180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 7 - 9

by B. R. Paulson

  “I did, thank you, sir.” Cady stood, folding the blanket and placing it on the end of the couch. “Is there anything I can do before we leave?” She couldn’t impose on the older couple long. They were prepared for the two of them, not to have three more mouths to add strain to their food storage.

  “You’re not going anywhere, just yet.” Dusty shook his head and moved into the house to stand beside Elba. He held up a hand as if he expected Cady to object. “I’m not sure what’s going on out there, but here, you can take a minute and gather your thoughts. You have an infant in tow and you yourself have been sick, not to mention that girl of yours has a sprained ankle.” He glanced down the hall and lowered his voice. “I think Bailey has the virus, as well, or a weakened version of it. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her neck is red. She doesn’t seem to have a fever, or I’d demand she get back to bed.”

  “I saw it, too.” Elba inclined her head and reached out to wrap her fingers around the crook of Dusty’s elbow. “You’re both welcome to stay here until you recuperate. I wouldn’t mind the baby being around a bit.” A twinkle lit Elba’s eyes at the mention of the baby. “I don’t have much chance to enjoy the company of such young women.” She smiled, sadness shadowing her gaze.

  Dusty motioned toward the couch. “Come on, now. Take a seat. I have a lot of questions.”

  They sat, Cady still unsure what she was doing, but grateful they weren’t being chased by anyone or anything for a moment.

  Dusty waited for Elba to sit beside him before he took her hand and stared thoughtfully at the floor for a moment. He raised his eyes and considered Cady, then spoke. “How bad is it?” The question was straightforward and to the point. He didn’t embellish anything and Cady swallowed the sudden surge of emotion welling inside her.

  How long had she been struggling to stay strong? How long had she been worried about one, two, or more loved ones? How many had she killed to get to where she was now? What made her deserve to be alive more than others who had died? All of her questions burned through with insistency. She had to resolve the pain. She had to stop blaming herself, but if she stopped that, what then would hold the grief at bay? What would help her hold it together?

  Cady considered her elderly friends and nodded slowly as she struggled internally to gather more strength around her. She took a deep breath. “It’s bad. There aren’t many survivors, but there’s more than we initially thought.” She struggled to breathe normally. She didn’t want to admit to a part in the virus and the end of the world. Cady didn’t want to see these pleasant people change to distrusting and disappointed. She needed normal for just a while longer.

  Dusty processed her words and set his wizened jaw. “I’m old. Elba and I won’t last long and we’ve come to terms with that. You need to know…” He glanced down then met his wife’s gaze. She nodded and Dusty continued. “I wouldn’t rush off to your mama’s right soon. The Gulch isn’t turning out to be like they had originally planned. Perry runs it and he’s been harassing people.”

  Elba harrumphed at his side, releasing Dusty’s arm and folding her arms across her chest. “Harassing is putting it nicely, Dusty.”

  “Okay, he’s been stealing from some of the river people up and down the way. I’m not sure his means will be tolerated much longer by any that are alive.” Dusty shook his head, creasing the skin between his eyebrows with consternation. “Do you know what the survival rate is?”

  Cady twisted her lips. No, he would ask the one thing she wished she had numbers for. “No. The news was reporting predictions in the eighties and ninety percentages but with the sheer number of survivors I’ve seen or evidence thereof, I don’t think that number is possible.” She bit her lower lip. “Do you know if the entire Gulch is involved with Perry?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can tell you the ones that are have turned out to be bad eggs. I’d be interested in staging a revolt. I haven’t used my infantry legs in a long time.” Dusty held up a hand to Elba. “Now, El. That young girl in there and that baby can’t go with us. They’ll need you to take care of them. But maybe, just maybe, Cady and I can rescue some of the other girls.” His expression saddened as he met the equally sad expression of his wife’s.

  Cady narrowed her eyes, nausea working its way up through her throat. “What other girls?”

