Clay glared at Lane outraged by her betrayal, then back at Alex. “Do you realize what you did? You sent us to the wrong location—again! And because of it, we lost Al. He was out there trying to save the freakin’ world, Alex, and you’re in here just pointing your finger, willy-nilly, and telling us where we should go and die next. It’s unacceptable.”
Clay leaned down, putting his face just inches from Alex’s. The stench of his vomit-laced breath was overwhelming. “You know that with every passing second, Maia could be getting further and further away from us? You know that I don’t care if you live or die, as long as Maia makes it? Right?”
“I don’t think that’s helping—” Lane began.
But Clay cut through her words, continuing his tirade. “Where the hell is it, Alex? Where is Malcolm’s compound?”
Alex’s breath hitched several times but he managed, “I told you. I’ve only been there a few times. I—I really thought it was east of town …”
“Well, you told us it was west of town last time. And now we’re out there playing some game of tag with the crazed. So which is it, Alex? Is it west, or east?”
“W—west …” Alex whispered, drawing his hands over his chest. The fingers looked shrunken, white and skeletal. “That’s what I said. Wasn’t it?”
“All right,” Lane said, stepping in. “I think it’s pretty clear that you’re not getting anywhere with this, isn’t it, Clay?” She inserted herself between Clay and Alex. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Clay stepped back, assessing Lane. It felt as though he’d known her forever. She’d been a large part of his recent life: someone he could count on, could turn to. Searching her eyes, his anger dissipated, if only for a moment.
“Come back tomorrow,” she said, her voice softening. “He’ll be better tomorrow. I know it, and you know it. This isn’t working.”
Clay nodded. He needed to think, to regroup. He marched down the hallway in search of a moment alone. The hotel was filled with empty rooms, with hollow spaces.
Chapter 5
Brandon felt the engine rev beneath him as his scooter tore down the wide Colorado highway. Even though they’d just ridden into Helen a week or so earlier, it somehow felt more freeing: with the wind whipping through his hair, his eyes on the horizon. The sunlight was almost too penetrating in the bright blue sky.
Despite his sense of abandonment, Brandon still felt the weight of all they’d been through, all the people they’d lost along the way. His entire family, to start, and his sister—the person who’d been his best friend for the better part of his life. And then, when he’d gotten closer to that ratty old man, Ralph, he’d died too. Leaving Brandon staggering along with the rest of the ragtag group, save for Clay and the others who’d left them to hunt for Clay’s daughter.
Along with Brandon, there was Leland Jacobs, the wide-eyed and idiotic-appearing scientist, who Brandon couldn’t help but distrust, Lieutenant Adam Daniels, who was quick with a rifle, but whose conversation was definitely lacking, and Marcia White, the blonde scientist they’d found in Helen. Together, they motored through the afternoon, heading toward whatever safety they’d hoped to find in Earlton. Brandon wasn’t optimistic about the possibility. He’d become accustomed, at this point, to expect death and destruction.
Daniels waved his left hand, signaling he was running low on gas. Brandon slid in behind him as they cut off the highway toward a gas station. The station was crooked-looking, ragged, with only four pumps in front of a kind of shack. Brandon shut off his scooter and the others followed suit, touching their feet to the ground for the first time in what felt like days.
“There’s no way this place has fuel,” Marcia scoffed. She walked across the pavement, her small shoes scuffing at the cracks where grass grew. “I think this might be a bust, Adam.”
“Sometimes these places surprise you,” Daniels said. “You just gotta coax the fuel up.”
Daniels busied himself, sliding the fuel pump into his scooter and attempting to draw fuel from the underground tank. Brandon headed for the shack, his stomach groaning. The apocalypse had unfortunately led to a diet of salty and sugary snacks, which had left him feeling strung out and nearly always hungry. He now dreamed about fruits and vegetables in a kind of sensual way. One night, he’d dreamed that he’d eaten an apple in the rain, and he’d woken up with tears in his eyes. Was that something he’d never get back?
