He stretched them out, making eye contact with a stoic George Washington, and then tucked them into his back pocket. He went behind the bar, impressed with the immense selection of whiskey, scotch, and rum. He poured himself a glass of fifty-year-old scotch, leaning heavily against the bar top and sipping. “Mel. You’ve done some of your best work with this drink,” he murmured. The scotch was fire, warming his insides and making his throat sting. But he couldn’t care about his organs, his body. Not now. He was just a sack of bones, losing more weight every day. And he wanted to drink himself into a stupor. For old time’s sake.
He continued to drink, taking up residence at the bar and occasionally talking to the bartender, and sometimes with Connie. They’d always bickered at their local joint, becoming the couple that everyone came out to watch tear each other to shreds. But god, he’d really loved her. Her flashing tongue, her sultry eyes. She became so much more than who she was when he met her, when she was a girl.
And what had he become? Just the straggler in a tired band of survivors. A drunk who hadn’t had a drink in weeks.
He poured himself another, and then another, enjoying the buzz that started behind his ears and grew around his forehead, his cheeks, his throat. He looked out through the dirty, cigarette-tinged lace curtains from bygone days, and realized it had to be close to noon already. What were the others thinking? he wondered. Would they hunt for him, as they’d hunted for the crazed? Or would they dismiss him as another lost soul in a sea of them?
As he tipped back his sixth drink, he suddenly remembered Brandon. He had to return, soon, if only for the boy’s sake. Leaving Brandon alone with the likes of Daniels, that asshole cop Clay, and that prissy lesbian Alayna, didn’t sit right with him. He scooted off his stool and grabbed a full bottle of whiskey, thinking he could take sips of it in private, just to take the edge off.
That would help him for a while. It would help him sleep at night.
He stepped out and onto the road, feeling drunk. His eyes stung from the sudden onslaught of sunlight. He turned toward the candy store, unsurprised to see that none of the other survivors were out calling his name. No one really cared about him, right? He’d always known that. He’d been able to lie to himself, for a while. But he wasn’t a fool.
He rounded the corner and turned on to Main Street. He stopped to sip whiskey straight from the bottle, noting that someone was standing outside the candy shop, his hands on his slim hips, his eyes scanning the street.
It was the kid. It was Brandon out looking for him.
He stumbled forward, anxious to be reunited with his friend. But as he shuffled forward, a large, huffing man appeared in the doorway of an old apartment building. The monster lunged forward, crashing into Ralph, and forcing him to the ground. Ralph’s whiskey bottle went flying and shattered against the pavement. He shrieked like a wild animal, realizing the crazed had him. He had his massive hands around Ralph’s neck. And his rotting teeth were mere inches from his scalp.
“BRANDON!” Ralph cried. “BRANDON!”
But before he could call out again, the crazed had latched onto his neck, licking at the blood as it began to gush. Ralph’s eyes nearly leaped from his head with panic. He watched, feeling almost outside of his body, as Brandon began to run toward him, drawing his gun.
The chewing grew more insistent. Ralph knew then that it was too late. He was going to succumb to this death. The crazed’s tongue was lashing his neck and upper chest, feeling grotesque and snake-like.
Then Ralph remembered. He’d grabbed a grenade from Daniels’ vest on the way out of the candy store, just in case. Jesus. He reached down, feeling for it in his pocket.
Before Brandon got to him, he cried out, “NO, STOP! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER, KID!”
Brandon was almost twenty feet away, but Ralph could see his helpless tears.
“IT’S BETTER THIS WAY,” Ralph shrieked. “JUST TRUST ME, KID!”
He ripped the pin from the grenade and within seconds exploded into gory shrapnel, arms and legs and blood and organs splattering across the brick walls of the surrounding buildings. The blood was bright red, stark and strange against the blue sky above.
Brandon sank to his knees, feeling the spray of Ralph’s blood on his cheeks. He wiped them off with the back of his sleeve. And then he wailed, his voice echoing against the buildings.
