“She didn’t expect it, Dad,” Alex said, continuing to stab Brandon and Maia in the back with his rifle. “She nearly shit her pants when she saw me, I swear. Terrified her—”
“That’s well and good, son,” Malcolm said, nodding slowly. “I can’t say I’ve ever been prouder of you. Putting this little bitch in her place, no matter her age—”
As he spoke, three figures burst in through a far door, weapons blazing. Clay dropped to his knees, bringing his head down. Nearly half of Malcolm’s men fell. Clay stared into the now-dead eyes of one of them for a long moment, watching as the light escaped.
Malcolm dropped to the floor next to Sam and Clay. Alex had run toward the staircase, pushing Brandon and Maia in front of him as the assault continued. Clay realized he recognized the voice howling over the gunfire.
“GET DOWN! PROTECT YOURSELVES!” the voice cried.
It was Daniels. He, Quintin, and Agnes were tearing through the room, Agnes’ hair whipping behind her. She jabbed her rifle at the heart of one of Malcolm’s men, squeezing the trigger. He fell back, crashing into a wall.
Malcolm heard Daniels as well. With a quick motion, he snagged Clay’s collar, along with Sam’s gun, and dragged them both up. He brought the gun against Clay’s skull, and said gleefully, “All right, that’s quite enough. Whoever you are, I’ll put a bullet through the Sheriff’s if you don’t stop right now.”
Without a second thought, Daniels, Agnes, and Quintin dropped their guns and raised their hands. Agnes’ face was blotchy with shock, as if each murder surprised her more than the last. Beside her, Quintin grunted, eyeing Sherman—now dead and growing cold. The few of Malcolm’s surviving men started collecting the fallen guns.
“As I was saying,” Malcolm said. Still holding Clay’s collar, he turned toward Alex, his eyes excited. “I was saying that my boy here, my boy—he captured this little lovely Maia.”
Clay’s cheeks burned. He noticed Alex was standing proudly next to Maia. Brandon was pushed off to the side, his face scrunched with concentration. He was straining against the ropes that held his hands behind his back.
Brandon lunged at Alex, trying to push him over the guardrail and down the steps. Alex teetered on the railing for a long second before bouncing back, bringing his knee against Brandon’s nose. Brandon fell back against the stairs, head rolling to the side. Maia let out a screech, watching as Brandon lost consciousness. It all happened so quickly, like flashes of light.
Then Alex was stood over Brandon, gloating. He pounded his fist against his chest “Did you see that, Dad?” he cried out. “Did you see how he bounced?”
Malcolm cackled, releasing Clay. He nodded toward his son, his face glowing with fatherly pride. The entire room was deathly silent, except for their mirth. But as their chuckles echoed all around, Clay looked upon his perfect offspring—Maia, her porcelain skin, her curly hair, her thin, weak arms. Her lips trembled as she gazed down at Brandon—looking lost, unsure. Meek.
Then Maia lifted her hands to the chain around her neck. The very golden chain that Alex had gifted her from that rest stop, what now felt like a million years ago. She ripped the pendant from her neck and jabbed the end of it into Alex’s jugular—the soft part of his neck, so tender to the touch. As she pushed harder, blood began to erupt, painting Maia’s skin before cascading to the floor. Alex’s face went from gleeful to terrified. His skin was the color of clouds. He lurched forward onto his knees beside Brandon. He had no control and tumbled forward, leaving a trickling waterfall of blood running down the steps.
“WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!” Malcolm cried. He sprinted toward Alex’s body. But before he could reach him, Sam broke free from the soldier that held her and punched Malcolm directly in the face, slamming him against the wall.
Malcolm’s face hit the wall, but he bounced back quickly. He drew his pistol and pointed it directly at Sam’s head. He stabbed the pistol at her over and over again as he spoke. “You. Dumb. Bitch. You fucking horrible bitch. You thought you could get me? With a single punch? You dumb—dumb—”
Clay leaped on him like a jungle animal, pulling him to the ground. Malcolm’s gun flew from his hand, firing wild. The bullet missed Sam’s skull by less than an inch on its way to General Wallace’s chest. Immediately, Wallace went down, blood darkening his olive-drab shirt.
