Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn

by Kohler, Paul B.

  “Let’s just go one by one and knock on peoples’ doors, I suppose,” Clay said, shutting the car door with a bang that echoed across the emptiness. “Good to you?”

  “Sure,” Willis answered.

  They walked together silently, down the center of the street, and then broke off evenly, Clay marching up to the three-story house on the corner and Willis taking the ranch home across the street. Clay banged on the door, gazing into the windows, seeing nothing but darkness. An empty dog food bowl outside alerted him: they’d left, and they’d obviously taken the dog with them. Good.

  He continued, keeping tabs on Willis’s trek on the other side of the street, his feet sinking into the perfectly mowed grass. He remembered when he was younger and had focused on the lawn a great deal more, ensuring that the weeds were eliminated, watching the way the mild green transformed into a rich, vibrant, almost rainforest green. Of course, when he’d taken the position of sheriff, he’d allowed the weeds to grow. He’d allowed the luster to diminish. The town become his yard. And he’d had to let some things go.

  After the fifth house, Clay looked across the street to Willis. “Hey! You find anyone yet?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Nothing,” Willis called back. “Seems like they’re all gone.”

  “Good!” Clay said. “Let’s head back to the car and move on.”

  Willis began to drift from the front door of a two-story home, his head down, watching his steps. Clay was walking toward him when he noticed something moving behind the home’s big picture window.

  “Willis!” Clay cried. “I think there’s someone—”

  But before he could finish, a figure came crashing through the glass, screaming. The man, someone Clay recognized as his daughter’s second-grade baseball coach, lurched toward them, his eyes crazed, his skin almost green with illness. Scabs and lesions caked his arms and shoulders and neck, oozing blood and pus. Behind him, two teenage girls came crawling out, screaming and stabbing their fingers on the bits of leftover glass. They were converging on Willis, who had reached for his walkie-talkie, looking immediately defeated, like a drowning victim giving up on his lashing.

  “WILLIS!” Clay cried, running toward him and the crazed monsters. He drew his gun and began to shoot, panic driving his trigger finger. A single bullet blasted through one of the girl’s shoulders, painting gore on the side of the house. She was hardly bothered and continued to stagger forward.

  Willis lurched back, but he wasn’t quick enough. The man brought his hands around Willis’s neck and then bared his teeth, tearing a bit of flesh from Willis’s shoulder. Willis let out a throaty scream. The sound rattled the windows and echoed through the barren street. He whipped back from the crazed, monstrous being just in time for Clay to push around him and plant a bullet directly in the monster’s head. The father of two, the ex-baseball coach, flung back on the perfect grass, sanguine fluid seeping from his brain.

  On instinct, Clay turned and shot both girls in the forehead. They fell back, leaving him and Willis in complete silence, hearing only their own gasps of panic.

  “Shit,” Clay whispered. “I thought we were in the clear. I thought we were okay.”

  Willis turned his chin toward his shoulder, tapping at the wound. Blood oozed down his chest, painting his shirt. “I need to get my medical pack,” he whispered. “Jesus, this is deep.”

  Clay ran back to his cruiser and grabbed the pack, opening it quickly and eyeing the gleaming tools, the thread and scissors, the bandages. “What do you need?” he asked, still gasping.

  Using his good hand, Willis riffled through the bag, finding alcohol, ointment, and a massive bandage. He dropped to the ground, tearing his sleeve away from his body and tossing the blood-soaked cloth away. He began to douse the wound with alcohol, wincing as he did.

  Clay stood beside him, hand upon his gun, his eyes searching the horizon. The very moment he’d assumed they were safe, it had become apparent that nothing—not this cardboard subdivision, not a seemingly empty afternoon—was safe any longer. He couldn’t let his guard down like that.

  As he stood, the three dead crazed—three in a count of how many now—oozed dry beside him. His heart lurched with panic and pain. Just like the hairs on his head, he felt his inner sanity slip away, strand by strand.

  Chapter 31

  “Hello?” Alayna called. She searched the foyer and the living room without catching sight of a single figure. “Is anyone there?”