Brandon leaned into the window of the gas station, listening to the others banter and bicker behind him. Marcia and Daniels didn’t get along, although it was clear Daniels yearned to sleep with her. He was constantly trying to speak nicely to her, which only revved her up more.
“See, if you do it like this—” Daniels said, gesturing at the gas pump.
“It’s barely coming out at all,” Marcia retorted. “Some wiz you are.”
Brandon couldn’t see into the gas station, despite straining his eyes. It was dusty and grey, without much light in the interior. As he leaned closer, he heard something—a clatter, inside. After a pause, he heard another, and then another. Something was off. Something about this stop was horribly wrong.
And if he knew anything after the past few weeks, he knew that he had to trust his gut.
Brandon eased back toward Daniels, gesturing toward the station. He muttered to him, not wanting to speak too loudly. “There’s something in there,” Brandon whispered. “I think we should get going, before they come.”
Of course, by they, he meant the crazed.
But Daniels just huffed, muttering under his breath. “You know, if you just leave it alone, they won’t come out. You know that, Brandon.”
“But shouldn’t we—” Brandon began.
His words were cut short by a guttural cry from behind the station’s obscured glass. Daniels reached for his gun and lifted it, his motions automatic.
“Everyone stay back!” Daniels warned. “I’m going to check it out.”
“Ha. As if we’ll just stay back and get eaten without you,” Marcia retorted, her words sassy. “You idiot, you’re the only one who can protect us. You’re not going anywhere without us.”
Brandon felt a stirring of anger. He’d been training with his gun for weeks, and he’d killed countless crazed. But as Daniels inched forward, Leland and Marcia followed him, dutifully, like dogs. And not wanting to be left in the open alone, Brandon chased after, his eyes darting side to side. It seemed that no matter how many chaotic scenarios they fell into, fear always felt fresh.
Fear was always a force he had to reckon with.
Daniels kicked open the door and entered cautiously. The group stepped tentatively through the grey, Brandon sliding his fingers across the various snacks. Somewhere in the back, they heard another clamor. Daniels sprang forward, racing toward it. Brandon followed, with Marcia and Leland holding back, their faces ashen.
Brandon and Daniels bolted into an almost-hidden storage room near the back of the station, chasing the noise. But when they reached the back of the building, they found a door swinging wildly, back and forth. With each swing, light blinked in through the opening, causing shadows to dance across the floor.
“Shit,” Daniels said.
As if on cue, they heard the revving of engines from out front. Brandon bolted out the back door, racing around the building and toward the parking lot. There, he saw three of their four scooters buzzing away, heading back toward Helen. Losing his balance, Brandon toppled onto his knees, feeling the pavement dig into his skin.
And in the silence that followed, Brandon recognized that, for the first time, something horrendous had happened that hadn’t ended in bloodshed. Somehow, that was comforting. For another day, he was alive.
Chapter 6
Sam waited patiently as a pot of coffee finished brewing in the hotel’s community room. Her anger had dissipated, leaving room only for silence. Her face was grey, almost mask-like. She passed a mug to Clay, who was leaning back in a lopsided chair.
�
��Thanks,” he said, his first words since the tirade earlier.
Sam blinked at him, sipping her own mug. Clay felt sure she was going to castigate him again. She would blame him for Al’s death. But she held back, finding other words. “Is Alayna back yet?”
“Haven’t heard,” Clay said. He dropped a small spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirred it, clinking on the sides of the mug. “It’s been, what, a few hours?”
“They were going all the way to the next town. But those guys—Hank and Walt—they’re good guys, Clay,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t have let her go with anyone who wasn’t, you know. Strong. Safe.”
Clay considered her words. Did Sam think there was something between him and Alayna? “What’s that to me?” Clay asked, hating how angry, how volatile he sounded.
He couldn’t blunt his hard edge.