Chapter 16
Clay was deep in thought on his lower bunk when Brandon reentered the laboratory, splattered with crimson. His face was sullen and his lips turned down. Without speaking, he collapsed in a chair near his bed, ripping his shirt off, then wiping it across his face to rid it of gunk.
“Jesus, Brandon. What happened?” Clay jumped up.
Brandon began to shake. His eyes darted around the room, unable to focus.
“Brandon,” Clay said, placing his hands firmly on the boy’s shoulders. “You’re going to need to tell me what happened out there. It’s no use being catatonic. Let me help you.”
Brandon gave him a dark look, a look Clay had seen on Maia’s face when he’d demanded she tell him what she was up to. “It’s Ralph,” he said. “He’s fucking dead.”
Clay was stunned. Despite all the previous deaths, this still rattled him to the bone. “Tell me what happened.”
“I couldn’t find him all morning,” Brandon said. “And I was worried, because we had plans today. We were going to walk along the edge of town. Near the dump. Searching for crazed, sure, but also rooting around for stuff people might have left behind. Ralph figured there was going to be a resurgence, in time, when gold and silver would mean everything. We wanted to be billionaires when the tide turned.”
This sounded like typical Ralph talk, but Clay held his tongue.
“He was on his way back. On the corner, down the road. And one of them got him. He blew himself up with a grenade. And now I have his blood all over me,” Brandon whispered. “Jesus. I know we’re all going to die, Clay, but this is too fucking much.”
“We’re not going to die,” Clay insisted. “Ralph . . . must have just made a stupid mistake. He knows better than to be out there by himself.”
“I should have had his back,” Brandon said, beginning to sob. “I was the only person who cared about him. I should have told him that, every day. It think he wanted this to happen. It feels like—”
“You have to stop dwelling on it,” Clay said, his voice gruff. “You have to find a way to move on, Brandon. This is a new reality. There are new rules. You can’t die out there just because you see no reason to live.”
“You don’t see a reason,” Brandon spat at him, snot starting to run. “Without your wife. Without your daughter. I see you, Clay. You’re less of a man because of it. We all see it.”
“Yeah, but I’m fighting to live. Every single second, every single hour. I know that they’re out there waiting for me, somewhere. And son, I know your family’s gone. But you have to find another reason to go on. Your friends from Carterville. You know some of them are still alive. You know they’re wondering about you. You know you’re not forgotten.”
Brandon looked up to where Alayna stood in the doorway. After a long, tension-filled pause, Alayna put her hand on Clay’s shoulder, making him jump.
“Clay,” she murmured. “Maybe let him be for a bit.”
Clay spun toward her and was startled by her face. Her eyes were tinged with red, as if she cried blood of her own. The others were together in the next room, waiting quietly for details about Ralph’s death.
They needed Clay’s words to console them.
Clay nodded silently then joined the others. He cleared his throat and then suggested they reconvene next door, at the diner, where they could discuss their next steps.
Chapter 17
“It’s with a heavy heart that I say we must proceed without Ralph,” Clay said. “I’m sure you know what happened.”
No one looked at him. They drifted from the laboratory, leaving Brandon in the barracks, crying alone.
The atmosphere had changed. During the previous days, they’d felt safe, warm, building a sense of normalcy in their fucked-up lives. But now Ralph was plastered all over the courthouse wall, and time was ticking. The crazed were beginning to return to Helen and they couldn’t wait for another one to stumble into town and catch them off guard.
In the diner, Daniels and Lane made them toast with jam, and any frozen vegetables they could find. The meat and dairy had gone bad days earlier, leaving them hungry for protein and feeling bleary-eyed and fatigued.
The survivors sat at their familiar booths, chewing sadly on soggy toast. The jam was tart and sweet, making Clay’s teeth ache.
Jacobs eyed him curiously from behind his growing beard. After several minutes of silence, he said, “What do you think we should do next, then?”
Clay sighed. “Well, we certainly can’t wait here.”
