Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn

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Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn Page 1

by Kohler, Paul B.




  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Paul B. Kohler

  About the Author

  Free Book

  From the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Dear Reader

  Turn: Book One of the Humanity’s Edge Trilogy

  by Paul B. Kohler

  Turn: Book One of the Humanity’s Edge Trilogy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017 by Paul B. Kohler

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Edited by Amy Maddox

  Cover design by Paul B. Kohler

  Interior design and layout by Paul B. Kohler

  ISBN-13: 978-1-940740-17-1 (tpb)

  ISBN-10: 1-940740-17-7 (tpb)

  Books by Paul B. Kohler

  The Hunted Assassin

  An Anthology of Short Stories: 2016

  The Borrowed Souls

  The Immortality Chronicles

  Rememorations (contributed)

  Linear Shift, A Novel

  Silo Sage: Recoil

  An Anthology of Short Stories: 2014

  Something to Read: A Charity Anthology

  Four Stories Contributed

  About the Author

  Paul B Kohler is the author of the highly acclaimed novel, Linear Shift, and the remarkable novel series, The Borrowed Souls. Aside from his longer works, a number of his short stories have been included in various anthologies. His latest short, Rememorations, has been included in The Immortality Chronicles - a Top 5 SF Anthology and Hot New Releases. Rememorations was also nominated for Best American Science Fiction.

  When not practicing architecture, Paul works on his writing. He lives in Littleton, Colorado, with his wife and daughter.

  To learn more about him and his books, visit www.PaulKohler.net

  To get your free copy,

  just join my readers group here:

  http://bit.ly/pk-jr1

  From the Author

  Turn: Book One of the Humanity’s Edge Trilogy is a work of fiction. It's a futuristic glimpse of “what-if”. I've used my creative license to develop a story that explores what life might be like at the end of the world. Also, the tech and biology used here are fictitious. As far as I know, there are no zombie making nanites in current use. Please consider that when reading the following story. But, more importantly, enjoy the read!

  For Alicia

  Because you are the most wonderful

  daughter in the whole wide world.

  Chapter 1

  Darcy scrambled up the hayloft ladder, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering deep inside her. She could feel the scratchy straw beneath her fingers as she gripped each rung, but she didn’t mind. She was breathless, her knees quick to bend and snap back. Far below, she felt Caleb’s eyes watching her ass, gauging the darkness beneath her skirt where her legs met. The moment she reached the top, she whirled around, her dark hair skimming over her eyes. She blinked haltingly.

  “Are you coming up, or are you too scared?” she taunted, tilting an exposed shoulder toward him.

  Caleb laughed, his broad, quarterback shoulders shaking slightly. A bit of eighteen-year-old five-o’clock shadow dusted his cheeks and upper lip. His eyes gleamed with lust for her.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked her, raising a thick eyebrow high.

  “Just come on, before my dad hears us,” Darcy sighed. She beckoned, allowing him to see an inch of cleavage before ripping herself back toward the hay bales in the loft, listening as he climbed.

  The pair had left the football game only thirty minutes before, speeding out across the dirt roads and toward her father’s farm, ditching their friends and their typical pizza joint. This night was different. It sizzled with something special.

  When Caleb finally appeared in the hayloft, his face glinted in the moonlight, a slight gash beneath his right eye—a memento from the game. Darcy reached toward him, touching it delicately with her thumb. “Caleb, I didn’t think they hit you so hard,” she whispered, breathless. The moment she touched him, the tension between them broke, and he turned toward her, catching her lips with his.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the force of his upper arms and back muscles. She allowed herself to forget about her father, only a heartbeat away, reading in the farmhouse. She was a young woman, brimming with endless sexuality. In a moment she felt Caleb’s fingers attack her cardigan’s buttons, ripping the top ones apart.

  She broke the kiss, looking at him with misty, doe eyes. “Oh, Caleb,” she whispered.

  “What?” he asked. His lips were red from the passion of their kisses.

  “It’s just—it’s different this time. It feels like—like maybe—” she shook her head, the single word tickling along her tongue. “It feels like maybe I’m in love with you.”

  Caleb didn’t move. He held her tight, looking at her with reassuring eyes. “I love you, too,” he said. His voice was deep, carnal. Almost like a hero’s in an old movie.

  As Darcy leaned in closer to him, to catch him in a kiss once more, she noted that his eyes suddenly looked out behind her, toward the field and the pine-covered hills beyond. His jaw dropped, and his arms swept around Darcy, almost in a tackle.

