Wallace’s yellow eyebrows shot upward. He smirked, assessing Clay. But Clay held his ground, bursting with resentment. He didn’t take orders from anyone but Lois, the mayor. And even then, he wasn’t too happy about it when it happened. He needed time to form a strategy. Or at the very least, he wanted to be treated with respect as he worked alongside this out-of-towner.
“I see,” Wallace said. “You’re the sheriff around here. I understand that you made a call to the city of Helen, describing a need for some backup. Is that correct?”
The curious staff turned their gaze toward Clay. Clay felt small. But he raised his chin still higher, glaring this man in the eye. “That’s correct. Backup. Which, I believe, has quite a different definition than you think it does.”
Wallace scoffed. “I see. So you think you and your ragtag crew can really monitor this town after what’s happened?” he said.
“What exactly do you know?” Clay asked. “When I called Helen to explain, they didn’t even take my call. They just said help was on its way. Why send what looks like an entire military detachment for a simple meteor impact?”
The colonel cleared his throat and raised his head even higher, averting his gaze to the surrounding townspeople. “Because you never can be too careful. Besides, do you think you can keep your little town safe from all that’s out there waiting for you?” He gave a knowing grin. “Because I think there’s a lot you don’t know, Sheriff.”
Clay gripped his hands together so tightly that his nails nearly drew blood. “I’m sorry to tell you, sir, that you’re out of your turf and out of line.”
Wallace raised his massive hands. “I see,” he said gruffly. “I do. And, I suppose, for the time being, you can keep your little church-town.” He gestured toward the post office, the bank, making a mockery of it. “But in the meantime, I think we have to make a compromise. For the safety of your people.”
Clay tilted his head. He felt a compromise wouldn’t rectify his problem. He wanted to take this man inside, to demand answers. But in this public setting, with Alayna and Jean and the bank staff and several girls from the local school all switching their eyes from him to the colonel and back to him, he couldn’t back down.
“Depends on the compromise,” Clay said.
“I suppose it’s more of an order, then,” Wallace corrected. “We’re going to hold a perimeter around Carterville. We’re aware of the incident at the farmhouse and require a brief quarantine, until the issue at hand has been completely investigated. Do you understand?”
Clay remembered the heat of that meteorite upon his cheeks. He felt his stomach lurch within him. He’d vomited both his lunch and those drive-thru French fries, and still something within him yearned to escape.
“That’s fine,” Alayna said then, interrupting the conversation. “Please. Make your perimeter. I’m sure it can’t hurt. And we’ll be happy to help in any way we can.”
Wallace turned his eyes toward the deputy. “Seems your little woman here has a bit more sense than you do, Sheriff,” he said. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing against the brick side of the station and then from the bank to the school to the city apartment block. “Move out, team,” he said.
The military procession turned from the city center and spread out to all corners of Carterville to form a perimeter. Clay watched them go, his heart aching. Alayna’s fingers gripped his elbow, assuring him that this would be over soon. They watched Colonel Wallace withdraw back to his own vehicle, salute, and promise, “I’ll be back here soon to talk shop with you, Clay.” He tapped his nose. “Just you wait. We’ll be fast friends. I promise.”
Clay didn’t wait for the convoy to clear completely from Main Street. He stomped into the station, noting the smell that weaved through the air in the hours after Cliff’s death. He collapsed into his office chair, gripping the telephone receiver. He had to call Lois, but he dreaded yet another confrontation. He sat in the shadows, understanding that, at least for a little while, his world wouldn’t look precisely right. They meteorite had come for them all. It had chosen them, like fate. And now, he had to act with his townspeople’s best interests in mind. Which meant, he supposed, he’d have to bend his confidence. He’d have to cower at the feet of this wretched man. He’d have to find a purpose in that, if only to protect the livelihood of the people he loved the most.
Clay reached out and dialed Lois’s private number.
Chapter 14
Mayor Lois Washington returned Clay’s call less than an hour after Colonel Wallace had swept through the town. Clay felt the dread in his voice as he answered. “Sheriff Dobbs.”
