Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “Ah. Yeah,” Sam said, leaning forward and drawing her gun. “Strange she’s by herself. Kinda weird fighting the urge to take a shot at it right now. You’re saying that thing can take it out instantly?”

  “Well, not quite, but yeah,” Lane said, sensing that Sam didn’t trust the neutralizer. Her eyes gave away her reluctance to speak with Sam, this stranger.

  “Looks like she’s spotted us,” Clay observed.

  As if on cue, the crazed—a middle aged women wearing a dingy sundress and one high heel—scrambled out of the alley and came at them, a howl rising from deep in her throat. Her arms clawed at the air, ready to rip into them. Hair streamed down her back, curling slightly with the wind whipping in from the mountains.

  Lane swung the device toward the monster, aiming it with precision.

  “Any time, now,” Sam whispered, her voice raspy. “Otherwise I’ll take care of things . . .”

  “All right, all right,” Lane said, rolling her eyes. She squeezed the trigger with confidence, sending the invisible waves into the air.

  But nothing happened. The crazed continued to ramble forward. Filled with rising panic, Clay aimed at the crazed, prepared to shoot.

  “I don’t understand,” Lane said, sounding troubled. She turned it over searching for an explanation. The crazed was now a mere eight feet away, moving fast. One of them was about to be its food.

  “Lane! I’m going to shoot!” Clay warned.

  “Oh! Stupid me,” Lane gasped. “I forgot to turn it on.”

  She flicked the power switch. A soft hum emanated from the interior, indicating it was fully charged. She squeezed the trigger again.

  Four feet away, the crazed stopped in its tracks, staring at them quizzically. Its dried-out, purple-tinted lips remained open, exposing rotting teeth. Its skin sagged at the corners of its eyes as it stared ahead—perhaps realizing, for a mere second—that it’d once been human, and was now something else entirely.

  It dropped to the ground, falling first to its knees and then to its face, shattering its nose and cheekbones. Sam remained standing with her gun drawn, still skeptical of what she’d just witnessed.

  “Wow,” she said, still prepared to shoot, as if she thought the crazed was playing dead. “That was . . . really something.”

  Lane grinned with pride. She held the neutralizer up, admiring her handiwork.

  Behind them, Alayna’s voice piped up, “Damn. That was close.”

  Clay jumped, startled. “Shit. Alayna. I didn’t even hear you come out,” he said.

  “Are you trying to scare us to death?” Lane asked, her eyes wide.

  Alayna chuckled. She looked a bit better after her rest, although the bags were still prominent under her eyes.

  “Haven’t had the power to frighten anyone in a while,” she said, smiling. “A bit refreshing, really. Anyway. Doc Rodney wanted me to tell you that Alex just woke up.”

  Clay’s heart began to hammer. Incredibly, he’d forgotten about the boy. “Can he speak?”

  “He can,” Alayna said. “He’s ready for you.”

  Clay sprinted to the hotel entrance, oblivious to the others behind him, focused wholly on the upcoming conversation. Whatever Alex told him would alter the course of his life. Information that he would have to accept.

  Even if Alex told him something he wasn’t prepared to hear.

  Chapter 53

  When Clay entered Alex’s room, he felt oddly manic. Blood pumped against his eardrums, making it difficult to hear anything but his own breathing. Dropping his gun at the door, he went to the bed, where he found Rodney seated beside the skeletal boy, feeding him something sour-smelling that looked like applesauce.

  With Clay’s arrival, both Alex and Rodney looked up expectantly. The boy was chewing slowly, taking in every bit of energy. His eyes were orbs, too bright and too big for what remained of his skinny frame. Lane, Sam, and Alayna entered a minute later, having fallen behind Clay in his race from the ground floor. After caring for boy for so long, Lane reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice colored with sadness.

  Alex gave her a small smile. There was no way he remembered her. Maybe he trusted something in her face. “Much better, thank you,” he said softly.

