Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  But Jacobs nodded his head slowly. “It won’t take long, Clay. And it’ll give you the answers you’re looking for. You need to do this. If you don’t, you could drop dead in the middle of your search. And all this will have been for nothing.”

  Clay picked up his plate of biscuits and gravy. He felt like smashing the plate, watching the shards rain all over the diner. But his friends were searching his face, waiting for his answer.

  He set the plate down in front of Brandon, their “child,” their growing boy. “Eat up, kid,” he said. He turned back toward Jacobs. “All right. Let’s get this over with, then,” he said gruffly.

  Clay stormed out onto the deserted street, feeling desolation and loneliness quiver in his soul. If he didn’t survive this, he knew Valerie and Maia wouldn’t, either.

  Chapter 13

  Clay stood, half-naked, his skin scrubbed clean and his toes bare for the first time in weeks. His toenails were cracked and yellow from all the walking. Lane, Jacobs, and Marcia had worked on him for over thirty minutes, taking blood, saliva, and urine samples to assess his overall health.

  As Clay stood there, he looked down, assessing his muscled body. Since they’d taken to fighting the crazed tooth-and-nail, he’d suffered several injuries. He’d been knocked to the ground by their incredible strength, causing cuts and bruises. Once, he’d fallen on his knife, before he’d lurched back up, gasping, with blood on his shirt. He’d just bandaged the wound afterward, hoping it wasn’t as deep as it had felt.

  Of course, once your body took on so much pain, it was easy to forget the minute details, the tiny scrapes. You trudged forward, day after night after day, becoming one with your pain. He often remembered Maia who, when she fell off her bicycle and scraped her elbow, refused to ever get back on to ride again.

  If he was going to follow the metaphor, he and the other survivors had fallen off their bikes, gotten hit by three semi-trucks, and then proceeded to vomit uncontrollably, while still finding the will to keep going.

  He hoped Maia had found some kind of commitment to life, out there on her own.

  But all the wounds—minor or otherwise—all seemed to be healing incredibly fast. Clay bent over, unnoticed by the busy scientists, and assessed the knife wound. It had completely scabbed over in a few days, despite its depth. The bruises on his knees were returning to normal color, and the scrapes and cuts were basically gone. Clay tilted his head, confused.

  “Hey. I have a question,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

  Jacobs whirled around, still used to Clay being his quasi-leader. “What is it?”

  “All these injuries. They’re healing really fast,” Clay said, gesturing at his naked legs. “Normally, it’s not this fast. Is that a side effect of radiation poisoning? Fast healing?”

  The scientists exchanged glances. In the back room, he could hear Ralph and Brandon joking with each other, playing a game in which they tossed gummy bears into one another’s mouths. He’d seen Brandon wincing an hour before, when something had irritated his gunshot wound. But, as Clay had said at dinner, he was feeling stronger, more athletic, closer to rational thinking. Why? Could there be an actual, scientific explanation?

  Could these scientists actually prove to be useful?

  “We don’t have a lot of experience in this field,” Lane began, sounding tentative. “Radiation isn’t our area of expertise. But we do know that radiation poisoning generally doesn’t have any healing properties.”

  “Not at all,” Marcia said, her words insistent. “Your body should be dying. You should be on the ground, writhing in pain. But you’re living, you’re surviving, and you’re healing.”

  Jacobs considered that. But before he could speak, Lane gasped, gesturing at the lab results in front of her. Clay’s heart sank, sure he was about to receive horrible news.

  He wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t actually right, either.

  “Jesus. Okay. I have good news, and bad,” Lane said, sounding jittery. She was poised over her computer, which was spitting the lab results in a long stream of information.

  “I don’t know how to take that.” Clay laughed nervously. He felt naked and strange in front of them, his toes gripping the cold tile floor.

  “The good news is that you’ve been exposed to radiation for a considerable amount of time,” Lane said, her eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

  “How the hell is that good news?” Clay asked.

