Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  Dropping to his knees, Clay tried to breathe, panting loudly at the ground, biting his lip with worry. Tangy blood coated his mouth, making him swallow clumsily, trying to get the taste out. A spark of anger ignited. He was completely alone—without food or extra ammunition—without his companions. And, most of all, without the device that could end this horrible war.

  Looking down at his rifle, his mind presented an alternative: suicide. Perhaps his only option.

  “No. Fuck that,” Clay said, ramming his fists against the pavement. “I have to find Maia. I can’t let this stop me.”

  He heard a grinding from the far side of the road. Lifting his head, Clay watched as the door of the abandoned railway car creaked open, revealing a dark head of hair, an eager-looking face. A hesitant smile.

  It was Alayna, perhaps his only friend left in the world.

  “Jesus!”

  “Get over here!” she called, waving her arm. “And hurry!”

  Leaving the tire in the road, Clay raced to the railcar, hoping the image of Alayna wouldn’t fade away like a mirage.

  When he reached it, Alayna wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She was trembling.

  “Quickly,” she whispered into his ear. “Come inside.”

  Clay leaped into the shadowy car and Lane pushed the door closed, using muscle he hadn’t known she had. She turned toward Clay, her hands against her chest, as if in prayer.

  “What’s going on?” Clay asked, his voice echoing. He didn’t want to tell them he’d thought they were dead—or worse, that they’d abandoned him on purpose.

  “It was horrible,” Lane breathed, blinking rapidly. “It happened so fast.”

  Clay turned to Alayna, recognizing her as the voice of reason. “What do you mean?”

  “A big caravan of off-road trucks approached us just after you left,” Alayna said. She swiped her hair behind her ears, trying to uphold a standard of reporting—just as if this was a normal day back at the station. “We didn’t want to stick around to find out their intentions. Despite my police training, in this world, two women left alone and stranded on the side of the road isn’t the best scenario. If you catch my drift.”

  “I do,” Clay murmured, not wanting to say he’d already thought of it. “I’m glad you hid. It was a smart move.”

  Alayna grimaced, a sign of hesitation that Clay couldn’t put his finger on.

  “And the Jeep?” Clay asked.

  “Their leader checked out the Jeep. We heard him say that the engine was still warm. He ordered that they change the tire from one of the other vehicles. Apparently, it was in better shape than some of theirs. They had it fixed in less than ten minutes. Something that was holding us up for hours. And for them—” she trailed off.

  “We left the keys in the ignition,” Lane finished, her eyes toward the ground. “It was a mistake. We just panicked.”

  “That’s the worst of it,” Alayna affirmed. “If we’d only thought to grab the fucking keys—”

  Clay exhaled sharply, not wanting to reprimand the girls. What on Earth would he say, anyway? No form of “you should have done” would fix their current problem. He’d gone all the way back, nearly been eaten by five crazed monsters, all for nothing.

  “Which direction did they go?” he asked.

  “There’s a side road we didn’t see out there,” Alayna said. “A dirt one. They went that way, out of sight. And we’ve been in here ever since, just praying you’d come back.” Alayna touched his hands, tracing a line down his bloodied fingers. “And you did,” she whispered, her voice tired.

  Clay allowed it, although he wanted to pull his hand away. He was shaking.

  “And the supplies?” he asked, his anxiety growing.

  Alayna pulled her hand away.

  “All the food—and ammunition—was inside the Jeep,” Lane stammered. “We didn’t even think of it. Didn’t have the chance to grab it.”

  “Jesus,” Clay murmured, bowing his head. He blinked. “And the device. That’s gone too. Our only fucking hope.”

  Before either of the girls could answer, he heard a shuffle. Lane ripped open her backpack, revealing the device within. It glinted in the light slicing in from a crack in one of the side walls. Clay nodded his head in relief.

  “Good. All isn’t lost, after all.”

  Silence settled in and Clay knew he needed to make the effort to change his mood—keep the morale high.

  “Just no food or water,” Lane said. “And if we’re going to make it to Dearing, we’re going to have to find a way to stay hydrated.”

  “We still have several hours of daylight left,” Clay said, eyeing his watch. His mind revved. “If we leave right now, we can get halfway to Dearing. Maybe we can find a river or a creek on the way. Possibly find something to eat.”

  “We’re so, so sorry, Clay,” Alayna whispered.

  “Don’t mention it,” Clay said firmly. “But there’s no use sitting here and waiting. We’ve got to get a move on.”

