Fuck. Fuck. Could he really do it, knowing it could very well mean suicide? Looking down at the device, which flashed ominously in the orange sunset, he felt his mind bend. He felt as if he were about to leap over a deep crevasse, not knowing if the rope would hold fast behind him.
“Here goes nothing,” he said.
But he didn’t have time to think for long. A crazed monster lurched from behind the trees toward him. Its limbs flailed; blood oozed from its mouth. Its eyes bulged from its face, revealing bright green irises.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” Clay said softly, lifting the device and aiming it at the crazed. Adrenaline pumped in his veins. “Better to see you with, my dear.”
The monster neared him, its ripped shirt fluttering in the wind. Bony fingers stretched out, revealing broken, cracked nails, each covered with what was most likely somebody else’s blood.
“You fucking bastard,” Clay muttered. “Jesus Christ. I hope this works.”
As it came into range, Clay pressed the primary button, held his breath, and then squeezed the trigger. He closed his eyes in sudden panic.
But nothing happened.
Clay kept his finger on the trigger, still squeezing, as if it would blow a projectile from its non-existent barrel. Or reveal in some other way that it was activated—that it was working.
Still, nothing happened. The crazed was approaching rapidly, its greedy fingers reaching for its next victim.
“No—” Clay could hear the wail in his voice. If this didn’t work, all of humanity would fall to these creatures. There’d be no purpose, no reason to move forward. “Fuck you—you fucking bastard—”
The crazed’s footsteps began to falter, as if it was running on fumes. Its eyes suddenly fixed, its arms flailed without reason before dropping to its waist. Blinking at Clay, it appeared to see the sheriff for the first time—with near-human eyes. Then, its stare was vacant again, like a dead person, staring from the beyond.
Jesus.
It dropped onto its knees and fell forward, smashing its nose against the pavement. An odd colored blood oozed out, puddling on the ground. Clay stared at the monster, shocked, with his finger still on the trigger.
But nothing else came. No shots had been fired. Nothing echoed against the walls of the surrounding canyons, revealing their location. He’d done it, and he’d survived. And he’d killed one of the crazed in an apparently non-violent way.
“Shit,” Clay said blankly, finally removing his finger from the trigger and examining the neutralizer, recognizing, but not understanding its considerable power. He whistled quietly. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He was still alive.
For a moment, he forgot everything. He forgot his wife, his daughter. He forgot the rest of the world, spinning on a benign axis. With this, he was invincible.
Alayna and Lane scampered from the irrigation canal moments later. They looked on, awed, as Clay continued to stare at his victim. Alayna reached out, pressing her palm against his lower back.
“You okay there, Sheriff?” she asked, her voice shallow.
Clay didn’t move. Alayna took a step forward, aligning herself beside him. Lane did the same on his other side, forming a kind of wall. They stared at the first to die as a result of the device. It felt almost like church, this prayer-like formation over the bleeding body. In the distance, the sun began to dip below the horizon, assuring them that night was falling. Life would continue . . . for the moment.
“Well,” Clay said finally. “I’m still here.”
“You are,” Lane said.
“And that’s at least something,” he said
Alayna just smiled. Her arms dangled, as if she was at a complete loss, not knowing how to hold her body, her head, her face.
Clay passed the neutralizer back to Lane, letting it go regretfully. “It worked like a charm, Lane,” he said, his composure returning to normal. “I’m impressed. I never gave much thought to you science types. But this . . . was . . . quite impressive.”
He gave her a half-smile, teasing her.
“Your backhanded compliment is graciously accepted,” Lane said, attempting a laugh. They hadn’t been able to laugh in a long time. It was a tired gasp, and wouldn’t have sounded happy in any other context. But here, it sounded like hope.
Clay looked at his watch. “It’s going to get dark soon,” he said. “I think we should start looking for a place to crash for the night.”
“So many options,” Lane said, almost sarcastic, pointing toward the canyons—a world they would most likely never have faced in their previous lives.
