“They’re working as a pack,” Sam muttered, both horrified and fascinated. “They know exactly what they’re doing.” Shock distanced her from the sight. She felt above it all, as if she were a god, looking down at her disciples.
The other men in the shipping yard had already been attacked or were sprinting away, their limbs thrashing, their panic too all-encompassing for them to scream.
“Fuckin’ a, man!” Malcolm howled, sounding almost overjoyed. Sam gaped at him, horrified at the amusement on his face. He flailed his arms wildly. “Look, baby. This is exactly what I mean. You had your chance back there with me. You had your chance to fuck me before you die. And now, everything’s about to get real.” He laughed manically. “I bet you didn’t know the world would end when you dumped me. Bet you thought you had a big, wild, beautiful life in front of you. Guess you never know, huh?”
Sam didn’t respond. She took a step back, wanting distance herself from him. Far below, she heard one of the crazed monsters leap upon another member of the shipping yard crew, clawing at him. He cried out her name. “SAM!” She didn’t want to know who it was. She didn’t want to see his face before he died.
“Malcolm,” Sam said finally, swallowing her terror. Inwardly, she was trying to focus, trying to avoid an impending panic attack. Her eyes filled with tears. “Malcolm, we have to call this in. We have to tell someone what’s going on.”
But Malcolm just laughed again. Louder, bouncier, more cartoony. Sam covered her ears, trying to will this reality away.
“Darling, you saw the news. You knew this was coming. You just didn’t think it would happen so soon. It’s just like you to think you’ll be safe, in your own little bubble,” Malcolm said, practically spitting with glee. “Our best bet, darling, is to get the fuck away from here. As far as we can.”
Sam pushed past him heading toward the office. She stepped inside, reached for the phone and began to dial her sister’s number, needing to hear a rational voice, a voice of reason. She needed to talk to someone who wasn’t an imbecile. But as she dialed the phone, the power clipped off inside the observation tower, and the phone went dead in her hand. She couldn’t see a thing—not even the paneled wall mere inches from of her face. She began to shiver violently, sensing Malcolm behind her. She could still smell his horrendous body odor. Outside, she heard a scream that seemed to ricochet off the containers and the warehouse wall, back and forth, until it faded away.
“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” she whispered, her own voice sounding foreign to her.
But Malcolm didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned close to her and started breathing heavily on her neck, as if he, like the crazed monsters outside, wanted to eat her whole.
Chapter 2
Ralph’s screams echoed through the dank air of the surrounding woodland. Clay grabbed the ragged older man’s shoulders, shoving him against a nearby tree. The man’s face was panicked, and his mismatched arms dangled uselessly, making him look like a rag doll.
“I’m so sorry, Clay,” Ralph wept hysterically. “If I just had my right hand—”
Clay tried to reassure his friend, but he had to stay calm himself. A few feet away, Leland Jacobs was tying a rag over a gunshot wound on Brandon’s upper arm. Brandon was sweating profusely, beads of it coursing down his forehead and cheeks. His eyes caught Clay’s, communicating silently, before turning his attention back to the blood-soaked rag.
“I thought they had me surrounded,” Ralph said, his words calmer now. “I wasn’t ready, Clay. I just started shooting. Jesus. And Brandon—he, he just came out of nowhere—”
“You just haven’t practiced enough with your left hand, yet,” Clay said quietly. “Let’s give it a rest for now.”
“I can’t—” Ralph said, sounding like a child. “I just can’t do this anymore, Clay.” Snot began to run from his nostrils.
Clay looked around, searching for the rest of their party. God, every step seemed to bring another disaster. The crazed monsters they’d killed in the recent attack lay in thick pools of their own blood, adding that all too familiar, dead skunk stench to the air. Clay had learned to breathe through it. He supposed they all had.
“You holding up over there, Brandon?” Clay asked, still holding Ralph.
Brandon nodded meekly. He’d turned eighteen in the weeks since they’d left Carterville, mentioning his birthday gruffly to Clay as they’d walked along the outskirts of the city. Clay had clapped him on the back, wishing he had some kind of advice for him. After all, he was an adult now. He should have had his entire life in front of him. But as it was, he might only have a week. A day, or even just an hour. And now he was shot, his blood soaking through the bandage.
