They had nowhere else to go.
Chapter 19
It was three in the morning, but Clay’s eyes had already grown accustomed to the darkness. As they approached the compound, he heard Hank and Walt tittering behind him. In spite of that, both were wiry and able, potentially necessary if they had to make a quick escape over the fence.
About fifty feet to the right, Alayna led a team of two, a couple from Sam’s party named Tyler and Agnes. Agnes was all-powerful, with bulging biceps and an eagerness to blast crazed through the skull from the back porch of the hotel (something Clay had witnessed several times throughout the previous few weeks). Her husband obeyed her, which was enough for Clay.
Sam led another pair, and Damon, one of her cronies, another. The four groups approached from each side of the compound. The light from the compound almost blinded him, making him blink as if he was staring directly into the sun.
Near the gate, Clay leaned into the fence, careful not to make any noise. From his position, with his nose poking through the holes, he saw that there were even fewer guards awake and alert at this early hour. One leaned heavily against the tower-like building which Clay believed held Maia. The guard was facing the opposite direction and kicking aimlessly at the ground, his head leaning on the wall. He looked like a child.
Scanning toward the gate, Clay realized there were only two guards—one leaning on the gate itself, his chin tucked against his chest. His gun dangled loosely from its strap and. His fingers twitched on the stock, perhaps in synchronization with his dream. His eyelashes fluttered, showing how far from reality he truly was. The main guard shuffled back and forth in front of the gate, facing away. Clay realized that if he approached from the inside, he could apprehend him rather easily. He felt his fingers twitch with adrenaline. He yearned, suddenly, to wrap both hands around his own throat and squeeze.
“Some guards,” Walt muttered from Clay’s right. “They have one job, you know? Can’t even stay awake.”
“It’s almost too easy,” Clay murmured back. Lifting his walkie-talkie, he spoke to Sam, Damon, and Alayna—the others with phones. “I’m going to go over the fence and catch the main guard, eliminate him. We’re going to have to be careful. The other one isn’t completely zonked out yet.”
“Clay. Be careful,” Alayna replied. Neither of the others offered anything else. Clay sensed that, even though Sam was in many ways his equal, she didn’t care if he lived or died.
Clay pulled himself up the side of the first layer of fence. He found himself in the in-between, in the terrifying territory of the crazed. Stepping lightly through the mud, he crept toward the guard. The man paused for a second, as if his subconscious perhaps had registered Clay’s presence between the fences. But after a pause, he muttered to himself, “Fuck it. It’s nothing.”
Clay slipped a tranquilizer from his satchel and shot it directly into the upper back of the guard. The guard let out a sputtering gasp and dropped to his knees. In the silence, Clay’s ears rushing with blood and adrenaline, Clay swung himself over the top of the second fence and gagged the guard with a strip of cloth, ready for the purpose. The guard’s eyes began to roll back in his head, but he couldn’t struggle—the tranquilizer was far too powerful. Knowing the tranquilizer wouldn’t last forever, especially not on such a muscular, able-bodied man, Clay hogtied and slid him against a nearby shed, out of sight of the rest of the camp.
With the first guard incapacitated, Clay vaulted the gate and did the same to the second guard, not bothering to tranquilize him, but making sure to gag him first. The man’s eyes popped open mid-way through the process, and he let out a wild cry choked back by the gag Clay clucked his tongue, fighting down the rising rage in his chest. This man. He’d been with Maia the entire time. And he’d allowed her to be locked in a tower, to be treated like slime.
Yanking him to the shed, he left him in a heap beside the other guard. The second guard struggled, scrabbling against the soil
Knowing he was wasting time, Clay opened the gate swiftly. He gestured for the others, muttering into his walkie-talkie, “It’s almost too easy,” echoing the words to Walt and Hank as they sped toward the opening in the fence. “Just like you said, boys. It’s almost too easy.”
