Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “You’re a monster,” Sam whispered, not wanting him to hear. Her pulse throbbed to the rhythm of rage. It seemed like a million years ago that her heart soared when he teased her. She’d flip her hair flirtatiously and imagine a future with him. A future? Jesus Christ. She couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him now.

  The news anchor had shoulder-length blonde hair and was cheery, almost jubilant as she reported on a recent string of carjackings in the neighboring city. Sam tuned her out. She instead focused on filling out the paperwork required for the next group of containers.

  The blonde anchor was cut off suddenly, and a new reporter filled the screen. This man was grim, with a greying face.

  “This is breaking news,” he announced.

  “Ha. It’s always ‘breaking news,’” Malcolm sneered. “What do you think it is? Some kid’s been taken? Someone’s been raped again?”

  Reluctantly, Sam turned toward the screen, watching the update with mock anticipation.

  “We’re just getting information of an epidemic, which seems to be affecting people worldwide. Right now, it’s unclear as to its precise origin, but we’re hearing reports that it’s some kind of infection that causes the host to appear rabid or crazed, almost animalistic, then they begin to bite other people. It’s believed to be viral in nature, and spreads rapidly. Both private and public facilities are being affected, including grocery stores, movie theaters, shopping districts, and even local government agencies are being overwhelmed. Entire school systems are being shut down until further notice. This is not something to take lightly, as anyone could be affected. Bankers. Secretaries. Lawyers. You need to be cautious.”

  “Who else?” Malcolm jeered. “Seems like he missed a few people out there. What about shipping yard attendants? What about gravediggers? What about—”

  “Just shut up,” Sam said. “I’m trying to listen.”

  “I’m trying to listen,” he mocked in a sing-songy voice.

  She rolled her eyes and turned up the volume, to block out Malcolm’s commentary more than anything else.

  “The World Health Organization is strongly advising that you avoid contact with others. That includes family and friends. Right now, it’s not clear how many have been infected, but if you begin to show symptoms, isolate yourself, and call the number on your screen. A WHO or CDC representative will assist you.”

  “Jesus,” Sam gasped, standing up so quickly she nearly fell over. “Is this really happening?”

  She thought about her sister in Vermont. Had the virus reached the Northeast?

  “To recap,” the reporter continued, “this virus is extremely contagious, and we all must remain diligent. This is a worldwide epidemic and it goes without saying, all of humanity is at risk. We urge you: until we know more, don’t have any contact. With anyone. Period.”

  “Did he just say don’t have contact with anyone on their period?” Malcolm asked, giving her an evil smile.

  “Jesus, Malcolm,” Sam groaned. “No, he didn’t say that.”

  “He did. I was right here. I heard him.” He eased his chair back, eyeing her. “You’re not on your period right now, are you?”

  “Malcolm,” Sam was aghast. “Just shut the hell up.”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. He looked bawdy and rough, like a man with nothing to lose. “Come on, now, Sam.”

  Sam balked. She saw a glimmer in his eyes that disturbed her. It was proof, once more, that he hadn’t stopped lusting after her. Maybe it was even love, if he was capable of it. She doubted it.

  “You heard him. He said the world’s about to end. You know what that means?”

  Sam felt hopeless. “It means we’re doomed,” she said. “And I’m condemned to stay in this room with you through this whole horrible shift.”

  “Darling, no. That’s not what I meant,” Malcolm said, standing from his chair. He stood almost a full foot taller than Sam, and he towered over her now, assessing her. Her blonde locks tumbled over her shoulders, and her blue eyes fluttered like those of a fairytale princess.

  She hated that she looked so feminine sometimes. She chose not to wear makeup during her shifts, not wanting to highlight her appearance.

  “Sammy, what I mean is, now that we might be in the last hours of our lives, we shouldn’t refrain from touching one another at all. In fact, baby, I think we should strip right now and fuck on the floor, just like we did a year ago. You remember that, Sam? You remember how I made you moan?”

  “Stop,” Sam said, her voice firm.

  “Come on, Sam. You know you want to. Just do it, and we can forget everything that happened.”

  “Ha. I don’t want your forgiveness,” she snapped, turning away from him. Her heart still pounded in her chest at the thought of the epidemic. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You need to accept that.”

  “Sam, I can see the way you look at me.”

  “Like I want to murder you and bury you behind the shipping yard?”