  “Well, because your body seems to be healing itself despite that exposure,” Lane said. “Last week, you were probably feeling the effects of the radiation a great deal—”

  “I lost so much of my hair. And I was vomiting uncontrollably,” Clay offered.

  “Right. But now, your body is bouncing back from that. You’re going to live through the radiation. That’s something not a lot of people can say,” she said. As she spoke, her smile faltered.

  “All right,” Clay said, his heart speeding up. “Out with the bad news, then. Is it chicken pox? Tell me it’s not chicken pox.”

  None of the scientists laughed at his joke. They studied the information on the screen. After several minutes of tension, Jacobs looked up and told Clay the truth.

  “The nanites are present in your blood,” he said flatly.

  Clay collapsed against the wall behind him. Was this a death sentence? He began to stutter, trying to find reason.

  “Th—then I—I need to get the fuck out of here,” he said. “I need to get away from all of you. I don’t want to hurt anyone—”

  But Lane held up her hand, her face stern. “Clay, there’s no reason to panic. Not yet, at least. It seems that the nanites are working quite differently in your body than what we’ve experienced to date.”

  “How can you tell?” Clay asked, rubbing his hand on his growing beard.

  Lane gestured toward the putrid-smelling bodies, splayed out, covered in key places with towels. “Well, we only have your blood to compare with theirs, I suppose,” she said. “But your reaction to the nanites is strange. You said it yourself. You were exposed to Cliff’s blood several weeks ago, right?”

  “Seems like forever,” Clay murmured. “But yes. I’m almost certain I was exposed then.”

  “Right,” Lane said. “We need to do more tests. We don’t have enough information.”

  “And how do you expect we’ll get that, without getting killed first?” Clay asked, crossing his arms stiffly over his chest.

  “Oh, come on, Clay,” Jacobs said, almost taunting him. “I’ve watched your fighting techniques every day since you found me at the lab. They’re top-notch. There’s no reason you can’t go outside of town, grab a crazed, and bring him back here for testing. If we know more about them, we know more about you. Get it?”

  Clay frowned. He felt that they were wasting time. Time he needed to find his daughter and his wife. “What do you ladies think?”

  “It’s dangerous, sure,” Marcia said. “And from your stories about their fighting techniques, it seems they’re advancing quite rapidly. Unpredictable. When they first transitioned, they’d just flail their arms and try to eat you.”

  “But from what you’ve said, it seems they work in packs now. They won’t let one of their own go easy. I can’t say for sure,” Lane finished.

  “Why not use the neutralizing device, then?” Marcia said. “They’re right over there, just waiting for this kind of problem. Jesus, Lane. I don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.”

  Lane blushed and looked at the floor. Suddenly, Jacobs threw a pipette onto the ground, smashing it. Clay leaped back, conscious of his toes.

  What the hell was going on?

  Chapter 14

  “You assholes! You just took them,” Jacobs spewed, his eyes flashing like a tiger’s. “You grabbed the neutralizers, and you just walked out the door. Just like that. You left Cliff and me to die.”

  Marcia’s looked grim. Lane took several steps back, trying to find anything else to look at.

&
nbsp; “Do either of you have an explanation? Do either of you want to confess that you could have been responsible for my death? That’s murder, ladies,” Jacobs continued, crunching through the glass.

  “Cliff was an asshole, anyway. He got into the nanites! He didn’t know what he was doing,” Marcia argued.

  “Are you saying it’s better that he died?” Jacobs asked, his eyes bulging. “Because I don’t think that’s very ethical. Do you, Marcia? Lane?”

  No one spoke for a moment. Clay reached for his pants, hanging from a lab chair. He stepped into them quickly, cinching them closed at his waist. The scientists turned toward him, almost shocked to see another face in the room.

  “You need to stop fighting. Now,” Clay said, his voice firm. He straightened up, towering a full six inches over Jacobs, and ten or twelve over the women. He dwarfed them. “It doesn’t matter what happened in the past, in Carterville. Trust me. I wish we could go back and fix all the mistakes we made back there. But we can’t. And now, my life completely and totally depends on whether or not you three can fix this nanite and radiation debacle in my body. Because if you decide to squabble for the rest of our time here—on Earth, not just in this lab—then I’ll surely die.”