But as Alayna darted toward him, her legs light and quick beneath her, Clay felt a sudden apprehension. When she was next to him, speaking the first truth of the night, he said, “But just because we’re in, doesn’t mean you don’t have to stay on your guard. I have no idea what’s in store for us in there. Just because they have the crazed locked away—”
“I have the device,” Alayna said, her eyes heavy with meaning. “And you’ve got the guns. We’ve made it this far. We’ll stay alert. We always do.”
Chapter 20
Alayna felt the weight of the device bouncing softly against her side as they entered the compound. Clay was in the lead, yet she still wished he was standing beside her, staring into her eyes. There seemed to be something between them again, as if Clay, with some animalistic instinct, recognized that Alayna was carrying his child. And Alayna felt it, too: the need to stay upright, to stay alert, to protect something bigger than herself. Her finger tapped the device, poised to strike.
Hank and Walt were together on the right. As always, their eyes seemed amused—as if this was a grand game to them. Sam shook her head at the men and peeled off toward the other side of the compound.
Agnes and her husband, Tyler, were with her, their weapons ready. Alayna hadn’t spoken to them much, but she appreciated their tight-lipped approach. How they’d nodded after each of her orders. “Absolutely. It’s the end of the world. We’ll do anything we can do to help,” had been Tyler’s words, as if he were volunteering to help with a silly town parade or soup drive.
Alayna studied the fortress and the attached tower, about a football field away from them in the compound. They were poorly constructed, as if erected hastily. The tower slanted slightly eastward and had raw plywood siding. All the windows were dark and blank, like dead eyes. Alayna tried to imagine Maia asleep behind one of those windows but couldn’t. It felt like years since she’d seen the teenager. Thinking of Maia inevitably forced Alayna to remember Clay’s wife, Val. Val—who could still be alive. And what would happen to Alayna, to the baby, if Val ever turned up?
Certainly, Clay hadn’t forgotten about the love between them. “High school sweethearts,” he’d so often told Alayna, back at his desk—dotting his tongue along the side of a donut. “She told me she wanted to see the world, but I told her, hell, I couldn’t imagine that there was anything better than Carterville out there. We have everything we need here. Each other. Good schools for Maia. And you, Alayna. I couldn’t have asked for a better deputy …”
As Alayna spun through memories, Hank and Walt walked a bit too close to one of the buildings. Even as Alayna watched, she sensed a foreboding, a fear. Her throat felt constricted, holding in a scream. She wanted to cry out, to warn them. But it was too late. Hank’s tennis shoe touched something invisible on the ground. It buckled him forward, falling to his knees.
The others turned, staring with confusion at his fall. Then, a long HONK ripped the night air around them.
“It was a wire! A trap!” Hank cried.
Everyone froze, watching the uncontrollable unfold. A system of pulleys activated by the wire reached the edge of the fence, creating a horrific, mouth-like opening. An entrance for the crazed.
“FUCK!” Hank yelped, climbing back to his feet.
All of them went for their guns, but Alayna was holding the device. After a long, horrible moment—one that seemed to be an infinity—the crazed began to swarm from their kennel. They poured through the opening, several of them getting hung up on the fence and tearing themselves free, gore spattering wildly.
Hank and Walt backpaddled, lifting their rifles. Agnes rushed toward Alayna, waving her gun. “Hey! Alayna!”
Alayna turned toward her, her eyes wide, swallowing the scene whole
.
“It wasn’t just that opening. They’re coming from over there, as well!” Agnes cried.
Alayna saw this and cringed. On all sides of the compound, the fences had been opened—just from this single mistake. Clay, Sam, and Damon had gathered their groups together, creating small skirmish lines. Clay lifted his walkie-talkie and muttered into it.
“We’re still trying to stay quiet, gang,” he said into it, showing no sign of fear—even as over a hundred of the crazed approached from all sides. “Use hand to hand combat if you can. We have to stand our ground.”
It sounded insane. She’d been out on the road with Clay; had witnessed the crazed’s teeth ripping into Ralph’s neck. Had seen the horrors of these monsters, and their destruction, time and time again. Keeping the device up, Alayna pointed it toward a mob of crazed who were closing on Hank and Walt, causing them to dive to the ground. The device was silent and was therefore their only mode of attack—other than hands and feet.
