“Ha. I think I’d eat onion rings, if I could,” Lane said. “Deep-fried, with dipping sauce. Oh, god. Just thinking about it is making my mouth water.”
“Of course, Clay doesn’t need food,” Alayna said. “Not with the nanites in his blood.”
“He’s so lucky. I feel like I might die in five minutes.”
“Yeah, well. I may very well die in just a few days from these parasites,” Clay said, shuddering. He halted, turning toward the girls, his eyes panicked. “We’ll get you your food. Your water. It’s going to be all right for you. But it won’t necessarily be all right for me. Do you get that?”
The women glanced at one another, seemingly speaking a language they’d cultivated together in the mere minutes Clay had left them alone that morning. Alayna shrugged slightly, as if to say, “There’s no good way to handle this.”
“I think we should take a break,” Lane said, breaking the tension. “All this talk about burritos is making me crazy. Plus, we’ve been walking for . . . what? Three hours? That’s more than my normal workouts before the apocalypse.”
“Isn’t it funny that we ever tried to keep those gym memberships?” Alayna asked, laughing and sinking to her knees on the pavement. “I mean, of all the things you could do in your life, why would you spend so many hours at the gym? It seems pathetic, now. If only someone had told me.”
“It’s okay, Alayna. I don’t think you spent too much time there.” Clay humored them. “I seem to remember quite a few nights where you and I snuck out for a beer or three before heading home. You didn’t head to the gym. You lived.”
“Or at least, I tried to,” Alayna said.
“That’s all we can really ask for,” Lane agreed.
After a short break, during which they gulped as much water down as they could, they started again, guided by the confident movements of Clay—their leader, whether they liked it or not. And perhaps, since the morning’s conversation—and since Clay had rebuffed Alayna again sexually—they were leaning toward the “not.” Especially Alayna.
Clay could sense it. Alayna’s resentment was nearly palpable, alongside the hunger and the fatigue. He was growing stronger than ever, leaving them further and further behind—sometimes literally. Once, infuriated, Alayna threw a stone at him. It bounced, stinging his skin. He turned around, his eyes violent and bright, making him appear almost machine-like.
“What the hell?” he asked, his voice low. “What was that for?”
“You’re like twenty feet in front of us,” Alayna said, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what kind of fucking leader you think you are. But this isn’t what it means in my book.”
Clay waited for them. The girls caught up, then pushed ahead of him, stride by stride. Clay followed, not wanting to make any more waves. He wanted to say something tart to Alayna, but held his tongue.
There was too much at stake. The world was spinning far too quickly. “Feelings” were irrelevant. And that’s what he should have told Alayna the night before, when she’d pressed herself so insistently against him and asked him to be with her.
Chapter 30
After more breaks and countless rounds of half-bickering later, the three survivors crested a hill and viewed something miraculous, something that now seemed outside of time. It was Dearing, the first signs of it anyway: scraggly houses on the outskirts, water tower, and its grid lines of the inner city—probably named for all the trees in the forest, much as it was in the towns they had grown up in, in the towns they were from.
“God, it looks dead,” Alayna gasped, scrutinizing the town below. It was as if they were on the deck of a ship, looking out over the water. But no fish skimmed the surface; nothing made a dramatic leap.
“I’m terrified,” Lane said, looking at the road sign identifying the town and its population. “I never thought I’d be so scared of a silly little town. But look at me now. My fingers are trembling.”
They were. When Lane extended them, her entire hand shook, like a drunk’s. Her eyes were laced with tears, showing her fear, like a child. As her lip quivered, Clay seemed to grow taller, more confident, almost oblivious to their fear. He gazed down at them from his ivory tower of strength, certain they could feel it pumping within him.
“It’s all going to be fine,” Clay stated. “We have to think positive.”
“Yeah. You’ve got those nanites cranking away,” Alayna said sarcastically. “Just try to imagine how we feel, won’t you? For once?”
Clay raised his hands, feeling like the villain. “All I know is, we spent the better part of today walking all this way. Do you want to just turn back now?”
Lane reached for the canteen. She began to gulp at the water, as if she thought it might be the last she’d ever get. Her hands still shook. Alayna accepted the canteen next, drinking with similar zeal.
“Listen, if we don’t go down there, then we’ll never know. We’ll never figure out what happened to our friends and family. We’ll always wonder. Alayna—what about Megan?”
Alayna didn’t stop drinking.
“And if we don’t go on, then we may never find food. I could go on without it. I don’t need it. I don’t even want it,” Clay lied, even as memory of that burger—a symbol for real life—hounded him. “But this is literally our only plan. Our only choice. And we’ve come all this way.”
Lane and Alayna turned angry eyes on him. The canteen hung at Alayna’s side, empty. Nobody spoke for several seconds, as they came to the realization that Dearing was in fact their only hope.
“We should have the neutralizer out at all times,” Alayna said. “Like you said. If there are crazed in there, I don’t want them to hear our gunfire.”