  The radio was blasting out from the back part of the house. Alayna brought her hand to her gun, remembering the mania of the crazed, the way their brains had oozed out over the pavement. “I’m coming in!” she called. “Don’t make any sudden movements!” These were words she hadn’t spoken before—words that were reminiscent of a cop show she’d watched on television while growing up, dreaming of a better life.

  “I don’t think anyone’s here,” Daniels said, his voice booming.

  Suddenly, a woman appeared before them. She was thin, frail, her white hair like a halo around her head. Her eyes flashed with anger. She clutched a cast iron skillet and waved it through the air, almost on time with the ’50s radio station.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” the woman rasped. “Get out, you fools. Get out!”

  Alayna recognized the woman but couldn’t place her name. She held up her hands. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re here to evacuate the entire town. We wanted to make sure everyone was aware.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving,” the woman said, scowling. “I’ve lived in this house for twenty-five years, and I’m not leaving it for some government takeover. Believe me, it’s not worth it.” She sniffed. “My Hector built me this house. And now he’s gone, and it’s all I’ve got, damn it.”

  Alayna took an additional step back, her boot squeaking on the linoleum. “I understand, ma’am. But know that nobody’s going to take over your house. If you stay here, you could die. We’re only evacuating everyone for the next thirty days. And then you can come back. You can have your life again.” She swallowed. “Please know that I can’t leave you here. It’s best if you come with us, now.”

  The woman continued to glare, but she couldn’t find words. Her skillet dropped a bit in the air. She was losing steam.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?” Alayna asked, noting that the woman didn’t appear ill. She didn’t exhibit any of the symptoms of the previously exposed. Not a single bit of sweat glossed over her forehead.

  “I’m Norah,” the woman spat. “Who’s the asshole you brought in here?”

  Alayna had to suppress the urge to laugh. “That’s Lieutenant Adam Daniels,” she said.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Daniels said, standing beside Alayna, his gun in his hand, pointed toward the ground. “We have to get you out of here.” His words were insistent.

  “He seems horrible,” Norah said, rolling her eyes. She dropped the skillet on the countertop beside her, gesturing for Alayna to come closer. Alayna stepped into the kitchen, listening to the swell of oldies music, and noting that the woman had been eating a can of soup with a spoon. The room seemed lonely and sad, and yet it was clean, glowing with Norah’s apparent scrubbing.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Alayna offered.

  “Like I said, he built it,” Norah said, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. “And it’s all I have.”

  “Norah,” Alayna whispered, knowing they were running out of time, “I was wondering if you would come with me, just for tonight. We can put you up in the hotel on Main Street until we can figure out where to send you, just until this all blows over. Do you have family somewhere?”

  “I have a daughter in Charleston,” the woman said. “But she never calls.”

  “Do you have her number?” Alayna asked.

  “Of course I have her number,” Norah snapped. “She’s my daughter. Why wouldn’t I have it?”

  Alayna heard Daniels sigh behind her. She was conscious of his eyes on her backs
ide, on her naked neck.

  “It’s okay, Norah,” Alayna said. “We’re going to get you there, no trouble. And then we’ll get you back to this house when they give us the all clear.”

  “And you won’t take anything?” Norah asked.

  “Not a thing. I promise. Nobody is going to break into your house. Nobody will have any reason to at all,” Alayna affirmed. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

  Norah rose from the chair onto quivering knees. She glared back toward Daniels, clearly upset with his presence. “I’ll go with you. I wondered what the heck happened to everyone,” she murmured. “Although, I did see my neighbor Carl just this morning.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “He seemed strange. Off.”

  Chapter 32

  After the doctor patched himself up, strapping the bandage across his shoulder, Clay helped him back to the passenger seat, noting that the doctor was breathing heavily and still visibly frightened.

  “Shit, man. I’m so sorry,” Clay offered, unsure of what to say. He was rattled himself—not because of the killing but because it didn’t bother him. He eyed the doctor as he cranked up the engine. “How’s your pain?”

  “It’s not bad,” the doctor said gruffly.

