Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

They had to be alert constantly.

  And now, one of their own had put a bullet through Brandon. Just eighteen years old, and forever scarred.

  “I’m just not used to this,” Ralph wept on. Brandon lost consciousness nearby.

  “None of us are,” Clay agreed, pulling Ralph up from the ground, seeing a convenience store nearby. “Let’s get under cover. We can’t very well stay out here, waiting for the next attack.”

  He lifted Ralph, carrying his frail frame easily. Brandon returned briefly to consciousness, and allowed Jacobs to help him to his feet. The four of them eased toward the convenience store as clouds began to fill the sky. Clay didn’t know what time it was, or even the day. Thursday? Monday? It didn’t matter anymore.

  Chapter 3

  Inside the convenience store, Ralph went around the counter, shuffling toward the cash register. As if money could help them during the apocalypse, Clay thought bitterly.

  Brandon slid into a lawn chair, cradling his arm. Jacobs eyed Clay and gestured away from the others, wanting to speak with him privately. His eyes reflected a truth that Clay surely didn’t want to hear.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Clay asked, as they stood in the looted snack aisle, amid empty chip bags.

  “It’s just a flesh wound. This time,” Jacobs said quietly.

  “Oh, thank god,” Clay sighed. “What do you mean, this time?”

  “I mean, I’m not the right person to be dealing with shit like this,” Jacobs said, his eyes dark. “I’m a scientist. I’m not a real doctor. I had maybe three classes on human anatomy, over ten years ago. Next time something like this happens—and it’s a gut wound, instead of an arm wound—we won’t be so lucky.”

  Clay felt his fury building. “We all have to do the best we can, Leland,” he said. “And doing what you can for us, with your limited knowledge, means exactly that. Do you understand?”

  Jacobs didn’t reply. As they faced off, they could hear Ralph’s guilt-ridden whimpers and Brandon’s soft moans of pain.

  “Brandon. Hey, kid,” Ralph said, finally taking notice of someone else’s suffering. He eased toward the boy, his eyes rodent-like in the dim light. He still wasn’t able to look at his victim. “Hey. I’m so, so sorry, Brandon.”

  Clay and Jacobs watched silently. Clay sensed that tension could build between them, the kind that threatened the delicate balance in their small band of survivors. He closed his eyes tightly, willing some kind of forgiveness.

  “Seriously. I just ain’t got used to this bum arm yet,” Ralph said.

  “Neither have I,” Brandon replied quietly.

  Ralph and Brandon stared at each other for a long time, animosity growing. Clay had half a mind to speak up, to find words that sounded appropriately leader-like, that would unite his tribe again. But as he went to step forward, Ralph stretched out his arm, stopping him.

  “No, sheriff. Don’t sweet talk him. He can feel however he wants.”

  “I forgive you,” Brandon said, after slight hesitation. “I do. I know it was an accident. And I think it’ll heal. Okay? You happy?”

  Ralph closed his eyes, as if he was receiving absolution from a priest. He dropped to his bony knees, looking again like he was mid-prayer.

  Clay started to speak, to suggest that they talk about their next move, to not waste time in the silence.

  But he didn’t have time.

  Alayna and Daniels burst into the convenience store, their guns pointed at the ceiling, spattered with dirt and gore. Alayna caught Clay’s eye before reporting.

  “They’re all dead out there. Daniels and I chased them out about a mile, killed them all. Should be clear for a bit if we want to rest.”

  “Wonderful news,” Clay said with relief. He smiled at Alayna warmly, but she didn’t return it.

  Her eyes darted toward Daniels, who added, “But the bad news is, we only have about fifty or so rounds of ammunition left.” Reminding them, once more, of how close they were to death.

  “Jesus Christ,” Brandon said, wrapping his hand gingerly around his bandages. “We’re fucked.”

  No one spoke.

  Daniels slung his rifle in one swift motion.

  “But there were cars in the distance,” Alayna added. “A big cluster of them. Maybe three miles up. We could see them across the field.”

  “Any sign of the crazed up there?” Clay asked.

  “We couldn’t see any. At least, not from where we were,” Alayna said.