  Chapter 25

  Clay yanked the door of the rail car back, revealing the intense sunlight. He pushed toward the road, and began to walk the path toward Dearing. Alayna and Lane made a kind of triangle formation behind him. Their walk was monotonous. Their mouths held no words. Shadows drew out behind them, growing longer with the passing of time—something Clay no longer felt, at least, not in the old way—the clock ticked away. The sun rose and set, but the hours were different now.

  His mind had returned to thoughts of Maia and Valerie. Time had felt strange when Maia had gone to the hospital for that broken arm, sure—but it had felt even worse when Valerie had had the cancer scare a few years later, when Maia was ten. They’d taken her in for a routine scan and then asked her to remain overnight for additional tests. Poised on the back porch, waiting for the call with Maia seated beside him, sipping an over-sugared iced tea, Clay had imagined his life without Valerie for the first time. The first time since he’d first kissed her in high school, knowing, once and for all, that they would be together for the rest of their lives.

  He hadn’t reckoned that the “rest of their lives” could ever be so short.

  There, on the back porch, with ten-year-old Maia, he considered it.

  How would he know how to raise Maia alone? How would he know what to buy for her? How would he tell her not to wear short skirts, not to run after boys, not to waste her life on her silly high school friends?

  How would he explain to her that her mother would have to be buried, deep in the ground, never to be seen again? How would he take Maia to the gravesite, ask her to pick out flowers, to abandon her the life of the living to pray over her dead mother?

  How could he do any of it?

  He was getting ahead of himself, and he knew it. But deep in the waves of sudden misery, he had nothing to do but think through every possibility, preparing himself for what could occur.

  Thankfully, Valerie had called him that night, telling him all was fine; the lump was nothing but a strange collection of ordinary cells, which they would eventually remove in a few years, just in case. Clay had loaded a slumbering Maia into the car, driving swiftly to the hospital to pick up his wife, not allowing her to sleep there alone. He’d forced her to remain awake till two in the morning, as he kissed every inch of her body, never realizing before how fleeting their life together could possibly be.

  She’d been exhausted, achy. But she’d seen the desperation in his eyes, and she’d allowed it, giggling before falling into a deep slumber, draped across his chest. None of them had gone anywhere the next day: not to school, to the station. Not to work. They’d allowed themselves the simple pleasure of normalcy.

  It had been one of the best days of Clay’s life.

  “Clay.”

  Clay blinked rapidly, trying to bring himself back to reality.

  “Hey. Clay!” Alayna shouted.

  Clay lifted his head, eyeing the horizon. The bright, orange sun was drawing closer to it, making the m
ountains glow, the trees becoming twiggy shadows.

  “Clay, I saw something,” Alayna said. She pulled her gun from her shoulder, pointing it toward something in the distance.

  Clay swung his arm back, pushing the barrel toward the ground.

  “What the hell?” Alayna whispered. “Clay?”

  “No shooting,” Clay murmured. “Let’s use the device.”

  “Why?” Alayna said. “I can knock him out with a quick shot.”

  “I know. I know,” Clay murmured, his eyes darting about. He hadn’t yet caught sight of the monsters. “Before, when I got the tire, I shot at the crazed. But the gunfire echoed off the mountains, drawing others toward me. It was like an announcement. I don’t want to take the risk again.”

  Lane slipped her backpack from her shoulders, unzipping it with a swift motion and handing him the device. She spoke in a hushed voice.

  “You’re going to want to be about a dozen meters away when you hit this button,” she said pointing to one of two buttons. “It’ll charge it up. And then, just pull the trigger. About the same pressure you need to squeeze the trigger of a gun.”

  “A dozen meters,” Clay confirmed.

  “I can come with you, if you want,” Lane said.

  “No. I don’t want to take any risks. I need both of you to hide. Immediately.”

  Alayna pressed her lips together. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

  But he did. Clay pointed at a dried-up irrigation canal where the girls could hide. “Go,” he whispered fiercely. “I don’t want to ask again.”

  Chapter 26

  Clay waited as the girls hustled toward the ditch. Satisfied with their cover, he spun toward the movement ahead and began his pursuit. With each stride forward, his anticipation increased.

  It was nearly time.

  He was well aware that the same nanites pulsing their way through the crazed monsters’ bodies also flourished deep within him. Triggering the device meant potentially ending his own existence. With a single flick of the button, he could be leaving Alayna and Lane to fend for themselves.

  He could be abandoning Maia.

  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 wel
l 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.”