“Agreed,” Daniels said. “It’s just like in Carterville. If we stay, we die anyway. Forward motion is key.”
“You thinking we should go to the military base, then?” Marcia asked. “You said your wife might be there. And that’s the best place to take the neutralizers.” She took a bite of her toast, scattering crumbs across the table. She brushed them to the ground, knowing no one would mind the mess. Not ever again.
“That’s true. I do think one of the neutralizers should go to Earlton,” Clay said. “And I think you all should make your way up there to rejoin what’s left of our fractured society.”
“You all?” Jacobs asked.
“Yes, all of you. I don’t want to lose anyone else,” Clay said, his voice almost a whisper. Ralph’s absence left a hole. Without his raspy jokes, his general air of mischief, a grey stillness filled the room.
“Adam, you’ll lead the troop up to the base,” Clay said. “You’ll all go with him, with one of the neutralizers.” He pointed back toward the candy store, remembering Brandon, alone in the dark. “The kid, too. He’s been through enough already, and he needs to be with some people his own age. Some people who might understand what he’s feeling. I’m sure there are plenty of orphans up at the base. Unfortunately.” His eyes flashed.
No one replied. Daniels adjusted himself in his seat, seeming to hold in countless arguments. He wasn’t one to miss a fight.
Clay turned toward Alayna and cleared his throat. “Alayna, I think it would be best if you went to Earlton as well. I don’t want to endanger you, either. But of course, the decision is up to you.”
Alayna’s jaw was rigid. She looked hard. Clay knew that her only thoughts were of Megan, her girlfriend and lost love. They were both endlessly romantic, not to mention stubborn. They wouldn’t lose their loves without a fight.
“And where on this Earth are you planning to go, sheriff?” Alayna asked quietly.
“I have to go after Maia.” Saying her name out loud felt bizarre, like he was summoning a ghost. He turned quickly to Lane, who was medically trained, unlike Jacobs and Marcia. “And Lane, I’d like your help on the way there. I don’t know what we’ll find once we get to Dearing. But your medical know-how could make this expedition successful. Naturally, this is also up to you. I’ll do my best to protect you.”
Lane’s eyes flashed. She turned toward Alayna, and then decided. “I’ll do it. I worked as an EMT in grad school.”
“And I’m coming with you,” Alayna added. “One hundred percent. I won’t let my sheriff go off without me.”
“Hey, now,” Daniels broke in, rising from the booth. “I think this needs a bit more discussion before we decide. Clay, you’ve been a good leader. But you have to understand, you haven’t been doing this alone. Not by a long shot.”
“I know,” Clay said. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. Especially without you guys.”
“Then let us come,” Daniels said, pounding his fist on the table. The plates and knives shook, clattering against one another.
The wind gusted outside, a reminder that the weather was a constant factor. From where he sat, Clay could see some of the blood spatter from Ralph’s suicide.
“I can’t do that,” Clay said. “And there’s no time for arguments. Literally every second that ticks by, my daughter is out there alone. Needing me.” He shook his head.
“Daniels, I suggest you be ready to go tomorrow morning. There will be no further discussion. Our separate teams leave at first light.”
Chapter 18
Clay woke before the others the next morning; fitful dreams prevented him from getting a full night’s rest. Despite the lack of sleep, he again felt fierce, his muscles strong and veiny from the work of the nanites. His mind was constantly rolling, making contingency plans.
This was the end of an era. He felt like he’d been leading these people for years.
He walked to the diner as the rest of the crew packed necessities. Items that resembled a rough camping excursion rather than normal travel items of more modern time. Once in the kitchen, he fixed a large stack of toast and put it next to the last of the peanut butter and jam on an old-fashioned serving cart. He found a small flask in the drawer. He sniffed the liquid then sipped it, allowing the whiskey to flow over his tongue. It had been a long time since he’d had a drink—not since Carterville. But now, it turned his stomach, twisted his mind. He needed to stay alert, sharp. He threw the flask into a cabinet.