  Clay hesitated. “I’m wondering if maybe we should get you back to the hotel and renew the search in the morning.”

  Willis shook his head. “If it’s all the same, I think we should keep going. All I’d do back at the hotel is writhe in self-pity and think about allowing myself to get bitten,” he said with despair. “Really. I can manage.”

  “Maybe just a few more neighborhoods, then,” Clay said, still uncertain. “I should have been quicker with my gun.”

  “Don’t worry about it. God knows I put enough antiseptic on this thing to kill off the bubonic plague,” he joked.

  Clay steered the car toward the next neighborhood, his anxiety and panic high. He parked in front of a group of homes, noting that the doctor’s bandage had already begun to bleed through. “Maybe you should patch that up again. I’ll check out the houses. You stay here.”

  The doctor agreed, sighing slightly and allowing his head to droop forward. Clay noted that the doctor had begun to sweat, albeit lightly. He hoped this was simply a result of the increased anxiety rather than one of Clay’s own symptoms.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back,” Clay affirmed, bolting from the car and sprinting toward the houses. He rapped on several doors without answer. He’d begun to feel that everyone had abandoned their homes and followed their instructions, that this was a waste of time. He could be far away, heading toward Austin—toward his wife and daughter—ready to take a much-needed break from these treacherous events. In a few years, this would seem like a dream.

  The final house on the block had a single light blaring in the back room. Anxious, Clay knocked on the door loudly, calling out. “Hello? Is there someone there?” He turned back, eyeing his cruiser, noting that the doctor had leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

  Moments later, the light snapped off. Clay lifted his gun from his holster, uneasiness passing through him. “HELLO?” he cried again, knocking once more. He took several steps back, then pummeled his body into the wood, feeling the door creak. “I’m going to shoot through your windows if you don’t let me in!” he called again. Whoever it was, he needed to get them out. Immediately. He wouldn’t be responsible for a meaningless death.

  Finally, he heard someone behind the door, unlocking the bolt. A small face appeared in the crack, looking at him with big, hopeful eyes. Immediately, Clay recognized the woman. He nearly dropped his gun with surprise.

  Chapter 33

  Alayna’s heartbeat surged. “What do you mean ‘off’?” she asked.

  “He was marching half-naked through my backyard, drooling all over himself. I mean, the man’s almost seventy-five, sure. But he should know how to control himself.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Alayna asked, realizing that this man, Carl, had become one of them—one of the crazed—he’d turned..

  “God only knows,” Norah said. “Let me pack a few things. Then I’ll go with you. And you”—she snapped at Daniels—“don’t you stay in here. Go outside.”

  Daniels turned toward Alayna, looking for affirmation. Was this really happening? But Alayna shooed him, shoving him toward the door. “Just keep a lookout for Carl. He’s most likely infected.”

  Alayna waited for Norah to finish packing, watching her drift through her downstairs, slide fingers over little knickknacks and portraits of her and her husband, probably photographed forty years before. Alayna recognized the love between them. She wondered if she and Megan could ever have that kind of love. The love that would last decades, even into death. Deep down, she knew she had it in her, but Megan was so unreadable sometimes. It made her crazy, and perhaps that is why she stayed.

  As she stood, she heard several blasts from a gun outside. Above her, Norah began to scream in her bedroom. Panicked, Alayna rushed upstairs to find her gazing out the window at the sidewalk below. She heaved with terror.

  “That monster,” she breathed. “He killed Carl.”

  Outside, Daniels stood with his gun still poised, staring down at Carl splayed upon the cement. His arms and legs were flung out, and his blood began to leak from his ear and the back of his head. His reading glasses were still perched on his face.

  “It’s okay,” Alayna whispered. “Carl was no longer the man you knew. He was coming to kill you. He was sick.” She rubbed the old woman’s back, feeling the spindly bones.

  “Great. Now your lieutenant friend will kill us next,” Norah said curtly.

  “Why would you think that, Norah?” Alayna asked. Her own reservations about Daniels were triggered by his chauvinistic tendencies, not because he was a manic killer.