The gun clattered to the floor, spinning toward Sam’s feet. Before anyone could stop her—before a single syllable could be spoken—she reached down, caught it mid-spin, and brought it to bear on Malcolm’s skull.
“Don’t cry, baby,” she whispered.
And pulled the trigger.
Chapter 78
The room was silent. The noise from the gunshot continued to ring in Clay’s ears. He stared down at Malcolm’s skull, at the way it had carved apart from the impact of the bullet. Sam stood above him, huffing, her hands shaking. Her nostrils were flared, yet her eyes were set. She’d done the one thing she’d set out to do. She’d killed him.
“Fuck,” Agnes whispered, saying what they were all thinking. General Wallace, Malcolm, and Alex were all dead on the floor—while about a dozen other men were scattered across the room, minutes past saving.
Sam swung her gun, pointing it at each of the remaining hostiles in turn. Rex, Alayna, and Megan barreled into the room, their guns pointed at Malcolm’s men. Megan coughed exactly once, showing only a moment’s shock at the carnage. Rex cut across the room, covering three of Malcolm’s men near the staircase exit. He stopped when he saw Alex, pale and sprawled near the steps. “Huh,” he said, spitting on the ground. “Huh, indeed.”
Malcolm’s goons and the two remaining soldiers dropped their weapons and raised their hands. Maia ran to Clay, wrapping her arms around him. Clay hugged her close, allowing himself to breathe again. “I won’t let that happen again,” he told her. “That will never, ever happen again.”
Brandon coughed from the stairs. His eyes opened, and he stared at Alex’s bloody corpse.
Clay broke the hug with his daughter, wondering at Sam. She seemed to be growing more and more human. She reached up and pulled the tie from her ponytail, allowing her blonde hair to tumble around her shoulders. Contrary to everything he knew about Sam, she’d begun to cry. Outside, the battle seemed to be tapering off, as if the soldiers no longer knew what they were fighting for.
“We need to get out there. Put an end to this,” Sam said.
“And who put you in charge?” Clay asked her with a smile.
Sam’s eyes went to Clay’s, assessing him. In that moment, Clay felt sure she would either smack him across the face or laugh out loud. To release the tension, Daniels stomped up, wrapping his arms around both Sam and Clay—leaning his head into the space between them.
“Jesus, guys. Can we have just a moment without fighting? Just a moment—” Daniels laughed. He touched cheeks, trying to hide his own tears. “Jesus Christ.”
“All right,” Clay said. He could feel everyone’s exhaustion, but they had one more thing to do.
“Before anyone’s in charge, we need to neutralize the rest of Malcolm’s people, and convince the General’s soldiers to stand down,” he said.
Daniels stood upright, his face suddenly stoic. He took one of the automatic weapons that had fallen to the ground and gave Clay a firm nod. “I’ll take Agnes and Quintin with me. We’ll take the General’s soldiers …” He paused, giving weight to the moment. “I know their language. I think I can convince them that it’s over.”
“Great. We’ll handle Malcolm’s crew,” Sam said. “Without their leader, I think they’ll see just how empty this is.” She smacked her hand on her thigh, looking almost incredulous. “I think they’ll see just how silly it is that we’re all fighting one another, when really, we should be building. That’s all we have left to do. We have to create a new world.”
Chapter 79
Daniels strutted down the long command room, wearing a sleek new outfit—one fit for a General—his
muscles straining against the fabric. He held his hat in the crook of his right arm. With his chin held high, he addressed Clay, Lois, Sam, and Lane. After a shower and a shave, it wasn’t at all apparent that he’d spent the previous twenty-four hours up and moving—convincing Wallace’s army to stand down and address him as acting general.
“They’ve been given new orders,” Daniels said. “They’re to bury their dead, along with Malcolm’s, and they’re going to clean this place up. They’re gathering the rest of the crazed into the barracks down below, for research purposes.”
“Wonderful, Daniels,” Lois said, bringing her palms together. Her hair had been styled, swept back behind her ears. Her face was void of makeup, clean and shiny. She gave them each a weak, but confident smile. She looked like she’d aged ten years. “We thank you for your concise and wonderful service. It’s so good that the men see something of themselves in you. Will it be a difficult transition?”
