Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “About twelve hours ago,” Lane said.

  Rodney motioned toward the backpacks, gesturing for them to bring the one with medications toward him. Alayna yanked it away from Al and handed it to him. Ripping open the zipper, the man began to sift through the various bottles of pills, reading the brand names and muttering to himself.

  Sam whispered to one of her gunmen, eyeing the boy. Clay thought she was making a bet that the boy would die within the hour. Despite showing a bit of humanity earlier, he knew he couldn’t trust someone like her. Someone who’d been willing to steal their guns and their medication, indifferent to them.

  Finally, the doctor took three bottles from the backpack and shook them like rattles. “Found it,” he said.

  Alayna perked up. “Is he going to make it?”

  “I don’t know,” Rodney said. He popped open the top of the first medication with a tight twist of his wrist. “I really don’t. But what I do know is that I need privacy. Please.” He gestured at the door. “Let me work on him in private. And good god, get those soiled linens out of here. They reek.”

  Clay nodded and went into the hallway. Alayna and Lane followed, but not before Lane scooped up Alex’s stained sheets and clothes. The six of them formed a circle, looking like loiterers, lost, blinking at one another. Except for Alayna, Clay wouldn’t have known any of these people in his real life. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to say good morning to them. He wouldn’t have helped them with their groceries.

  So he waited, knowing good and well that one of the women would certainly step up.

  Lane fulfilled Clay’s prophecy.

  “Did you find the defibrillators?” she asked, resting her hand on Clay’s forearm. She looked at him anxiously.

  Sam grunted to herself, shifting her weight.

  Clay looked at Sam, unsure of what to say.

  Sam studied Clay for several seconds before finally pulling a cell phone from her backpack. Her fingers danced across the display before she muttered into it: “All clear. Make your way to the hotel, but be on the lookout. Some of the monsters, or the crazed, as the sheriff calls them, are roaming the streets. I repeat. Some of the crazed have been spotted.” Still, her eyes remained on Clay, questioning.

  Clay was overwhelmed be several things just then. First, how in the hell did Sam’s cell phone work, and second, what on Earth had he done to make her so suspicious?

  Maybe ripping the jaw from the guy’s skull. Maybe that had had something to do with it. Maybe.

  Jesus.

  “Well?” Lane pressed, waiting. “The defibrillators?”

  Sam gestured for Damon. He passed the backpack with the defibrillators to Clay.

  Clay nodded thanks, shocked that she’d given them over so readily. What had changed her mind?

  “I hope your science thing works. I really do,” Sam said, crossing her arms. “I’m really tired of seeing so much blood spilled. Quite tired of it, indeed.”

  Clay and Sam sized each other up, with suspicion on one side and gratitude on the other. Clay opened the backpack, eyeing the defibrillators within. Lane clapped her hands together excitedly, the sound reverberating in the corridor. Damon and Al remained stone faced, as if they were mere soldiers in a greater game—pawns to be played whenever Sam chose.

  Clay, someone who was never great with words, was suddenly flooded with things to say. In the end, he decided to keep it simple. Keep it real.

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  Sam searched his face, but only nodded in reply.

  Chapter 50

  Lane took the backpack and pulled out one of the defibrillators. She gasped at the heft of the device. “Yes,” she said with glee. “You don’t know just how much this will help us. Help you. Help the world,” she said to Sam.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sam said, turning toward the staircase. “I think I need a fucking drink. There a bar in this place that hasn’t been ransacked quite yet?”

  Clay thought back to when they’d initially searched the hotel. There’d been a small bar attached to the auditorium that might have a few bottles of spirits left. “Downstairs. The dining room on the west side of the hotel. I think I saw a bar down there. I’m not sure what you’ll find, but that’s where I’d head first,” he said.

  Sam nodded curtly. “That might be the best news I’ve heard all day. Let’s go. Damon. Al.”

  Clay watched them go, reminding himself to talk to her about their cell phone reception later. Lane scurried off with the defibrillators and ducked into another room, where she set up a makeshift lab while they’d been gone.

