Look Away_an apocalyptic survival thriller by B. R. Paulson

Author:B. R. Paulson [Paulson, B. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Captiva Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-01-18T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Bailey

Watching Cady as she stared at Jessica and explained the use of the oils, Bailey was hit with the reality of what was happening like a slap across the face.

Cady was sick. No longer was it a matter of time or just a case of red eyes. Bailey had more to worry about than just Scott being sick or the possibility that Cady might get sick. Bailey had to plan for the eventuality of Cady’s death, because wasn’t that what it was? Cady had pretty much warned her that if she got sick, she would most likely die. There was no evidence of anyone surviving the sickness. They didn’t even know what the symptoms looked like or how they presented themselves.

All Cady was doing with the oil information was telling Bailey how to make her death less painful. What a horrible way to say goodbye. Make me comfortable this way, because I’m going to die.

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, Bailey smiled as her mom stood and went to bed. She put on her brave face but she wasn’t sure if it was for Jason or for herself. Jessica didn’t care as she sucked peacefully on the pacifier in Jason’s arms.

Jason spoke softly, staring at Jessica. “Does it make me like a baby, if I admit that I’m scared?” He turned fearful eyes toward Bailey who looked at him in wonder. A pink flush flooded his cheeks as he cast his eyes back down to his cousin. “Never mind, ignore that.” He cleared his throat.

She shook her head, the tightness spreading from her throat to her chest. She made fists at her side, tucking them between the thighs and the couch. “No. I’m scared, too.” She was only… wait, her birthday was the next day. She wouldn’t be able to say she was only thirteen for very long. Cady hadn’t mentioned anything about it. But what did Bailey expect she would say, I’m dying, happy birthday?

What a birthday it would be as she cleaned the coop for the chickens and put their waste into the compost heap. What a celebration she would have as she tossed out scratch for the hens and they would cluck around her as if singing a song to her. She could pretend that the eggs were presents and that the flowers struggling to break through the last pieces of winter’s shell were like Mother Nature’s balloons.

She would be fourteen in just a few hours and she felt like she’d aged ten years over the last few weeks. How had she survived her father’s death only to be chased by the virus that would kill her mother, but leave her an orphan? And, somehow, she was now a mother figure to an infant, a property owner, a nursemaid, and more that she couldn’t comprehend.

Telling Jason wasn’t an option. At least, not right then. She didn’t want to acknowledge that a normal thing was happening the next day – not when there wouldn’t be anything to celebrate it.

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