Alayna felt helpless, knowing she was the only one with power. She couldn’t possibly save all of them. The first line of crazed was close to reaching Clay. Clay swung his fist and connected with a crazed’s cheek, causing the bones to bust beneath his knuckles. Sam thrust her boot to the gut of one of the crazed, throttling then casting him back against the wall of the fortress. Even Agnes and Tyler were fighting through the crowd of them—trying to avoid their gnashing teeth. Alayna tried to knock out as many as she could: taking aim, and pressing her finger time and time again against the button.
They heard it: the blast of gunfire. Alayna blinked around her, trying to figure out who from their party had finally said, “fuck it,” and decided to protect themselves for real. But she realized it wasn’t one of theirs. Instead, one of Malcolm’s goons—all in black, wearing a dark helmet and wielding a rifle, was marching toward them—easing through the crazed like a ship in the night.
Chapter 21
After the first blast from one of Malcolm’s men, other guards began to press forward, shooting at both the crazed and members of his team. Clay swung his rifle toward the guard who seemed to be their leader, aiming at his chest. But as he let the bullet fly, a crazed lurched in front of the guard—exploding in a flurry of bloody fireworks and splattering all over the guard’s face.
The guard was unfazed. Clay realized the seriousness of the situation he’d brought his crew into. Adrenaline pumped through him. He drove his rifle forward and into the chin of another crazed, breaking bones. A bullet whizzed past his ear—from one of Malcolm’s men or one of his own. He could no longer say for sure.
All hell broke loose. Agnes took a shot at a crazed. Its brains splattered across her husband’s chest. Another leaped, trying to get his teeth into Tyler’s neck. Again, Agnes fired. Nobody could prepare you for this. Nothing could.
Sam wielded her gun like the master she was, dropping three crazed in three shots and then ripping a bullet through the heart of one of Malcolm’s gang. The guard cried out and fell to his knees with a gloved hand against his chest, blood geysering through his fingers with his final heartbeats.
Alayna used the device to knock out crazed after crazed. Clay was grateful knowing that she could take care of herself. She pointed the device at a crazed moving to attack Agnes, then another after Walt. Sam pumped a shot through another of Malcolm’s guards, but Damon fell to the ground with a bullet of his own. The chaos continued to spin.
But Clay knew he had a bigger job to do.
He found a small path between two buildings which guided him toward the stronghold on the other side of the compound. As he swept through the darkness he encountered another four crazed, cut off from the rest of their horde and lost. Clay shot the first one in the head. When it went down, it knocked down the pair behind it. Clay slammed his elbow into the wide gap of the fourth crazed’s mouth, busting his nose and shattering teeth.
Clay bolted toward the tower where he felt sure Maia was. Two guards saw him and gave chase. One of them shot at him; Clay responded in kind. He felt anger, adrenaline rushing through his veins. In the back of his mind, that little voice—all but stamped out these days—told him, “You’re meant to serve and protect, serve and protect. Not murder!” But he forced it away, knowing that killing these men—human or no—was the only path to his daughter.
The last man blocked the doorway into the fortress, his rifle aimed at Clay’s chest. His arms shook, showing his fatigue. Clay couldn’t see the man’s eyes beneath the helmet, but he caught a glimpse of his curly blonde hair. This wasn’t a man who’d ever wanted to go to war. Something about him screamed of youth.
This wasn’t his world.
“Just step aside, man,” Clay said, his rifle still aimed directly at the kid’s stomach. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
But the guard didn’t move an inch. Feeling oddly invincible, Clay took a step forward, almost daring him to shoot. A single bullet wound wouldn’t stop him from finding his daughter. He took another step, and then another, until his own rifle was pressing into the guard. The guard jerked and dropped to the ground. Clay looked back at the guard he’d already shot and said, “Don’t make shoot you, too,” He stared at the darkness beneath the guard’s helmet, hoping he was staring into his eyes. “Just let me get to her. She’s my daughter.”
