Reversion

by Paul B. Kohler

  It didn’t help that every twenty minutes or so she felt a rush of nausea. She kept her lips pressed together tightly, ready to swallow whatever came up. Walt and Hank had joked about it frequently at the beginning of the trip. “Where will she vomit next?” they’d joked, teasing her and yanking at her ponytail. “That’s the name of the game.”

  But it wasn’t a game anymore. Not now. They were closing in on a source of light coming from what looked to be a large compound. It was surrounded by a six-foot-tall chain link fence, with, as they got closer, what appeared to be campfires billowing from the other side. Clay realized that the fence was paralleled by another line of fencing approximately five or six feet inside.

  “Why do you make of this?” Walt asked, his voice low. “That seems like a waste of resources.”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe added protection from the crazed?” Hank replied. “Why have one fence when you can have two?”

  “Sounds unlikely,” Walt said. “If the crazed could get through one fence, they could probably get through two. Better to just make the one fence stronger, right?”

  “Boys. Can you please shut it?” Alayna asked, glaring at them. “Seriously. We don’t have time for this.”

  She reached into her bag and drew out the walkie-talkies that Sam’s tech guy had made and passed them around to the men. As they’d discussed prior to leaving, everyone took a walkie-talkie and split up, to see as much of the encampment as possible.

  Clay went toward an entrance marked with a large gate. There were several guards outside, each holding machine guns and stationed on platforms along the top, as well as the bottom. Clay muttered this information into the walkie-talkie, feeling his apprehension rise. If one of those guards spotted one of his crew, he knew they’d be shot in an instant.

  “Six guards, all armed, at the gate. Over,” Clay said into the walkie-talkie. “Alayna, what do you see from where you are?”

  “Lots of fires. People,” Alayna said. “Seems to be quite a community in there. But I’m having trouble seeing through some of the fence.”

  “Maybe I’ll hop over this first fence and see if that helps,” Clay said. “If I can look through the second one …”

  “Be safe,” Alayna said.

  Clay could almost feel the fear in her voice. He heard just how innocent she truly was. Just a small-town deputy, faced with the horrors of this new world. Just like Maia.

  With a surge of adrenaline, Clay scaled the first fence and dropped to his feet in the soft mud in between them. He blinked into the darkness. Lifting his walkie-talkie, he whispered, “All right. I’m on the other side. There’s no one in here, actually. Bizarre.”

  In the silence that followed, he leaned against the second fence, staring into the encampment. The first thing he noticed was a fortress-like structure near the far end of the compound. As he watched, someone carried in a tray of what looked like food. Was someone locked up inside?

  Clay’s heart hammered in his chest. Something was off. But he was too centered on Maia to consider anything else.

  As he traced the edge of the fence he heard something rumble. A quick check found nothing out of the ordinary. The grumbling grew louder, more insistent. Clay took a step back on legs which had started to quiver.

  As the moonlight broke through the cloud cover and illuminated the run, Clay recognized what the space between the fences was actually for. It was for them. The crazed. They lurched forward, their bony and bludgeoned-looking limbs flailing and their tongues lolling from their mouths. Some of them had injuries dripping and flinging tainted blood. And they moved fast, violently, their arms stretched out toward Clay.

  Clay jumped at the fence, hitting it high and yanking himself up. Gasping, he pulled himself over the top while the crazed threw themselves in his direction. As they broke against the fence like a wave, Clay realized just how many there were. Fifty, maybe a hundred—even more. They continued to rage through the fenced-in area, after him—or just his stench.

  Clay lifted his walkie-talkie to his lips, taking his first breath in what seemed like five bone-chilling minutes. With his hand shaking, he muttered: “Do not, I repeat. Do NOT go between the fences.”

  Alayna’s voice came rapidly, filled with fear. “Why not?”

  Clay nearly stumbled again. “They’re collecting them. They’ve got an army of the crazed in there. It’s their first line of defense. And it almost fucking killed me.”

