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

  After taking turn after turn and going up and then down hills, Scott pulled off to the side of the road, backing up until the vehicle was hidden under low-lying branches of towering pines, hidden behind wild lilac bushes that were starting to bloom with thick leaves. The dark color of the Bronco would blend nicely with the shadows of the foliage since the sun hid behind clouds and had already started its descent for the night.

  Scott didn’t turn off the engine, but he kept his foot off the brake and there were no lights behind them.

  No lights, until the van bumped along on the road feet from their position. They were persistent, going slow and taking the road with caution.

  From where Cady sat in the Bronco and waited, she could see the road for a good hundred feet past where they had parked.

  As the van’s headlights glowed in the shadows, the beams picked up the ghastly forms of dead bodies strung up on a barbed-wire fence with its posts angled upward and then lashed together like a half-made teepee to support the weight of the bodies. About twelve bodies hung in various poses, their bloated torsos and abdomens protruded from their torn and stained shirts.

  Cady covered her mouth, pressing the flesh of her palm into her teeth as she suppressed her gasp. She didn’t look too closely for fear she would be able to make out if they were men or women, or even might be able to recognize some of them. The area wasn’t far from Cady’s neighborhood.

  A loud scraping and grinding filled the air and the van stopped about halfway through Cady’s line of vision, partially blocking the fence with all of its bloody glory. The van’s back tire continued spinning, but the van had high-centered with the ditches worn deep on the dirt road.

  The driver revved the engine causing the rear tire to spin out of control, flinging dirt into a muddy spray.

  After a moment, two men climbed from the van. They wore neon green sweatshirts over dirty jeans and heavy work boots. Facial hair hung from their jawlines in patches like they weren’t sure if they could grow a beard or not but they wanted to try anyway.

  Each was equipped with a rifle on a sling over their shoulder. Standing beside the back of the van then stared at the tire and the position of the van.

  They were stuck and they knew it.

  Something pulled their attention in the direction away from Cady, turning them and making them grab for their guns.

  But it was too late. The power of a bullet knocked the one closest to the van backward until he lay on the ground with blood leaking from his forehead. The other fumbled with his gun, dropping it before turning and running. His gaze fell on Cady and Scott in the Bronco. He opened his mouth and then his expression froze as another gunshot rang out.

  He took the bullet in the back, collapsing forward with his arms stretched out.

  Whoever had shot them headed toward the Bronco, their shapes indistinct through the trees but their movement certain. Would they shoot Cady, Scott, and Beth before they even had a chance to defend themselves? Would they all end up on the fence?

  Chapter 15

  Manson

  The woman identified herself as Margie. She was a little older than himself and trusted him a little too easily. Manson couldn’t figure out if that made her stupid, cunning, or just weary of being on edge.

  In any event, he put forth his most calming exterior and eased her into being comfortable around him. One thing he’d always liked about his average appearance was that people trusted him easily, they trusted average. Average could be anyone or anything, but it was never dishonest.

  If he could get in good with her group, she’d mentioned one a couple times – probably to warn him that she wasn’t alone and that others were out there – then he could slowly take over as the leader. There was safety in numbers and Manson could see that.

  He pushed the cart around the end of the last aisle and they stopped by the front doors. The light from the sun fading in the west was strong enough still that they could see their spoils.

  “It’s not a lot.” Manson twisted his lips to the side. If he didn’t get to go with Margie, then they would have to split the items and that made the small haul even smaller.

  “Nah, it’s more than I expected.” Margie leaned forward, inspecting the few bags of chips, boxes of crackers, one bag of jerky, three boxes of granola bars, soap, toilet paper, napkins, vitamins, essential oils, band aids, and some other stuff. “If we can get to where I’m headed, then there won’t be any need for more.”

  There wasn’t any need for more? The statement didn’t make sense with the end rearing above them with such absolutism. The cart was almost full, but Manson wanted to have three or more carts. This wasn’t enough to do anything with. He couldn’t even trade this stuff off for other items with other survivors.

