Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  But with the silence, Clay felt the heaviness of the bus’s morale. In the rearview mirror, he could see them staring forward silently, varying degrees of shock on their faces. Agnes was still crying. Hank’s skin was a strange grey color, which made his bright hair all the more cartoonish. Alayna had her hand on her stomach and her other arm around Maia, holding her close. Brandon was in the far back now, his knees up against his chest. He still held the nightstick, twirling it slowly.

  Clay steered the bus toward the edge of the town. The energy field was no more, leaving just the open road stretching before them. A large truck appeared, cutting directly toward him.

  “It’s them!” Lane gasped, leaning toward the front window. “Malcolm stuck around, just in case we got out!”

  “I don’t think so,” Clay said, stabbing the gas pedal. “Looks like a different kind of vehicle. But we haven’t got a single bullet to our name. If it’s him …”

  “What the—” Alayna gasped.

  She barreled forward. Her eyes were huge, filled with child-like wonder. She perched at the edge of the passenger’s seat.

  “It can’t be,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” Clay demanded. “Alayna—”

  It was then that he recognized the person in the passenger seat of the large truck. The dark, curly hair, falling forward across her face. The smirk.

  Megan.

  Megan slid out of the truck, her hair flipping in the wind. The look on Alayna’s face: one of adoration, of incredulity, was enough to make Clay forget the blood, dripping from his hands. It was enough to make him hope—if only briefly—for a future.

  Chapter 55

  FUCK! I cry out in silence, smashing my fists through the air. My legs can hardly hold me. They’re like weird splinters I toss forward as I lurch ahead. Blood oozes from my eyes—or at least, I think it’s blood—and I feel my nails growing longer, sharper.

  “FUUUCCCKK” I try again, but this time, it sounds like a groan, a grunt. I’m some kind of animal in this afterlife. This strange, concrete wilderness. Around me, the others flail, groan, grunt. They sound just like me. Their hair is matted with bits of blood and bone. Are they the bones of our once-friends? Have we ever been anything but this?

  FLESH. I smell it. I inhale it. I can think of nothing else. My tongue throbs with hunger for it.

  In the distance, I hear gunshots echoing through the buildings. The smell of flesh is stronger, and I’m panting now—wanting to feast, to tear it with my teeth.

  To the right, I see it: the blast, the explosion. Skulls shattering, with blood splattering across us all. We’re drowning in our own blood. It’s not the taste we want. A huge, shining beast crushes some of them, smashing them against the ground. I flail, unable to control anything but this urge—

  This desire—

  To feed.

  Chapter 56

  “Stop the bus!” Alayna screamed. She cranked open the door, not waiting for the wheels to stop turning. She flew across the gritty and cracked pavement between the bus and the pickup.

  Clay heard mutterings behind him. “Where is she going?” Agnes asked.

  “I think that’s someone we used to know,” Brandon said apprehensively. “Clay … is that?”

  Clay stood and watched it unfold. Alayna had stopped a few feet away from Megan. Her shoulders were shaking. Behind him, Brandon said to Agnes, “She betrayed us. Left us at this hotel back in Carterville. I think the two of them had a thing—but, should we really forgive someone like that?”

  Clay felt a similar conflict. Megan and Alayna finally wrapped their arms around one another. Clay wondered if Megan could feel the baby growing in Alayna’s stomach—the small curve above her belt. Proof of what they’d done, when Megan ran away.

  As Clay approached, he could hear fragments of what they were saying. Whispered, lovely things that he might have wanted to share with Valerie, had he gotten to her in time.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” Alayna said. “I thought you were gone. Like so many others …”

  “I was trying to find you this entire time,” Megan told her. “I made Rex here leave his silo, to come out here and try to find you. I realized how selfish I’d been. How absolutely horrible it was to leave you like that.”

  “Don’t talk about it now,” Alayna replied. “Please. It’s in the past. And nothing matters now.”

