground, digging along the rocks. His fingers closed around the cold metal of his firearm and he pushed himself back to his feet and swung around to aim at the pack. Hopefully, he had more ammunition in the chamber. Hopefully…
His heart stopped. Ranger snarled and bit at two coyotes attacking him from either side.
The pack had tightened around the three animals as if looking for a way to get at their next meal. Scott had been abandoned for a moment.
If he didn’t hurry, he would miss his chance.
He wasn’t going to miss out on a proper reunion with his dog. Not because some coyotes decided a sick Scott was dinner.
With his arms weak from the virus and the mad dash to get the gun, Scott struggled to lift the firearm. He wasn’t sure how many bullets were in the clip, but he really just needed a couple. Even one would be more help than harm.
Using both hands, he aimed the gun but couldn’t get a solid bead on one of the coyotes fighting with Ranger – not without a chance of hitting his dog.
After a long moment of trying to get one of the coyotes in his sights, he shifted the position of the gun and squeezed the trigger.
The slight recoil combined with his exhaustion and he jerked his arms back.
Was he strong enough to try again? A high-pitched yip let him know he’d hit something. As he aimed again, he hoped it wasn’t Ranger.
Chapter 2
Bailey
Bailey jerked her head up from leaning against the wall. The sound of the gunshots in the distance pulled her from her wallowing. Everything was easy to hear with the silence left behind with the absence of power.
The nights were still getting cold and Bailey wasn’t sure what was ahead of her. At the top of the stairs, Bailey listened closely. Where were the shots coming from? Was there a killer on her driveway? As prepared as Bailey was to shoot a target stapled to a tree, she wasn’t ready to defend herself with a gun. Not yet.
A loud thud hit the porch and Bailey held Jessica closer to her chest as she darted down the stairs in the dark. The overhead skylight clung to a layer of snow along the edges of the bubbled glass, dimming the moon and starlight.
As Bailey’s shirt skimmed the textured wall, the whisper of the contact matched her breathing.
Had Scott shot Jason? At the bottom of the steps, Bailey reached out with her free hand and felt for the door handle. Flinging the door open, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the minimal light. At least she could see shapes so she didn’t trip on anything.
Jason had fallen to the deck, his white t-shirt almost glowing in the shadows. He wasn’t moving. Had he been shot? Was the gunman waiting for them out on the drive? The house was darker than outside. Bailey’s silhouette could stand out against the pale house exterior.
Glancing around, Bailey knelt by Jason’s side. She adjusted Jessica in her arms and reached out cautiously as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Jason?” Her whimper broke the silence of the night.
Another shot rang out, but further away. The distance didn’t matter. Bailey ducked backwards and then crouched closer to Jason’s fallen form. Patting his chest and head, Bailey sighed in relief. He hadn’t been shot – at least from what she could feel. She had to get him inside and figure out what was wrong with him.
Standing, she carried Jessica into the living room, laying her on the couch and rolling up a blanket to create a makeshift crib line so the newborn wouldn’t fall from the cushion. Bailey had no idea how old a baby was when they started crawling, but Jessica seemed too small to do much more than eat, poop, and cry. Oh, and sleep.
Jessica didn’t stir as Bailey transferred her to the makeshift bed. Bailey didn’t have time to wait to see if she was going to wake up. Listening for Jessica’s cries would have to be enough monitoring for now.
On the porch, Bailey knelt again and shook Jason’s shoulder, peering as close to his face as she could get. Her warm breath rebounded from his skin and hit hers, cooling as it made contact. “Jason? Wake up. Can you hear me?” She kept her voice low in case there was a killer out there taking potshots at them.
Nothing from Jason. No response. Bailey settled back on her heels, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring in the direction of the road. With the loop and curve of the drive and the large island of trees in the middle, she couldn’t see all the way to the road, but that didn’t stop her from looking in that direction.
Okay, she didn’t honestly think someone was out there shooting at them. She would hear the shots closer and that wasn’t the case. The shots were further away, more hollow sounding.
What Bailey needed to focus on right then was getting Jason inside. For whatever reason, he’d collapsed and she couldn’t help him by leaving him outside. How did she get him in, though? What if he was hurt? She couldn’t fully check him or fix him with him crumpled there on the deck, half-on and half-off the steps.
If that was her dad, what would she do? Bailey was tough. She could move him herself. She had to. She had no other choice other than to leave him there and that wasn’t an option she could live with.
As much as her dad treated her like a princess, he’d told her to make sure she stayed in shape. Bailey hadn’t taken him seriously, but she hadn’t ignored exercise either. Right then, as she faced having to move a solidly built teenage boy inside, she wished she could go back and tell herself to work out and get stronger.
Taking a deep breath, she stood and then bent over, hooking her hands under his armpits and pushing backward with her butt. The movement dragged him toward her and she did it again, stepping back as she slid him closer to the door.
Another gunshot split the night and cut across her breathing. She jerked her head up. She had to find out who that was. What if Scott was in danger? If he’d found a gun, he might be protecting himself or he was going on a delusional rampage. Neither was a good thing.
Jason obviously hadn’t found Scott, or the man would be nearby. So the safest bet would be to assume that Jason hadn’t been shot.
Maybe Jason had turned back for a flashlight or something in the all-encompassing darkness. Actually, that was being dramatic. It wasn’t that dark out.
With her butt up against the door, Bailey reached behind her. She pulled the handle down and thrust a hip out to push the door in. Back to her maneuver to pull Jason into the house
, Bailey yanked under his arms two more times.
All she had to do was get Jason in the house. She couldn’t spend any more time with him. At least not until she found Scott. Not until she figured out where her neighbor was. He was supposed to be there, in the room beside her mother, where he was supposed to be getting better or getting ready to die.
What would she say to her mom, if she lost Scott on the first night she’d been left in charge?
Rather than just leave Jason on the floor, Bailey ran into the living room and retrieved a throw pillow. Returning to his side, she carefully placed it beneath his head. His skin burned beneath her touch and she gasped. “You’ve been sick. Oh, Jason.” Bailey shook her head. How long had he been hiding it? The rash hadn’t been evident on his neck and his eyes had just started to look red-rimmed. She hung her head. She couldn’t focus on that right then. “I’ll be back.”
Not that he could hear her. Not that he knew what she was doing or even cared.
Bailey couldn’t go far with Jessica, Cady, and Jason alone in the house with no one to watch them or tend to their needs.
No, she didn’t have the time to search far for Scott. If she did get lucky and found him, she couldn’t carry him back – not on her own. She had to take the four-wheeler to retrieve him. There was no other way to bring him back. He’d been too sick to leave.
In fact, if she found him and he survived, she was going to give him a hard time about being stupid enough to leave the house. He deserved some teasing after the scare he’d put her through.
Listening one more time for any crying or sounds from Cady or Jason, Bailey softly closed the door behind her. She ran to the shed, sliding onto the seat of the four-wheeler.
Would they get to the point where they’d find a routine again? Now that the power was out and everyone was sick, Bailey needed to hold onto something to look forward to. She needed hope. Anxious to have one person pull out of the sickness, Bailey really just needed to find some hope. That would help with the hope. If just one would survive, she could find a glimmer she needed.
180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6 Page 22