Sam shrugged, her eyes filled with mystery, with darkness. In the lobby, the door burst open and Hank came in, his voice carrying across the hotel. Clay’s heart leaped in his chest. Was Sam’s insinuation right? Was there more to him and Alayna? He couldn’t say.
Clay and Sam went to the lobby, finding the doors propped wide open. At the base of the steps that led up from the street, a wagon was loaded with supplies scavenged from the nearby homes, whatever had been left behind when people had run for the hills. Whatever had been forgotten when, well, they’d been murdered.
Alayna was leaning over the side of the wagon, scouring through their loot. Clay took in the beauty, her dark cloud of hair, her slight shoulders and her exotic, near-black eyes. For years, she’d worked as his deputy—becoming his best friend, his confidant. And then, when they were faced with the end of the world, they’d slept together. And things hadn’t been especially clear between them since.
“Hey!” Alayna called, finally noticing him. She strode up the steps, carrying a box of supplies. Clay peeked in, noting the beef jerky, the nuts. Protein, which made his mouth water. “How did the search go?”
“Not great,” Clay said, giving her a look that told her not to ask again. “And with you?”
Hank and Walt appeared. Hank, all gangly arms and legs, with stringy red hair and a thick beard. And Walt, with his dark curly hair, thick glasses, and his pasty, easily sunburned skin. The pair were maybe thirty or so, around Alayna’s age, and they flirted with her shamelessly—teasing her like brothers, or like lovers. Clay couldn’t decide.
“We got loads of stuff. Medicine. Jars and jars of peanut butter. I mean, you should have seen how much this old lady had in her cabinet,” Hank chuckled.
“Great,” Clay said, hearing the strain in his voice. “Any trouble?”
“Naw, nothing we couldn’t handle,” Alayna said, though her face blanched. “We cleansed a few more crazed from this beautiful world.” She clutched at her stomach with her free hand. “Damn. I just—wow.”
“Is it happening again?” Walt asked, taking her supplies.
“Just can’t seem to keep anything down,” Alayna sighed. “It’s ridiculous. I know it’s just that I’m eating too much gluten. But what can we do in this reality? It’s not like I can just go grab an apple or something.”
Hank clapped a hand on her back, guiding her into the foyer. “Our little vommy-Alayna,” he said playfully.
They dropped their supplies near the couch. Clay was curious about the nausea. He remembered that Alayna’d had several bouts of sickness the past few weeks, but she’d brushed them off. Clay’s own stomach stirred, reminding him that too much stress could manifest this way. He’d just retched himself. Bodies were mysterious things.
“How’d it go?” Sam asked from the foyer couch where she waited. “Did you get …”
At this, Alayna hunted through a second box, dropping several prepaid cell phones onto the couch beside Sam. Tilting her head, she said, “I don’t know why you need these, though. Like we said, cell towers have been down since we left Carterville.”
Sam tore open the packaging and turned the phone over in her hands. “Sure. I know that. But we’ve got a guy that converts these into walkie-talkies.”
“I remember reading about that,” Clay said as he picked up one of the boxes. “It was an article in some magazine a year or so back. Something about AD-HOC …” He dropped the phone back on the cushion.
“Hell, I don’t know. As long as it works, I don’t ask the science-y questions,” Sam said, cracking her first smile of the evening.
Chapter 7
Finished bringing in the supplies, Alayna leaned in between Sam and Clay, and said, “I really need to talk to the both of you, if you have the time now.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. She jerked her chin toward the community room, away from Hank and Walt who’d ripped open a bag of Cheetos and were tossing the orange crinkles at each other’s mouths.
“Imbeciles,” Sam sighed, giving Alayna a small smile. “But they had your back out there, right?”
“Sure,” Alayna said. Still, her face went an off shade of green, and her fingers trembled. She collapsed in a chair, wrapping her arms around her knees and dropping her eyes. Shivering, she said, “They’re good guys. A little squirrely at times.”