  Dusty sighed, folding his knotted hands and hanging them between his knees. “There are rumors the Gulch is keeping women and girls as… well, as slaves. They’re being expected to build the community wall and to do…” He glanced at his wife. “Other things I won’t say here in front of the missus. We haven’t gone out against them because it’s been just me sickened by the situation. No one else will fight him and his gang while so many aren’t as prepared as they had wanted to be.”

  Cady’s empty stomach gnawed in on itself. She clenched her jaw. If they were keeping women and girls, then Cady and Bailey weren’t safe looking the way they did. They probably wouldn’t be safe in any capacity for a very long time. That wasn’t going to work for Cady. She refused to let anyone else dictate how they approached their days. If this guy and his group thought she was going to just roll over for him, he had another thought coming.

  Cady would have to decide what she was willing to do. Other girls like herself or like Bailey being treated like slaves didn’t sit well with Cady. She had to agree with Dusty. If she wanted to be safe, she might have to step out and do something.

  She was just angry enough at the entire situation, it might be exactly what she needed to do to get rid of any more threats.

  And wasn’t ensuring Bailey’s safety, Cady’s biggest priority?

  Chapter 18

  Buck

  Buck took a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in his throat. How was he supposed to save this young girl and himself while wearing slippers? His knee wasn’t completely healed and he hadn’t eaten anything solid in days.

  He swallowed again, his throat dry. The painful reminder that he also hadn’t had anything to drink in a while seemed even more concentrated with his hand clutching the key. What if driving off or trying to get away wasn’t the best choice? He didn’t want to be ruled by fear, but fight or flight was more like freeze forever for him.

  The clap of a rock hitting the upper part of the garage door snapped him into focus. Like the sound of a director’s board announcing action, the clap spurred Buck to act. He moved. Turning the ignition, he grinned when his rig started right up.

  Shouts from outside underscored his excitement. Too late to stop now. He couldn’t take the time to be excited for the small victory. He needed a whole slew more of them before he would be able to celebrate.

  He shifted into reverse, backing out with a burst of speed and taking out the bottom panel of his garage door. Steering wildly, he careened the rig over the curb and onto the road. They bumped, jerked, jostled, and somehow came to a startled stop. Buck blinked and shifted into drive. He wiped his damp palms on his pants, one at a time, staring at the crowd running toward them.

  A collection of men with guns and shovels rushed their direction, eyes wide and savage.

  The girl didn’t make a sound, but she reached forward and gripped the side of the seat beside Buck with white-knuckle intensity. Buck didn’t need any more encouragement. He pressed down on the gas and the vehicle responded, lurching forward like a panther after prey.

  Three men screamed as they fell under the front of the SUV. The Range Rover barely acknowledged that it drove over the bodies. Another man with dreadlocks took a shot at the windshield with a 12-gauge shotgun, but the impact did nothing to the reinforced glass.

  The girl screamed when he shot, but then sat there in stunned amazement at the lack of damage.

  “Hang on. No one’s going to get us in this thing.” He powered through the crowd, bouncing and four-bying over his neighbors’ yards. “Poor Mrs. Santiago’s rose bushes don’t stand a chance. And they were award winning, you know?” Buck cranked on the wheel, turning this way and that
, tightening his seatbelt when they hit another curb.

  More shots rang out behind them but hit dully on the metal of the car.

  The Range Rover wouldn’t go far with the gas because of the extra weight on the vehicle for bullet and bomb proofing. Buck had crazy fans not too long ago. They were probably all dead by then, but he was glad he’d been forced to get prepared. Even if they crashed, Buck and the girl could stay safe in the car until they died of starvation inside.

  “Do you think we’re going to make it?” The girl’s slight voice reached Buck as he turned onto the upper main drive to get out of his gated community.

  The gate had been torn down and lay to the side of the street with its spindly tops reaching down the road with its own level of desperation.

  “I don’t see why not. I’m sure we’re going to be fine.” He smiled reassuringly at her, but inside he was sick. He had no idea where to go or what to do. There was a reason he hadn’t had children and being responsible for someone other than himself wasn’t something he would have chosen willingly.