  “Oh, and I suppose you two want to run up there and see what all the fuss is about?” Ralph said sarcastically. “That’s all this has been, hasn’t it? Just one curiosity after another. And meanwhile, I’ve lost half an arm. And Brandon’s been shot.”

  Clay didn’t remind Ralph that he was the perpetrator. He sighed, scanning the convenience store. It was cozy, still decently stocked with various canned goods, and featured a long row of lawn chairs along one wall. They would be comfortable there, at least for a while. But Jesus Christ, Clay thought, growing anxious. He had to get to Helen to try to find his wife and daughter. He glanced at Alayna, whom he’d lusted after just days before. He could sense a need in her, as well. For Megan.

  “You want to stay?” Clay asked. “Then, stay. You don’t have to listen to me anymore, if you want to be on your own. But Alayna and I have to move on. We have to get to our people. And I’m not stopping here for days to rest. We’ll just die here a little bit slower than we’d die out there.”

  Jacobs said, “I need to find the rest of my team, as well. The other scientists who know about the nanites. It’s absolutely imperative.”

  Clay nodded, and glared at Ralph. “You see there? It’s imperative. I’m sure that’s not a word you use often, so let’s break it down for you—”

  “Shhh—” Alayna cut him off. “Don’t make it worse.”

  Ralph and Brandon eyed each other. Silence settled over them, reflecting the indecision. Brandon tried to sit up. “What do you think, Big Ralph?” he asked, trying a nickname on the man for the first time. “You think we should keep going, or stick around?”

  Ralph hesitated, unaccustomed to making decisions. He scratched at his tearstained cheek and his eyes flickered toward Clay, assessing him. “If we stay, Brandon, that means we’ll be on our own. No more ammunition. No more—well . . . no more help.”

  “That’s true. But fuck it. I’m already shot.” Brandon’s voice was challenging, almost asking Ralph to take on the horrible prospect. “What’s a few weeks of staying, eating as much food as we possibly can, and then getting eaten up by those crazed monsters, huh? Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

  Ralph shrunk into himself, looking fearful. He swiped his only hand over his scalp, almost certainly thinking about Connie’s touch. He’d looked like less of a person since she’d died.

  “You all have someone,” he spat. “Clay, you’ve got Alayna. And Jacobs and Daniels. Hell, Brandon, you and Alayna care about each other. You’re close as can be. But me? None of you would care if I lived or died. You should have left me in that burning Humvee, you bastard,” he said, zeroing in on Clay. “I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to be—”

  Brandon interrupted him, staggering up from his chair, still holding his arm. “Ralph, that’s not true. I’ve looked up to you since this started. I’d hate it if you died. You seem to forget that I lost a sister at the beginning of all of this.”

  Ralph was wide-eyed, like a deer seeing a hunter. He gulped and stood a bit straighter. “Wh—what?” he stuttered. “Brandon, do you really mean it? That you’d miss me?”

  “Of course I mean it, you old bastard,” Brandon said. “Just don’t fucking shoot me again. Okay?”

  “Deal,” Ralph whispered, offering his hand to Brandon. Their eyes met for a moment, friendship making them equals, regardless of their difference in age.

  Despite everything, Clay’s heart softened at the camaraderie, giving him a brief interlude from the horror that was now their life. Agai
n, he tried to catch Alayna’s eye, but her face had turned pale green, and she’d started to tremble—something she’d been doing recently—that chilled Clay to the bone. But he couldn’t find the courage to ask her about it, not after their night together.

  Ralph was wrong, Clay realized then. He didn’t have Alayna. Not anymore. He was currently living with the ghosts in his head: his wife and his daughter, in the hope they’d be back in his life soon. But he couldn’t afford to be optimistic. None of them could. It was the end of the world, after all.

  Chapter 4

  “We’ll stockpile as much food as we can,” Clay announced a few minutes later as the tension in the room eased. Brandon and Ralph now sat companionably side by side, one of Ralph’s knees crossed casually over the other, as if it was just an ordinary day.