“I hear you’ve met our savior, Lord Wallace,” Lois said, her voice slicing through the air. This was no longer the woman who judged the baby animal contest in the summertime or cut the ribbon on his daughter’s apple cider sale in autumn, ten years before. This was a woman of purpose. This was the woman he’d met earlier that morning. The woman who had asked him to keep the investigation quiet.
“They really made an entrance,” Clay offered, leaning back heavily upon the headrest. “Mind telling me what this is all about?”
“I don’t know much,” Lois said nervously, “but what I do know is, something’s happening in this town. And they know the precise mechanism to keep us safe. So why not let them?”
Clay bit his tongue.
“Oh, I know. I know. You just hate taking orders. But hear this order from me,” Lois said. “There is so much more that will become clear in time, and as soon as I can say, you’ll be the first to know. But until then, know that this will blow over soon. Just stay strong. Won’t you?”
The old woman sounded so much like his mother before her death: confident, optimistic, bright. He stuttered a brief agreement before hearing the final order.
“I think you should go visit Darcy Crawford,” Lois said then. “I really think she deserves your support.”
“Alayna went out this morning, when I met you at the diner,” Clay explained. He stared at the dirt on his boots, remembering the early morning’s inspection of the farmhouse and barn.
“I know that,” Lois said, irritated. “But she and her father are important to this town. And I know, more than anyone, how much this town means to you. It’s been your life for far too long to sit around and mope.”
“You’re getting all sentimental on me, Lois,” Clay said, feeling blood pump in his veins once more. The old mayor was right. “I suppose I could head over there. I don’t know what else I’ll do here at the office, besides worry about what Colonel Wallace and his band of no-goods are doing at the perimeter.”
“That’s the spirit,” Lois said. “Hey. I have to run to a meeting. But we’ll speak soon.”
A meeting on a Saturday? Clay wondered. “Yeah, sure.”
“And Clay?” she offered, her voice hesitant.
“What is it, Lois?”
“Be careful.”
Chapter 15
Clay gave a brief good-bye to Alayna before bounding away from the station, already feeling like the day wouldn’t end. It was only five in the afternoon, and he didn’t sense leaving his post anytime soon, or slipping out of his treacherous shoes. Jesus. He stretched his toes within the thick, unforgiving material. He ached.
He pulled into the lot at the hospital, parking close to the emergency room. As he walked, he sensed questioning eyes upon him. He bowed his head in greeting to several nurses who stood outside with cigarettes between their lips. They looked harried, their eyes bloodshot and red. “Afternoon, ladies,” he said.
A nurse at the waiting station led him to Darcy’s room. He felt outside of himself as his boots squeaked on the linoleum floor. As gurneys pushed past him, he realized he didn’t fully recognize everyone who passed. These were the people he was meant to care for. These were the people he planned to protect. And yet they were invisible, anonymous.
The moment Clay saw Darcy in the hospital bed, his breath caught sharp in his throat. Her hair wove a
round her face, creating a kind of dark cloud. And her eyelashes fluttered at her red-tinged cheeks, giving her an angelic appearance. Her thin wrists looked unsuited to do any labor: like tiny, mouse wrists, broken with an ounce of weight. He couldn’t imagine how this girl could endure a brief windstorm, let alone survive the meteorite.
Beside the bed sat Mack Crawford, her father—a man Clay had been rather friendly with over the years. Mack’s back was curved, his elbows upon his knees. He looked like he was weeping, shuddering with tears.
Clay reached toward him, nearly ready to touch his shoulder, to offer support. But immediately the man lurched back with a violent motion. His eyes were red, his skin splotchy. He popped his lips in a moment of recognition.
“Sheriff,” he said gruffly.
“Mack. Are you doing all right?” Clay asked, his voice tentative. He instantly noticed how profusely Mack was perspiring. “You don’t look too well. Do you have the flu or—”
Mack stood up and began pacing, interrupting Clay. His boots rattled across the floor and his words came spastically. “Jesus, Clay. I wish everyone would stop getting on my case about this. I’m fucking fine,” Mack said. He slapped an open palm on an adjacent wall. The sound echoed throughout the room and rang through Clay’s ears. He eased back, standing in the doorway.