  Clay’s heart squeezed. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, amazed at the transformation the kid had made since they’d found him. “Rodney, this is really something,” he whispered. “He’s completely—”

  “He still has a long way to go before he’s healthy,” Rodney said, leaning back. The boy lifted his other hand and took the bowl of applesauce, starting to scrape it clean. “But get a lot more food in him, and he’ll regain his strength in no time.”

  “Alex. Right? That’s your name?” Clay asked him.

  The kid nodded. “Yeah. That’s it. Do I know you?”

  “You were pretty out of it when we found you,” Clay said.

  “The fever dreams I had were wild. Strange ones. About zombies? And about a million other things. Aliens coming to earth. Getting a D on my math test.”

  Behind Clay, Alayna chortled softly at the joke. Sam shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain if she should care about every aspect of the kid or get straight to the point. Clay focused on Alex, ready to dig for information.

  “So, what’s the last real thing you remember?” he asked.

  “The last memory.” Alex looked thoughtful. “It’s pretty harsh. I remember Malcolm, of course. He was tying me to this bed. Everything seemed blurry, though, so I can’t remember what he said before . . . But the ropes—around my wrists—and then the door clicking as he went away and left me. I remember that.” Alex’s words were still jumbled, but the gist of it came through clearly.

  “Malcolm?” Clay asked. “Who’s Malcolm?”

  Behind him, Sam gasped. Clay glanced at her, seeing her jaw drop. But he returned his attention to Alex.

  “Malcolm is—was our leader. The group I was in for a while, at least. There were about thirty of us, give or take, mostly men but a few women,” he said. He dropped his bowl and put his hands across his chest. His cheeks already seemed fuller.

  “And you were traveling together?” Clay asked.

  “Going from town to town around here. Hunting for supplies. We came to the hotel and God—that was a sight to see,” Alex replied.

  “How so?” Clay asked. He still hadn’t mentioned Maia. When was he going to get to Maia?

  “When we got here, half the rooms were filled with those things. Locked inside, you know. Trying to get out. Malcolm decided to check on all of them to see if anyone had survived. It seemed like some kind of weird science experiment. Like a bunch of rats in a cage,” Alex said. “But there were some who’d survived. Who weren’t monsters yet. Maybe eight or nine? I lost count.”

  Clay’s heart leaped. “Was one of them named Maia?”

  “What about a Megan?” Alayna asked, leaping over Clay’s words. “Was there a survivor named Megan?”

  Alex shook his head sadly, his eyes glassy. “I don’t remember all of them. I wish I could, but everything was confusing. I was starting to get sick and was out of it most of the time. But there was a girl. A girl around my age, or a bit younger. She was really sick. We talked a lot. I tried to help her. She was—she was the nicest person I’d met in a long time.”

  Clay bowed his head, praying. “Do you remember her name?” he asked patiently, but struggling with frustration inside.

  Alex nodded. “Maia, I think. That’s right. That was her name.”

  “And she left with the others?” Clay demanded, almost insane with worry.

  “I wasn’t the only one who liked her. When she started to get a better, Malcolm really took notice of her,” Alex said, his eyes turning toward the window. He swallowed hard, clearly losing steam. “He took her. He chained her up. They left with her.”

  Clay stared into Alex’s face. “Chained her?”

  “L
ike some kind of animal,” Alex said, his eyes moistening. “It was horrible. Malcolm wouldn’t listen to me. I was getting too sick, anyway—”

  “He wouldn’t listen to you, despite being your father?” Sam asked from behind Clay, staring down at Alex with eagle eyes.

  Clay and Alayna gaped at Sam, wondering how in the world she’d known that. Alex began to nod; his breathing grew shallow.

  “How did you know that?” he asked her. “I haven’t called him my father for a long, long time.”

  Clay’s blood felt close to boiling. He imagined Maia, chained to this horrible man, being dragged through town, her small feet trying to keep up with him. “Your father. He chained Maia up?” He was barely able to get the words out as his agitation swelled. Bolting to his feet, he glared down at Alex—the current source of his anxiety. “He chained up my daughter. And he carted her away like an animal?”

