Too Late: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 4)

by B. R. Paulson

  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.

  And Scott had killed them.

  Scott’s vision blurred and he blinked – hard. He stopped by the driver’s side door and wiped at his eyes. Babies. His parents.

  Get it together, Scott.

  “Hey, where’s Ranger? I didn’t see him when you got back.” Cady closed the back door on the Bronco and wiped her hands on her pants as she approached Scott. She offered a half-smile, looking around.

  Scott’s stomach sank. Ranger was always with Scott. Cady’s affection for the dog had been part of her attraction. She was friendly to his best-friend and Ranger was always excited to see her.

  Scott choked up, pausing in his reply. He didn’t want to give away his weakness, but with his lack of sleep, guilt, and other worries, Scott didn’t know how long he could avoid the effects of the virus. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t find the words.

  Cady reached out and touched Scott’s elbow. “Scott? Are you okay? What happened to Ranger?” She waited patiently, the sincere concern soft in her eyes. She always tried to come across as uncaring, but she was a caring woman and Scott would someday tell her that she wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “I… He ran off. There was a white van coming after us. I had to leave him. Just down by Cedars, but… there he was and suddenly he was gone.” Scott lifted his hand as if he could see Ranger running away in front of him. “He’s just gone.”

  “Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry.” Genuine sadness pulled the corners of Cady’s eyes down. “Will he know how to get home? That’s not far.” Hope lightened her eyes for a moment as she tried to consider other ways to resolve the situation.

  “I’m not sure. He followed a raccoon, for crying out loud. He’s not like that. I just…” Scott laughed as he wiped tears from under his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying. He’s just a dog.”

  Indignant, Cady shook her head, stroking his arm. “He’s not just a dog. He’s Ranger. There’s no replacement for a dog like that.” She reached for Scott’s face, tilting his chin up so she could see his face in the light of the open door. “Scott, I think the reason you’re easily upset is that… I think you’re getting sick. I… I’m so sorry. I wish I had…” She wiped moisture from her own eyes, sniffing as she looked down. She dropped her hand to her side.

  The absence of her touch was decidedly apparent. “I probably am getting sick. It’s about that time. Incubation is supposed to be roughly three days. It’s an ugly disease, Cady. You don’t… You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve seen.” He’d said too much and he clamped his mouth shut.

  Too fresh of memories ate at his mind like acid.

  His soul wouldn’t be far behind.

  Shaking her head, Cady lifted her head. “I don’t care what you’ve done. Let it go. I’m serious, you can’t hold yourself accountable. I know you, Scott. You’re a good man. You would never do anything without justification.” She rubbed his arm, causing a shiver up the back of his neck. “Look, let’s get back to my place. We’ll get you settled and then worry about what we’ve done or what we need to do.” Worry darkened her gaze.

  “Yeah, okay.” Scott didn’t move other than to look up at the clear sky and the half-moon shining down on them. “We don’t deserve this, do we? Did we do something to earn this type of devastation?” He glanced back at Rachel’s body lying on the front lawn, understanding just what it had taken for her to come to his place. She’d probably hoped he would shoot her. Everyone in the community knew he was serious about trespassing and keeping weapons.

  Had she gone to his house in the hopes he would take care of her pain?

  Cady sighed. “It’s not about deserve, Scott. I’m not sure why this would happen. Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay?” But she did know. She’d been around at the inception of the whole thing.

  Scott nodded. What else was he going to say? He had no doubt he was getting sick, he could feel his body fighting something and his sanity relied on holding it together and believing he could survive it.

  He had to survive it.

  Scott had to ignore the odds that weren’t in his favor that he was going to survive, let alone Cady, too. He wasn’t sure on statistics, but data could be skewed. There were too many variables and not enough facts.

  The one thing Scott did know, people were dying and it could be attributed to the sickness. He wasn’t sure on anything else but that.

  He coughed before pulling open the door. Climbing in, he glanced back at his house. He could come back, but things weren’t going to be the same. Even just a few hundred yards from his drive, he could never really return home.

  How long did he have to live?

  Chapter 16

  Jackson

  The moon searched for a place to set along the southern mountain range when Bret and Stan finally returned from their trip into town. Dawn was moments away and Jackson was past exhausted which just irritated him more. The entire situation had taken the fun out of the events. His body ached from the beating and the exertion in the pool.

  Their engine’s roar announced their arrival, triggering Jackson to do something other than just sitting around.

  Jackson motioned toward the hallway as he stood from the bench he’d been forced to sit in. He hadn’t had a lot of answers for them – that he’d been willing to give – so he’d been left with crackers and peanut butter. “I need to use the restroom, do you mind?” The three men he’d been left with had stopped treating him like a prisoner as they’d grown more and more restless. They stood at the windows, pacing back and forth as they waited for the other men to return.

  Without waiting for approval, Jackson ducked down the hallway, retrieving his backpack and tucking it discreetly behind the coat rack by the front door. He made his way back to the kitchen, careful to retrace his steps to come from the bathroom direction. He adjusted his jeans buttons like he’d used it as well. The men didn’t even notice his absence or his return. All that effort for nothing.

  Laughing and loud slurred talking came from the front doors as Bret and Stan stumbled through the foyer and into the kitchen. Bret clapped Stan on the shoulder. His face was flushed, but not from fever. His glassy eyes gave away more than just his sick state.

  Alcohol was going to help Jackson a lot more than he could have planned.

  The man that had stayed with Jackson stepped forward and thrust his finger into Bret’s weaving chest. “Where’s the Cure?” His hand shook and a rash had erupted along the back of his neck and along his cheeks. When the pox showed up on him, it was going to be painful.

  Bret held the bag aloft in the man’s direction. He smirked and guffawed as he tried to figure out the words to say. “Um… Here it is. We feel better already.” He snorted, then sang loudly in the general direction of Stan who was grinning stupidly. “I can’t believe how good I feel, yeah, you, too, Stan? Like that time I spoked, no, smoked pot out back by Pa’s barn.” He sobered a bit. “Rest his soul.” Bret lifted his gaze and searched the room for Jackson, his eyes narrowing as he spied him. “You. You killed my father.”

  They’d already applied the ointment.

  Jackson searched Bret’s countenance for the shiny medicine. How long ago had he applied it? Had it had sufficient time to soak into his skin or was Jackson in danger of rubbing it onto his own skin, if he tried escaping?

  Either way, he needed to get out of there. Fear finally kicked in and his eyes widened.

  Bret stepped toward him, stopping as his friend or brother reached for his arm and jerked him bac
k. He narrowed his eyes. “Give me the Cure.”

  With Bret distracted, Jackson edged from his position in the kitchen toward the front hallway. He wanted nothing to do with that “Cure”. He kept his back to the wall as he side-stepped from the room. Get out, Jackson, just get out.

  “You’re taking too much of it!” The man pushed against Bret, shoving his shirtless brother away from the group circled around the ointment jar on the table in the living room. “I need more of it than that. You guys already got some.”

  Bret stumbled back, catching himself but drunk enough to fall the other direction, He slid, bumping against Jackson direction as Jackson tried scrambling back. The slick ointment on the back of his hand connected with Jackson’s knuckles.

  Jackson jerked backward, staring in horror at the shiny toxin on his skin. He kicked Bret off him, bending down to wipe his hand on the carpet. It was too late, of course, but maybe he could limit how much was absorbed. His face felt tight immediately and he stared at Bret with the ferocity of hungry grizzly. “You idiot!” His scream wrenched from his chest. “How stupid could you be?”