“I think we should get off the road,” Clay said. “Find something with higher terrain, maybe.”
To the right, a trail snaked off from the main road, tracing up and into the hills.
“Even if we can’t find a building, there are more trees up there. More places to hide. Maybe we’ll even find a few rabbits or squirrels to eat.”
Alayna scrunched up her nose, saying nothing. Lane zipped the device back in her bag and slid it over her shoulder.
“Strange he was alone,” Alayna said, gesturing a final time toward the dead crazed on the road. “Normally they’re in packs.”
“Maybe not. Maybe the sound of the attack draws more of them in,” Clay said. “But your guess is as good as mine. I’m just glad that it’s over for now.”
“I swear. If I walk another mile, my bones will break,” Lane moaned. “You might have to carry me up that hill.”
Clay moved toward the trail, sensing that his bones and muscles were in far better condition than Lane’s, even without food and water. It was as if he’d been rehabbing for years, as if he’d been fueling with near-constant protein. He was energized, ready to run a marathon. He’d never wanted to run in his life. Even the gut, once a topic of teasing from Valerie, had melted away, revealing well defined abs.
“Come on, gang. We can rest at the top of the hill,” Clay said. “Just gotta keep moving. As much as we can.”
Chapter 27
They hiked up the cliffside trail, Alayna and Lane leading, with Clay bringing up the rear. The girls’ steps were uneven, scattering rocks beneath them and nearly blasting Clay in the face a few times. Each time, they regained their composure, their balance, their own faces scrunching with fear.
“Imagine if we fell all the way down,” Alayna said, glancing toward the snaking road far below. “All this fighting—surviving. And for what? To be broken—and quite possibly dead, lying at the bottom of some stupid cliff.”
“I thought about that so often when I played that game as a kid. Oregon Trail,” Lane said. “How they’d made this huge, life-changing decision to trek across the entire country. To change their lives. To strike it rich. Whatever. And so often, you died from cholera or dysentery or starvation . . . in a place just like around here, in Colorado,” she said, half-laughing. “First off, good for us for landing in a place that used to kill thousands of people a year. Does that make us hardier than the rest of the country? Or just more foolish?”
“At this point, mankind seems like the most foolish experiment I’ve ever encountered,” Alayna said, chortling for the first time in a while. “Only a few months ago, I was worried that I wasn’t going to recover from a silly fight with my on-again, off-again girlfriend. And now, I’m worried I won’t survive the night. Life really flips over on you.”
“We’re just a part of someone else’s experiment. Someone else’s computer game,” Lane said, grasping at limbs and twigs along the trail for support. “Just pixels.”
Clay didn’t join the conversation. He kept his nose pointed upward, his eyes searching the top of the hill, hunting for good opportunities for shelter. He was worried about rain, knowing that once they got damp and chilly, they’d be susceptible to illness. Finally, something caught his eye. Pointing toward an overgrown area of bushes and tall trees, he said, “Let’s check that out.”
The girls slowed their tired legs, allowing Clay to step aro
und and lead them off the path and through the weeds. Sweat poured down their faces; dehydration bleeding them dry. Clay glanced back at them and thought they resembled two skeletons, both hunched over, the hollows of their cheeks prominent. Their lips were chapped, specks of dead skin surrounding the darkness of their mouths.
If he didn’t get some food and water in them soon, they would all be stuck in the woods, too exhausted to continue.
Once in the stand of trees, Lane and Alayna collapsed in the shadows. Alayna leaned her head against her backpack, whipping her gun from around her shoulders. “Just end me now,” she whispered, sounding foolish. “So tired.”
Lane eased her cheek to the grass, humming to herself. “It feels as comfortable as any bed,” she whispered. “I could sleep like this for days.”
“I’m going to go see if I can find some water or food,” Clay said, pointing deeper into the forest. “Before it gets too dark. Still light enough that I can see.”
“Be careful out there,” Alayna said.
“Don’t run off again like last time,” Clay teased. “You nearly gave me a panic attack.”