“See. He’s going to be fine,” Clay said, pushing down his churning emotions. He eyed Ralph’s right arm, the wrist ending in a stump, wrapped in bandages they’d been able to salvage from the wreck. “Don’t wear yourself out worrying, man. You need to rest up.”
Ralph spat on the ground before dropping to his knees, and raised his head to the sky. It looked like he was praying, but Clay knew better. He leaned back on the ground, listening to Jacobs as he bound Brandon’s upper arm.
The struggle had really started the moment they’d headed out of Carterville. Clay had watched the energy field flicker off and on for over an hour before attempting to pass, hoping he’d caught the pattern. They’d loaded themselves up, strapped on their seat belts and crossed themselves for good measure. But as they’d lurched through the energy field, the alien green flash arced over them, rolling the fully loaded Humvee onto its side.
The back of the vehicle, which had taken the brunt of the green force field, immediately burst into flames. They’d all unstrapped themselves quickly—everyone except Ralph. He screamed in a ragged, deep-throated voice. Brandon and Daniels had tossed supplies from the back of the burning vehicle, trying to grab the most important things, like bullets. Ralph, in the meantime, had continued wailing, his arm pinned.
“CLAY! I’M STUCK!” he’d cried, sounding demented with terror. “GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
Clay had leaped back into the now-blistering vehicle, finding that Ralph’s arm was trapped between the seat and the damaged metal frame. Clay began to yank at Ralph’s arm, trying to free him. But the skin just tore, and blood came spewing from his veins.
“I can feel the flames, Clay!” Ralph cried. The fire began to lick at their ears, singeing the back of Ralph’s long, hillbilly hair. “Jesus. I’m going to join Connie, now, aren’t I? Connie!” He began to weep, looking resigned, tears dropping on his shirt.
Clay had hesitated for only an instant before he pulled a large knife from his back pocket and begun to hack at Ralph’s forearm as the fire inched nearer. Ralph looked shocked, aghast, the color draining from his face. When the bone separated, Ralph spewed an ocean of green vomit that resembled the blood of the crazed monsters. In a moment of panic, he yanked at his arm a final time—it was already free. He blinked wildly at it, seeing the stump for the first time. Clay wound Ralph’s collar around his hand and dragged him out of the thick, black smoke.
They had fallen back on the ground, coughing spasmodically. Ralph had nearly blacked out when Jacobs started to tend to his bleeding arm, cursing them for not saving the first aid supplies from the fire. No one had replied, listening instead to the weak, muffled cries of their wounded friend.
Since then, they’d been walking, meandering toward Helen. The trip was about six hours by vehicle. But with the injuries, their fatigue, and being on foot, it was much longer, wearing them thin.
The worst part was that they had to fight off the deranged, used-to-be people at every turn. The crazed had begun to learn, sneaking up behind them, preying on the stragglers of the group. They’d leap on their backs, wrapping their arms around their necks and squealing. When this happened, another member of their group—normally Daniels—stopped the crazed with a bullet to the brain.
They had to be alert constantly.<
br />
And now, one of their own had put a bullet through Brandon. Just eighteen years old, and forever scarred.
“I’m just not used to this,” Ralph wept on. Brandon lost consciousness nearby.
“None of us are,” Clay agreed, pulling Ralph up from the ground, seeing a convenience store nearby. “Let’s get under cover. We can’t very well stay out here, waiting for the next attack.”
He lifted Ralph, carrying his frail frame easily. Brandon returned briefly to consciousness, and allowed Jacobs to help him to his feet. The four of them eased toward the convenience store as clouds began to fill the sky. Clay didn’t know what time it was, or even the day. Thursday? Monday? It didn’t matter anymore.
Chapter 3
Inside the convenience store, Ralph went around the counter, shuffling toward the cash register. As if money could help them during the apocalypse, Clay thought bitterly.
