Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn

by Kohler, Paul B.

  Clay nodded reluctantly. “Agreed,” he said, regaining his composure with every passing minute. “After Mr. Jacobs here is tucked away, let’s go back out there and see if there are any more.” Clay watched as Alayna’s expression changed ever so slightly. It wasn’t anything perceptible to the others in the group, but it was enough for him to notice.

  Clay led Jacobs down the hall to the farthest room, stumbling lightly as he tried to keep the man upright. “I’m not sure what your real story is,” he said, his voice harsh, “but I don’t think you fully grasp what’s at stake here.”

  “Enlighten me, then.” Jacobs said. “You’re leaving me in the dark here.”

  Clay’s words came quickly. “In just a few hours, a chemical bomb will go off, with the potential to destroy us all. There’s a security perimeter set up around the entire town, and we have no way out. One of the rescued citizens took the device that was our only way of deactivating the perimeter and then disappeared. Now we’re trapped.”

  “You mean we’re trapped here?” Jacobs asked, his voice rising high.

  Clay loosened his grip, sensing Jacobs’s question was weighted. Did he know something? He didn’t respond, allowing silence to stretch between them. Down the hallway, Clay heard the survivors collapse at the bar, exhausted, requesting refills.

  Clay and Jacobs reached the door, and Clay led them into the musty hotel room, crossing his thick forearms across his chest. Jacobs assessed him quietly. “How are your symptoms, anyway?” he asked coyly.

  With a quick motion, Clay whisked his palm over the top of his head, feeling the coolness of his scalp through his thinning hair. “You noticed?” he whispered, incredulous. “I—I haven’t felt exactly right since—”

  Jacobs nodded, keeping his eyes focused. “Of course I noticed. I’m not blind.”

  Clay’s voice became hushed. He closed the door halfway, eyeing his captive with suspicion. “It was vomiting and shivers and sweating at first. But now that seems to have ceased. I’ve been losing hair like crazy, sure. And my color must not be quite right.”

  Jacobs didn’t speak for a moment, tracing his eyes down Clay’s face and upper chest. When he spoke, he didn’t offer an opinion.

  “Do the others know, or are you deceiving them unfairly? Jacobs asked.

  Clay felt smacked. He turned his eyes toward the ground, his arms hanging loosely. Why did he suddenly feel that Jacobs was questioning him now? He was ignorant, lost, the sad leader of a troop of survivors.

  “Tell me more about this device,” Jacobs said after a pause. “Listen, I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you that the device must be found. When was the last time it was seen?”

  Clay shook his head. With a quick step back, he said, “That’s quid pro quo” and then flung the door shut in Jacobs’s face. He stood huffing, his eyes wide and bleary. Still, he sensed that Jacobs was still standing on the other side of the door glaring toward him, waiting for his response.

  What on earth did this man know?

  Chapter 55

  Daniels marched down Main Street while Clay eyed the horizon. Their final inspection passed without speaking. It felt as if the town of Carterville had always been this barren—that the world he’d once inhabited had never truly existed. It was all a fantasy. Something for his mind to cling to for its own survival.

  They’d scoured the final section of houses over the previous few hours, hardly discussing their next move and not mentioning the futility of it all. Without the device they felt useless, dead. Their wandering, searching for Megan and any other survivors, was an excuse to get them out of the hotel, where depression had cloaked everyone. The future felt grim.

  They arrived back to the hotel and slogged through the door, Clay tapping his toe against the doorframe. Caked mud dropped on the once-fine and gleaming foyer floor. Upstairs, music boomed from the bar, a jangling tune that made Clay suspect it had been Ralph who’d chosen it. He’d lost his wife, and he was acting reckless, seeing nothing as human or real any longer.

  Clay couldn’t blame him.

  Daniels and Clay climbed the steps, entering the bar to find Alayna, Brandon, Norah, and Ralph leaning sloppily on barstools, each with a drink in hand. Alayna’s eyes glittered as Clay entered, happy for the familiar face.

  “How’d it go out there? Did you find her?” she murmured as he passed. Her breath smelled of whiskey.