  Chapter 13

  When Clay’s energy returned, he began to pace along the fence—the crazed following his scent, slamming up against the barrier and making it shake. Clay’s mind raced, considering the interior of the compound. From where he stood, he could still see the hazy outline of the stronghold, where someone might be locked up. He could also see other buildings, lower to the ground, and campfires blazing further beyond, probably closer to where Alayna was.

  Sherman cleared through the walkie-talkie, saying, “I think there’s some kind of mess hall over here. Sleeping quarters. And then, beyond that. Near that garrison thing—if you can see that?”

  “That’s where I am,” Clay replied.

  “Just beyond that is a larger structure, with lights. It looks a bit more civilized than everything else. I think if I had to guess, that’s where your main man would be. That’s where I’d be if I were Malcolm.”

  “Ha. I bet you’re right,” Clay said. He eased down the fence line, trying to catch sight of this other building. As he passed it, his eyes were drawn to the stronghold once more. He felt a pull from it, a primal feeling he couldn’t quite explain.

  “I think that fortress is where my daughter … I think it’s where Maia is,” he muttered into the walkie-talkie, feeling galvanized, alive. He thought he could leap over the fence, sprint through the crazed, and find her. It was akin to those mothers you always heard about, who lifted cars from their children with sudden bursts of strength. Something within you was charged and ready to keep them alive, to protect them beyond everything else.

  “I’m going in,” Clay said, his voice confident, sure.

  “NO!” Alayna screamed through the walkie-talkie, making it screech in Clay’s ear. “You’re absolutely not going over that fence without us.”

  “I can’t wait, Alayna,” Clay said, recognizing his own volatility. He touched the fence, feeling vibrations as the crazed approached. Just in the nick of time, he pulled his hand away from the fence, as the crazed stuck their green and decaying tongues through the gaps. They moaned and shrieked in the darkness. “I won’t wait another minute more. Not if I can save her now.”

  “It’s against every rule we’ve made for ourselves. Every rule of safety,” Alayna was clearly fuming. “We’ve been doing this long enough. If we hadn’t played by the rules, we’d be dead.”

  Clay felt the words like a hammer. His optimism began to crack, exposing the depths of the current reality. He tried to visualize what actually would happen if he climbed the fence and stopped cold, sweating.

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll wait,” he agreed.

  “Thank you,” Alayna said. “I shouldn’t have to say that. But thank you anyway.”

  Clay didn’t respond. He continued his trek around the fence, toward the larger structure that Sherman had pointed out. Hank and Walt had begun to banter over the walkie-talkie channel, and Clay turned it to mute, wanting to stew in his own thoughts. As he got closer to the fortress, he felt suddenly as if the world around him was spinning. Reaching out, he clutched the fence to steady himself. A moment of pure, unadulterated, almost animal rage filled him. Trembling violently, he bared his teeth and heard a growl beginning low in his chest. But as suddenly as it came, the anger dissipated. He was left gasping, still staring up at the fortress—feeling very much that this place was the object of his hatred. Feeling so much that he wanted to burn it to the ground.

  Chapter 14

  That moment of rage had altered Clay’s mode of attack. He felt strangely capable, wild and muscular and animalistic—t
he fact that the others had come with him to the compound was insignificant. “I’ve only ever needed myself,” Clay muttered, making his way toward the stronghold. He counted the security guards around the building, watching as one marched away, his automatic weapon slung lazily over his shoulder.

  “One down,” Clay said to himself. This left him only two to handle. From his viewpoint at the far edge of the fence, he was merely fifteen feet from the closest security guard. If Clay could leap down on soft feet, take cover behind the small pile of logs (for burning, he assumed),when the opportunity arose, he could ambush the first security guard, threaten to put a bullet in his head, and then enter, unnoticed by anyone else.

  The promise of this plan began to brew in his head. In the silence, without the walkie-talkie crackling in his ear, he reached for the fence. The crazed seemed to have roamed off to another part of the enclosure, like cows going to pasture on another hill. Clay pushed first one foot, then the other into the fence, preparing to vault himself over the top.