  Alayna appeared beside him. She looked like she’d been crying. He touched her shoulder with his dirt-caked hand, suddenly conscious that he needed to clean himself up. She didn’t appear to notice.

  “Clay? I—I need to talk to you about something,” she said softly.

  Clay raised his eyebrows, wary. He remembered the “talk” he’d had with her a few days before, when he’d told her it simply couldn’t happen between them. Not now. Not ever. Not with Valerie somewhere, waiting for him to save her. Would Alayna want to talk about it all over again?

  “It’s important,” she insisted. “And I think you owe it to me to listen.”

  Clay nodded slowly, trying to read her face. But it revealed nothing.

  “All right,” Clay said, shrugging. “Let me just find someplace to get cleaned up first. Then let’s see if we can find some coffee down in the kitchen. Something normal for both of us.”

  Alayna nodded silently.

  With a heavy sigh, Clay ventured to another room, where he scrubbed his filthy hands in the passably clean toilet. He felt a slight twinge of disgust, but reminded himself of what he’d done earlier that day. Nothing about a toilet’s water should disgust him any longer.

  He rejoined Alayna in the hall, taking in her worried face.

  When they got to the kitchen, he busied himself, bouncing from cabinet to cabinet, on the hunt for coffee grounds. Each cabinet seemed emptier than the last. He started to whistle, wanting to make Alayna feel more comfortable. She stood with her arms crossed, and her mind seemingly elsewhere, watching him search.

  “Man, they really went through this place,” Clay said. “I mean, I can’t blame them. I would have done the same. Ah—wait.” He opened up the last cabinet by the walk-in freezer and found a few packs of instant coffee hiding in the back of the cabinet, behind a half-eaten jar of moldy jelly. He lifted them triumphantly, hopeful this would give them a moment of normalcy.

  “Now, I just need to make some hot water.”

  Alayna still didn’t speak. Clay organized the coffee on the counter, almost manic in his movements. He was still bursting with unlimited energy.

  “Clay. Clay. Hey. Can you please stop for a second?” Alayna asked. “I have something to tell you. Something serious.”

  Clay turned toward the cabinets again, hunting for a pan—anything to heat up the water. “Mmm?” he murmured. “I wonder what they would have done with all the pots and pans . . .”

  “Clay. Seriously. Listen,” Alayna said. Her face was pale with fright.

  Clay closed the cabinet slowly. “All right,” he said. “What is it you want to say?”

  “I have it,” Alayna whispered, her voice catching. “I have what you have. I think you infected me.”

  Thinking Alayna probably just had a cold, or was exhausted after so much traveling, Clay waved it off. “No, Alayna. That’s impossible. I told you in the forest that if we made love, I’d infect you. But we haven’t. Unless you took advantage of me while I was sleeping.” He chortled, hoping to lighten her mood.

  But Alayna didn’t react.

  “We made love in the hotel before we left Carterville, Clay. You remember? That actually happened, whether you want to remember it or not. And you were already infected by then. I think you infected me.”

  Waves of shock crashed over him as he realized she was right. How had he not put this together before? He stared at h
er, the coffee forgotten.

  “Oh, God,” Clay whispered. “You must be feeling . . . I mean, are you okay?”

  “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Alayna said. “It started when we were at the hospital. Or maybe when we got here and I found myself vomiting in the hallway. Either way, all the blood and gore is really getting to me. You know me, Clay. I normally have an iron stomach. And then when I saw you—” She paused, hunting for words. “When I saw you mutilate that crazed earlier, I almost lost it completely. I can’t think of another explanation. I’m feeling ill just thinking about it.”

  Tears began to stream down her cheeks. Clay wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close. He tried to make sense of it all. The first days of his symptoms—what had they been like? Similar? Yes. He’d been nauseous, achy, having to overcome the weakness of his stomach in order to keep track of his people.

  But wouldn’t Alayna have started having these symptoms weeks ago, after they’d made love? It didn’t make any sense. But then again—nothing in this world made sense.