The guard dropped his rifle. Wordlessly, he raised his hands, then ran from Clay’s aim, disappearing into the darkness. In the distance, he could still hear gunfire and the wails of the crazed. But for the time being, he was alone.
Clay crashed through the door and barreled up the steps, feeling his muscles ache. At the top of a winding staircase was a single door, wooden and crooked. Inside, he found a small, dreary room with dusty floors. A small, emaciated girl was cowering in the corner, her dark hair streaming down her back. She wore a white dress; her legs bare and dirty and her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She was shivering, malnourished and underdressed.
But it was Maia.
“Daddy?” The word was tentative, shocked.
Clay allowed his arms to fall, still holding the rifle. Emotion overtook him and his eyes filled with tears. “Maia,” he whispered. “My God, what have they done to you?”
Clay dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. In the silence that followed—a small forever—Maia found some strength and hugged him back, her string-like arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly. She shook as she sobbed, whispering over and over the heartbreaking words, “I didn’t think you’d find me. I didn’t think you’d ever find me, Daddy.”
Chapter 22
Maia was weak and so fragile that Clay found it easy to lift her—much like he’d done when she was a much smaller girl—and walk toward the door. She continued to shudder, muttering nonsensical words at times. “I heard all the gunshots outside. Thought for sure the monsters got out of the cage,” she said, her voice raspy. “I knew it was just a matter of time before one of them got through and came up here and got me.”
“They’re not, Maia,” Clay said, his eyes burning with ferocity. “You have to trust me, kiddo. We’ll get you someplace safe. My team’s downstairs handling Malcolm and his guys right now.”
“God, Malcolm,” Maia whimpered, her tears still falling. “He’s not gonna be happy—”
“Let me worry about that,” Clay said. He hurried down the steps, making sure that Maia was comfortable in his arms. At the bottom, he stood her on her shaky legs, asking, “Can you walk? I need to use my gun, just in case …”
Maia gave him a wordless nod, her eyes wide. She gazed out the door, at the two guards who’d bled out. Clay sensed, then, that Maia had spent a good deal of time with the men. That they’d been her jailers, the ones who ensured she didn’t escape. Her eyes burned, almost orange with anger. And then she ducked her head and slipped out into the night. Clay had a million questions but held them, although he felt no anguish for taking the lives of her guards.
It was a level of rage Clay had neve
r experienced, ever in his life.
He guided Maia through the grass, and down the path. As they moved, Clay realized that the gunfire had dissipated. Silence stretched over the compound, except for a single voice—calling out, sounding almost like an animal. Wild. Maia blinked up at Clay, her eyebrows stitching together.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
Clay recognized the voice. It was Sam, but louder, angrier, and with more power and volatility than he’d ever heard from her. When Clay and Maia stepped into the wide clearing at the center of the compound, Sam was standing tall, gun in hand. It wasn’t a gun that his team had brought. It had clearly been taken from one of Malcolm’s people.
There was a man before Sam, on his knees. He was wide-shouldered, with rugged, fat cheeks and a thick, dark blonde beard. The man gazed up at her, fear in his eyes. Sam stormed back and forth like a wolf on the prowl. Her gun stayed on his skull, a constant warning.
“If you fucking move an inch—and I mean a single inch—your head will be all over the grass of your stupid little compound,” Alayna said.
Clay glanced around, taking stock of what had happened since he’d abandoned the fight. Crazed, bleeding out, detached limbs and severed heads scattered on the ground. Tyler, Agnes’ husband, was dead, with a wound to the neck and a wound to the head (one, Clay found out later, was a mercy shot from Agnes herself, who didn’t want Tyler to become a monster). Agnes sat next to him, tucked in a ball and staring into space. About twenty feet behind her, Hank had Walt’s head in his lap, trying to wrap a bullet wound. Damon’s face had been covered with a sheet. He hadn’t made it, either.
The gates had been closed, keeping the rest of the crazed between the fences. Alayna regarded Clay and his daughter and gave Clay a small smile, although the smile didn’t spread to her eyes. She had one hand on her stomach, an awkward stance.
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