But that wasn’t always like him. Not at all—not in his past. In school he’d been written up many times for being lazy with his techniques, never washing his hands enough, always using dirty pipettes. It hadn’t mattered then. He hadn’t thought it really mattered now.
Shit.
Then, all at once, Cliff began to convulse, his limbs thrashing violently. He turned toward Kyle, who now stood erect, his paper in a heap at his feet. “Cliff?” he called. “Cliff, should I call the doctor?”
Cliff wasn’t responding. Not anymore. Kyle tapped the buzzer, alerting someone, anyone else in the station that he needed assistance. Kyle’s bright, youthful eyes hadn’t seen anything so fierce before. Cliff’s actions bordered on the demonic, his body thrusting against the jail cell bars now. He was bludgeoning his cheeks. Blood spurted from his mouth, from gashes near his eyebrows and chin. He no longer looked human.
Chapter 10
Clay was hunched over his wastebasket. After inhaling his takeout lunch, his stomach had turned over, and he’d spent the better part of the previous thirty minutes retching. His stomach clenched violently. Then, suddenly, the station’s intercom alert drowned out the sound of his guttural heaving. He wiped his lips, listening to the resounding alarm.
“If anyone’s out there, I need help! Damn it, I need help right now!”
He ripped himself from his wastebasket the moment that he recognized Kyle’s voice. What could he need? As far as Clay could remember, he was babysitting the lone person in the jail cell. That guy who manned the candy store. What could be so difficult with that?
But Clay was the epitome of diligence. He stood, swiped the last fleck of vomit from his lips, and marched toward lockup, his hand upon his gun. He couldn’t allow the troops to know he was out of sorts. Not with everything going on.
When Clay reached the detention block, Kyle was poised before the bars, his hand upon his own gun. The candy man, Cliff, jerked forward in violent spasms. Bloody vomit spurt from his mouth. Clay yelled out to Kyle, feeling panicked. “What the hell’s going on?”
Kyle was aghast. He took a step to the side, allowing Clay full view of the thrashing man. Cliff’s head was lacerated at nearly every point on his forehead and near his ears, and a strange, purple substance oozed down his face. His eyes looked crazed, alien.
“CLIFF? CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Clay called to him, bending at the waist, unsure of the strength of his bowel control. He couldn’t feel his spinning stomach any longer, but that didn’t mean a thing. “CLIFF. GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF.”
But Cliff continued to thrash frenetically. Clay reached toward the side desk, grabbing a Taser from the third drawer. He lifted it toward the crazed man and tried to spark him, tried to make him stop. But Cliff’s spasms became more violent by the moment. A forceful head butt against the cell bar exploded the skin above his eyebrow, exposing bits of skeleton.
“STOP!” Clay cried out, still holding the Taser. He couldn’t believe the man couldn’t sense it. Perhaps he was having a seizure? It couldn’t be an elaborate ruse at this point. It seemed medical. It seemed homicidal.
Moments later, with chunks of bone and blood dripping down the jail cell bars, Cliff fell to the ground. He was unconscious. He lay in a heap, his left arm abnormally reaching toward the far wall. He looked dead.
“Oh my god. Hand me the keys,” Clay called, grabbing them from Kyle. He slotted the key into the jail cell hurriedly, adding, “And call the ambulance!”
The cell door opened slowly, with an ominous creak. And the moment it was wide enough to allow Clay’s entrance, everything seemed to explode. The man splayed before him sprung up, crazed, almost flying. His mouth opened, revealing sharp, bloodied teeth. He flailed his arms toward Clay with the intent to destroy—with inhuman tendencies—Clay was sure of it.
Instinctively, Clay reached for his gun. He pulled it up, shooting Cliff once in the chest. Clay blinked rapidly, watching as the beast recoiled backward from the force of the impact. Cliff lifted his bloodied hands toward his chest, his raving eyes still upon Clay. He heaved. And then, like a monster in a film, he lurched forward. The impact of the bullet hadn’t destroyed him. Not for good.