  When you lived in prison, you learned how to trade.

  If he had to, he could trade Margie for stuff. She had to be in her fifties, but she was still good looking and serviceable.

  She broke through his thoughts. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to one of my companions. I’m still debating on bringing the other one along.” She motioned toward the back of the building, then glanced to the side of the store as if checking something was still there.

  Manson followed her gaze. Was she looking at the minivan parked on the side of the parking lot?

  She didn’t walk away with the cart, instead, she waited for him to follow. Manson didn’t want to leave the cart, but he wasn’t sure how far it would roll across the broken glass. He pushed the cart as far as he could and then tucked it against the side of the building. Following Margie, he tucked his free hand into his pant pocket, clutching the crowbar as if he were nervous someone was going to attack him.

  No one was going to attack him. There were no survivors in that area – at least that Manson had seen. He’d gotten that far a few hours before and was trying to come up with a replacement for his car, or sorry, Phil’s car.

  Margie went around the corner of the building and Manson slowed. Were there a lot of men? A lot of women? She hadn’t mentioned how many there were in her group.

  Manson came to a stop when Margie and her “group” came into view.

  A teenage boy and an older 1980s reject stared at him from beside Margie.

  He wasn’t sure how safe a group like theirs would be. An old woman and a boy. That was the extent of Margie’s group. The way she’d sounded with confidence in her tone had convinced Manson that she had a group worth sticking with. As he considered them, he internally shrugged. If nothing else, he could at least travel with them and kill them if he needed to let off some steam.

  “What is this?” The woman with the choppily sheared hair and multiple piercings pointed at him, not hiding her disdain as she trained her narrowed gaze on Margie.

  “I found him. We worked together. You should see everything we found.” Margie looked at Manson, her smile bright like they were the best of friends.

  Something tugged inside of Manson. He didn’t have feelings, but if he did, he would want to make Margie proud of him, glad that she’d found him. He decided he wouldn’t kill her – at least not first.

  Margie held up her hands at chest level and then faced the other woman. “We need a different car, Kelsey. We’re going to take him with us, if he wants to join us.” She shot a questioning glance his direction, but continued without waiting for his reply. “We need to carry more supplies and the Rabbit won’t do it. You’re welcome to come with us, obviously, but I’m not staying with that car.” Margie’s backbone was showing as she spoke with firm determination. She sounded like a mother putting her foot down.

  “I’d be happy to look for gas cans and fill them. I can siphon pretty good.” Manson held up his hand like volunteering at school.

  “I saw a minivan on the side of the lot that would be perfect. I think we can get this done in thirty minutes or less. I’d rather be on the road, than sitting here.” Margie glanced at him, gratitude shining in her eyes.

  Manson had to prove himself
while feeling out the others in the group – mainly the woman named Kelsey. Did he need to agree with Margie and kick the other woman to the curb? Or did she have use and he just needed to hold onto her until he’d finished using her? It was better to get a measure of the people in your group, if you planned on leading it.

  Chapter 16

  Bailey

  The quiet was eerie, punctuated as the wind moved the treetops way above the calm of the yard. Bailey shivered but it had nothing to do with the cool air. “Come on, Ranger.” Bailey spoke in a near whisper as she motioned to the large brown dog.

  He didn’t need more prodding as he slipped from the east-facing garage door and then waited a couple feet in front of Bailey.

  The sun would be down soon and she didn’t want to chance going into the house. Nothing inside felt safe. She wasn’t sure if Jason was even dead, didn’t want to face those thoughts, not yet. She didn’t go around the front of the house or go in view of the front yard.

  Ranger padded quietly alongside her as she cradled Jessica close. Bailey had grabbed ready-made formula from the pile she and Jason had stacked just inside the garage doors and extra diapers. She wasn’t sure how long she would be in hiding, but it would at least be over night, if her mom didn’t get back soon.