He pushed the cart back to the others, and watched them eat silently with their packs at their feet. Brandon hadn’t said a word since the previous day.
Alayna appeared beside him. She’d braided her hair, exposing her bright, tanned face. She dropped her pack and grabbed the peanut butter. “Strange, eating something so ordinary on such a weird day.”
The others nodded silently. Jacobs and Marcia ate the last of their toast and returned to their neutralizer, packing it with bubble wrap and blankets, making sure it didn’t get knocked around on their journey. The other one was already packed and tucked close to Lane’s things. Lane’s face gave away no emotion. Perhaps she was too practical for it.
Above all, Clay sensed that they were centered on a singular goal, perhaps for the first time since they’d left Carterville. This was the way forward, their only option.
They left the plates, not bothering to wash up. Lane had stretched body bags over the two crazed in the laboratory, knowing they didn’t have time to give them a proper burial. A few fingers dangled below one of the covers, like alien appendages.
They stepped out one by one into the sunlight. Maybe because the world was indifferent to their emotions, the sun seemed friendly and beaming. They lined up with Clay in the lead, his head bowed. He felt like a pastor on the last day of church.
“Thank you for following me here,” he said, his words somber. He looked each of them in the eye. “I want to remind you that the reason we’re still alive is because we have hope. And I want you to hold onto that, no matter which direction you’re going today.”
His words hung in the air. Daniels stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Clay, patting him on the back with incredible strength, making Clay’s back sting. He didn’t cry, he didn’t speak. He gave Alayna a tentative wave, alluding to those days when he’d flirted with her to the point of exhaustion—once telling her she should be so lucky to receive him.
Those were days long gone.
But Alayna hugged him anyway, tears in her eyes. There wasn’t time for hard feelings. Everyone knew that now.
Daniels gestured to the others, who, one by one, hugged Alayna, Clay, and Lane, before mounting their mopeds. Brandon held onto Clay for an extra moment, his thin arms childlike.
“You’re going to be okay, kid,” Clay said, borrowing Ralph’s nickname for the boy. “Just trust me on this one. You’re so much stronger than you even know.”
Clay, Lane, and Alayna stood in the middle of the empty street, watching the others roar away toward Earlton. As they dwindled into the distance, Clay feared for their safety. They were out of his purview now. And he didn’t know if he�
�d ever learn their fate.
Alayna touched his arm, grounding him in their ever-changing reality. Her dark eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “It’s going to be okay, Clay,” she said, sounding almost motherly. “We have our path, and they have theirs. As you said. Sticking together would not only be dangerous, it would be a waste of time.”
Clay nodded. He heard Lane whisk her keys from her pocket, jangling them in the air. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she said, her voice light in contrast to the somberness of the difficult farewell.
The three of them walked around the corner from the candy shop, where the scientist’s Jeep was parked. It was orange, sturdy, confident. The very vehicle for this post-apocalyptic world. As Clay reached for the driver’s door handle, Lane cut in front of him.
“No one drives my car,” she said firmly. “Not even you, fearless leader.”
Clay laughed, grabbing her supplies and organizing them in the back. He popped into the passenger seat, watching Alayna ease into the back. This was forward motion. This was one step closer to his daughter.
This was the open road.
Chapter 19
Twenty minutes outside of Helen, Clay twisted the radio knob, searching for a signal.
“You really think you’ll find something out there?” Alayna asked, half-laughing. “It’s not like radio will go on when the world ends.”
“Maybe somebody’s out there, broadcasting what’s going on.” Clay shrugged.
He turned the knob a bit further, landing on an oldies station that seemed to be playing tapes from a few years before. “Today is September 25, 2014, and we’ve got the oldies for you,” the DJ said in a zippy voice. “Here’s Paul Anka.”
Alayna groaned in the back seat, tossing her head back. She was surrounded by supplies, with several sacks on her lap, and her face was strained. “This is what my mother used to listen to,” she grumbled.
Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy Page 7