Clay took a defensive stance, and in the final moment, he lifted his gun to the candy man’s head and shot a bullet between his eyes, blasting his brains across the bricks of the jail cell wall. Cliff Henderson flung back and became a collection of bones and limbs and fat. He was a mound. He was nothing.
Chapter 11
Clay breathed heavily, questioning what he saw before him. His sight was momentarily obscured by Cliff’s spattered blood, but a quick wipe with his free hand and his vision cleared. His eyes turned from the gun to the dead man and then toward Kyle. Kyle still held the phone in his hand. He was visibly shaking.
“Sheriff—” Kyle began, shaking his head. “What the fuck was—”
“I don’t know, Kyle,” Clay whispered. He felt the adrenaline drain from his muscles and brain. He was strangely empty, almost without awareness. “He hadn’t been acting like this all day?”
Kyle shook his head. “I—I picked him up with Trudy last night,” he said. He moved forward, looking at the man with morbid curiosity. “He was just drunk, Clay. He wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t sick, not that I could tell.”
Alayna burst into the detention block, her gun drawn and ready for action. She quickly scanned the room, her eyes resting on Clay’s pale form standing over a dead body.
“What happened?” she gasped as she moved into the crowded cell. The moment she saw Cliff’s ravaged face, she took a quick step back and averted her eyes.
“I—I’m not sure. Kyle says he was fine just before, but then he went crazy,” Clay began.
“It’s like a switch went off inside him. One moment we were talking, and then the next, he turned into this . . . zombie-like monster,” Kyle added.
An eerie silence settled in the block, and seconds later, Alayna’s complexion turned green and she rushed from the cell, her hand covering her mouth.
Clay left the cell, feeling the weight of the death upon his shoulders. He exited the station, allowing the sun to fall upon his cheeks. Absentmindedly, he reholstered his gun. He’d never killed anyone before. He’d always wondered about it, what it would mean to erase someone’s name from existence. But he hadn’t craved it. He was in the business of saving people, not destroying them.
Moments later Kyle appeared beside him. He peered at him like a son looked upon his commanding father. He was similar to Maia, only a few years older. A few years wiser.
“You did the right thing,” Kyle said, sniffing. “Seriously. He was out to kill you.”
“Let’s just get the coroner out here,” Clay said. He appreciated Kyle’s words, but he didn’t want to acknowledge them. He wanted to move toward understanding. He didn’t want to dwell on this new, confusing, terrible feeling. He wanted answers.
“Why don’t you go home and get cleaned up, then,” Kyle said. “We can handle things for a bit.”
But Clay shook his head, recognizing that in his normally peaceful town, two people had now died in less than twenty-four hours. “I have to stay,” he said. “I have a change of clothes. I always do.”
Chapter 12
Later, Clay and Alayna sat in his office. Silence seemed impenetrable as their thoughts turned wild within them.
“Are you feeling any better?” Clay asked, tapping his fingers absentmindedly. “Your stomach, I mean.”
“Ah, my lunch in reverse,” Alayna exhaled sharply. “I forgot about it, really. Everything feels . . . wrong. Doesn’t it to you?”
Clay swiped his fingers through his hair, remembering the frenzy of Cliff’s limbs. “Damn it, Alayna. He didn’t even register that I was tasing him. It seemed like he was so far away. And then, when he came at me—” He shook his head, furrowing his brow. “I’d only met him once or twice. I took Maia in to buy some chocolate maybe two months ago. He seemed like a regular guy, if a bit w
ithdrawn and disorganized. And then, he’s picked up for being disorderly last night. Do you think he was on drugs?” His words came fast.
“I’ve never seen a drug impact somebody like that,” Alayna whispered. “Never in all my years.”
“Granted, maybe the people in Helen have,” Clay offered. “We’re just a small town here. I’ve spent no more than three or four days at a time in any other city. It’s all just too much for me.” He shuddered, remembering marching through the New York streets on a vacation with Valerie nearly five years before. He’d only felt solid, safe when they’d returned back to their Carterville home. He’d wrapped himself tightly in his private little hamlet, facing the truth: he wasn’t cut out for any other kind of life.