  “Listen, I’ve been around long enough to know when I see a bad seed. That man is . . . is . . . he’s just bad news.”

  Alayna smiled. “He certainly is rigid, but I have to believe it’s just his training that’s made him that way,” she said, hoping she was right. Having only recently met him, and having endured his despicable flirting, she despised having to defend him.

  Norah turned back toward her suitcase and zipped it, her eyebrows furrowed. “All right. If we’re going to go, then I’d like to do it now or never. Thank you.”

  Alayna nodded, noting the time. The sun blasted orange across the many houses, making them look forsaken, somehow.

  Chapter 34

  “Megan?” Clay said, in complete surprise.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” she said sheepishly, sweeping her dark bangs from her eyes. “Sorry about the door. And the light. I just—I didn’t want to be found. But . . . here you are.”

  “Megan, you aren’t supposed to be here,” Clay said, feeling the all too familiar pangs of agitation for Alayna’s on-again, off-again mate. “Alayna said you’d already left for Austin. I sent my family that way as well. We were all going to meet you there.”

  Megan bit her lip, allowing an awkward silence to pass as the door creaked open a bit wider. She motioned Clay into the foyer.

  “Did you forget something?” Clay asked.

  “No. I mean, kind of,” Megan whispered, her voice cracking.

  “Then what?” Clay asked, incredulous. Once again Megan was making bad decisions. She had to understand the importance and terror of what they were dealing with, almost more than anyone because of her relationship with Alayna.

  “You know Al and I have had our troubles, right?” Megan asked, her voice wistful. “I’m sure she’s told you, at least a little. The two of you are close. I think she looks at you as more than just a boss.”

  Clay nodded slowly, sensing the passage of time. They were wasting it.

  “I told Alayna I wouldn’t allow us to be split up again. When she sent me to Austin, I started out of town but then turned back. I knew I couldn’t leave her here. Not alone.” She brought her lips together, allowing
the silence to stretch on. “Besides, Alayna told me everything was going to be fine eventually. So I saw no reason to be so far away from her.”

  Clay’s eyes grew wide. “Sure, it’s going to be okay—eventually. But not for a long while,” he said, bringing a firm hand to her shoulder. “Listen, Megan. We need to get the hell out of here. They’re fumigating in”—Clay paused to look at his watch—“well, in less than two days, and it’ll most likely kill you. Do you understand?”

  Megan’s lip began to quiver with fear. “What—” she said, looking suddenly helpless. She was almost childlike compared to Alayna’s loud, brilliant beauty.

  “You need to come with us if you want to live, Megan,” Clay said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not fucking around. I’m not being dramatic. Alayna wasn’t straight with you, and she should have been. But she just didn’t want to scare you. Okay?”

  Megan swallowed sharply, cutting back toward the side of the house and gripping her backpack, which was still packed from her previous attempt to leave. She sighed heavily and flung it around her shoulders, easing her feet into her tennis shoes. “You don’t have any food, do you?” she asked, her voice high-pitched. “I’m starving.”

  “We can get something when we get back to the hotel,” Clay said, finding the first grin in a while stretch across his face. Despite his frustration with Megan for coming back, it was good to feel that he’d actually done something positive during their search. He’d found someone; he’d convinced her to come to safety. All was not lost.

  Megan sat in the back of the cruiser, her backpack on her lap, blinking wide doe eyes and not speaking as they drove closer to downtown. The doctor had begun to shiver, large beads of sweat on his forehead. Clay gripped the steering wheel with increasing intensity, punching his foot against the gas pedal. Houses whizzed past them.

  At a stop sign, Clay paused, catching sight of a house with an upstairs light on. He stopped the vehicle and barreled up the steps of the house, rapping on the door, and collecting two more individuals. Ralph and Connie Sullivan were panicked, sure that staying was the “right thing to do.” As he eased them into the back of his cruiser, his hands on their quivering backs, he assured them that everything would be fine. Safety was elsewhere. But they’d get Carterville back to normal soon, he promised. He lied.