  Clay allowed a stiff smile to form on his face. Morale was low, achingly so, but he needed to remain positive. “Nothing. No sign of Megan or anyone else for that matter. Probably means everyone else paid attention to the warnings. Good news, really.”

  Brandon scoffed, shooting some tequila down his throat. “Or they’ve been eaten by those monsters. Just like Brittany.”

  Clay and Alayna made eye contact. A small tear formed before rolling down her cheek. “Something happened,” she said. Norah placed her palm on Alayna’s back, rubbing at the tense muscles.

  “What is it?” he asked. He felt his heart rise in his chest. “It wasn’t Leland, was it? I locked the door—”

  Alayna shook her head. “Ralph went in to check on Dr. Miller. But he passed.”

  With all the madness, Clay had nearly forgotten the sick doctor, stuck away in that sour-smelling hotel room. He pressed his lips together, understanding the dismal morale now, and almost embracing it. His chest constricted. He collapsed beside Alayna, sick with the knowledge that they’d lost another one. Then a sudden fear overtook him. “Did he—”

  Alayna shook her head. “There was nothing we could do,” Alayna said. “He died in peace and was completely still when we found him.”

  “We took care of it,” Ralph said, a burp erupting from between his lips. He staggered forward, his steps sloppy. “Didn’t want him polluting the rest of us, or decaying. So we wrapped him in plastic and put him downstairs. In the big freezer.”

  The image of that emaciated, faded man slumped over in the freezer, waiting to be buried, chilled Clay to the bone.

  “It was the only thing we could think to do,” Alayna said. “Till you got back.”

  Clay nodded. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around the whiskey bottle, and then tilted the bottle to his lips. The liquid burned as it went down. Hunger pangs filled him, strange in the place of such sadness and desolation. As he continued to sip, fear of the unknown pulsed through him. The jangling country album finished, and deadly silence began. Norah finished her drink and hung her head sadly. Her wrinkles looked deeper, pushing her eyes far back in her skull. She’s lived a long life, Clay thought.

  After several minutes of silence, Ralph smacked his palm against the counter, momentarily energetic. “Fuck it,” he scoffed. “Fuck all of this. I say we go down and cook up some of those amazing steaks we just saw in the freezer. Cook up whatever we can find in the kitchen, for tonight. Goodness knows we all need a meal. We’ve been sustaining ourselves on nothing but the drink for days, it seems.”

  “Will it really matter?” Brandon said. “We’ll all die tomorrow.” His sarcasm pulled the morale down another notch.

  But Norah lifted herself from the stool, wiping her fingers across her dress. “I’ll go down, take the steaks out, and get some water boiling for a side.” Her limbs creaked, but she moved swiftly, descending the steps with Ralph following lazily. Somehow this motion to feed everyone—even if it was the last thing they did—rejuvenated them. Gave them purpose. “Come on, Brandon. You’re part of us now. You’re gonna learn to cook,” Norah said as she disappeared through the doorway.

  Clay shrugged languidly at Alayna, who placed a secret hand upon his knee—a reminder of the once-comfortable life they’d shared at the station. “You want to grab another drink?” she said, eyeing Daniels, who stood near the window. “Both of you?”

  Daniels agreed heartily, taking quick steps toward the bar and pouring them each doubles of whiskey. “We better die soon,” he scoffed, a strange smile stretching across his face. “Otherwise, we’ll run
out of booze and start killing each other.”

  Chapter 56

  In the kitchen, Norah began to order Brandon and Ralph, noting that both were sloppy drunk and staggering into pots and pans, their elbows flailing. “Why don’t you men learn to control yourselves?” she bellowed, thinking back to her old days at the library, when she’d spent hours alone, wandering through shelves. She’d kill for that kind of solitude now.

  “Let’s organize this kitchen before we get started,” she said, rubbing her wrinkled hands together. “Brandon, grab that big pot over there, fill it with water, and bring it to a boil. I found a large vat of pasta in the pantry, and I think it would be a nice side.”

  “We got sauce?” Ralph asked, eyeing her wearily. “I won’t eat it without sauce.”

  Norah stifled an eye roll. In all her years at the library, she hadn’t seen Ralph pass through the shelves, questing for knowledge. Surely he’d spent much of his days with that sour woman, his now-deceased wife, wasting time at the bar.