“Agreed,” Lane said. “But which one of us should . . .”
“She should take it,” Alayna said, tipping her head toward Lane. “We’ll have our guns drawn, just in case the first line of defense fails us.”
Lane asked, “So, what’s the general plan after that, then?”
“We look for signs of life,” Clay said firmly. “This can’t be rocket science anymore, Lane. It can’t be exact.”
Lane’s face was angry, but she remained silent.
Clay turned toward the city, unperturbed. He couldn’t worry whether they were irritated with him, now. Not any longer.
“Shall we?” he asked. He sounded like he had after Maia had had temper tantrums as a child. He’d be taller, firmer, stoic. Showing her that no matter how loud she screamed, how hard she kicked, he still had the upper hand.
“Fine,” Alayna said, taking a first step forward. With a fluid motion, she drew her gun, pointing it in front of her, making her look demonic, strong. “Those fuckers better stay away from me. I’m too irritated not to blow each and every one of their heads off.”
Chapter 31
As they strode into Dearing, Clay knew it was going to be just as abandoned as Helen and Carterville before that. His heart sank further when against the wall of a small gas station, he saw a line of graffiti, “FML.”
Clay remembered when he’d had to chase off graffiti artists back in Carterville. They’d just been kids who’d brought spray paint to the high school and put their distorted opinions over the whitewash. At the time, he barely made an effort to track them down—it would have been pointless and the paperwork was a hassle.
And, now, Clay felt it was fair to assume that whoever had written “FUCK MY LIFE” on that gas station wall was dead. No longer dissatisfied with their existence. He or she was completely absent. They had nothing.
“Any idea where anything is around here?” Alayna asked in a small voice.
“No clue,” Clay said. “In all our years in Carterville, Val and I rarely stepped foot out of town. Let alone traveled this far south.”
“Shit,” Lane grumbled from the other side. “Do you want to check in the gas station for food?”
“I don’t want to waste any more time,” Clay replied, still tracing the vacant city streets ahead.
And so was he.
Lane took a bag of peanuts and chewed hungrily before shoving two little packs into her pocket. They drank two bottles of water each, tossing one to Clay and telling him to drink up.
“I’m good for now,” Clay said, tossing the bottle back to the girls. “You two need this more than I do.”
“The nanites won’t make up for everything, Clay,” Lane said flatly. “You still have to take care of your human needs.”
Begrudgingly, Clay ate a pack of animal crackers and sipped the water, hating that they were losing time. Checking his watch, he realized they’d only been at the station for five minutes—maybe less than that. Time was moving strangely, with minutes like hours and days like years. It was like being a kid again.
After Alayna and Lane had had their fill, they turned to Clay, knowing it was time to move on. Energized, at least briefly, they backtracked onto the road, flanking Clay down the middle of the street.
The town revealed its personality gradually, with fast food joints becoming sit-down diners—chain clothing stores turning into boutiques. The sun dropped closer to the horizon, increasing the town’s eerie appearance. The businesses were completely deserted; the restaurants seemed to have been abandoned midway through a meal. Pressing their faces against the windows, they saw molding plates scattered across the tables.
“To have your life ruined during breakfast!” Lane said, trying to make a joke. “What kind of cruel world is this?”
“A world where scientists tried to play God,” Clay said sarcastically. Lane didn’t offer a reply.
Occasionally, one of them would dart toward the door of a random business or office building, hoping to find someone, anyone, hiding out inside. Someone unwilling to abandon their family-owned business, and decided to stay behind, hidden. Maybe someone had been spared while the rest of the city was ravaged.
“Looks like we might be too late,” Alayna said, her voice distant.
“We can’t give up,” Clay replied.
“But if we could just rest for the night, we could get up tomorrow, maybe go back to the gas station for more supplies—”
“Wait,” Clay interrupted her.
“I just don’t think you’re seeing reason. Maybe it’s the nanites. Maybe it’s your wife, your daughter—”
“Wait, I said,” Clay growled. His eyes were on something in the distance. Blood pounded against his eardrums, nearly drowning out Alayna’s protests. He saw a flash, some movement—it almost felt like he was staring into a concentration of ants, all of them moving in a strange, organic way, as they tried clamber in.
“Shit. It’s them,” he said.
He ducked behind a building, holding his rifle high. “It’s the crazed.”
“Where?” Lane whispered, peering off into the distance. “I can’t see anything.”
“By that hotel. About ten blocks up.”
“How can you see that far?” Alayna was incredulous.
“Nanites, of course,” Lane answered. “What else?”
They waited for several moments, hearing only their labored breathing. Clay peeked around the corner at the modest hotel, with its four or five stories and large windows, each of which had been covered with curtains. Squinting, he saw that the crazed were trying to get into the hotel, meaning that . . .
“There must be people inside,” he said. “Survivors like us.”
“How many of them are there?” Lane asked.
“Several dozen, at least,” Clay said.