Mack continued. “All this. Darcy being in the hospital. I lost the entire farm. Do you know how hard I’ve worked for that farm? The barn and the house? It’s all I have!”
“The fields are mostly fine,” Clay offered. “I stopped there this morning. It was bad luck, for sure, but you haven’t lost your daughter. That’s what’s most important, isn’t it?”
Mack continued to pace, wringing his hands. Sweat continued to pour, staining his shirt in splotches beneath his armpits. “If I could only get some space,” he sputtered. “I just wish everyone would leave me alone.”
Clay rested his hands on his hips, mentally stepping away from the grieving man and his unconscious daughter. He remembered the panic in Cliff’s eyes back at the jail cell and drew a direct comparison to Mack, who was all but thrashing between him and the hospital bed. He imagined the possibility of Mack’s violent thrusts coming down upon Darcy, his own daughter.
He spoke tentatively. “Listen. I know you aren’t feeling well, Mack. Just admit it to yourself and head to a hotel. Get some sleep. We all know you need it. And the nurses will call you the minute your daughter wakes up.”
Mack burst forward, then, sending his fist to the base of Clay’s chin. He growled slightly, the whites of his eyes showing jaundice yellow. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do,” he spat. “You get out of here.”
The sheriff’s instinct took over once more, forcing him to wrap his arms around this manic man who was on the edge. He pushed Mack to the ground, beside his sleeping daughter’s form, and held him between his calves before reaching back and tugging his cuffs from his pocket. He cuffed him, surprised at the strength in the forty-something man, nearly causing him to topple toward the ground.
“Easy, there,” Clay said, scarcely believing what he was doing. Mack wasn’t fully berserk, not like Cliff had been. But as Clay began to help the man to his feet, Mack heaved back and vomited all over the linoleum. The smell was wretched, curdling in Clay’s nose. But still, he held fast to Mack’s upper bicep, feeling his straining strength.
“You feel better?” he asked.
Mack heaved several breaths, clearly unable to answer. He shot himself back to his feet, sputtering with anger. He gave a final look to his daughter before asking, “So. Where the fuck you gonna take me now, Mr. Sheriff?” His eyes were dark over the yellow background. And his skin seemed off, like the inside of a sour grape.
“We’ll head back to the station for now,” Clay said, trying to sound sure of himself. But in reality, the strangeness of the day made his every movement seem fictional. He ached for his bed.
Clay gave a final glance to Darcy, then led her father from the room.
Chapter 16
Mack thrashed several times as they marched through the hallway before finally giving up and walking slowly, dispassionately, his arms hanging behind his back in their cuffs.
Clay had half a mind to let him free in that moment. Perhaps he was truly just upset about his daughter. Perhaps he was truly a grieving father, yearning to be left alone.
But the moment Mack’s skin felt the assault of sunlight outside the hospital, he began to toss himself violently once more. He screamed wretchedly, highlighting the wrinkles on his forehead, his cheeks, around his eyes. Clay waffled around him, catching him at his shoulders, trying to calm him.
“Mack! Hey! It’s all right, buddy!” But his words sounded weak and tired in the face of such anger. Clay felt himself staggering left, then right as he clung to him, moving with each of Mack’s insane thrusts. He was nearly pummeled to the ground but soon righted himself, finding the strength to stand firm in his boots.
Just as Clay assumed Mack would never halt this violence, that he would have to carry him the rest of the way to his sheriff’s car, he heard a loud engine revving behind him. His heart sank with intense fear. His fingertips dipped deeper into Mack’s biceps, hoping he was wrong. That the sound was nothing. Just another farmer in a loud truck.
But the footfalls behind him told him a different story. The angry, obnoxious voice coiled within his ears, chilling Clay to the bone.