  Sneaking around the edge of the trees along the periphery of the parking area, Bailey kept to the shadows. If Jason was alive and walking around, he’d try to get to her, if he saw her. That was a lot of ifs and she was too scared not to go over and over them.

  Pausing behind the firewood lean-to to the shed, Bailey took a deep breath and peeked out past the corner. There was no movement where Jason would have been.

  Bailey caught her breath. Was she putting them in more danger? Once she got up into the loft, there’d only be one safe way down. That would be easily blocked by anyone who wanted to hurt them.

  Counting to three and staring at the front yard, Bailey darted across the dirt and gravel driveway and into the shed. She didn’t chance looking behind her. She didn’t really think Jason was alive. He’d been shot and had dropped from the roof. Healthy people couldn’t survive that. No, Bailey was more terrified of what she would see, what she would have to accept as reality.

  She’d killed him. When she should have been helping him, she’d shot him and then tricked him so that he would fall off the second-floor roof of her house. What was she going to tell Scott? Would her mom be mad at her? Bailey blinked back the tears the guilt from her actions brought on.

  Pushing aside the tarp her dad had hung up with nails in the log poles, Bailey ducked waited for Ranger to follow and let the tarp fall. The soft rustle of plastic was the only sound as it fell back into place.

  Ranger’s nails clicked across the wooden planks stacked precariously under the steps leading to the loft. Bailey held the bassinet close to her hip as well as the other temporary supplies she’d forced herself to grab before running from the house. Thankfully, Jessica wasn’t too heavy. Carrying her all over the place was definitely wearing on Bailey’s back and arms.

  They climbed up the steps, Ranger close beside her. Her dad had built the loft when they’d moved in, stating they needed more storage space. He’d stored extra sleeping bags, camping supplies, extra fold-up tables, camp chairs, and other odds and ends. The only things that weren’t allowed up there – according to her dad – was her mom’s survival things. He said the loft was his area to load with this and that, not her.

  Using the fading light filtering through the plastic windows Dad put in along the center ceiling pole, Bailey set up a sleeping area. Hopefully, Scott and her mom would be home soon. But if they weren’t, Bailey knew she could at least stay in the loft for a little longer. She should have grabbed more food, something for her and Ranger. She hadn’t been thinking that far ahead for her, just for Jessica.

  She looked around the dry loft. They’d be warm enough. Spring worked its way into the northwest, the days were warmer and the nights were leaving behind the freezing chill of frosts and snow. Multiple sleeping bags, blankets, and camp rolls would help as the trio cuddled together for warmth. No, warmth wouldn’t be a problem.

  Bailey lifted Jessica into her arms. The baby soaked up the comforting touch and nestled into Bailey’s arms. The trust Jessica offered Bailey so freely broke Bailey’s heart. She slumped to the floor of the loft, hunched over and cross-legged. She’d tried so hard not to think about Jessica’s family and where her mom had gone or where the rest of Scott’s family was.

  The tears started, slowly at first. She’d been fighting crying and giving into the weakness, but everything was just too much. Her tears came in a torrent, ripping from her with each breath. Ranger gave a soft whimper, lowering himself down to rest his chin on her upper thigh while watching her with large brown eyes.

  Bailey had lost so much and the reality was she might have lost her mom and Scott alongside the loss of Jason. She had a baby to take care of and no idea what she was doing. She was barely fourteen and already she had to raise a baby.

  The small comfort of the gun tucked into her waistband didn’t do much to alleviate her responsibility or her fear. She’d already shot it and there was nothing she’d ever hated more.

  Dragging in a ragged breath, she rolled her head back. A burning ache in her neck matched the one in her side. She must have scraped her neck when she was scrambling to get out of the bathroom. She shivered at the recent memory.