“From what I’ve learned, morale was incredibly low under the general’s command. I plan to fix that, of course.” He leaned in. “It seems that the general was actually starving them for long periods of time, just to ensure that they would rely on him for everything, and after a while, they were too fearful to try to leave. They knew they would turn into one of them within hours.”
“Shit,” Sam whispered. She wore her blonde hair down, and it curled at her shoulders. Clay couldn’t help but marvel at how feminine she looked. She wore clean clothes she’d found in one of the barracks, along with dark makeup, which she said she’d found in the General’s quarters. “Apparently he had women around. Who knows where they are now,” she’d explained.
Clay couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to them. Had the general thrown them to the crazed as some kind of experiment?
It was best not to think of the horrors of the past, now, he thought.
“Thank you for keeping the crazed alive for now,” Lane said, interrupting Clay’s train of thought. She pointed at a series of charts, which she, Leland, and Marcia had drawn up over the previous twenty-four hours. “As you can see, we’re going to proceed with project ‘Reverse the Nanites.’ But as you’ve probably guessed, it’s not going to be easy. Clay’s a perfect example, as is Alayna. I mean, their nanites have mutated beyond our control. And we’re not sure how many more of those exposures exist. It’ll have to be taken on a condition by condition basis. Regardless …” She paused, slipping her hands across her cheeks—she sighed at the daunting task before her. Before all of them. “Regardless, it’s a long road ahead. But we’re making a game plan. We’re in contact with other facilities around the world, and we’ve stopped anything that General Wallace had spun into motion. We’re—we’re going to be all right.”
“So, the crazed are definitely all around the world? Every country?” Sam asked, her voice soft.
“Yes. Unfortunately, so,” Lane said. “Our goal is to figure out if we can reverse the nanites and bring them back from the edge of humanity. And if we can’t, well.” She bowed her head, unable to speak the words that they were all thinking: if there was no solution, they would have to fight the crazed forever. Until every single last one of them was dead.
Clay could feel their thoughts, pulsing behind their eyes.
“And what about Alayna?” Clay asked, his voice cracking slightly. “You said the pregnancy might not be affected—”
“I’m still addressing the Alayna situation,” Lane said, a small smile on her lips. “Your child will be safe, Clay. And, as far as I can see, Megan’s taken over. Protecting Alayna. Reassuring her. All these months, I thought Alayna was the strongest woman I’d ever met in my life. But now, I realize we were all putting on a show, weren’t we? A show of strength. She should be allowed to rest, now. And Megan, well. She’s helping her do that.”
Clay allowed this to sink in for a moment. After the battle, his face still spattered with other people’s blood, he’d fallen to his knees in the grass, gazing around him. Initially, he tried to take stock of who was still alive. He knew that Brandon and Maia had stayed inside the command center, that they were obeying their orders to “remain safe.” He spotted a bludgeoned Agnes, who’d been taken down by one of Malcolm’s men. He took off his shirt and gently covered her face and body, feeling that familiar ache. He’d lost so many on the road to the end. How many more was he prepared to say goodbye to?
“Anyway, what Alayna’s doing is what we all should be doing,” Lane said, snapping her pencil against her palm. A small tear started down her cheek. “Alayna’s repopulating the planet. I know it’s going to take us a while to feel safe again, to feel like ourselves. To even feel up for—for something like new life and new love. But I hope we all give it a chance. We have to.”
Lane stepped away from her maps and charts, settling into her chair and letting out a soft sob. Lois got up and stood with Daniels. “I suppose I’ll say what we’re all thinking,” she said, sounding, for perhaps the first time, like the mayor Clay had left behind in Carterville. “It’s not going to be easy over the next few months and years. Humanity’s managed to destroy much of itself. But we have the gumption and the drive within all of us to fight back. And to build a better future. A future not so keen on building warriors just for the sake of war. A future centered on hope.”
Chapter 80
Two months later, Clay found himself on the front porch of a two-story house in downtown Helen, watching the sun peek in and out of autumn clouds. The weather was beginning to get cold, and he rubbed his hands together before pouring two cups of coffee. Splashing a bit of milk into one of them, he passed it to Alayna, in her rocking chair. She gave him a smile, patting her pregnant belly. She seemed to glow.