  Alayna moved forward, placing a hand on Clay’s shoulder. She rubbed at the tense muscle, trying to soothe him. “Shhh,” she whispered. “We’re going to find her.”

  But Clay shrugged her off with a violent motion. He barreled from the room, so enraged he could barely see.

  The world was crumbling around him.

  Chapter 54

  Once in the hallway, Clay let go. Agitation and rage ripped through him, causing him to batter the walls, to punch holes in doors. He was in a mode of destruction, leaving debris in his wake. Tears streamed down his face. His cheeks burned. “FUCK!” he screamed, beating his knuckles against the staircase walls, feeling the plaster crumble under his fists. Nothing could fight back; he could tear the entire hotel down, if he wanted.

  And in that moment, he wanted something to feel as badly as he did. To look as ruined as he felt.

  The others followed, watching as he ripped and tore at the bones of the hotel itself, shattering windows and allowing blood to course down his arms and legs. His heart felt like it might burst from the inside out and splatter against the floors below. He couldn’t feel anything else.

  In the lobby, Clay flattened his palms against the reception desk. He remembered feeling as if his daughter had been in the hotel from the very moment they’d walked in. He’d felt her presence there; he’d sensed that she’d been a part of whatever had happened, whatever made it such a horrible, grey, shadowed environment.

  She’d been locked in a hotel room, while the rest of the travelers she’d come with from Helen had turned into the crazed all around her.

  How she’d survived that long was beyond Clay.

  He screamed again, a frightening howl from deep within his chest, then he tore the top of the reception desk off, hoisting the massive granite slab above his head. Phone cables and power cords dangled to the floor. Holding it aloft, he caught a glimpse of Alayna out of the corner of his eyes, sobbing uncontrollably at his complete and utter breakdown. With a flourish, Clay hurled the counter at the wide open front door, and into the darkness outside. The granite shattered on the noses and skulls of the crazed, creating a noise almost too horrible to imagine. Alayna covered her mouth, surely about to vomit again.

  In the silence afterward, Clay collapsed against the wall, covering his face with his hands. He began to sob, adding to Alayna’s wails, unable to process the truth of what Alex had told him. He’d wanted to be strong, for Maia. He’d wanted to accept the truth. But faced with it, he recognized how truly powerless he was.

  Alayna went to him then. She knelt down beside him, lifting his bloodied hand to her lips. She kissed it, watching as his face changed.

  “They have her. They have my Maia,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Clay. I’m so—”

  “I have to get her back, Alayna. I have to fight.”

  “And we will,” Alayna’s words were sure. “After you left, Alex said they were more than likely headed back to their compound.”

  Clay sat up, his attention on Alayna’s words. His heartbeat began to slow as he began to understand their meaning.

  “It’s a bit north of here. In the woods. You know, I was thinking about our walk here. That dirt road, where they took the Jeep. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s up there. Otherwise, we would have seen the compound,” Alayna said.

  “You really think it was Malcolm?” Clay asked, dubious.

  “I heard his name,” Alayna said. “When they were stealing it. I heard someone call for a Malcolm to check it out.”

  “So, he had Maia with him when he took the Jeep?” Clay gasped. “Could it be? I mean how many other groups of survivors are there?”

  Alayna shrugged, looking unsure. “I don’t know. But Alex is willing to lead us to the compound. As soon as he’s well.”

  “And he’s okay with turning on his father?” Clay asked, skeptical.

  The others came closer, listening. Sam clutched her gun, her eyes fixed on the open door, almost certain they’d be under attack at any moment.

  “I don’t get the feeling that Alex cares much for his father anymore,” Alayna said, glancing back at Sam. “And Sam mentioned that she’s had dealings with him in the past, as well. He’s apparently psychotic, to put it mildly. She wouldn’t go into too many details, though.”

  Clay’s eyebrow twitched. What was the story there? Sam had begun to pace the edge of the room, her gun drawn, clearly deep in thought. He would approach her with this issue later.