He turned away, oddly grateful to leave them behind, if just for a little while. He eased through the overgrowth, stopping a few times and dropping low to the ground to listen intently for sounds of wildlife. His arms brimmed with energy as he righted himself effortlessly. Pumping upward, toward the top of the hill, he marveled at the beautiful canyons around him—wondering if he’d ever take a leisurely hike again. Back in the old days, people hadn’t hiked for fun. They’d lived, walking from place to place, finding no joy in it. Having to do it out of necessity. Perhaps that was the future, as well.
After nearly a half an hour, Clay heard a stream bubbling in the near distance. Once he reached it, he knelt down, sipping directly from the water and wetting his nose, his hair, his cheeks. The sweat rinsed off and into the stream, cleansing him. He was being rejuvenated, completely and totally.
Without delay, he produced the large canteen from his side, watching as the water filled it. Easing back through the forest, he found the path back without even thinking, as if instinct had taken over. He was now running in pure survival mode.
But his excursion wasn’t entirely fruitful. He found no signs of food. No berries. No squirrels. Nothing. He could try again later.
When he got to the women, they were half-delirious, their heads still on the grass. Clay handed Alayna the canteen, watching as her mouth was drawn to it, like a bee to pollen. She drank greedily, snorting slightly, before passing the canteen to Lane and swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Her face was still covered in sweat.
“Clay?” she whispered. “I’m so tired.”
“I know,” Clay said. He remained standing, his fresh face looking bright and eager.
“You look fine,” Alayna said softly, perhaps revealing feelings that remained, bubbling beneath the surface. “How do you do it? How do you stay so—so perfect?”
“It’s the nanites,” Lane said, forcing her mouth away from the canteen. “He’s like a top-tier athlete now. Nothing can stop him. Just look at that body. He’s even more muscular now than he was when he arrived in Helen.”
Clay didn’t blush. Lane passed the water back to Alayna. “You girls think that if we get a good night’s sleep here, we can move on tomorrow?”
“I can tell you that I’ll try my hardest,” Alayna said. “That’s all I can really give you, Clay.”
Lane nodded, her hair swirling around her ears. “Some food would help, I think.”
“That’s easier said than done right now,” Clay said. He found a spot near a tree, a short distance away. Stretching his muscular legs out, he felt them relax after their something like twelve or thirteen miles of walking. “We can try again tomorrow. Just drink as much water as your body can hold and get some sleep.”
Alayna looked at him, her eyes shining, almost pleading. But Clay ignored her, aware of her need. He remembered the way she’d traced his finger after he’d killed the crazed with the neutralizer. Did she not understand that he needed to be with his wife, to focus on his daughter? Did she not realize that them being together was a pure mistake, nothing more?
“Sleep. Right,” Lane said, snorting slightly. “Trying to sleep at the end of the world is like trying to sleep when you think Santa’s on his way. You never really know what you’re going to get in the morning. But in this case, I don’t think I really want to find out.”
“Just relax,” Clay murmured. “No use worrying. You’re just going to make yourself sick. And then they win.”
But he didn’t particularly feel as if the crazed would win the war. At least, not now. His body was agile, lithe. He could defeat half an army of crazed, with a single flick of the trigger. Worry dropped away, and he relaxed completely, listening to the ragged breathing of the women across the clearing.
Chapter 28
As the minutes ticked into hours, the brutality of night fell around them. What had been a warm day settled into a deep chill. While Clay remained alert—his eyes still staring up at the tops of trees—he knew that the girls were not doing well. He could almost feel their shivers through the grass; he could hear their chattering teeth.
Still, he thought, maybe they’d get some much-needed rest despite the harsh environment. It was like Maia, back home in the crib, crying out for his and Valerie’s attention. They’d grown accustomed to racing in to check on her, to ensure she was all right. And each time, it seemed certain that she’d just cried out to them because she was lonely, that she didn’t want to let them go. Gradually, they’d had to force themselves to stay away, allowing little Maia to cry it out.
