Try Hard: a post-apocalyptic thriller (180 Days and Counting... Series Book 7) Page 10

  Cady looked back to Jackson, relieved that Bailey wasn’t exposed to him. Not right then. Why hadn’t Cady thought to grab her gun before leaving for Beth’s? She’d been sick and could feel her weakness dragging down the energy her adrenaline had covered her in. Sickness wasn’t a good enough reason not to have her protection with her.

  Beth suddenly trudged onto the deck, dragging her feet weakly as she crossed to the steps not far from where Cady stood.

  No one gave Beth any mind as Jackson and Cady stared at each other. What would Jackson do now? Would he kill everyone there? He would certainly do away with Scott. Jackson’s plans didn’t involve other men. He was a jealous type and he’d never allow another man to live. Look at all the people he’d killed over the globe.

  “Why… why couldn’t you stay away?” Tears blurred Cady’s vision. She was tired and just wanted to rest, yet there he was – the cause of everything ugly, everything painful. “You didn’t have to come here.”

  “He’s not welcome.” Beth’s ragged gasp was cut off as an explosion blasted from beside Cady, the gun going off a couple feet to her side.

  The sound was deafening. Cady stumbled to the side, lifting her gaze and training her eyes on Jackson. She gaped in shock. Her ears rang but she couldn’t stop staring.

  Beth had shot Jackson. The .45 bullet hadn’t left any question where her aim had been as a bright maroon oval spread across his shirt to the left of his buttons.

  Surprise widened Jackson’s eyes and he fell forward to his knees. After a moment, he looked up at Cady, genuinely confused. He reached up and touched his chest, pulling his red stained hand back to study his damp fingers. He looked again at Cady. “This isn’t right. We were going to rule the world.” But his last word slurred and he slumped to the ground.

  The generator cut out and the lights went dark, leaving the yard and house in complete darkness.

  Cady could only hear the ragged harshness of her own breathing.