  No matter where they went or what they did, they wouldn’t be one-hundred-percent safe. He couldn’t guarantee her safe passage anywhere. He was just a weak man with no way to protect them.

  He didn’t even have proper shoes to wear to the end of the world.

  Chapter 19

  Bailey

  Leaning on the wall to limp from the bathroom, Bailey reached out and snagged Cady’s arm before she could leave the front room. “Mom, why are you going out there? You’re still recovering, he’s not exactly in his prime.” Looking around for the older man or woman, Bailey kept her voice low.

  Cady tilted her head, furrowing her brow. “I don’t understand. You’re always saying we should help others. I’m going out to see if I can get more information and to see if we need to save women and girls like ourselves. That’s what I’m doing. I’m not playing Rambo or anything and forcing these people to do anything to take care of their own.” She arched an eyebrow and studied Bailey. “I know it’s scary, and worrisome. I get it. But I don’t have the luxury of standing still because I’m nervous. If they’re out gathering up women…” She let the statement fall between them, then turned toward the door.

  It was true, though. Bailey was constantly bugging her mother to do something, help someone. She couldn’t argue with her mom going out to help, but she didn’t feel right about the sweet couple they’d been welcomed in by. “Okay, that makes sense, but Mom, seriously, don’t involve these people. They’re too good. What if something happens to him? Elba won’t have anyone to look after her.” Really, Bailey wanted to scream at her mom that she didn’t want anything to happen to her. To Cady. Bailey didn’t want to be left alone.

  Cady turned, gripping Bailey’s biceps. “You’re going to be fine, Bailey. Elba is going to help with the baby. I’m not taking you with me. Your ankle needs to get better. And that old man out there is military – retired or not. He’s going to be our best bet to see just what we’re up against.” She studied her daughter, her eyes softening for the first time in a long while. “You’re a good girl, Bailey. I don’t tell you that enough. I let a lot of things get in the way of me being closer to you and I always blamed it on things other than myself.” She reached up and brushed Bailey’s hair back then twisted a few strands around her fingers. “You’re not going to like what I asked Elba scissors for.” Cady motioned outside with her head. “Come on.”

  Bailey glanced back to see if Elba needed help with Jessica. Cooing coming from the back room suggested Elba didn’t need anything but time alone with the baby. Finally, Bailey could release some of the responsibility to someone else.

  Limping after her mom, Bailey tried to squash the twinge of sadness sparking in her chest. Scissors were only used for one thing. Cutting. Bailey could put two and two together and she wasn’t excited for what she suspected her mom wanted to do.

  Cady turned back to Bailey in the afternoon sun. She wrinkled her nose and half-shrugged. Pulling scissors out from her back pocket, she smiled. “Okay, so we’re in danger the more we look like girls. I think we should cut off our hair and try to fix the initial idea of our physical appearance to help us get an edge.” Cady pressed her lips together as she let Bailey consider her suggestion.

  Bailey had been growing her hair for years. She rarely got it trimmed. From what her mom was saying, though, their safety could depend on the hair length. Was there really any question as to what the right option was? After a minute, Bailey nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Cady widened her eyes. She put a hand on her hip and jutted out her jaw. “You’re not going to fight me on this?” A shadow of something like disappointment crossed her eyes.

  Bailey sighed, too tired to argue. Plus, her ankle throbbed and she didn’t want to stand there much longer. If she went along with what her mom wanted, she could sit down faster. “We don’t have time to fight. It’s just hair, Mom. It’ll grow back.” If they were still alive to grow it back. Bailey kept her comments to herself.

  Dropping her hand holding the scissors to her side, Cady blinked back tears.

  Bailey reached down and claimed the scissors before she became emotional as well. “I’ll do yours and you do mine.” She clamped her lips together and tried to smile. Her expression wasn’t convincing and she could feel it’s fake bravado on her cheeks.