  “Holy shit, Darcy. Look!” He
pointed toward the open bay door in the loft, inhaling sharply.

  Darcy frowned slightly before turning toward Caleb’s extended arm. There, in the distance, was the most remarkable shooting star she’d ever seen. She slipped from Caleb’s embrace, feeling her breasts strain against her partially unbuttoned cardigan. She felt Caleb appear beside her as they crept toward the open window, watching as the shooting star seemed to burn light upon the field.

  “It looks like it’s getting closer. But that’s impossible,” Darcy whispered, shaking her head. “It must be a million miles away.”

  But Caleb took a step back, grasping Darcy’s hand. “Darcy. No. It’s coming right for us,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Darcy stared into his eyes, the moment filled with tension and fear. She shot a fleeting glance back toward the shooting star, seeing that, sure enough, it was bearing toward them. It was now only about thirty feet above the trees that skirted around the field. It seemed like a bull’s eye. Like it knew they were there, waiting.

  “WE HAVE TO RUN!” Caleb shouted, shooting his arm around Darcy’s small waist. “Come ON!”

  But Darcy’s mind was too far away. She suddenly felt outside of herself, floating in the stars above. She thought she could even feel the heat from the streaming orb, shining against her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her pupils drowning out her pale blue eyes. “And besides,” she said, as the star whizzed closer, “if we run away now, my dad will see us. He’ll know we were about to—”

  “IT DOESN’T MATTER. NOT IF WE DIE!” Caleb thrust her toward the ladder they’d only just climbed, launching her over the edge and toward a mammoth haystack below. As Darcy fell, her hair swept back. She was flying, feeling the rush of the shooting star in her ears in the moments before she landed.

  Immediately after Caleb threw Darcy from the loft, he turned briefly, curiosity running through him. Just as he spun, the meteorite made its final plunge toward the barn and crashed directly into the hayloft. It struck Caleb’s chest—dead center—blasting him through the air and to the ground, nearly fifteen feet below.

  He died instantly.

  Far below the wreckage in the hayloft, Darcy lay still. Smoke filtered from the barn. The sky was dark, without stars. And the meteorite steamed in the dirt.

  Chapter 2

  Sheriff Clay Dobbs slipped socks over his feet, leaning heavily over the side of the bed. Fatigue made his arms weak, and they hung lazily as he blinked at the clock on the nightstand. It was already past eight in the morning, after a night of monitoring the football game for the high school. Throughout the evening he’d thwarted a small incident of vandalism, run several testosterone-filled teen boys back to their cars, and then, ultimately, collapsed on a chair in his living room upon his release. It wasn’t a heavy load for a sheriff, sure. But it was a small town. And keeping watch over the tiny comings and goings of the high school was a pleasure for him, especially given that his only daughter, Maia, was a freshman.

  Valerie, his wife of nineteen years and his girlfriend for many more than that, was cooking eggs and bacon in the kitchen. He rambled down the steps, finding Maia already seated, sipping orange juice.

  “What, no coffee today?” he asked her, teasing. He drifted his fingers over her fine hair, noting that she hardly looked up from her book.

  Clay stole a kiss from his wife before taking a seat and sipping from his own mug of brew, gazing at his daughter. She was becoming gorgeous, no longer the little girl who’d played in the mud and banged up her knees. He knew it was cliché to think like this. To say the words, “Man, it all happens so fast.” But it truly did.

  “Maia?” he said, his eyes coaxing. “Do you want to tell me what’s up? It’s a Saturday, and you’re not sleeping in till three in the afternoon. I assume you must be sick or something.”

  Maia smirked, turning a page. “Maybe a little. Plus, I couldn’t sleep,” she said, swallowing with obvious pain.

  Clay turned his eyes toward his wife, who shrugged her slight shoulders. She filled a plate with eggs and bacon and tucked it in front of Clay, the floor creaking slightly as she leaned. “We’ve both been awake for almost an hour. You, Sheriff Clay, are the sleepy one in this house.”

  “Well. I suppose I have both of you to thank for holding down the fort,” he said, rubbing his hands together. The steam from breakfast crept over his face. “Why couldn’t you sleep, pumpkin?”

  “Ugh,” Maia said, rolling her eyes. She snapped her book on the table and leaned heavily against her hands, casting her gaze out the window. “Something horrible happened at school yesterday. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Clay’s heart cringed. He felt vaguely panicked, realizing that he didn’t have much experience solving a teenage girl’s problems. Sure, he had saved the town from that rampant robber the previous year, and any sign of spousal abuse—he was on it. But as far as his own daughter was concerned, he was out of his depths.