  “We’ll get through this,” Clay said into her ear, trying to soothe her. “If you have it, we’ll do everything we can to get it out of you. I mean that.”

  Alayna pushed away. “Don’t lie like that, Clay,” she said. “We can’t even get this—this thing out of you. And you’re changing so fast. I’m so scared.”

  Faced with the strength of Alayna’s emotions, Clay couldn’t deny his own fear anymore. Shuddering, he pulled her closer. “I’m afraid, too,” he said, speaking the truth for the first time. “I mean, when I ripped that monster’s face off, I didn’t know I was capable of something like that. It was horrible, Alayna. And wonderful at the same time.”

  Alayna wiped tears from her cheek.

  “Tell you what,” Clay said. “If either of us turns into one of the crazed, the other one promises to take care of things before taking care of themselves.”

  “Taking care?” Alayna turned the thought over in her mind. “I suppose you’re right. It’s the only way,” she said to herself. “Murder, suicide. I never thought we’d be having this discussion.”

  Clay held her tight. “Me neither, Alayna. Me neither.”

  They stood there, lost in their own thoughts. Clay wanted to say more, but deep down, he knew that sometimes words were better left unsaid.

  “Now that we’ve cleared up that incredibly, not awkward at all situation,” Clay said, trying to lighten the mood, “Why don’t we find a quiet room so you can get some rest? You look exhausted.”

  There were half-moon shadows beneath her eyes, blood flecks across her chin

  “I would say the same for you,” Alayna said. “Scientifically speaking, you should look as rough as me. We haven’t slept in days. But you look more vibrant and alive than ever. Do you even feel tired at all?”

  Clay straightened up, breaking the hug. He flexed his biceps, marveling at the strength that seemed to build, minute by minute. He could almost feel the muscle fibers joining together. “I feel fantastic,” he said, the words almost incidental.

  Alayna nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. She turned back to the door of the kitchen, with Clay following behind. Their hearts were heavy at their disturbing realization. For a moment, Clay had the strangest desire to hold her hand. But he pushed the impulse back. No use complicating things.

  Chapter 51

  After putting Alayna to bed, Clay sat up for another hour or two, sitting in a chair by the window, staring at his hands—amazed at how strong he was becoming, and yet how powerless he remained. Checking that Alayna was still resting comfortably, he decided to return to his coffee mission. He wasn’t fatigued enough to need a cup, but the feeling of that routine—of sipping a mug of hot bean water—might help bring his mind from the brink of insanity.

  He needed a bit of normalcy. Even if only for a moment.

  Once in the kitchen, he was able to fill the glass pot with water from a water cooler near the freezer door. Grateful that it wasn’t toilet water, he guzzled a bit of it from the pot. As he wiped his mouth, he realized he had no mechanism by which to boil the sucker.

  Shit.

  He caught a glimpse of the outside through the window. Darkness was falling, thrusting them into another terrifying night in this strange town. He hated that they’d destroyed the glass door when they’d entered, putting them at the mercy of whatever crazed came upon them.

  The kitchen door swung open. Sam walked in, alone, carrying his pistol and rifle. She passed them to him carefully, without a word. Clay slid the pistol back into his holster and set the rifle on the counter, next to the coffee. He nodded gratefully.

  “I suppose I owe you an apology,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “After all that’s happened, it’s difficult to know who to trust. Apparently, I’m not that good a judge of character. It wasn’t personal.”

  Clay considered her words, remembering how cold she’d been when she’d confronted them at the hospital. They lost so much time in the back and forth. And if she hadn’t listened to him about his daughter, they’d be watching Alex die right now. He wasn’t sure how much he could forgive her.

  “I guess I wouldn’t trust me either,” Clay said, half-lying. “Considering the situation we’re in.”

  He wanted to believe he wouldn’t be as horrible as she had been. But of course, he couldn’t be certain.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter and eyeing the half-filled pot.