“Well, well. Sheriff Dobbs. What in the world do we have here?” Colonel Wallace drawled, assessing Mack’s ominous behavior. “Seems rather peculiar to me. Not just like a man who almost lost his daughter today. But more like a man on the brink of insanity. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Clay maintained his steady posture, turning his head so that only his stark profile showed to Wallace, hoping to retain control. “He’s just upset,” he affirmed. “He’s had a hard day.”
As if on cue, Mack squealed wildly, like a pig. He thrust himself so violently in Clay’s arms that Clay lost his hold. Mack stumbled backward, nearly tossing himself in front of an ambulance, hightailing it through the crunching pavement. From this distance, Clay sensed the danger in this man. He sensed that he’d crossed over the line, much closer to the behavior exhibited by Cliff earlier that afternoon.
Wallace smacked his hands together, throwing an echo across the hospital’s brick wall. On this cue, three of his men marched forward and grasped Mack Crawford by the arm, the leg, the torso, and then flung him in the back of one of their transports, still handcuffed. He screamed like a caged animal.
“What do you expect you can do with him that I wasn’t already going to?” Clay demanded, leaning toward the colonel.
“He’ll be quarantined for evaluation,” Wallace said, sniffing. “It’s a technique we often use in these situations.”
“You do realize that it’s probably just the flu,” Clay said hopefully. “Faced with the condition of his daughter and the loss of his farm, he’s just a little manic.”
“Leave your diagnosis attempts to the professionals. And please, Sheriff, if you see anyone else exhibiting these symptoms, send them our way. We have our quarantine facility set up just outside of town, and we have the tools and the know-how to deal with this.”
“Is that an order?” Clay challenged, still hearing Mack fighting himself in the back of the transport. Clay swallowed, almost thankful not to have Mack’s fate on his hands. Not like Cliff. He couldn’t handle that twice in one day.
“Sure is,” Wallace said, stretching a smile across his face. “You don’t want to destroy one of your fellow men in the process, now, do you?” He turned his eyes back to his soldiers, who stood in a straight line, their eyes toward him. “Let’s move out, boys. Lucky we were in the neighborhood, eh?”
They stomped back to their vehicles and sped from the parking lot, leaving Clay alone, staring into the ether. He sensed that the life he’d woken up to, with his wife and daughter in his quaint, country home, might very well be a figment from hi
s past. But he couldn’t think about that now. He had to move beyond this helpless feeling and get to the bottom of this wretched day. What the fuck was going on?
And for all their pomp, he wasn’t entirely sure that Colonel Wallace and his troops had all the answers.
Chapter 17
Clay paced his office hours later, his hands clasped behind his back. Alayna sat with her feet upon his desk, her fingers jittering as she thought aloud.
“When I saw Mack at the hospital, he was exhibiting these same symptoms,” she said again. “And it seems that Darcy had similar signs. But she wasn’t ranting and raving like you say Mack was.” She paused, gazing out the window. “Where do you think they took him?”
“Colonel Wallace said the facility was set up just outside of town. Probably just over the county line and out of our reach.” Clay threw up a bewildered shrug. He felt his stomach lurch within him once more and nearly hacked into the trash can. He couldn’t decide if he actually felt ill or if the stress of the day had its hands around his neck. He absentmindedly scratched at some scaly skin on his forehead. His hand returned to his side trailing several strands of his salt-and-pepper hair. He searched his fingers, aghast, and noted that on his forearm were the beginnings of some lesions, lying just beneath the surface of his skin. He dropped his arm back down, noting that Alayna had turned toward him.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing. I hit my arm on a burner the other day,” Clay lied. He felt a bead of sweat form at his temple.
Alayna bought it easily. She had no reason not to trust him. She cracked her knuckles and bound back into the discourse, leaving Clay with his roving thoughts.
“Anyway. With the military presence, the mood in this town has really taken a nose dive. Don’t you think all the activity is overkill? It’s making the natives uneasy. We had almost ten people in the station when you were gone, demanding answers about all the transports and the tank. We’re a small town, here, you know? I just don’t think we need all this.”
Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy Page 5