  In mere moments, he’d be taking the biggest risk of his life. But somehow, he knew. It was his one last fucking chance.

  A hand clasped his shoulder, catching the fabric of his jacket and ripped him down. He landed flat on his back, the resulting pain reverberating up and down his spine. Staring up into the darkness, he blinked several times, seeing spots of light from the impact.

  “What the fuck,” he gasped.

  Alayna appeared, staring down at him. The thump of his fall had attracted several of the crazed to them, between the fences. Already, their tongues were lashing through the openings. Alayna was breathing heavily, as if she’d been sprinting. Slipping the back of her hand across her lips, she stared at him, aghast.

  “I knew you were going to try to do something stupid,” she said, her nostrils flared.

  Clay rolled over and pushed himself up from the ground, his head spinning. He glared at Alayna, the woman who was supposed to be on his side. Trying to hold back his rage, he hissed at her, “How dare you keep me from my daughter?”

  Fear flickered on Alayna’s face. It disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and she stepped into his space, her lips just inches from his. “You were going to get yourself killed. You didn’t even care about the rest of us,” Alayna said. “Where would we be if you got killed? They’d know others might be here. They’d come after us. And we’d all be dead.”

  “I could have been up and over both fences without the crazed even seeing me—”

  “And then what was your grand plan over on the other side? Who shoots the automatic weapon first? You, or him? And what if he beat you, Clay?” Alayna’s eyes glittered with tears. “Listen. You can thank me for saving your sorry ass now or later or never. But if you try to go over that fence again, I swear, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Surprising himself, Clay felt his lips stretch into a smile. He sighed and leaned back, trying to stretch out his spine. Somewhere behind him, he heard the others approaching; Hank and Walt’s whispered banter, along with Sherman’s animalistic grunts. His eyes flashed, recognizing that the game was over. That they had to regroup, come up with a better plan, now that they had information to work with.

  “And that’s an order from your deputy,” Alayna said again, her eyes fluttering, making her look absolutely stunning in the moonlight. Her words were tight with fear, but she tried to smile. “It’s perfectly clear. I don’t want to live through the end of the world without you.”

  Hank and Walt were beside them now, waving their walkie-talkies. Hank gestured with a long finger, saying, “Clay-ster, we thought you did something crazy. Couldn’t hear you on the radio anymore.”

  “Naw, boys. He didn’t do anything crazy,” Alayna replied, still holding Clay’s eyes. “He knows better than to leave us out here alone.”

  Chapter 15

  Rex’s massive boot stomped on the gas pedal with force, kicking the truck forward on the gravel road. Megan’s arms were crossed over her chest and she glared out toward the mountains. Her gun was braced between her legs, prepped and ready. She reached over and raced through the radio stations, finally landing on one that apparently had been playing the same tape over and over again since the end of the world. It was ‘80s music, and it was hellish in Megan’s ears.

  “Turn that damn thing off,” Rex said, his voice low and gravelly.

  Megan flipped her dark hair behind her shoulder, her eyes flashing. She wouldn’t pay attention to Rex or give in to him—no matter how right he was. “Excuse me if I don’t want to listen to your labored breathing all the way back to Carterville,” she said. “You sound like a dying cow. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to stop inhaling hamburgers every single day? Jesus.” She glared at his belly protruding over his belt.

  Rex didn’t answer for a moment. The truck tore down the road, abandoned vehicles in their wake. The sight of each car gave Megan pause, wondering about the fate of her friends. Of Alayna, who she’d abandoned. And of Clay, Daniels, the others … how they’d been holed up in that hotel, caught on the other side of the force field. Until Megan ran out on them, taking the remote control device and getting out while she still could. Megan had always been described as a force of nature, never allowing anything to get in her way. For the first time, that selfishness might have destroyed the only person she’d ever loved.

  Alayna. The name echoed through her head. She leaned forward, her eyes refocusing on the horizon. “Just drive faster,” she said, her voice pointed.