  “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked her.

  Maia pushed her cheeks out with air, widening her eyes. “It was so embarrassing yesterday. I asked a boy to the dance.”

  The words hung in the air. Clay turned his eyes toward his wife, who had a single hand upon her hip. She beckoned toward her husband, as if to tell him to work harder, to say something. She was his coach.

  “And it didn’t go the way you planned?” Clay asked, his voice tentative.

  “No, Dad. It didn’t go exactly the way—”

  Clay lifted his hands in the air, instantly realizing his mistake. He felt a wave of anger from his suddenly pubescent daughter. But as his expression changed, Maia turned her eyes back toward the table, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. You know it’s not like me to snap. I think I’m catching that flu running around school.”

  Clay sighed slightly, worried. “It’s okay, pumpkin. We all have shit days sometimes. Load up on the vitamin C to start.”

  Maia barely looked up but held her half-drunk glass of orange juice up for all to see.

  Valerie made a throat noise beside him. Although they were aligned on nearly every element of their parenting styles, she didn’t always agree with the amount of cursing Clay did in front of their daughter. As a slight joke, Clay snuck his fingers over his lips, as if to “zip them.” He tossed an invisible key to the floor. His daughter snickered, thus ensuring they were on the same side.

  Clay breathed a sigh of relief.

  But as he did, his cell phone buzzed on the table. It was the station. His face turned stony and serious. The station didn’t ordinarily call him over the weekend unless something had gone wrong.

  “Dobbs,” he answered, his voice firm.

  As he listened, his face turned green, then grey. Both his wife and daughter paused, their eyes concerned. As the other end seemed to drivel on, Valerie allowed the second batch of bacon to burn. Maia leaned forward attentively, seeming to have already forgotten about the “incident” at school altogether.

  “Yes. I understand,” Clay said curtly. “Any survivors?”

  Valerie and Maia looked at each other then, shock splayed across their faces.

  “And her condition?” he asked. His voice hung in the air, waiting. “Okay. I understand. I’ll be on my way shortly,” he affirmed. He dropped the phone back on the table and stood, rubbing his temples as he thought.

  “What was that?” Valerie asked, still holding the spatula attentively.

  “Well, it seems there was a fire early this morning out at the Crawford farm,” he said. “Darcy’s at the hospital. She’s been in and out of consciousness.”

  Maia’s eyes grew wide. She and Darcy Crawford were classmates and had known each other for practically their entire lives.

  “They tell me that the barn’s gone. Burned up. And there’s one dead, not sure who yet,” he said, opting to withhold Caleb’s name until he was certain his parents had been notified. He bounded toward the door, stopping long enough to slip on his
shoes. “That’s all I know right now. I’ve got to head in to the station. I’ll call later when I have more information.”

  Valerie and Maia followed him closely as he walked toward the door, both of them embracing him in a hug before he stepped outside. He felt his heart brim with love for them both, although the duty to his town forced him to walk quickly, away from this safety.

  The world was a wretched place, he thought as he turned the key in the ignition. But being sheriff had certain responsibilities attached, and dealing with unforeseen tragedies was one of them. Thankfully, they were quite infrequent.

  But accidents happened, he assured himself. And whatever happened out at the Crawford place was certain to be just that. Avoiding those meant you avoided fate.

  Chapter 3

  Sheriff Dobbs drove swiftly through town, to where the sheriff station stood at the corner of Baker Street and Fifteenth. The notable early twentieth-century architectural landmark was the glory of Carterville. Across the street and down a half block was Clay’s favorite coffee shop, and remembering that he’d left his steaming pile of bacon and eggs untouched at home, his craving for donuts was overpowering. But this wasn’t the time for it, he grumbled as he pulled into his parking spot.

  He bounded from his cruiser and nudged the door closed, giving a small wave to a woman walking toward the nearby bank. She looked at him with knowing eyes and smiled. Being the sheriff in a town as small as Carterville, everyone knew everyone and what you were up to. Clay eased his hand over the back of his neck, breaking his eye contact. Although he could recognize most everyone by face, he couldn’t quite remember this woman’s name.

  Inside the police station, Jean, his longtime dispatcher and receptionist, greeted him. She stood at her desk, holding a stack of crumpled messages. “Sheriff,” she said firmly. “So sad to hear the news about Crawford farm.”

 

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