“Glad to hear it,” Sam said. Frowning, she reached into a side cabinet and drew out a bottle of water and a small pack of crackers. She handed them wordlessly to Alayna. Alayna took the bottle with trembling fingers, managed to get to her lips and guzzled it.
“You need to stay hydrated,” Sam said firmly. “You know that.”
“I know,” Alayna agreed, staring into Clay’s eyes. “Listen, we saw something out there.”
Clay alerted.
“There were … others out there,” she said. “They were scouting houses just like us. It was like they were constantly one step ahead of us.”
Clay leaned closer. “Did they see you?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“I don’t think so. We hid from them at first. But every time we came across them, I felt like we should have gone after them.”
Sam smacked her palm against the table with a report like a gunshot. Alayna nearly leapt from her chair. “We talked about this. You were supposed to be scouting supplies. Nothing more,” Sam snapped.
Alayna glared at Sam. “I know. Hank and Walt made quite sure of that. They wouldn’t let me follow them no matter how tempting it was.”
“That’s good. My men know how to follow orders,” Sam leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “And my orders were clear. Gather supplies, and report anything out of the ordinary.”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?” Alayna protested. “Reporting as ordered, your heinous.”
“Easy there, Alayna,” Clay said and placed a hand on her leg. “We don’t know what their intentions were. With just the three of you out there, your safety is more important.”
“Hey! Not every single damn thing that Sam says is gospel, you know. What if we could have found their compound? What if we’d have gotten eyes on Maia?” Alayna scowled. “We were right there. We could have followed them without being seen,” Alayna’s face lost its meek demeanor and flushed red. “I guess we’ll never know now. And besides, we couldn’t follow them in the end, because they took off.”
“Which direction?” Clay squeezed her knee slightly. His brain felt like it was snapping, as if he was creating a mathematical equation, an understanding of what this meant in the bigger picture of this post-apocalyptic world.
“North, I think,” Alayna said, her eyes defeated. “There was no way to be sure, Clay. As far as we know, they could have seen us and turned around once they were out of sight.”
Silence fell, the room filled with tension. Clay ticked his tongue against his teeth, assessing her words. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully.
“Maybe this story could trigger something in Alex’s mind,” he said. “I think we should talk to him. Maybe you could describe their vehicles. What they looked like—”
“I really don’t think you’re getting b
ack in there tonight, Clay,” Sam said, her eyes stony. “That kid’s a basket case. He’s anemic and can barely remember his name, let alone remember some vehicle, that might—only might—lead us to Malcolm’s compound.”
Clay burst from his chair, furious. Raising his chin, he snapped, “I wouldn’t have expected such compassion for Malcolm’s son out of you, Sam.”
She slammed her mug on the table between them, causing a small crack to form at the base.
“I just think you’d be an idiot to waste your time, Clay. Although let’s be real. I think you’re an idiot anyway.”
Chapter 8
It was just past midnight. Clay sat at the edge of his bed, his mind spinning over Alayna’s news. After Sam had bolted from the room, Clay had pressed Alayna for more information: the make and model of the vehicles, how many in the group, what their tactics had been, and so on. As Alayna answered, her face had grown progressively greener—eventually sending her from the room to be sick. Clay’s thoughts spun obsessively, dismissing Alayna’s illness for now. After all, his daughter was the one in real danger. And couldn’t Alayna handle herself?
Standing, Clay trudged down the hallway to Alayna’s bedroom, knocking softly on the door. It took several seconds for Alayna to appear, though she was still wide awake. She sighed.
“I suppose I knew you wouldn’t let this wait till morning,” she said. “You wouldn’t be you if you did.”
“Just a few minutes with him. You can help me explain it,” Clay said. “You were the one there, and I don’t trust Hank and Walt to have the memory you do. You’re—you’re still my deputy, in a sense.”
Alayna allowed a slight smile. “Well then, we have to play good cop, Clay. We have to make this kid think we trust him. Use the old police tactics. Don’t let your anger get the best of you. Okay?”
Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy Page 41