  Clay remained several feet away, crossing his arms over his chest. Behind him, his group trickled out of the bus. The man driving the pickup slid out onto the pavement. Even a few feet away, Clay could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were bloodshot. Clay half-wondered if he was drunk: just tearing across the abandoned landscape half out of his mind.

  Rex stuck out his grubby hand for Clay to shake. “What on Earth are you doing out here?” Rex asked. “Of all the people I’d expect to see this far from our neck of the woods, you’re the last, Sheriff.”

  Clay’s memory flashed with recognition, but at the moment, he wasn’t particularly in the mood to rekindle the old relationship. “I’m sorry? We’ve met?” Clay said, playing dumb, if for no other reason to make Rex work for it. Clay clearly remembered the old farmhouse on the outskirts of Carterville where Rex prepped for the apocalypse. The weaponry, the food, the gear—it had all been beneficial. Just another stepping stone on the road of survival.

  Rex was nonplussed, his hand still out, but he didn’t reply.

  “Of course,” Clay said, giving Rex a sincere, if unenthusiastic, smile. “I see you fell in with Megan.”

  “Oh yeah. She’s been driving me insane for quite a while now. Meg—” Rex turned toward her. Alayna and Megan still had their arms wrapped around each other. “Guess these are the assholes we’ve been looking for?”

  “A few more of them than when I last saw them,” Megan said, her eyes scanning the group. “A few new faces. And a few missing …”

  “What kind of bus is that?” Rex guffawed. “The Lutheran church? Are you building some kind of cult, Sheriff Clay?”

  “All we had for transport, I’m afraid,” Clay said. “But we’re fresh out of weapons at the moment. Supplies are lacking too. We got trapped back in Ridgeway by a pack of them—hundreds and hundreds, I mean. On all sides. Had to drive over them to get out.”

  Rex assessed the front of the bus, which was splattered, seemingly painted, with the purple and green, puss-like blood of the crazed. Clay forced his eyes away.

  “Ridgeway, huh?” Rex nodded. “We were scouting a farmhouse back there, and heard an explosion coming from that direction. By the time we got to the truck, a caravan went barreling by. Maybe thirty or so vehicles, speeding down the road. That got anything to do with you?”

  Clay nodded, suppressing rage. Alayna explained, “That’s Malcolm. He thinks he trapped us with the crazed. But we escaped.”

  “So fucking many of them,” Rex said, shaking his head. “Where are they all off to?”

  “We have to go after them,” Clay said, his voice urgent. “We’re utterly defenseless, without our weapons, but we have to destroy them. Somehow. Some way.”

  A strange smile stretched between Rex’s ruddy cheeks. Clay held his eye contact for a long moment, sensing that this man’s level of crazy was exactly what he needed. Rex cackled and jerked his head at his pickup.

  “I’ve got enough on hand to supply a small army. What do you say we go back to that farmhouse and figure some things out?”

  Chapter 57

  Clay rode with Rex in the pickup, with Alayna and Megan in the back seat. Sherman followed them with the bus as they drifted down country roads, snaking through the trees. “How did you even find this place?” Clay asked, peering through the pines. The farmhouse sat in a bright green yard, boasting loose clapboard siding and shabby shutters swinging gently in the breeze. A truck in the driveway leaned crazily on its two remaining tires under a basketball hoop. If Clay hadn’t known better, he’d think the owners were still there. That they were
tucked away, drinking coffee and chatting in the breakfast nook.

  “I got a nose for places like this,” Rex explained, cutting the engine. “Places where people like me pack away some good supplies. It’s not like these people came into the countryside for no reason, you know. They were hiding from something.”

  As the group filtered out of the bus, Rex equipped each of them with a gun—excluding Maia, of course. Agnes adjusted the sling on her shoulder, determination on her face. Rex spoke up, “We didn’t have time to do more than a cursory sweep. So, we’re going to need to do a more thorough search of the property. Clay and I will go over the weapons I have, and he’ll fill me in on this Malcolm you all keep carrying on about.”