Brandon slid into a lawn chair, cradling his arm. Jacobs eyed Clay and gestured away from the others, wanting to speak with him privately. His eyes reflected a truth that Clay surely didn’t want to hear.
“Is he going to be all right?” Clay asked, as they stood in the looted snack aisle, amid empty chip bags.
“It’s just a flesh wound. This time,” Jacobs said quietly.
“Oh, thank god,” Clay sighed. “What do you mean, this time?”
“I mean, I’m not the right person to be dealing with shit like this,” Jacobs said, his eyes dark. “I’m a scientist. I’m not a real doctor. I had maybe three classes on human anatomy, over ten years ago. Next time something like this happens—and it’s a gut wound, instead of an arm wound—we won’t be so lucky.”
Clay felt his fury building. “We all have to do the best we can, Leland,” he said. “And doing what you can for us, with your limited knowledge, means exactly that. Do you understand?”
Jacobs didn’t reply. As they faced off, they could hear Ralph’s guilt-ridden whimpers and Brandon’s soft moans of pain.
“Brandon. Hey, kid,” Ralph said, finally taking notice of someone else’s suffering. He eased toward the boy, his eyes rodent-like in the dim light. He still wasn’t able to look at his victim. “Hey. I’m so, so sorry, Brandon.”
Clay and Jacobs watched silently. Clay sensed that tension could build between them, the kind that threatened the delicate balance in their small band of survivors. He closed his eyes tightly, willing some kind of forgiveness.
“Seriously. I just ain’t got used to this bum arm yet,” Ralph said.
“Neither have I,” Brandon replied quietly.
Ralph and Brandon stared at each other for a long time, animosity growing. Clay had half a mind to speak up, to find words that sounded appropriately leader-like, that would unite his tribe again. But as he went to step forward, Ralph stretched out his arm, stopping him.
“No, sheriff. Don’t sweet talk him. He can feel however he wants.”
“I forgive you,” Brandon said, after slight hesitation. “I do. I know it was an accident. And I think it’ll heal. Okay? You happy?”
Ralph closed his eyes, as if he was receiving absolution from a priest. He dropped to his bony knees, looking again like he was mid-prayer.
Clay started to speak, to suggest that they talk about their next move, to not waste time in the silence.
But he didn’t have time.
Alayna and Daniels burst into the convenience store, their guns pointed at the ceiling, spattered with dirt and gore. Alayna caught Clay’s eye before reporting.
“They’re all dead out there. Daniels and I chased them out about a mile, killed them all. Should be clear for a bit if we want to rest.”
“Wonderful news,” Clay said with relief. He smiled at Alayna warmly, but she didn’t return it.
Her eyes darted toward Daniels, who added, “But the bad news is, we only have about fifty or so rounds of ammunition left.” Reminding them, once more, of how close they were to death.
“Jesus Christ,” Brandon said, wrapping his hand gingerly around his bandages. “We’re fucked.”
No one spoke.
Daniels slung his rifle in one swift motion.
“But there were cars in the distance,” Alayna added. “A big cluster of them. Maybe three miles up. We could see them across the field.”
“Any sign of the crazed up there?” Clay asked.
“We couldn’t see any. At least, not from where we were,” Alayna said.
“Oh, and I suppose you two want to run up there and see what all the fuss is about?” Ralph said sarcastically. “That’s all this has been, hasn’t it? Just one curiosity after another. And meanwhile, I’ve lost half an arm. And Brandon’s been shot.”
Clay didn’t remind Ralph that he was the perpetrator. He sighed, scanning the convenience store. It was cozy, still decently stocked with various canned goods, and featured a long row of lawn chairs along one wall. They would be comfortable there, at least for a while. But Jesus Christ, Clay thought, growing anxious. He had to get to Helen to try to find his wife and daughter. He glanced at Alayna, whom he’d lusted after just days before. He could sense a need in her, as well. For Megan.
“You want to stay?” Clay asked. “Then, stay. You don’t have to listen to me anymore, if you want to be on your own. But Alayna and I have to move on. We have to get to our people. And I’m not stopping here for days to rest. We’ll just die here a little bit slower than we’d die out there.”