  But the time for judgment was now over.

  Norah passed the freezer, shivering, remembering the way Dr. Miller’s body had hung, lazily, dripping from his sores, as Ralph and Brandon had carried him to the freezer. Her stomach had churned, reminding her of her experience reading countless adventure or apocalyptic books. Always the hero had found a way to push through to the end. But they lost so many stragglers along the way.

  And what kind of irony was it that the very man who’d stayed behind to keep them alive was now dead in their freezer?

  “Ralph, would you mind getting the steaks?” she asked lightly.

  Ralph marched forward like an army private following his general’s orders. But as he placed his hand upon the freezer door handle, the three of them heard an unmistakable thud coming from inside.

  “The hell?” Brandon cried, dropping a pan on the floor. It whirled around, clanking against the tile. The three of them stood staring.

  “Do you think he’s still alive?” Ralph rasped. “Can’t be. We all checked his pulse. Right?”

  No one spoke. In the moments that followed, the banging picked up again, but with more intensity.

  “We shouldn’t open it,” Brandon said quickly. “We should just go upstairs. Keep drinking. This is stupid, anyway.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ralph cried. “We put a man in there. If he’s alive, we need to get him out. He’ll freeze to death.”

  Norah cupped her hands together, her eyelids fluttering. This was a nightmare. She would wake up soon, wrapped in her blankets, with the sun spilling in through the open window.

  Ralph eased forward and flung open the freezer door. There, at the far side of the freezer, leaning against the wall, was Dr. Willis Miller—the very man they’d covered in plastic and laid to rest. But he was standing. And he was banging his head against the galvanized metal surface, purple spurts of blood oozing from his ears, the plastic tarp rumpled at his feet. Terrified, Norah jumped back. The sound of his head splattering filled her with agony.

  “What the shit?” Ralph said, still holding on to the freezer door, glaring. “What’s gotten into him?”

  As his words echoed throughout the kitchen, the figure in the freezer stopped his manic self-defacing and suddenly burst toward Ralph, his eyes crazed. His nose oozed something unrecognizable and his eyes were sunk far in his shattered skull. An eerie smile crept across his face, showing blackening teeth.

  Ralph began to shut the door in a panic, yelling. But Dr. Miller thrust his hand through the opening, ensuring that the latch didn’t engage. Ralph wasn’t quick enough. The doctor lunged from the door, pushing Ralph onto his back and smashing into a pile of dishes.

  Norah acted quickly. Her lithe fingers wrapped around a skillet, and she flung it at Dr. Miller’s skull, gashing him directly above his eyes. He turned toward her, angry screams bursting from his wide mouth. Norah backed through the kitchen, waiting, accepting her end. She watched the kitchen light gleam against the monster’s glistening blood. She should have died in some sad, beeping hospital, surrounded by silly plants and Get Well Soon cards.

  But the dead man was too dilapidated to get far. His leg, which had begun to mold during his stint in bed, gave out under him, and his body crashed to the ground. His flailing arms thrashed against a stack of dishes. The white saucers shattered across the floor, crashing into Brandon and Norah’s shoes.

  The monster didn’t quit. He scrambled to his hands and knees and began to crawl toward Brandon, his tongue lolling from his mouth. Brandon backed wildly into a corner, waving a skillet in the air. “GET AWAY FROM ME. GET BACK,” he screamed, tears rolling down his face. As the monster crawled, splinters from the white plates sliced his hands, coating the floor in his poisoned blood.

  But just before the dead man reached Brandon, Clay burst in, his gun held high. He brushed past Norah and launched two bullets directly into Dr. Miller’s skull, splattering blood across the sinks and wall. The body, nearly headless, flung across the floor, lifeless.

  Alayna and Daniels rushed into the room right behind Clay. Brandon sputtered with panic in the corner, and Norah joined Ralph still lying on the floor, suddenly feeling closer to him after the terrible encounter. They all looked at Clay with large, childlike eyes.

  Clay shoved his gun back into his holster, sweat pouring down his face. “Shall we find something else to eat, then?” he said, and Norah was surprised at the strength of his voice. “I think steaks might be out for now.”