  The scientists didn’t speak, didn’t even have the strength to argue. He turned his attention to his naked toes, wondering what the future—all their futures—held.

  “Am I going to turn into one of them?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Just tell me.”

  After a long moment of silence, Lane stepped forward. She pulled her glasses from her nose, blinking rapidly. “We’re not sure. We’re really not, Clay. So, you have to trust us, okay? We’re all going to have to figure this out together.”

  “As far as we know,” Jacobs said, “you’re the only living, breathing human being that hasn’t succumbed to the ravages of the nanites.” He reached for a broom, and began to clean the aftermath of his outburst, sweeping the glass shards into a dustbin. They glinted beneath the bright, laboratory light.

  “It’s actually quite the opposite,” Lane said, pointing at the computer screen as if it explained everything. “The nanites seem to be rebuilding you. From the inside out. We don’t really know why, or how. But you’re alive, Clay. You have to thank your lucky stars for that.”

  “Ha,” Clay blurted.

  “That’s why you’re feeling stronger all the time,” Lane said, talking over his sarcasm. “You said that. It’s real, Clay. This is unforeseen science. And it’s changing everything we thought we knew.”

  Clay was silent for a moment. “Do you think I should take any kind of medicine?” he asked. “Anything to slow the nanite production?”

  “I propose we leave them for a while,” Jacobs said. “We’ll monitor your status, of course. We’ll make sure nothing changes, and that you maintain this health. For all we know, it could turn on a dime.”

  “Right,” Clay said. He was facing the truth, head-on. He couldn’t look weak. Then, something that Marcia said came back to him. “What about these devices? The neutralizing thing? How can they help us?”

  “The devices were used to control the soldiers during the early experiments, when we still had control of the nanites,” Marcia explained. “There’s a possibility that we can adapt these neutralizers and use them to stop the crazed entirely.”

  “But that’s a long, long time from now,” Lane said looking hesitant. “We haven’t even used them since the outbreak. Or experimented with them since those initial trials.”

  “But in theory, it would work like this,” Marcia said, leaning forward. “The nanites still appear to have their radio frequencies activated. Using a modified version of the neutralizers, we should be able to change the nanites. Destroy them. Kill the crazed from the inside, out.”

  “Shit. So, that’s why you took them from the storage locker?” Jacobs asked, incredulous. “I didn’t see any of this. But now—it’s so clear—” He leaned back, clearly deep in thought. “The radio waves . . .”

  “Right. Precisely,” Lane said. “The neutralizers use radio waves, and can ultimately stop the nanites in their tracks, thus destroying the monsters.”

  “Can’t we just use the neutralizers to stop the nanites in my body, then?” Clay asked hopefully. “I’m clearly overriding them, or is the other way around? Anyway, they haven’t affected me the way they affected the others, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Yes, that’s right. But there’s no way to be sure just how the neutralizer will affect you,” Marcia said. “From what we’ve learned, these nanites—the ones that have mutated somehow—they take over the human host in a way we haven’t quite grasped. Stopping them now could potentially kill you.”

  Clay considered that, realizing that the single thing that could help restore humanity was the very thing that could destroy him. He shifted his weight, his stomach churning with panic, wanting to revolt against the biscuits and gravy.

  “This means I shouldn’t even be around the device if it’s activated?” Clay asked.

  The scientists all looked thoughtful. Lane began to shake her head vehemently at Jacobs. But he ignored her. “Not necessarily,” he said. “I think we can adapt the transmitter to filter out the unique signature of your strain. As the nanites enter the human host, they take on and adapt to the host. It’s almost like they create their own DNA strand, really. And we should be able to filter your particular DNA out of the broadcast, allowing you to personally pull the trigger on the device. Safely. The crazed should drop without affecting you. Theoretically.”