  Clay watched as his group split up and disappeared through the trees. He felt a sense of obligation to them, stemming from this new reality, and their new sudden intake of weapons. Even Hank, strung out after the death of Walt, seemed to have a spring in his step. He walked beside Agnes and spoke conspiratorially—almost as if he were sharing an inside joke.

  Alayna and Megan hung back with Clay and Rex, their rifles slung over their shoulders. Megan couldn’t seem to look at Alayna enough. But Alayna set her chin, turning toward Rex.

  “There really is an urgency in going after Malcolm,” she said, taking over for Clay. “And we need you to understand it before we proceed.”

  Rex slid his fingers into his shirt pocket, removing a cigarette. He stuffed it between his lips and eyed her, curious. “Proceed,” he said, as he lit the tip.

  “The General’s up north,” Alayna said. “At the military base. He’s on a massive power trip, because he believes himself to be the only military man left in the world. And he’s got support to back him. A device that can control the crazed. Or so we think.”

  “It’s imperative that we try to get to Earlton before Malcolm does,” Clay said, leaning against the pickup truck. “If only to stop an alliance between Malcolm and the general.”

  “I see,” Rex said, puffing on his cigarette. “Two powerful, evil forces. Damn. They always find each other, don’t they?”

  “It could mean the end of us if we don’t find a way to fight back,” Clay agreed.

  In the distance, Clay heard members of his crew calling out—clearing the area. There was a sunny quality to the afternoon, as if the horror in Ridgeway hadn’t followed them here.

  “Listen, Rex,” Clay began, “I know we weren’t very … close, back in Carterville—”

  “That’s all right, Sheriff,” Rex cut him off, “I know how it is, you bein’ a man of the law and all. No hard feelins.”

  “Thank you, Rex. But I can’t very well ask you to fight our fight. I appreciate your help, and your guns, more than I can say, but—”

  “Well, I ain’t gonna sit around here by myself. And I certainly ain’t going down without a fight,” Rex said. “Meg, you ain’t been target practicing for nothing, eh?”

  Megan didn’t answer him.

  “See? We’re good to fight. We’re with you—shoulder to shoulder,” Rex said with a grin.

  “All right. Much appreciated. Now that we’ve got ammunition and weapons, we have find food and fuel,” Clay said, scanning the farmyard. “You said this place was well stocked?”

  “Eh, it’s not perfect in the fuel department,” Rex said.

  “We could head back to Ridgeway, maybe?” Megan asked. “The crazed have probably cleared out, and you said you had a ton of fuel back there.”

  “Naw,” Clay said, his stomach turning over. The image of a sea of mutilated crazed with more hiding around every corner shook him. “There’s got to be a better way. Somewhere between here and the base.”

  “There’s another farmhouse up the road,” Rex said. “More trucks out front. Seems like maybe they’d have some fuel. Maybe we could split up. Send a few over to investigate. Hell, I’ll go myself.”

  Clay nodded, despite his hesitation about separating. He sensed courage in Rex that he appreciated. A feeling that everything would be all right, if only they continued to push on—without fear.

  Chapter 58

  Clay watched as Rex, Quintin, and Sherman crunched down the dirt road toward the other farmhouse. The three burly men looked comical, jammed in the front seat of Rex’s pickup, but their faces were stern, like they’d been chiseled from stone. Behind him, Alayna and Megan were whispering again. Although he was curious about their conversation, Lane’s hand pulled him away.

  They joined Marcia and Leland near a stand of trees. Leland leaned toward Clay, almost examining him. “We all saw you do it, Clay,” he said. “We all saw you make them—erm. Explode.”

  Clay sighed. At that moment, he was mostly himself—nothing was trying to invade his thoughts.

  “I can’t describe how it felt,” Clay said. “It was like a wave of anger, and then suddenly—” He splayed out his hands, imitating an explosion. “That was it.”

  “But it wasn’t just that,” Lane said. “You were able to slow them down back in Ridgeway. This connection you have with them … I don’t think you should avoid it. Maybe you can learn to control it.”

