“I ran after the Frisbee,” Maia whimpered, glancing at one of the boys in front of her—probably the one who threw it. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I know you said to stay where you could see me.”
This had stabbed Clay, making him close his eyes momentarily. He could feel Maia’s pain palpitating up and down his arm.
He’d righted himself, and brushed down Maia’s messy bangs. “Honey, taking risks is a beautiful thing. It’s the reason we’re alive,” he’d told her. “We’re alive by chance. And so we have to take those chances, every day.”
“But what if we break our arms?” she’d whispered, almost losing consciousness from the pain.
“Then we let them heal, and then we get back out there,” Clay had said, as the ambulance stopped nearby. The men had lifted Maia onto a gurney, careful not to jostle her arm.
God, what a memory. Clay had thought that would be the worst thing that ever happened in in his life, feeling responsible for his daughter’s well being, even as she was pushing herself to be the best possible, most exciting person she could be.
Clay finally saw the battered Jeep. It was facing him, almost challenging him. The area was eerie, quiet, the other cars ominous. Clay couldn’t look at them now, without seeing the scene that Alayna had painted before. It was clear that people had died there.
On closer inspection, the Jeep didn’t have a spare. But its tires were in great condition, two of them nearly brand new. With a practiced hand, Clay knelt down and cranked the back of the Jeep high, removing the tire with ease. The sweat that had been pouring down his back was now dried, his skin cool. His muscles seemed to brim with strength and agility, enhanced by the technology. He hoisted the tire onto his bare shoulder, snagging the granola bar from his pack and ripping at the chocolaty snack. The sugar was an instant punch to his brain, the way he’d imagined cocaine to be. He closed his eyes with pleasure.
Should he have tried cocaine? Should he have taken more risks? What was this life now, in comparison? There were no rules. Only those of physics, of biology. And with the nanites rearranging his insides, how could he know how much time he had left?
He turned to go, with his backpack zipped and the tire positioned easily on his shoulder. He had another hour before he got back to the girls and they could continue on toward Dearing. If he could hurry, even just a little, they would reach Maia that much quicker.
A feeling began to spin deep in his gut. And he didn’t like it.
He heard a horrendous screech in the distance, somewhere behind him. Every cell, every hair, every muscle tensed. He knew the sound. That sound meant he might never see his daughter again. It meant that safety was only an illusion he’d created in his mind.
That sound meant that the crazed were close. And they were hunting for him.
Chapter 23
Frozen in place, Clay sensed that one of the crazed was bounding toward him, perhaps as close as the other vehicles now. He spun to see what was behind him.
The mutant that approached had once been a six-foot tall man, a near-match to Clay himself, with broad shoulders, a thick-ish belly—one surely bred and born from meal after meal from his wife, wherever she lay. It seethed, its eyes wild, bugging out. It strode toward him, it’s gate elongated. As it approached it reached out its arms, ready to tear at Clay’s throat.
Clay’s weapon was over his shoulder, blocked by the tire he was holding. With a surge of energy, he threw the spare tire at it, on instinct more than anything else. Clay was surprised to see the tire sail through the air more than a dozen yards.
“Jesus,” he whispered, his jaw dropping. His muscles revved from the pure bliss of the effort, as if they’d craved releasing that kind of power.
The tire blasted directly in the center of its chest, knocking it backward several yards. The impact cracked the monster’s ribs, a bone-chilling sound echoing through the air.
It lay on its back for several seconds, but Clay remained alert, watching. Huffing, it pushed the tire off his chest and started to hum a sort of guttural chant, which swelled into a low, horrible growl. It drew chills along Clay’s neck and arms, but he remained still, watching, waiting.
Then in the distance—at the crest of the hill—four more of the crazed appeared. Cracking his neck first to the right, then to the left, Clay focused on the approaching monsters. The first one had let loose a grating battle cry, apparently alerting others of their impending attack.
He pulled his rifle from his shoulder, raising it in a smooth motion. The nearest crazed effortlessly flung the tire to the side before rising to its feet. Blood and entrails oozed from its chest, looking like the remains of some mad experiment dripping down its half-torn shirt. Clay couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt disgusted—something that made him turn away.
You could get used to anything, he guessed.
As it approached, Clay fired a bullet through its head. It collapsed, dust puffing up from the road.
But the others were approaching rapidly, forcing Clay to turn his attention to them, energized, alert. He aimed at the far left one.
“Today’s the day, fucker,” he whispered.
When the crazed monster was ten or so feet away, Clay fired a bullet into its brain, then into the brains of the rest, leaving a pile of bodies.
Clay’s gunshots echoed out over the mountains, making his ears ring. The guttural screaming told him that more crazed were coming, wanting a piece of the action.