“It has to be a coincidence, right?” Alayna said then. “With this meteorite crashing down. And now, with Cliff acting like a maniac—”
“I’m sure they’re not related,” Clay stammered. “The science isn’t there. Plus, Cliff was miles away from the meteorite, locked in the jail cell. If he was affected by it, then everyone around us should be too.”
“Right,” Alayna said. Her voice sounded small, far away.
As they sat in the silence, they both sensed a sudden trembling beneath their feet. Clay lifted his hands to the desk, noting that the wood itself was vibrating. He eyed Alayna, unsure if he was truly going crazy this time.
“Do you feel that?”
“I do,” Alayna said.
They rose from their seats and made their way toward the front office of the station, noting that more of the staff had also deserted their positions. They formed a line outside the station, their arms crossed, gazing out at the horizon. Clay stood, his boots shoulder width apart, glaring into the sunlight. Far down Highway 77, which became Main Street as it went through town, he saw the haze of several large, menacing vehicles. He tapped his hand against his revolver, noting it was still flecked with Cliff’s blood. He shivered.
Alayna whispered toward him, anxious for no one else to hear. “What the hell is that?”
Chapter 13
As the caravan of vehicles grew closer, more townspeople appeared from their homes and shops, glaring out into the distance. Several gasped, but most looked firm, stoic, with the “come what may” mentality of good provincial people.
Finally, when the convoy was closer, rolling down the dry and dusty pavement, Clay caught the military insignia on several of the vehicles. A large tank trailed them, pointing a massive gun toward the center of the town square. Clay pushed through the crowd on Main Street, standing in the center of the road, his chin high. He sensed that this was the “backup” from Helen. But why on earth had they sent the military, rather than a few cop cars and perhaps some scientists who would investigate the meteorite? None of it made sense.
Alayna hurried to his side and stood with him, her fingers tapping lightly on her own gun. As the military slowed to a crawl, Clay’s mind flashed to images of his daughter and wife.
The procession formed a sturdy line between the early twentieth-century buildings and shops. Clay could see slight movement in the driver’s seats of the vehicles but still clung to his gun, realizing all of the townspeople had their eyes upon him.
In that moment, one of the transport’s doors burst open, revealing a large combat boot, followed by a sturdy, long leg. A military man emerged: all seven feet tall of him, his hair short and cropped, almost Nazi-like, and his blue eyes flashing. He marched toward Clay, lifting his hand to his brow and saluting him. He then turned toward the expectant station’s staff. They peered at him like bunny rabbits about to be slaughtered.
“Staff of Carterville Sheriff’s Department, thank you for welcoming me,” he barked, his voice harsh. “My name is Colonel Scott Wallace. I like to keep a tight ship around here, and if you follow my orders to a T, we won’t have a moment’s problem. Is that clear?”
Clay felt mass confusion deep within, laced with fits of anger. The man towered over him, and yet he felt a longing to reach up and punch him across the face, then ask him who the hell he thought he was. What made him think he could come toward his people, his staff, and begin bossing them around?
Clay strode forward, clearing his throat. He felt like a child, exerting his force on the playground. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m Sheriff Clay Dobbs. What’s going on here?”
Wallace’s yellow eyebrows shot upward. He smirked, assessing Clay. But Clay held his ground, bursting with resentment. He didn’t take orders from anyone but Lois, the mayor. And even then, he wasn’t too happy about it when it happened. He needed time to form a strategy. Or at the very least, he wanted to be treated with respect as he worked alongside this out-of-towner.
“I see,” Wallace said. “You’re the sheriff around here. I understand that you made a call to the city of Helen, describing a need for some backup. Is that correct?”
The curious staff turned their gaze toward Clay. Clay felt small. But he raised his chin still higher, glaring this man in the eye. “That’s correct. Backup. Which, I believe, has quite a different definition than you think it does.”