  A flush of heat roved over her skin, causing goosebumps and a slight layer of sweat she wiped from her forehead with the back of her hand. Was she getting a fever? Bailey assumed it was attributable to the ebb and flow of her adrenaline.

  She’d gotten the vaccine. She couldn’t be getting sick, could she?

  Chapter 17

  Cady

  The men’s shadows preceded them as they approached the Bronco. The reflection of their guns in the window of the van.

  Cady gripped the edge of the chair, her nails scratching the canvas material. She leaned forward as slow as possible. She barely moved her lips. “Are we going to end up on the fence? Scott, what are we going to do?” At least there was no sign of cannibalism. It hadn’t been the first time the thought had crossed her mind. Cannibalism wasn’t far off once food ran out. People would do what they had to do to survive.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Of all of the books she’d read about the end coming, they’d always – inevitably – turned toward survivors being so desperate they would eat each other. Hanging bodies from fences wasn’t eating them… Yet.

  Scott’s grip creaked on the shotgun’s stock. He hadn’t turned the rig off. He handed the gun slowly to Cady, keeping his gaze trained on the shooters. “Hold this and duck. Beth, you, too.” He didn’t wait to see if Cady grabbed the shotgun. He slowly placed his palm on the stick, shifting into first.

  As if time slowed down, Scott breathed outward on a whoosh. Suddenly, the rig shot forward, the move sudden and unexpected.

  Cady jerked back into her seat with the lurch, her eyes growing wide. She partially ducked behind the dash.

  The front man didn’t have enough time, he succumbed to the sudden onslaught of the Bronco’s leap forward. The bump as the bumper hit and then the tire drove over him, shocked a gasp from Cady.

  A shot rang out from the man behind him, a string of expletives reaching them through the small hole in the windshield from his shot. Two more shots rang out, sending a mass of webbed cracks through the glass.

  Cady checked her shoulders and chest. She hadn’t been hit. Scott didn’t appear to be hit either.

  He spun the steering wheel hard to the left, shifting and accelerating as more shots rang out behind them. Metal plunked into the side paneling of the Bronco as they sped past.

  “Hurry!” Beth shrieked from the backseat.

  Cady glanced back at her friend, nodding in agreement. Yes, they had to hurry. The bumps didn’t matter. Just get out of there.

  They had to get out of there. As soon as
Scott bumped out of the back roads and back onto the highway, Cady half-turned to him. “Let’s head home.”

  Scott’s face was pale as he nodded tightly. The tension in the rig was thick, binding.

  Cady couldn’t help but wonder when their luck was going to run out. They should have been hit. They should have died. Someone should be hanging on that fence. She gripped her fingers tight enough to dig her fingernails into her palms.

  Would their luck run out? Hopefully not for a very long time.

  Unfortunately, Cady had the sensation that things were coming to a head like she was stuck in some kind of a tunnel and at the end she would have to pay a fee to get through to the other side.

  Chapter 18

  Beth

  Something slammed her shoulder back and filled her upper body with an excruciating burn. Beth grimaced, clenching her teeth to hold in her pain. She gripped the edge of the seat in the Bronco, bouncing up and down as Scott drove them out of the dirt roads. It was like he forgot how to use the brakes, but Beth understood why he drove so crazily.

  The urgency of the moment seemed dulled by the pain in her shoulder. If she didn’t look directly at it, she wouldn’t have to face the fact that karma was at it and she’d been shot in the soft spot between the rounded part of her shoulder and her neck. Judging by the extreme burning and the concentration of the pain in two spots, Beth would say it went through.

  Beth held her jaw as tight as she could. She was scared that if she relaxed, even a little bit, she’d start to scream from the pain of being shot. It was like some kind of payback from shooting Steven, it had to be. Karma or something.

  Rather than pull the attention to her when they were trying to escape, Beth gritted her teeth. She reached up with her free hand and pressed on the wound. The burning intensity didn’t seem to extend to the back part of her shoulder.