  What the hell was going on?

  ~~~

  Find out who survives another day in Move On, book 8 in the 180 Days and Counting… Series.

  I write other apocalypse series as well. Check out a sneak peek of Into the End, book 1 of the Into the End series, below! Heads up though, that series is disturbing.

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  Digging this book and craving more? Let’s kill together! Paulson books have crazy, end of the world, time to find that killer, stalking chaos that keeps you turning the page long into the night. Survive the pages! Survive, Paulson style!

  ***BR Paulson Books***

  180 DAYS AND COUNTING… SERIES

  No Time, bk 1

  Last Chance, bk 2

  Hold On, bk 3

  Too Late, bk 4

  Look Away, bk 5

  Find Them, bk6

  Try Hard, bk 7

  Move On, bk 8

  Fit In, bk 9

  Death Days, bk 10

  Long Gone, bk 11

  No More, bk 12

  WORTH OF SOULS SERIES

  Cost of Survival, bk 1

  Exchange Rate, bk 2

  Worth of Souls, bk 3

  BoxSet books 1 - 3

  INTO THE END SERIES

  Into the End, bk1

  Through the Flames, bk 2

  Out of the Ashes, bk 3

  BoxSet books 1 - 3

  BARELY ALIVE SERIES

  Barely Alive, bk 1

  Falling Apart, bk 2

  Mostly Dead, bk 3

  Viral Intent

  BoxSet books 1 - 4

  MEMOIRS OF A CANNIBAL SERIES

  Memoirs of a Cannibal

  Cannibal Holiday

  Cooking with the Cannibal

  Cannibal CookBook

  Keeping up with the Cannibals

  Chapter 1: Rachel

  The end of the world had come.

  Finally.

  Rachel hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep in twenty-three months, three weeks, and two days. An hour, maybe two a night for the last two years. Twenty-four hour news flickered on the TV.

  Crisp May air breezed through the open windows. Rachel tucked the blanket tighter under her chin and readjusted her legs on the couch cushions. Restless leg syndrome would be a perfect excuse for her sleeplessness, but couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Her legs weren’t restless. She was.

  The news anchor returned from commercial. Rachel turned up the volume. A squared picture flashed of burning buildings and gaping crevices. The older woman on screen sighed, weariness covering her lack of surprise. “Another earthquake in the string of disasters to the west coast struck an hour ago in Ellensburg, Washington. The Washington coastline has now been decimated to the middle of the state. Experts project a following tsunami to the new islands created from the Cascade Mountains should manifest in the next few hours.”

  Ellensburg? Mere handful of hours away. Andy had been right.

  The camera shifted to the man who shuffled paper. Lifting eyes desensitized to the horrors from recent days, he continued below a new popup screen. “In other news, after almost ten years of closed, high security airspace, the president has released a statement declaring that the airspace over the States is now open. He has requested assistance from other countries. The White House sent his formal request yesterday morning and has yet to receive answers from the NATO countries. The open space is an invitation for any help we can receive. Do not be alarmed if you spot airplanes or helicopters in the air.”

  A muffled thud sounded from the roof. Rachel muted the TV. And waited. At least she thought she’d heard something. Maybe… Well, maybe she’d slipped into that place between sleep and awake. Or maybe she was finally ready to sleep. It might be the mentioned assistance dropping food and supplies.

  Rachel closed her eyes, smiling at the image of care packages dropping to the ground.

  Thump! This time from the roof above her. Rachel snapped her eyes open and followed the sound with her gaze until it dropped off the steep grade. An orange glow drifted past the closed vertical blinds. Another. A new thud. Care packages didn’t glow… did they?

  Rachel escaped the pull of the blanket and knelt at the window. A burnt umber shone around the edges of the blinds. Faded in and out. Maybe young neighbors played with fireworks.

  She pushed a few of the slats out of the way and gasped.

  Falling debris, some on fire, catapulted from the sky. Large pieces hurtled to the ground while other materials and paper rode the calm May air to settle wherever it wafted. Flames burned out on contact with the grasses and streets, but here and there a small ember took hold on a tree or roof top. Smoke billowed black and white with different fuel.

  A scream rent the air.

  Rachel scrambled from the couch and shot down the stairs. Out the door, she landed on the grass and froze. Where had it come from? A second shriek slashed from the house next door. Bob and Martha. Rachel ran to the front door and pounded.

  The retired gentleman flung the panel open, his white hair tufted here and there. “Rachel. What’s going on?” He stuck his head out the door, the fire light revealing his absent hearing aid. “Where’s Martha?”

  Crackling from the back yard and another scream led Rachel through the gate, Bob trailing behind. Both dodged the increasing onslaught of fiery remnants. A paper bag, the corner curling with flame, slid off Rachel’s shoulder. She stepped over a yellow charred chunk of foam in the shape of a small seat. A doll’s head, or half of one anyway, rolled on the grass when it landed.