  “I think all the good food’s spoiled,” Alayna said, nodding at the coolers. “And we won’t survive long on junk food.”

  “Honey, it’s the apocalypse,” Daniels retorted. “We’ll have to survive on whatever preservative-filled thing the government tried to kill us with. It’s all we have now.”

  “We’ll get weaker with every bite,” Alayna said, frowning. “Candy bars? Chips? Clay, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Suggest a better option, then,” Clay said, his hand on his holster.

  Alayna was silent. The rest of the crew was already resigned to their potato chip lifestyle. Clay’s stomach ached, just at the thought. But they were hungry, desperately so. And they hadn’t seen any wildlife to hunt. What happened to all the deer? To the dogs, even? Had they been eaten up by the monsters, becoming a source of fuel?

  Clay drifted toward the back of the store, with Jacobs following. Near the toiletries, he found a large selection of sacks and duffel bags, enough for them to carry the food with, if they strapped them to their backs like camels. He scooped up as many as he could carry, and dropped them in front of the others.

  “Get as much as you can. I think I saw some beef jerky near the register. That might be our best bet for protein.” He eyed Alayna again. Why did she seem to glare at him with such scornful eyes?

  Ralph lifted a sack tentatively.

  “And dump all the soda bottles,” Clay told them. “We’ll fill the soda bottles with fresh water from the tap.”

  “Ah, shit,” Brandon said, easing one of the twist tops from a bottle. “I used to drink tons of this stuff every single day, with money I got from my after school job. And now it’s right here. For free.”

  “That shit will kill you,” Alayna insisted.

  “If this is the thing that kills me when there are monsters on the loose, then I choose this,” Brandon said, chugging Mountain Dew. He wiped his hand over his mouth, blinking wildly. “It really burns when you’re not used to it.”

  “That’s because it’s not natural,” Alayna said, her eyebrows high. “Your body doesn’t really digest it.”

  “Just a few more sips,” Brandon murmured, drinking as much as he could of the yellow liquid.

  Ralph patted his shoulder, chuckling. “He’s a boy after my own heart. We love the things that will destroy us. Hell, I’d be smoking more of these free cigarettes if I knew they wouldn’t slow me down. I’d be so out of breath all the time, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with you all. So, Kid? You want to try a cigarette?”

  “As if I haven’t smoked before,” Brandon scoffed. It was obvious to all of them that he hadn’t, that he was covering up his “embarrassing” teenage existence, which was probably far cleaner than he admitted.

  “All right, then,” Ralph said, reaching for the Marlboro Reds. He fumbled with the plastic and then opened it, revealing the triple rows of tan-tipped cigarettes. He took two, handed one to Brandon and snagged a lighter from near the cash register.

  “Don’t smoke in here,” Alayna insisted. “The rest of us have to live with it.”

  “I think I’d like one of those.” Daniels reached a large, calloused hand toward the box. “Hell, it might be the last one I ever smoke.”

  “Guys. Stop it,” Clay snapped. His mind was racing with thoughts of his daughter and wife, and of all the time they were wasting. He saw red for an instant. Was this panic? “We have to fill our bags and get moving.”

  He stomped toward the back of the store, hearing Ralph and Daniels flick their lighters. The smell of smoke reached him a few moments later.

  “You going to try it, Brandon?” Ralph asked.

  “I told you. I already have,” Brandon said.

  “You don’t want another one?” Ralph asked, clearly amused.

  “I think I’ll stick to my Mountain Dew, if that’s okay.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Brandon joined Clay in the hunt for food supplies, grabbing cans of beans and other vegetables and filling his sacks. Alayna busied herself near the corner, sliding her fingers over the once-familiar boxes of macaroni and cheese and rice—things that weren’t practical, given that they were always on the move, and it was far too dangerous to start a fire.

  Clay worked his way closer to Alayna, wanting to understand why their relationship had soured. They’d made passionate love not so long ago, and now they looked at each other like total strangers.

  “I remember you used to eat this macaroni and cheese crap almost every day for lunch,” Alayna said as he drew closer to her, her voice a whisper. “Your wife would pack you delicious lunches, with protein to make you healthier. But you’d always head to the store and buy this.” She gave him a teasing smile, her eyes twinkling.