Leaping to action himself, Clay grabbed the tire from the side of the road, seeing the blood of the crazed dripping from the rubber to the ground. Heaving it over his shoulder once again, he turned and began his trek back toward his stranded companions. He knew they were losing time—and quite possibly losing humanity. He started to run, feeling no sense of exhaustion. And being alone with his thoughts left him with considerable self-doubt. It wasn’t ideal for his sense of survival—his sense of purpose.
If everyone was dead, why should he go on? he thought. His tongue had its own heartbeat, a reminder that he needed water, he needed more oxygen, he needed food to remain alive.
But it was all for Maia, his brain whispered back. For Maia. This became his mantra as he drove forward, his feet pounding against the pavement, his toes bleeding, the nails digging into the skin.
If he was going to keep fighting, it would have to be for her. It couldn’t be for anyone else. And certainly not for himself.
Chapter 24
It was nearly forty minutes later when Clay returned to where he’d left Lane and Alayna, what felt like a million years before. Coughing slightly, his throat raspy, he realized that he was standing in the precise place they’d broken down—he could even see the ragged, black tire marks and the abandoned railway car. This was certainly the place.
But the Jeep—and the women—were nowhere in sight.
His heart ramping up, he dropped the tire to the ground, scanning the horizon. “Fuck. Fuck,” he bellowed. His skin tingled and grew cold as his mind raced. Several scenarios played out in his thoughts, including one involving the women just pretending that the Jeep was broken down, calculating a way to leave him behind.
Maybe they feared for their lives, maybe he was showing increased signs of being crazed, too crazy to be around other humans. He was growing increasingly stronger, practically inhuman. Maybe when you turned, you didn’t recognize it in yourself until it was too late, until suddenly you were eating another’s flesh, tasting the juicy blood and allowing it to roll down your tongue.
“Fuck,” he grumbled.
Of course, there were other options. The women could have been taken, kidnapped by some deranged individual. Or something much more horrifying. They could have been eaten by the crazed. He had no real understanding of the world outside of Carterville, and knew that humans were animals, first and foremost, and would ultimately form packs, protecting themselves from outsiders.
Dropping to his knees, Clay tried to breathe, panting loudly at the ground, biting his lip with worry. Tangy blood
coated his mouth, making him swallow clumsily, trying to get the taste out. A spark of anger ignited. He was completely alone—without food or extra ammunition—without his companions. And, most of all, without the device that could end this horrible war.
Looking down at his rifle, his mind presented an alternative: suicide. Perhaps his only option.
“No. Fuck that,” Clay said, ramming his fists against the pavement. “I have to find Maia. I can’t let this stop me.”
He heard a grinding from the far side of the road. Lifting his head, Clay watched as the door of the abandoned railway car creaked open, revealing a dark head of hair, an eager-looking face. A hesitant smile.
It was Alayna, perhaps his only friend left in the world.
“Jesus!”
“Get over here!” she called, waving her arm. “And hurry!”
Leaving the tire in the road, Clay raced to the railcar, hoping the image of Alayna wouldn’t fade away like a mirage.
When he reached it, Alayna wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She was trembling.
“Quickly,” she whispered into his ear. “Come inside.”
Clay leaped into the shadowy car and Lane pushed the door closed, using muscle he hadn’t known she had. She turned toward Clay, her hands against her chest, as if in prayer.
“What’s going on?” Clay asked, his voice echoing. He didn’t want to tell them he’d thought they were dead—or worse, that they’d abandoned him on purpose.
“It was horrible,” Lane breathed, blinking rapidly. “It happened so fast.”
Clay turned to Alayna, recognizing her as the voice of reason. “What do you mean?”
“A big caravan of off-road trucks approached us just after you left,” Alayna said. She swiped her hair behind her ears, trying to uphold a standard of reporting—just as if this was a normal day back at the station. “We didn’t want to stick around to find out their intentions. Despite my police training, in this world, two women left alone and stranded on the side of the road isn’t the best scenario. If you catch my drift.”
“I do,” Clay murmured, not wanting to say he’d already thought of it. “I’m glad you hid. It was a smart move.”
Alayna grimaced, a sign of hesitation that Clay couldn’t put his finger on.
“And the Jeep?” Clay asked.
“Their leader checked out the Jeep. We heard him say that the engine was still warm. He ordered that they change the tire from one of the other vehicles. Apparently, it was in better shape than some of theirs. They had it fixed in less than ten minutes. Something that was holding us up for hours. And for them—” she trailed off.
“We left the keys in the ignition,” Lane finished, her eyes toward the ground. “It was a mistake. We just panicked.”
“That’s the worst of it,” Alayna affirmed. “If we’d only thought to grab the fucking keys—”
Clay exhaled sharply, not wanting to reprimand the girls. What on Earth would he say, anyway? No form of “you should have done” would fix their current problem. He’d gone all the way back, nearly been eaten by five crazed monsters, all for nothing.