  “Doc Rodney says Alex can travel in a few days. So, there’s that. Finally, something to look forward to,” Alayna said, brushing plaster specks from Clay’s growing beard. “Sheriff. When was the last time you slept?”

  “Ha. Sleeping is for the weak,” Clay said sarcastically, turning his eyes to his bloodied hands. He could no longer remember all the damage he’d caused, but could see the shattered glass embedded in his skin. God, he really was turning into a monster.

  “Did you even sleep that night in the forest?” Alayna asked.

  “No. I can’t remember. I’ve been awake, just making sure we’re all okay. Making sure nobody came at us,” Clay said.

  “Well, that won’t do. You’re still human enough. You need your sleep,” Alayna said, rising, and taking Clay’s hand. With a jerk, she pulled him to his feet. “I’m going to put you to bed and then stay with you until you actually sleep. And that’s final.”

  Clay wrapped a single arm around Alayna’s waist, oddly needing the support to walk. He felt the others’ eyes on him as Alayna led him to the second floor, back to the clean, quiet darkness of a hotel room. They collapsed together on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, with Clay’s brain finally allowing him a few moments of peace.

  Chapter 55

  Clay awoke hours later, with the warm sunlight streaming across his face, his arms, his naked abdomen. For a long moment, he wasn’t entirely sure where he was: it could have been any hotel room in the world.

  He rose from bed, his eyes glazed, as memories of the previous few days came back, images of Sam and Alex and the destroyed hotel reception desk flickering through his mind. “Jesus,” he muttered, massaging his face with chapped hands. “Maia. I’m coming, baby. As soon as I can.”

  Alayna was nowhere in sight. Remembering his craving for a cup of coffee, Clay dressed quickly and headed out into the hotel. He was no longer surprised at his muscular development, even though he felt stronger than he had ever before. He flexed slightly, thinking back to the year he’d spent at the gym in his early thirties, trying to regain the strength he’d lost from his youth. Not even five days of rigorous training a week could fix him up. “You just like French fries too much,” Valerie had teased him. “Is that such a crime?” he’d asked in reply.

  Now, he was more muscle than anything else.

  Downstairs, Clay entered the kitchen to find Sam inside, trying to light a can of sterno. She eyed Clay, embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink. Shrugging, she gestured with the can.

  “If only I could get this sucker lit, we could have a damn fine cup of coffee,” she s
aid sheepishly.

  Clay leaned over, pulling a box of matchsticks from a drawer. He chose one with a long burn area, struck it, and then held it over the gel. After a long second, the can began to glow blue. Success.

  “If only I’d known,” Sam said, grinning slightly. “You’re looking refreshed, by the way. Feeling better?”

  “Physically, better than ever,” Clay said, watching as she adjusted the sterno under the pot of water. “And I’m glad I found you. You’re exactly the person I want to talk to.”

  “I thought you’d say that,” Sam said, her eyes flickering away.

  “You know Malcolm,” he said.

  “I do,” Sam whispered, resigned to the conversation.

  “Anything you can tell me about him. Whatever makes him tic . . . I’ll take it. I’m going after him,” Clay said, analyzing her face.

  Sam leaned against the counter, considering his words. “You asked me yesterday what my plans are, Clay. And I told you I didn’t know,” she said. “That is, I didn’t know until Alex woke up and I realized who he was.”

  “Malcolm’s son?” Clay asked.

  “I’m going with you,” Sam said. “You’re going to need my help with this one. And Malcolm and I, well . . . we have something of a history. A horrible history. That bastard has hurt me, and he’s not going to hurt anyone else. Least of all you and definitely not your daughter.” She leaned closer to Clay, almost spitting with anger. “I want revenge on that bastard just as much as you want your daughter back. And if we can go at him as a united front, we stand a better chance of succeeding.”

  Clay crossed his arms over his chest, giving Sam an exultant grin. The water began to bubble. The sound was warm, soothing and familiar in his ears. The two leaders regarded each other with respect. They were about to face a monster. A human monster, and they wouldn’t hold anything back.

  “That, Samantha, is the best news. It’s the best news I’ve heard in a long damn time.”