Jacobs said, “I need to find the rest of my team, as well. The other scientists who know about the nanites. It’s absolutely imperative.”
Clay nodded, and glared at Ralph. “You see there? It’s imperative. I’m sure that’s not a word you use often, so let’s break it down for you—”
“Shhh—” Alayna cut him off. “Don’t make it worse.”
Ralph and Brandon eyed each other. Silence settled over them, reflecting the indecision. Brandon tried to sit up. “What do you think, Big Ralph?” he asked, trying a nickname on the man for the first time. “You think we should keep going, or stick around?”
Ralph hesitated, unaccustomed to making decisions. He scratched at his tearstained cheek and his eyes flickered toward Clay, assessing him. “If we stay, Brandon, that means we’ll be on our own. No more ammunition. No more—well . . . no more help.”
“That’s true. But fuck it. I’m already shot.” Brandon’s voice was challenging, almost asking Ralph to take on the horrible prospect. “What’s a few weeks of staying, eating as much food as we possibly can, and then getting eaten up by those crazed monsters, huh? Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”
Ralph shrunk into himself, looking fearful. He swiped his only hand over his scalp, almost certainly thinking about Connie’s touch. He’d looked like less of a person since she’d died.
“You all have someone,” he spat. “Clay, you’ve got Alayna. And Jacobs and Daniels. Hell, Brandon, you and Alayna care about each other. You’re close as can be. But me? None of you would care if I lived or died. You should have left me in that burning Humvee, you bastard,” he said, zeroing in on Clay. “I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to be—”
Brandon interrupted him, staggering up from his chair, still holding his arm. “Ralph, that’s not true. I’ve looked up to you since this started. I’d hate it if you died. You seem to forget that I lost a sister at the beginning of all of this.”
Ralph was wide-eyed, like a deer seeing a hunter. He gulped and stood a bit straighter. “Wh—what?” he stuttered. “Brandon, do you really mean it? That you’d miss me?”
“Of course I mean it, you old bastard,” Brandon said. “Just don’t fucking shoot me again. Okay?”
“Deal,” Ralph whispered, offering his hand to Brandon. Their eyes met for a moment, friendship making them equals, regardless of their difference in age.
Despite everything, Clay’s heart softened at the camaraderie, giving him a brief interlude from the horror that was now their life. Again, he tried to catch Alayna’s e
ye, but her face had turned pale green, and she’d started to tremble—something she’d been doing recently—that chilled Clay to the bone. But he couldn’t find the courage to ask her about it, not after their night together.
Ralph was wrong, Clay realized then. He didn’t have Alayna. Not anymore. He was currently living with the ghosts in his head: his wife and his daughter, in the hope they’d be back in his life soon. But he couldn’t afford to be optimistic. None of them could. It was the end of the world, after all.
Chapter 4
“We’ll stockpile as much food as we can,” Clay announced a few minutes later as the tension in the room eased. Brandon and Ralph now sat companionably side by side, one of Ralph’s knees crossed casually over the other, as if it was just an ordinary day.
“I think all the good food’s spoiled,” Alayna said, nodding at the coolers. “And we won’t survive long on junk food.”
“Honey, it’s the apocalypse,” Daniels retorted. “We’ll have to survive on whatever preservative-filled thing the government tried to kill us with. It’s all we have now.”
“We’ll get weaker with every bite,” Alayna said, frowning. “Candy bars? Chips? Clay, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Suggest a better option, then,” Clay said, his hand on his holster.
Alayna was silent. The rest of the crew was already resigned to their potato chip lifestyle. Clay’s stomach ached, just at the thought. But they were hungry, desperately so. And they hadn’t seen any wildlife to hunt. What happened to all the deer? To the dogs, even? Had they been eaten up by the monsters, becoming as source of fuel?
Clay drifted toward the back of the store, with Jacobs following. Near the toiletries, he found a large selection of sacks and duffel bags, enough for them to carry the food with, if they strapped them to their backs like camels. He scooped up as many as he could carry, and dropped them in front of the others.
Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy Page 2