“You always remember how I take my coffee, Clay,” Alayna said. She whispered. “Don’t tell Megan that I’m drinking this. She wants to play everything by the rules, and that means no caffeine. But I read in a baby book upstairs that a cup every once in a while won’t hurt a thing. So, I will take this single bit of luxury, thank you.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Clay said. He took a sip and put his hand over Alayna’s. He’d felt the baby move for the first time a month or so ago, and the contact—with another being, another life—had thrilled him. “There he is,” he said when he felt the familiar kicking once more. “He knows I’m here.”
“Why are you so sure it’s a boy?” Alayna asked, teasing him.
Clay shrugged. “I suppose it’s true that the strongest people I know in this new world are women. But I don’t really care either way.”
Maia appeared at the steps of the old house, wearing a thick sweater over a loose dress. She waved at Alayna, giving her a bright smile.
“Hey there!” Alayna called. “Come up here and give me a hug. You don’t reserve all of them for Brandon, do you?”
As Maia swept up the steps, her face went red with embarrassment. She muttered into Alayna’s ear, “Don’t talk about Brandon in front of Dad!”
“Oh, come on. Your dad’s not THAT big of an idiot,” Alayna said.
Maia snickered. Reaching into her backpack, she took out a small crocheted hat—in bright pink. She stretched it out slightly, passing it to Alayna. “I stole some hours between shifts at the cafe to make this for you,” she said. “I’m finally going to have a sibling! I’m praying for a girl.”
Maia winked at Clay, knowing full well his opinion on the sex. Clay chuckled. A creak inside the house sent his eyes toward the door, where Megan appeared. Her face was still severe, almost pinched, when she saw Clay. As if she was still jealous of all the time Clay and Alayna had spent together after she’d had abandoned them. But in a fit of drunkenness several weeks before, Megan had broken down and whispered to him, “It’s just that I still feel so guilty for what I did. All those months, up on Rex’s roof—what was I doing? How could I have abandoned the love of my life that way?”
Clay had long renounced his “feelings” for Alayna, recognizing that they were nothing more t
han attachment to the life he’d had in Carterville. The way his mind burned, after finding out that Valerie had died, had shown him that his love for Alayna was nothing more than a passing fancy. Skin on skin when he thought he was going to die.
“Coffee, huh?” Megan asked, putting her hands on her hips. She clucked her tongue at Alayna but forced a smile. “You know you shouldn’t be drinking that.”
Alayna rolled her eyes. “I guess I’m in for a lecture,” she said to Clay and Maia. “Protect me from her when the baby comes, won’t you?” She leaned toward Maia, her eyes bright. “At least I get to be the fun Mom, right?”
“Hey. I’m not totally uptight,” Megan protested. She slid her hand on Alayna’s shoulder lovingly, a gesture that showed their bond was more than the bickering.
“Well, I have to head to work,” Maia said, taking a step toward the yellowing grass below. Her eyes flickered toward Clay, who’d grown accustomed to walking her from Alayna’s to the downtown cafe in the afternoons, where she’d taken a job under Hank’s management.
“I’ve always wanted to own my own coffee shop,” Hank had said when they’d arrived back in Helen. They had been stricken at the empty town (one that was incredibly safe to inhabit, but one that needed a bit of life pumped into it). And so, they’d begun to resurrect community elements. Lois had begun having small church services on Sundays, for those who wanted to attend, and Hank had opened the cafe. Clay had taken up residence as both sheriff and as local movie theater proprietor—rigging up a small theater in a barn he’d taken over, just five minutes’ walk from downtown.
The cafe was the real heartbeat of Helen, drawing stragglers in on their journeys elsewhere (and often convincing them to stick around). People communed over cake and coffee, switching to beer and wine in the evening. Maia had learned much in her conversations with these men and women, their lives now and what they hoped for the future. “Helen is safe,” she always told them, Clay knew. “Helen is where we’re starting the next generation. It’s where we’re rebuilding. Why not help us?”
Humanity's Edge- The Complete Trilogy Page 59