  “Certainly not heating the water, that’s for sure,” Clay said, giving her a half smile. Tipping his head toward the staircase, he continued, “When the kid’s awake, I want to learn more about the people he was traveling with. I want to know where they might have taken Maia.”

  “And you think they have Maia?” Sam asked. “Why are you so sure?”

  Clay hesitated, feeling her doubt pouring over him. “It’s a gut feeling. Which I know, shouldn’t amount to much. But if you had seen the way he was talking about Maia, you’d know there was something to it. More than just knowing her name. There was a connection between them. So much so that the moment before he nearly died, he said her name repeatedly. If that’s all I have to go on, then so be it. I’ll take it.”

  She considered his words carefully, but made no reply.

  “And you?” Clay asked her. “Are you on your way somewhere?”

  Sam shrugged. For the first time, the muscles in her face relaxed to reveal a layer of confusion and fear. “I’m not sure,” she said. “My family’s all gone. I have my people—the ones I cared enough about to call, and the stragglers I picked up on the way. But now we’re just looking for a sanctuary. At the same time, I don’t know what the rest of the world’s like. I’m scared of staying in one place for too long. Getting comfortable somewhere. Calling it home? It doesn’t sound possible in a world so cruel.”

  Clay remembered the moments of comfort he and the others had felt before: at the hotel in Carterville, back in Helen. Always, those feelings were tainted when they’d been pushed too far.

  “I know what you mean,” Clay said, noticing Sam’s cell phone bulging in her hip pocket.

  “Hey, I meant to ask about that,” he said, gesturing to it. “How in the hell did you maintain cell phone reception? We lost connectivity more than a month ago.”

  Sam slipped the shiny black phone from her pocket and swiped across the screen, waking it from sleep mode. “You noticed that, huh? Dwayne, a guy we picked up along the way was able to reprogram all our phones to connect to one another, without the use of cell towers. He called it hawking, or something . . .”

  “Ad hoc? I’ve heard of it, but never realized it was actually possible.”

  Sam handed Clay the phone, and he tapped out Valerie’s phone number and hit the send button.

  Nothing happened.

  “It doesn’t actually work like that,” she said. “It’s more of just a walkie-talkie, and the distance is limited to other node’s
close by.”

  Clay’s moment of anticipation faded quickly as he handed the phone back. “I suppose that it’s still encouraging; not all we had is lost. If one stranger can put us all back into communication, humanity still might have a chance—”

  Lane burst into the kitchen, panting. She looked at Clay as a smile stretched her face—one of pure, unadulterated joy.

  “I’ve done it,” she said, triumphantly. “I fixed it.”

  Chapter 52

  “The neutralizer?” Clay asked, inhaling slightly.

  “Yes,” Lane said, rubbing her palms together. “It took a bit of adjustment inside the device itself. But I think the thing works. The battery interface wasn’t perfect—not exactly the way we designed it. But I got it in there.”

  Sam and Clay exchanged a glance, Sam looked a bit confused. Despite her own bit of technological show and tell, this was far more advanced than the life she’d been living for the past month: kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

  “That’s wonderful,” Clay exclaimed.

  Lane’s eyes sparkled, making her look almost cocky. “Anyone care for a demonstration?” she asked, grinning madly.

  “I’ve heard so much about this gizmo, I’d be up for a show,” Sam replied.

  Lane clapped her hands excitedly, and hurried back upstairs to fetch the device. Clay slung his rifle over his shoulder, excited to be armed once again, then he and Sam met Lane at the entrance, looking out at the dark streets. When their eyes adjusted, they crunched through the broken glass and then walked through the dead crazed, to the street. The stench of the decomposing crazed was horrific, making them hold their breath as they passed.

  “Strange to be hunting for them, instead of the other way around,” Clay whispered, once they were clear.

  “As it’s night, I don’t think it’ll take too long to find them,” Sam said. “We’ve found that they’re more active at night. At least that’s what we experienced.”

  “Look,” Lane said, pointing across the street. She pointed with the neutralizer. “I think I see one in the alley.”