  Silence fell. Clay’s mind raced with all the things that could go wrong if the neutralizer didn’t work correctly. Would he feel the nanites dying, before he, too, went down? Should he just give up? He remembered the defeat in Ralph’s eyes, and he understood it now.

  Lane gripped his shoulder, her eyes wide. “You have to believe we’ll do everything in our power to keep you alive, Clay. It’s remarkable you’re even still here with us.”

  “And I think the first step,” said Marcia, “is to find a host to test the neutralizer on, before testing it on Clay. Someone is going to have to head out, grab a crazed, and bring it back here. And we need to do it soon.”

  Clay turned on his heel and walked barefoot into the next room, where his friends were. Alayna was watching listlessly as Ralph and Brandon continued to bond. She assessed Clay nervously. They’d all had showers since they’d come back, and they looked like new people, freshly born.

  Clay stood beside her, his arms at his sides. He wanted to tell her he could die, he wanted to tell her it might be over soon, and that she’d have to lead the charge. But instead, he just enjoyed the soft scent of her skin, remembering the intimate moments they’d shared. He’d betrayed Valerie, but at least he’d been alive. He’d been happy. He’d felt things. Wasn’t that all this world was for?

  Chapter 15

  As the days crept by, the survivors grew more accustomed to Helen. They walked down the streets, fearless, their guns holstered and untouched, knowing that the crazed had been shipped off. This was their sanctuary. More and more, it was feeling like home.

  The neutralizers had been completely reprogrammed, with Lane, Marcia, and Leland working tirelessly in their morbid laboratory. Clay eyed them nervously as they worked, wondering if they’d gotten his DNA correct. If they’d miscalculated at all, Clay’s death was inevitable.

  Finding a crazed to test on was proving difficult, especially given that the survivors had taken such a liking to the town, to regular meals, and to resting their feet.

  The day before they were going to leave Helen and expand their hunt for a crazed, Ralph awoke, suddenly unable to remember where he was. He eased his feet over the side of the bed, listening to his knees creak. He tried to push off the bed and stand, but his right hand was missing, and he fell back to the bed.

  It was a sudden, horrible reminder of everything that had happened. Connie no longer slept beside him. He had just one hand, and
countless bruises and cuts, all from this horrible End of Times. He should have listened to Connie and gone to church more often. But now he didn’t feel the depths of any “soul” within him. He just felt tired.

  And he needed a drink, dammit. It had been too long.

  As he dressed into the same clothes he’d been wearing for what seemed like years, he eyed Brandon’s sleeping form near the corner. His heart softened. Brandon was the one good thing to come out of all of this: a boy that was quickly turning into a young man, who’d shown compassion toward an old asshole like him. The kid didn’t have a father, a mother, or a sister anymore, and in a way, Ralph was his only family.

  Should he wake him up? Ralph wondered. Should he tell him he was going for a walk, that he needed company? Brandon looked peaceful, his eyes moving behind the lids, dreaming. If Ralph had ever had a son, he imagined he would be like Brandon. Silly at times, but with a good head on his shoulders.

  Ralph slipped his boots on before retreating through the laboratory, past the stinking corpses and into the brightly lit candy shop. He grabbed a few gummies, along with a grenade for protection, as he left, chewing on the gummies ravenously. In this new life, he was always hungry. He skulked through the empty streets, watching the sun began to rise, casting long shadows on the pavement.

  Ralph passed the café, rounding the corner toward a local bar called Mel’s. He’d heard of it, oddly enough. It was a place his own uncle had frequented; he’d become a drunk and died a drunk in Helen.

  The door was open, and Ralph entered casually, like it was his living room. The place was dim and shadowy, several half-full glasses still littering the bar. Cash had been left beneath some of them, showing that people hadn’t been here since before they understood that the world was ending and that money made no difference.

  Ralph sauntered up to the bar, saying gruffly, “Hey there, Mel.” He pulled the dollar bills from beneath the glasses. “It’s a busy night in here, isn’t it?”