Wallace scoffed. “I see. So you think you and your ragtag crew can really monitor this town after what’s happened?” he said.
“What exactly do you know?” Clay asked. “When I called Helen to explain, they didn’t even take my call. They just said help was on its way. Why send what looks like an entire military detachment for a simple meteor impact?”
The colonel cleared his throat and raised his head even higher, averting his gaze to the surrounding townspeople. “Because you never can be too careful. Besides, do you think you can keep your little town safe from all that’s out there waiting for you?” He gave a knowing grin. “Because I think there’s a lot you don’t know, Sheriff.”
Clay gripped his hands together so tightly that his nails nearly drew blood. “I’m sorry to tell you, sir, that you’re out of your turf and out of line.”
Wallace raised his massive hands. “I see,” he said gruffly. “I do. And, I suppose, for the time being, you can keep your little church-town.” He gestured toward the post office, the bank, making a mockery of it. “But in the meantime, I think we have to make a compromise. For the safety of your people.”
Clay tilted his head. He felt a compromise wouldn’t rectify his problem. He wanted to take this man inside, to demand answers. But in this public setting, with Alayna and Jean and the bank staff and several girls from the local school all switching their eyes from him to the colonel and back to him, he couldn’t back down.
“Depends on the compromise,” Clay said.
“I suppose it’s more of an order, then,” Wallace corrected. “We’re going to hold a perimeter around Carterville. We’re aware of the incident at the farmhouse and require a brief quarantine, until the issue at hand has been completely investigated. Do you understand?”
Clay remembered the heat of that meteorite upon his cheeks. He felt his stomach lurch within him. He’d vomited both his lunch and those drive-thru French fries, and still something within him yearned to escape.
“That’s fine,” Alayna said then, interrupting the conversation. “Please. Make your perimeter. I’m sure it can’t hurt. And we’ll be happy to help in any way we can.”
Wallace turned his eyes toward the deputy. “Seems your little woman here has a bit more sense than you do, Sheriff,” he said. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing against the brick side of the station and then from the bank to the school to the city apartment block. “Move out, team,” he said.
The military procession turned from the city center and spread out to all corners of Carterville to form a perimeter. Clay watched them go, his heart aching. Alayna’s fingers gripped his elbow, assuring him that this would be over soon. They watched Colonel Wallace withdraw back to his own vehicle, salute, and promise, “I’ll be back here soon to talk shop with you, Clay.” He tapped his nose. “Just you wait. We’ll be fast friends. I promise.”
C
lay didn’t wait for the convoy to clear completely from Main Street. He stomped into the station, noting the smell that weaved through the air in the hours after Cliff’s death. He collapsed into his office chair, gripping the telephone receiver. He had to call Lois, but he dreaded yet another confrontation. He sat in the shadows, understanding that, at least for a little while, his world wouldn’t look precisely right. They meteorite had come for them all. It had chosen them, like fate. And now, he had to act with his townspeople’s best interests in mind. Which meant, he supposed, he’d have to bend his confidence. He’d have to cower at the feet of this wretched man. He’d have to find a purpose in that, if only to protect the livelihood of the people he loved the most.
Clay reached out and dialed Lois’s private number.
Chapter 14
Mayor Lois Washington returned Clay’s call less than an hour after Colonel Wallace had swept through the town. Clay felt the dread in his voice as he answered. “Sheriff Dobbs.”
“I hear you’ve met our savior, Lord Wallace,” Lois said, her voice slicing through the air. This was no longer the woman who judged the baby animal contest in the summertime or cut the ribbon on his daughter’s apple cider sale in autumn, ten years before. This was a woman of purpose. This was the woman he’d met earlier that morning. The woman who had asked him to keep the investigation quiet.
“They really made an entrance,” Clay offered, leaning back heavily upon the headrest. “Mind telling me what this is all about?”
“I don’t know much,” Lois said nervously, “but what I do know is, something’s happening in this town. And they know the precise mechanism to keep us safe. So why not let them?”
Clay bit his tongue.
Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn Page 4