  “You know we’re wasting our time,” Rex scoffed, popping a beer with his free hand. “If what you’re saying is true about that bomb, all your friends are dead, Missy, and we’re just putting ourselves in danger. That’s rule one of prepping. Never think about anyone except yourself.”

  “Sure, that’s rule one,” Megan said, fiercely. “But you developed those goddamn rules before the end of the world, didn’t you? You didn’t actually know how stir crazy you’d get roasting yourself at the top of your silo. Did you?”

  “They’re dead,” Rex said, letting out a beer belch. “I can absolutely guarantee that. You wanna make a bet?”

  Megan kept silent for the next ten minutes, knowing that Carterville was nearing. She tried to come up with an excuse she could tell Alayna. She imagined the words. “I was just so frightened, and this horrible, belching, belly-scratching asshole took me in …”

  “That’s where the force field is. Watch it!” Megan screamed, recognizing the farmhouse. Rex slammed his foot against the brake, screeching the truck to a stop just in time. On their right, a burnt-out Humvee was all but splattered across the ground, beginning to sink into the grass after what appeared to be a massive accident. Megan slid her eyes away from it, too frightened to see if anyone was inside.

  “Poor suckers,” Rex said, gesturing toward the area before them. “You know what? I don’t see any force field. You’re making it up.”

  Megan reached for the remote control and pushed the button. Nothing happened. She was reminded that the forcefield had previously had a greenish, flickering hue to it.

  “I think I’m just gonna drive through it,” Rex said arrogantly. “I’m starting to think you made this whole fucking thing up. The force field. The bomb. Everything.”

  “Why would I make that up?” Megan asked, her voice shaking. “The entire town was supposed to die out. That’s why I ran. Why the hell else would I leave—”

  “Because you weren’t ready to face commitment,” Rex said. “Same thing happened with my ex-wife. I made every excuse in the book, but at the end of the day—”

  “This isn’t about your ex-wife,” Megan said. Feeling her brain fizz with fear, she pointed. “Fine. If you want to risk our lives like that, you think you know everything, then drive through. Do it. I dare you.”

  Momentary fear flickered in his eyes, passing quickly. Megan was surprised to see it at all. The man had spent his entire life prepping for something like this. He’d told her time and time again that if the world
hadn’t ended while he was alive, he would have been disappointed. “Would have blown it up myself, I reckon,” he’d said.

  Rex inched the truck closer and closer to the farmhouse. As they passed over the space where the force field had been, Megan closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But seconds later, she felt the truck crumbling over the gravel. A single tear coursed down her cheek.

  “Damn,” Rex grunted.

  As they drove the rest of the way into Carterville, Megan spotted several of the crazed roaming the streets. She pointed them out to Rex, who said, “Guess that bomb didn’t work after all.” Things were beginning to add up in Megan’s mind, with all signs pointing toward devastation. The crazed were still around. The force field was gone. Alayna, Clay, Daniels—surely, without a silo to hide out at, they were gone.

  Dead. Another of the crazed.

  Rex parked the truck near the hotel. Megan bolted out of her seat even before Rex could stop the engine. Her feet pounded along the pavement, bringing her closer and closer. She pushed the lobby doors and raced up the steps, her footsteps echoed through the empty halls. When she reached the bar, she found herself in a shadowy gloom. Beer bottles, liquor bottles, wine bottles were collected in long rows on the top of the bar, and a thick layer of dust had settled over everything.

  Megan realized with a lurch that Rex was right. She collapsed at the edge of the bar, covering her face with her hands and letting out a long, guttural cry. As she wept, Rex appeared in the doorway of the bar, peering around at everything. Megan spun toward him.

  “Aren’t you going to say it? Aren’t you going to say you told me so?” she gasped.

  But Rex kept his lips sealed tight.

  “I just wanted it to be a dream,” she whispered. “I wanted it all to be fake. Like maybe I’d come back and pick up right where I left off …”