Clay felt no discomfort whatsoever. But after nearly an hour of their continued quivering, he rose and watched as the girls pressed their bodies against one another. Sighing, Clay slipped between them. Immediately, they were drawn like moths to the flame, pressing against him. They continued to shiver, but eventually their breathing slowed. Their eyelids began to droop. Their stress, once a raging beast within each of them, decreased. Lane even found peace and fell asleep, like a child in his arms.
But Alayna remained awake. Clay could sense her mind racing beside him, her lips parting then closing again, her mouth filled with all the things she still wanted to say.
Clay felt it. With Alayna’s breasts pressed against his chest, he felt lust welling up, like a massive wave. It crashed over him, and he bit his lip to avoid kissing her. Would they be like this all night, dancing in and out of consciousness, unable to say the things they were feeling?
Did Clay have to explain to her just what he felt? About his wife? About his daughter?
And the lingering worry that if he did sleep with Alayna—which, on so many different levels he really wanted to—he would pass along the nanites. Sure, that would give her superhuman strength and power. It would stop her freezing and her hunger. But it could also destroy her.
He would never do that to her. Not on purpose. Never in a million years.
“Is something wrong?” Alayna finally whispered, her voice raspy.
Clay felt his heart crack down the center. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He couldn’t form words.
“Ever since we got to Helen,” Alayna began, sounding fragile. “You’ve been so standoffish. Like you don’t want to be near me, even—even when I’m the person in your life you know best, right now. I hate to say it, but it’s like you don’t want to be a part of my life any longer. Clay—I felt things for you. I still feel things for you. I can’t deny them—I mean—I still love Megan, of course . . .” She trailed off, her eyes growing wet with tears.
Clay didn’t speak. He hated facing reality. He could feel it like a rock in his throat.
Turning his head toward Lane, Clay watched as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, assuring him she was still asleep. Her eyes danced behind her eyelids, showing her active dreams. At this turning point, in this post-apocalyptic world, Clay could only
imagine what her mind created.
“Say something,” Alayna begged. “Please. Anything. You’re going to destroy me if you don’t.”
Clay thought for several moments, readjusting on the cold, rock-hard ground. “It’s not that I don’t think about it,” he said finally. “It’s just that, if these scientists are telling the truth—if the nanites inside me can really be transmitted virally, then I don’t think it’s wise that we . . .” He trailed off, leaving the words in the air.
Alayna looked into his eyes, assessing. After a very small forever, she nodded, her chin tucking against his chest. “I see,” she whispered. She kissed the warmth at the nape of his neck. Clay’s spine tingled. “I think you might be right.”
“I knew you’d understand,” Clay said. “The reason behind it.”
But Alayna pressed on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Just so you know,” she said. “If this is the end of the world, the end of life and civilization as we know it, then I don’t want to die alone. That’s the worst fate of all. Loneliness.”
Clay’s heart felt squeezed. He wrapped his arm tightly around Alayna, this woman he’d known professionally for years—intimately for far less than that—and stroked her hair, hoping he could comfort her enough to allow her to sleep. Neither of them spoke again. But slowly, surely, he felt Alayna’s muscles loosen; he felt her body collapse beside his. Her inhalations came few and far between as she escaped the chilly world around them, finding a very small interval of peace.
Chapter 29
Alayna blinked awake the next morning, watching as the sunlight filtered in through the trees above. Shivering slightly, she turned her head toward the warm body beside her, expecting the sturdiness of Clay, his firm embrace. But instead, she was met by the pleasant face of Lane, who was still conked out, her pink lips parted slightly—looking almost sensual.
Alayna had not looked at Lane that way before.
Pulling back slightly, not wanting her to awaken and catch her staring, Alayna traced the outline of Lane’s slim form with her eyes, wondering if the she’d ever been with another woman. Alayna had coped with bisexual tendencies since high school, although she’d had to fight for her emotions, for her status in life. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to be free with her sexuality, and Carterville had been a small town, full of gossips.
Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy Page 10