  Chapter 57

  In the short time that followed, Clay, Alayna, and Daniels rewrapped the plastic around Dr. Miller’s body and lowered him into a shallow grave Daniels had dug almost two miles away from the hotel. As they entombed the doctor, Ralph, Norah, and Brandon undertook the terrible burden of cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing the bloody floors and walls silently, with even Ralph unable to find words. Despite their different backgrounds, the remaining survivors ached with a similar, silent melancholy.

  Norah prepared a massive pot of steaming pasta and a seasoned marinara sauce. Brandon found some bread and sprinkled it with garlic and cheeses, creating his once-favorite treat. The survivors no longer felt hunger in the traditional sense. Rather, they ached with an emptiness that extended down to their toes.

  At around midnight, Daniels soldiered up the steps with a massive dining room table, placing it in the center of the bar room. He brushed his hands over his pants, shrugging toward Alayna. “I found some linen tablecloths downstairs. You think we should—”

  Alayna nodded silently. She followed him, collecting the tablecloths, several candles, silverware, and plates and creating a prim and proper table—fit for a Thanksgiving dinner. Norah looked on with approval, her eyes catching the light of the candles. “If only we had flowers,” she said, drifting her hand down Alayna’s back. “Imagine how beautiful.”

  “As usual, I suppose, we’ll have to make due,” Alayna whispered.

  The remaining survivors—excluding Leland Jacobs, locked away in his hotel room—gathered around the table and held hands in a tight circle, gazing at each other incredulously and allowing the dinner smells to course over them. Clay searched for the proper words to say. Perhaps a prayer? he thought. But in the moments that followed, he collapsed into his chair, and the others followed suit. He couldn’t possibly make this okay.

  They ate quickly and quietly, gobbling strings of spaghetti and spinning their forks through the sauce. Clay eyed Norah, sensing a slight twinge of pride within her. This was a glorious, fulfilling meal, already bringing life to the survivors’ cheeks.

  With a final flourish, Clay swiped a piece of bread over the last bit of sauce from his third helping before rising from his chair and creeping down the hallway, centered on his plan. As he moved, he felt thankful for each breath, for the blood that pumped through him. What a miracle it all was, he thought. He supposed everyone thought that in the end.

  He opened Jacobs’s door to find him leaning stiffly against the w
all, his knees bent, but his face firm and docile. Clay gestured toward the hallway. “Come out, Leland,” he said. This was his peace offering. It was all going to end soon anyway.

  Leland didn’t speak. He followed Clay into the dining room, where the other survivors surveyed him with suspicion.

  “You didn’t handcuff him?” Daniels asked, his eyebrows lowering. “We can’t trust him, Clay.”

  Clay shrugged lightly, eyeing Jacobs, who looked like no monster with his lanky arms and dark eyes. “Adam, it’s the end. We’re all going to die in a matter of hours. All of us. And I don’t think Leland’s last night on earth should be spent alone.”

  No one spoke. Norah creaked from her chair and filled a plate for Jacobs, setting it at an open seat and pouring him a glass of wine. “Come on, honey,” she said. “Eat up. You must be starved.”

  Leland sat primly at the edge of the chair, clearly conscious of everyone’s eyes upon him. He thanked them, his eyes far away, and then he gratefully stuffed a large bite of spaghetti into his mouth. Somehow, with this very human act, the room warmed to him.

  “I’m going to play a record,” Ralph said, pushing away from the table and walking to the vinyl collection at the far wall. He slipped an old Johnny Cash record onto the turntable. When he returned to the table, tears were rolling down his cheeks. “This was Connie’s favorite album. Strange to think that tonight will be the last time I ever hear it.”

  “We can play it all night long,” Norah said, giving him a smile.

  Daniels retrieved several more bottles of wine and began to refill everyone. Clay gazed at his comrades, the final people of his life, and images of his wife and daughter flashed through his mind. He’d had so much hope for Maia’s future. And he’d loved Valerie as best as he’d been able to since he’d first seen her as a teenager. With his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, he thanked the wide universe for those gifts. And he quietly gave them up, understanding that he could no longer have such happiness or such freedom ever again.