  “No. Like you want me to strip you bare and make love to you like a man. You haven’t been with a real man in a while. Have you? I know you were dating that little kid—”

  “Freddie isn’t a kid,” Sam said, referring to her neighbor she’d dated briefly. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “So, you saw it, too. That he’s just a child,” Malcolm grinned.

  “No. He was far more mature than you’ll ever be,” Sam said.

  Malcolm lunged and pushed her against the wall. She gasped as he traced the curve of her cheek with a finger. Every cell in her body quivered with fear.

  “There, Sammy. Now we’ve touched. You think I have the disease? That . . . infection?” Malcolm asked, then snapped his teeth together like a dog.

  “I d-don’t think I’d know right away,” Sam stuttered, trying to stay strong. “And get the fuck off me, or I’ll report you.”

  “Not if it’s the end of the world, you won’t,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t be with you if you were the last man on Earth.” Sam’s eyes blazed.

  “Oh, baby doll. I think you’ll be with me in the end, or you’ll regret it.” He pressed her harder against the wall. For a single wretched instant, she felt the warmth of his breath on her skin. She was almost certain he’d force his lips on hers.

  In a moment of panic, she whipped her head around, just brushing his lips, and looked toward the container yard’s security display.

  “What the hell?” She ducked under Malcolm’s arm and ran toward the video screen. He let her go without a struggle, proving he was all bark, no bite. At least today.

  On the display, she saw a convoy of tractor-trailers pulling into the yard, stopping near the observation tower. She couldn’t remember seeing a large shipment on the docket.

  “We don’t have any transports coming in, do we?” she asked.

  Malcolm hadn’t even bothered to look at the video screen. Having been denied, yet again, he retreated to his girlie magazine and was engrossed once more, his eyes mere inches from the glossy pages. “Not that I recall,” he murmured, sounding bored.

  “So, you’re just going to stop doing your job, now?” she asked.

  Malcolm was silent.

  She stomped to the radio, lifting the mic and calling down to the yard attendants, who were the real front line at the Universal Container Shipping Company, LLC.

  “Hey, Todd,” she said, thumbing the button on the radio. “Where’s this convoy coming from? I don’t have anything on the boards for it.”

  After a burst of white noise, the reply came through, Todd’s southern twang booming from the radio’s speaker. “Hey there, Sam. Yep, the trucks were sent over from Helen. But there’s no bill of lading.”

  “Ah. I see,” Sam said, her eyebrows furrowing. SOP dictated that without the cargo declared and properly documented, they weren’t supposed to allow the containers into the yard. Something tugged at the back of her mind. This had never happened before. But it wasn’t like they had anything
better to do that night.

  “Well, tell you what, Todd. Why don’t you open them up and do a quick inventory of the contents. Log everything. You’re probably bored down there, anyway, right?”

  After a pause, Todd replied, “Yeah, that’s about right. Happy to do it.”

  “Great. Thanks, guys.” Sam snapped the mic back into its cradle. She turned toward Malcolm, who was still slouched over, trying to ensure he saw every nook and cranny of the women in his girlie mag.

  “I’m going to check things out,” she said.

  Malcolm snorted. He gave no indication of joining her. Sam burst out the side door, to the catwalk surrounding their office. The air was oddly chilly. But with the news from the television still ringing in her ears, she felt eerily alive.

  At the edge of the catwalk, she looked out over the shipping yard below, her arms wide and her hands gripping the railing. She watched as Todd, a nearly seven-foot tall, broad-shouldered man, spoke to several of the workers he supervised, explaining the orders. Sam began to chew manically at the dead skin on her lip.

  Malcolm appeared beside her. He kept his distance, no longer spewing ugliness. He, too, gripped the railing. Like it or not, they were still co-workers, no matter what drama still sizzled between them.

  Todd lifted a lever at the rear of the first trailer, cracking the container open. He craned his neck, peering into the darkness. A look of horror painted his face. His eyes widened, gleaming stark white. Several screaming humans leaped from the depths of the container, wrapping their limbs around him. One of them, a woman, put her mouth on Todd’s throat and tore at his skin, bringing a large waterfall of blood pouring from his neck. He had no time to scream—the woman dug her teeth deeper, taking out his vocal cords.

  “What the fuck?” Sam cried, gripping the rail tightly. The sight of Todd’s blood caused her stomach to clench, and for a split second, she thought was going to be sick. Dozens more of the crazed people erupted from the container, one or two going to the next container and freeing more of them.

  “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 wail
ing, 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.