  Rounding the corner of the house, Rachel tripped over the cement patio. Damn. Every time she came over, she stumbled over the same protrusion. Good thing she hadn’t changed into her robe. The last thing she needed was to fight terry cloth tripping her up.

  Finding Martha took a momen
t with vision limited through the falling debris. By the side fence, behind the rhododendrons, Martha chased her dog, whose tail and lower back had caught fire. Yips filled the air. Burning hair and flesh permeated the smoke trailing from burning paper and wood. The dog’s water dish sat on the edge. Rachel picked up the bowl and dumped it on the burning animal.

  “Oh no.” Martha caught and patted the whimpering lump. She raised her eyes to her husband, tear filled. “Sparkles. He’s…”

  Bob couldn’t hear her, but the pain on his face declared complete understanding.

  Andy, Rachel’s husband, had a gun. He could put the poor animal down. The kids needed to get up and get out of the house. Speaking as calmly as possible, Rachel approached the woman and touched her shoulder. “Martha, we need to put Sparkles out of his misery. I’ll grab Andy. He can do it.”

  Gray hair, matted at the back, shook as Martha nodded. Rachel’s heart ached for her friend. She struggled to keep from sobbing. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sprinting, she returned to her house and bounded up the stairs. “Andy! Wake up. You need to get up.” She powered through their bedroom door and grabbed Andy’s foot. Hand over hand in the darkened room, she followed the lines of his sheet-covered, toned body and shook his shoulder hard. “Andy!” She yelled. “Andy, wake up! Hurry!”

  Her husband didn’t open his eyes but brushed her hands from him and rolled over. Rachel glanced toward the doorway. “Wake up, damn it.” She grasped his shoulder tighter, ratcheting him back and forth until he turned to face her.

  Andy yanked his ear plugs out and sat up. “What? I just fell asleep an hour ago.” Bleary, he blinked hard to wake up. “The house better be sinking.” He yawned and rubbed his face.

  “Andy, things are falling from the sky. Martha’s dog caught fire. He… They need you to put him down. Please, hurry.” Rachel reached underneath the bed and pulled out Andy’s Glock. Snapping the clip into place, she palmed the butt.

  Mouth agape, Andy climbed from bed, his boxers low on his hips. He slid his jeans on and his t-shirt followed. Rachel grabbed his arm as he bent to retrieve his socks. “No, you don’t have time. We need to go now. They need you.” She pulled him to the door and handed him the gun. “Here. I’ll get the kids ready. It’s time.”

  “Time?” Confusion gave way to understanding, the softness of sleep hardened to the angles of his masculine features. “Got it. I’ll be right back.” He snagged a quick kiss, pressing his lips to hers like the world’s end had paused just for them.

  Andy pounded down the stairs.

  Rachel turned to the kids’ room. All three shared a room because Andy had opted not to spend any extra money on finishing the downstairs and instead had invested the surplus on supplies which he’d packed for speedy transport.

  Cole stood in the doorway, watching her. “Mom? Where’s Dad going?”

  Hugging her oldest to her, Rachel breathed in deep. Innocence would be shattered. Even as a psychologist she didn’t have the tools to prevent it. She pushed his unresisting form from her and looked into his eyes. “We have to go. Now. I need your help.”

  Squaring his jaw in perfect imitation of his father, Cole nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Get dressed. Grab Beau and get him dressed. I’ll get Kayli.” Further into the bedroom packed with bunk beds and dressers, Rachel ignored the rush of fear. Adrenaline, pure and simple. She didn’t fear the end. She didn’t fear anything. Not since Rhode Island. She repeated her mantra. Nothing scared her. Not anymore. She had Andy.

  Cole leaned into the bottom bunk. “Beau, we need to go. Grab Blanky. Hurry up.”

  “Kayli, honey, you need to wake up. We need to get out of here.” Rachel rubbed her daughter’s arm.

  The lightest sleeper, Kayli, a smaller version of Rachel with her dark brown bob and blue eyes, sat up and threw her blanket on the floor followed by her stuffed doll. “Is this the emergency you and Daddy talk about?”

  Rachel opened her arms and helped the six-year-old down. “I think so. Either way, we’re going to pretend it is. I need you and Beau to get dressed and follow Cole to the backyard. Remember the drills?”

  Solemn, Kayli and Rachel’s tow-headed, four-year-old boy nodded. “Yes, Mommy.”

  Rachel nodded at Cole. The fourteen-year-old had plenty of experience watching the other two. They followed him like baby bears to peanut butter. She left the smaller kids in Cole’s capable hands to gather last minute papers and memory items. The majority of the necessities had been packed months ago.

  A gunshot pushed its way through the walls. Rachel paused on the landing between the flights of stairs and hung her head. Martha loved Sparkles almost more than her grandchildren. Almost.

  Poor Andy. He loved domestic animals. But he was strong. Stronger than most men. And he was hers.

  Anxious whispers flitted down the stairs from the kids’ room. She’d have to hurry. The last thing she wanted was to have the kids outside by themselves, but she didn’t want them in the house too long either. What if it caught fire?