  Clay glanced back at Alayna and Megan, on the porch. Their noses were only a few inches apart, and their bodies seemed in-tune with one another. From this distance, they didn’t seem to need him for anything other than survival.

  “I guess there’s no reason I can’t try,” Clay said finally.

  “There’s a few out back,” Lane said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “They’re trapped in the corral. No better way to practice.”

  Feeling almost outside of his body, Clay followed the scientists around the side of the farmhouse, to a rusted-out horse corral. Surrounded by the deteriorating borders of the stockade were four crazed, their limbs flailing and their tongues leeching out from their mouths. Aimless and disoriented, they were bumping around, unable to find a way out.

  Two had been men; another a woman. And the fourth, well. Clay couldn’t be sure, as it was so skeletal.

  “How do I start?” Clay asked, smacking his hands together.

  “Just try to direct your mind’s energy toward them, maybe,” Lane suggested. “Honestly, this is all guesswork at this point.” She tapped the gun strapped to her right leg, adding, “If anything goes wrong, we’ll take them out. Don’t worry about making a mistake.”

  Clay took a deep breath and concentrated on the single crazed to the left. He pushed his emotions—his anger, his resentment, his everything—toward it. His fists were tight against his thighs, and his throat buzzed. He pushed harder.

  With an audible wet crunch, its head exploded, splattering the corral with brains. Surprise robbed Clay of his concentration and he began to cough. Unable to react in any other way at this point, Lane laughed and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Maybe ease off on the anger a little this time,” she said. “Maybe think more positive thoughts?”

  “You sound like a girl scout leader,” Clay said with a wry smile.

  “Just do it,” she said. “And try not to destroy them this time. We need them.”

  Clay squinted and tried again. In the silence that followed, he decided to try directing instead of destroying. He focused his thoughts on arms. And in jerky, uncoordinated motions, crazed all raised their arms as if in surrender. Clay held them like that for a moment before allowing them to collapse. As he let go, he realized he’d been holding his breath.

  “Wow!” Lane exclaimed. “You held them for like a whole minute. Try again? Something bigger this time?”

  Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he forced his mind into overdrive, experimenting with the legs and arms of the crazed, then controlling more precise movement. He found that he could control their fingers; he could tilt their heads. By the end of it, he began to spin them around in a macabre dance—something that had Lane holding her sides from laughter.

  It had been a long time since Clay made someone laugh. He liked the feeling. Impulsively, he named them. �
��Larry, Curly, and Moe. Just like your silly candy stores,” he told Lane. And then, tried a Three Stooges’ show, making them dance and spin and fall on the ground. Lane laughed until she cried.

  “You’ve almost got it, Clay,” she gasped. “I reckon you’re pretty close.”

  “I need more time to practice,” Clay said, finally releasing the crazed. They began to roar their frustration at their lack of control. “Just a bit more time.”

  Chapter 59

  Sherman, Quintin, and Rex returned to the farmhouse about an hour later, their pickup stocked with still more food. Piles of crackers, cans of soup and other necessities. The three men unloaded, passing supplies to Agnes, Alayna, and Megan, who organized them into piles.

  On the other side of the truck, Maia and Brandon spoke in hushed whispers. Every once in a while, Brandon touched Maia’s upper shoulder in an almost intimate (but maybe just friendly? he hoped) way.

  Everyone seemed too comfortable there at the farm, and Malcolm was speeding away.

  “No fuel,” Rex grunted to Clay.

  “Shit,” Clay said. He was genuinely unsure if they had enough to get them to the base. Eyeing the sun, he reasoned that they still had plenty of daylight to get up there. “Well, there’s no point sticking around here,” he said.

  “Except to rest up,” Megan replied. “You all must be exhausted. I can’t imagine—”

  “Right now, we’ve got surprise on our side,” Clay insisted. As he thought about it, about the hours they’d wasted at the farmhouse, he realized it had been a poorly conceived plan. Malcolm was racing ahead, maniacal and wild, thinking only of the ways he and the general could rule what was left of the world.