  Less cynical than normal, Cady nodded as if she understood the effort Bailey was putting forth. Cady pulled her ponytail down and let her long dark hair fall past her shoulders. “Go. I want it close to the scalp all over but longer by my face so I can pull it across my eyes, if I need to.” Her jaw tensed and she set her shoulders like she was going to battle.

  Bailey gripped the scissors and twisted a chunk of her mom’s hair around her fingers. She’d learned how to create chunky hairstyles from Rebecca – one of her friends in school. Twist and cut across the turn of the tresses. Her hands shook and she took a steadying breath. She didn’t want to cut their hair. She wanted to go back inside and act like they were visiting family. That was all she wanted to do. She didn’t want to regret actions or make choices that lives depended on.

  She lifted the scissors and stuck her tongue between her back teeth. “Ready?” She didn’t know who she was speaking to, Cady or herself. Did it matter? Ready or not… She closed her fingers in the scissor handles. The shearing slice of metal blades through hair was unmistakable and undeniable.

  Bailey swallowed her gasp as almost a foot of hair fell to the ground at Cady’s feet. Her mom’s eyes flew open and they held each other’s gaze in shocked silence for almost ten seconds. Then Bailey twisted another chunk and cut again.

  They were doing whatever they could to adjust, including dropping the last vestiges of who they were as women. Their rights were slipping away and they didn’t even get to keep symbols of their femininity because of the potential danger associated with being identified easily as a female.

  Bailey finished her mom’s hair. She shifted her weight and handed the scissors to Cady. Tears brightened Cady’s eyes as she copied the same technique Bailey had used. After a few minutes, Bailey was able to turn her back on her own pile of tresses.

  “Wait a minute.” Cady turned Bailey back and pulled her into her embrace for a hug then smiled softly at Bailey. “I’m not as tired as I look and I’m stronger than you think. I’ll be back.” She wiggled her fingers as she walked toward northern-most outbuilding.

  Dusty stood by the door, determination in his tight expression. A gun sling striped across his chest and he pointed at Bailey. “Lock that door when you get inside, girl. I don’t need to be worried about you three while we’re out saving the world.” He chuckled and Bailey watched her mom shake her head as she joined him.

  Bailey went inside and set the lock bar in place. Elba walked into the living room, her expression softening when she saw Bailey. “It’s good for them to go. We’ve wanted to save those girls for a while now, but Dusty hasn’t been too
sure of himself being on his own. With your mom, they can rally up a few of the other survivors and do what no one else will. Stick up for what’s right.” Elba motioned toward the kitchen, Jessica resting comfortably in her arms. “Let’s make some dinner. It’ll be time to nestle in soon.”

  Bailey trailed her fingers on the wooden rail used to blockade the door. One way or the other, she had to have faith that her mom knew what she was doing. So far, Cady had kept them alive. So far. Even through the virus, she’d helped Scott.

  How was it possible that things had escalated so quickly? It felt like so much longer. At some points, Bailey wasn’t sure when she’d lost her dad and she forgot to grieve him. She reached up and rubbed distractedly at her neck. She softened her touch and examined the rash with her fingertips. The bumps on the rash were getting more pronounced and she only had one small vial of oil her mom had given her.

  What if it wasn’t enough?

  What if, no matter what she did, she didn’t make it? Everything she’d been through would be for nothing. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. What kind of a burden would she be to Elba? To her mom?

  Would she try to kill them like Jason had tried to kill Bailey and Jessica?

  The possibility sickened Bailey. What would she be capable of?

  Chapter 20

  Scott

  The burning in Scott’s thigh woke him. He couldn’t remember any dreams but there was a periphery of light like the edges of a bubble. He wanted to touch it but he felt like he was weighed down by sticky water. His wound burned like fire and took over the edges of his conscious.

  Gentle murmuring and movement at his side made him drag his eyelids open. The sun had come up some time while he was out. The light inside the living room from the comfort of the couch was soothing and not jarring like he’d expected. Had he been taken prisoner? He would’ve expected to be thrown to the ground somewhere and beaten rather than comfortable on the couch.