  A few pictures from the walls downstairs topped the pile she accumulated on her walk through the house. Climbing the stairs, Rachel dodged around the opening door. “Sorry.”

  Andy steadied her, his fingers warm on her elbow. “I didn’t know you’d be right here, sorry about that.” She met his solemn gaze. “I had to put the dog down. Martha is pretty upset, but Bob got her to go inside out of the fire. I asked them if they’d like to go with us.”

  Rachel exhaled. “Oh, good. Are they going to ride their quads? When can they be ready?”

  His hand on her back, Andy followed Rachel up the stairs. Even after all the time they’d been together, his touch still tingled. “No, they want to get to Spokane. The news reported the Red Cross stations are open and ready for thousands. I’d like to see if that’s changed. Bob is leaving in the next few minutes. They aren’t even packing.” The couple stopped mid-level. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Are the kids up?”

  Beau appeared at the top of the stairs. “We’re here, Dad.” Backpack straps darkened his shoulders. Kayli bobbed behind him.

  The electricity shut off. Darkness enveloped them. Kayli and Beau whimpered. Rachel searched with her hands and feet for the stairs and grasped their arms while offering sounds of comfort. Utter blackness greeted their eyes. Even the streetlamps fell victim to the blackout.

  Andy moved around the living room, his steps padded on the carpet and stilted on the linoleum. A slight sticky sound indicated he stood in front of the fridge where Kayli had spilled grape jelly the night before. A moment later, a scratching and the flare of a match glimmered as the sun. Kayli, Beau and Cole followed Rachel down the stairs to the living room.

  “I guess watching the news is out.” Andy lit a decorative candle from the centerpiece on the dining room table. “You guys have your packs? Rachel, is that everything you need?”

  He led the way to the sliding door, his light a beacon as they left their home. Maybe for the last time. Or maybe just a drill. Rachel’s heart pounded.

  Caboosing her family train down the deck steps, Rachel opened her mouth to stop Andy, beg him to reconsider. Spokane had Red Crosses. They’d be around others, know where their friends were. Sometimes being with the crowd was more than people gave it credit for.

  Miniature meteors fell from the sky as far away as the river, over thirty streets away.

  “Let me take that.” Andy set the candle on the lowest step and removed the pile from Rachel’s arms. The kids stared into the sky. Fire streaked the night sky, blocking out the stars. Andy pointed at the stairs. “Rachel, can you grab the radio? It’s in the box under the deck.”

  Radio, radio. Rachel hated the Tupperware boxes under the steps during the daylight. Night time was worse. Maybe the bugs and spiders would know the sky was falling and leave her alone.

  Locating the small wind up box required Rachel’s complete focus. She taught fighting fears and overcom
ing obstacles. A spider was not something that created fear. No, instead it was disgusting. All those legs.

  Something brushed her arm. Crap, was that a spider? She shivered. Yuck. Her fingers closed around the box and she yanked it out, scratching her arm where the tickle had been. “Got it.” She banged her shin on the trailer tire, shapes blurred shadows against the white vinyl fencing.

  Andy’s hand found her arm, his angled jaw and firm lips illuminated by fluttering flames. A thump on the tarp covering the trailer behind Andy’s quad startled Rachel. Andy took the radio before she could drop it. The spiders had bugged her more than she’d realized. “Beau, Kayli, Cole? You guys down here?”

  Cole stuck his head up from the trailer behind the four-wheeler Rachel would drive. “Dad has us in already, Mom. Kayli and Beau are under here, too.”

  “Thanks, Cole.” Her kids. Her husband. She needed them. Maybe that was a fear she had. Losing them. Tools to face fear made it hard to accept any. Focus on the moment, on the now. Not on what has happened and not what might happen. Focus. She wouldn’t lose them. Andy was too prepared.

  A car honked from the front yard. Three houses over a roof caught fire, lighting the area like a large torch. Every moment more urgent than the last.

  “Let’s see what we can get.” Andy pushed the buttons and messed with the antennae. Static. “There’s nothing on FM.” Garbled murmurs cleared little by little as Andy pressed the button.

  Rachel leaned forward. “Wait, what’s that?”

  “AM.” Andy bent the small antennae and a harried voice fought through the static.

  “… end it there. I’m not sure where they went. Hold on, here comes something.” Muffled rubbing followed by sounds a phone makes when it’s dropped. The voice couldn’t belong to a guy older than high school, and he returned, hushed and frightened. “For those of you able to hear me, this is Tom Mason. We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack.” Shuffling followed by quickened breathing. “Fairchild was targeted this morning and multiple bombs have made contact, annihilating the base. Spokane hasn’t fared any better, having received ill-aimed missiles.”