“Shit. We haven’t had that many since just after we left Carterville,” Alayna said. “And back then, we were more than just three people.”
“Back then, we didn’t have the neutralizer,” he corrected. “And I don’t think we really have a choice.” He leaned close to Alayna, looking almost menacing himself—like one of the crazed had taken over his body for a split second—and he whispered harshly, “My daughter might be in there. Let’s not forget why we’re out here.”
Alayna nodded, her movements almost imperceptible, and then took a dramatic step back, her skin almost green.
Time was running out.
Chapter 32
As they approached the hotel, Alayna and Lane were quiet, seeing what Clay had described to them in full detail now: the crazed, clambering over one another, tearing at the door.
“You think there’re people inside?” Alayna asked. “The ones they shipped down from Helen? It’s certainly big enough. It must have been used for—I mean. It would have been logical to house them up here.”
“Keep them all in one place. For safety,” Clay agreed. “We would have done the same, if we’d kept them all in Carterville.”
“How the hell are we going to get in?” Alayna asked, ducking behind a corner, and peering toward the horde. “They haven’t noticed us yet, which I guess is good. But it’s only a matter of time.”
Lane looked stunned. She hadn’t faced the crazed like this . . . ever. Adjusting the neutralizer, her eyes darted from Clay to Alayna, clearly showing what little confidence she had in herself.
“With the neutralizer, we won’t need to fight them the way we did before,” Clay said, taking it from Lane’s quivering hands.
Lane nodded, pressing her lips together and swiping her hair behind her ears. It was greasy, a shiny black in the growing darkness. “Shit. Okay. So, you’re going to just go up to them and . . . obliterate the fuckers?”
“I suppose so.” Clay turned his eyes to the hotel. He no longer knew what fear felt like. “Wait here.”
He stepped out of their shadowy hiding spot and charged ahead, pointing the neutralizer at the crazed, squeezing the trigger rapidly. As he got closer, he began to swing it from side to side, as if fanning the invisible death rays across the swarm. Then, one by one, the crazed began to fall. First, dropping to their knees, then face planting on the pavement. They died without gunfire or blood spatter. In a way, he felt he was honoring the memory of their previous existence—ensuring they didn’t end as gore plastered across the hotel windows.
But after a dozen or so shots, a red light started blinking. As he was nearly upon the diminishing mob, he looked down at the device, confused, his mouth agape.
“The fuck?” he wailed, shaking the neutralizer. He continued to squeeze the trigger—again and again—still knocking the crazed down, but at a much slower rate.
“Hey! Clay!” Lane cried, using her hands as a megaphone.
Clay whipped around. Why on Earth was she calling him now? Was she oblivious to the racket she was making?
“You need to let it recharge longer between each use!” she yelled.
Clay was filled with sudden anxiety. Why the fuck hadn’t she told him that to begin with? Jesus. He’d wanted to give her more credit, but it was becoming more difficult with each passing moment.
Frustration brimming, Clay began to mash the trigger more ferociously, not caring what Lane said. He watched as the crazed continued to fall, a heap of the dead near the steps of the hotel. Some of the crazed had become aware of his presence and had turned their growling heads toward him, their eyes flashing with hunger.
“Hey,” they seemed to say to one another, almost gossiping. “Let’s just eat him, instead!”
It was as if they’d just decided on a different rest
aurant and given up on their current reservation. The pack began to advance toward Clay, making his stomach clench. The device worked exactly three more times, destroying two men in matching blue sweaters and an older, haggard-looking woman, with straggly blonde hair.
And then, the neutralizer stopped. No lights, no hum. Just a useless piece of technological junk in his hand.
“FUCK!” he yelled, whipping it across his shoulders and reaching for his gun. He began to fire at their heads, but he couldn’t shoot fast enough. Dozens of them were still scrambling toward him; having completely abandoned their attack on the hotel. Clay could almost feel their gnawing, browning teeth on his arms, could almost sense what it would be like to transition, fully, into a monster.
He was almost there, anyway.
Suddenly, he heard the roar of gunfire echoing in from behind him. He saw Alayna’s slim silhouette approaching, her gun drawn. She charged at the swarm, blasting away, disembodying the crazed nearly as fast as her running legs could stretch. She looked athletic, like a tiger barreling toward her prey.
Clay continued to shoot as well, causing various shades of blood to paint the side of the hotel. Lane huddled somewhere behind them, unarmed and out of sight.
After a small eternity, Clay and Alayna came together near the center of their handiwork, dead crazed at their feet. They still clung to their guns, hands numb from firing. Neither spoke for several moments. Men and women were stretched over one another, becoming human again in death.
“Son of a bitch. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Alayna gasped, slinging her gun over her shoulder.
“I thought the neutralizer would make this easier,” Clay said.
“That recharging bullshit?” Alayna said, chortling slightly. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that.”
“Can’t blame her, I guess. She didn’t know how rough it would be out here.”
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