  Finally, Clay thought. They could bond over their memories.

  “I was addicted to it. I think we can blame it, single-handedly, for all my weight gain,” he laughed. “Too bad we can’t serve some up now.”

  Alayna tilted her bag toward him, showing her collection. “Peanuts. Almonds. Cashews. I think that’ll stick to our bones, at least for a while.”

  Clay nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment. He wanted to say something, to apologize for any tension between them, to prove that he wanted to remain friends—the closest of friends, especially as everything grew more dire. But he couldn’t speak.

  “Sorry it isn’t getting any easier,” he said instead. “I know you want to see Megan.”

  Alayna slid her fingers through her coarse hair. “I just want to make sure she’s all right. I don’t know what that means for us, you know. She did sleep with Daniels.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t think I’m even that upset. There are no real rules out here, are there?”

  “I’m not sure I can answer that truthfully,” Clay said wryly. They were at the bottom of the world, looking up. It seemed impossible that they could ever clamber back up to where they belonged.

  They continued to pack, Brandon stuffing in a massive collection of candy and granola bars, much to the chagrin of Alayna. She rolled her eyes and ran her hand over his hair, acting almost motherly. Clay was reminded of Valerie—how she’d roll her eyes at their daughter Maia’s silly quirks, and her insistence that “just one more snack” wouldn’t hurt. God, he’d had such a beautiful family. But now, this rag-tag troop of stragglers, trying to stay alive—this was his family.

  “We all set?” Clay asked, strapping several sacks to his back and grabbing his gun, looking at each of them in turn for confirmation.

  They gathered in a line facing the once-automatic doors of the convenience store. The light outside shimmered on the glass. For a moment, Clay felt almost at peace, stocked with food supplies, strong in the companionship of these people.

  Then, Ralph broke his reverie. “Shit! You see them, Clay? There, by the gas pumps? They see us too, I reckon.”

  Clay moved up and peered out the window. Sure enough, a small horde of the crazed were wavering toward them, their rotting arms waving and dripping blood.

  “All right, gang. Let’s do what we’ve been training to do.” Clay squared his shoulders. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

  Chapter 5
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br />   Clay turned toward Brandon and Ralph. The pair nodded curtly, with Daniels behind them, racking a bullet into the chamber of his rifle. No one spoke for several seconds as the crazed monsters poured across the road, leaving bloody tracks on the pavement. One of them was wailing, a guttural, inhuman sound, reminiscent of a dying cow.

  “Aim well, gang,” Clay said, turning his eyes back to the door. “And try use only one bullet per zombie. We can’t afford any more than that. And we definitely can’t afford any more disasters, a la Ralph and Brandon. Is that clear?”

  Clay led the team out onto the pavement. The first onslaught of the crazed was just six or seven that Clay and Daniels took with quick, accurate shots. The monsters didn’t even make it to the sidewalk.

  But the chaos attracted still more of the crazed. The survivors began to spread out, each holding their own, dropping the monsters. Clay glanced up when Alayna yelped at a bony hand on her back. She spun, putting a bullet between the crazed’s teeth, and then another between his eyes. His blood spattered her before he fell. Without hesitation, she returned to the fray, killing two more monsters in rapid succession. Clay felt a moment of sincere pride before he, too, was forced to focus on the onslaught.

  It was all becoming normal, almost second nature. Murder. Constant, every day murder. It was their way of life.

  Brandon and Ralph were next to each other and blasting through the crazed like cowboys. Brandon spewed curse words with a hoarse, teenage voice as he fired, clearly mimicking actions from a fantasy or video game. Ralph was concentrating fiercely, less accurate for having to use his left hand.

  Jacobs and Daniels fought with similar styles, despite Daniels’ obvious years of training and Jacobs’ rather weak technique. They plugged each of the crazed monsters at least twice to be sure. They were ignoring Clay’s plea to conserve ammunition. But Jacobs was too terrified to handle it any other way. And Daniels was too aggressive, wanting to retaliate with as much force as he could.