“Which direction did they go?” he asked.
“There’s a side road we didn’t see out there,” Alayna said. “A dirt one. They went that way, out of sight. And we’ve been in here ever since, just praying you’d come back.” Alayna touched his hands, tracing a line down his bloodied fingers. “And you did,” she whispered, her voice tired.
Clay allowed it, although he wanted to pull his hand away. He was shaking.
“And the supplies?” he asked, his anxiety growing.
Alayna pulled her hand away.
“All the food—and ammunition—was inside the Jeep,” Lane stammered. “We didn’t even think of it. Didn’t have the chance to grab it.”
“Jesus,” Clay murmured, bowing his head. He blinked. “And the device. That’s gone too. Our only fucking hope.”
Before either of the girls could answer, he heard a shuffle. Lane ripped open her backpack, revealing the device within. It glinted in the light slicing in from a crack in one of the side walls. Clay nodded his head in relief.
“Good. All isn’t lost, after all.”
Silence settled in and Clay knew he needed to make the effort to change his mood—keep the morale high.
“Just no food or water,” Lane said. “And if we’re going to make it to Dearing, we’re going to have to find a way to stay hydrated.”
“We still have several hours of daylight left,” Clay said, eyeing his watch. His mind revved. “If we leave right now, we can get halfway to Dearing. Maybe we can find a river or a creek on the way. Possibly find something to eat.”
“We’re so, so sorry, Clay,” Alayna whispered.
“Don’t mention it,” Clay said firmly. “But there’s no use sitting here and waiting. We’ve got to get a move on.”
Chapter 25
Clay yanked the door of the rail car back, revealing the intense sunlight. He pushed toward the road, and began to walk the path toward Dearing. Alayna and Lane made a kind of triangle formation behind him. Their walk was monotonous. Their mouths held no words. Shadows drew out behind them, growing longer with the passing of time—something Clay no longer felt, at least, not in the old way—the clock ticked away. The sun rose and set, but the hours were different now.
His mind had returned to thoughts of Maia and Valerie. Time had felt strange when Maia had gone to the hospital for that broken arm, sure—but it had felt even worse when Valerie had had the cancer scare a few years later, when Maia was ten. They’d taken her in for a routine scan and then asked her to remain overnight for additional tests. Poised on the back porch, waiting for the call with Maia seated beside him, sipping an over-sugared iced tea, Clay had imagined his life without Valerie for the first time. The first time since he’d first kissed her in high school, knowing, once and for all, that they would be together for the rest of their lives.
He hadn’t reckoned that the “rest of their lives” could ever be so short.
There, on the back porch, with ten-year-old Maia, he considered it.
How would he know how to raise Maia alone? How would he know what to buy for her? How would he tell her not to wear short skirts, not to run after boys, not to waste her life on her silly high school friends?
How would he explain to her that her mother would have to be buried, deep in the ground, never to be seen again? How would he take Maia to the gravesite, ask her to pick out flowers, to abandon her the life of the living to pray over her dead mother?
How could he do any of it?
He was getting ahead of himself, and he knew it. But deep in the waves of sudden misery, he had nothing to do but think through every possibility, preparing himself for what could occur.
Thankfully, Valerie had called him that night, telling him all was fine; the lump was nothing but a strange collection of ordinary cells, which they would eventually remove in a few years, just in case. Clay had loaded a slumbering Maia into the car, driving swiftly to the hospital to pick up his wife, not allowing her to sleep there alone. He’d forced her to remain awake till two in the morning, as he kissed every inch of her body, never realizing before how fleeting their life together could possibly be.
She’d been exhausted, achy. But she’d seen the desperation in his eyes, and she’d allowed it, giggling before falling into a deep slumber, draped across his chest. None of them had gone anywhere the next day: not to school, to the station. Not to work. They’d allowed themselves the simple pleasure of normalcy.
It had been one of the best days of Clay’s life.
“Clay.”
Clay blinked rapidly, trying to bring himself back to reality.
“Hey. Clay!” Alayna shouted.
Clay lifted his head, eyeing the horizon. The bright, orange sun was drawing closer to it, making the mountains glow, the trees becoming twiggy shadows.
“Clay, I saw something,” Alayna said. She pulled her gun from
her shoulder, pointing it toward something in the distance.
Clay swung his arm back, pushing the barrel toward the ground.
“What the hell?” Alayna whispered. “Clay?”
“No shooting,” Clay murmured. “Let’s use the device.”
“Why?” Alayna said. “I can knock him out with a quick shot.”
“I know. I know,” Clay murmured, his eyes darting about. He hadn’t yet caught sight of the monsters. “Before, when I got the tire, I shot at the crazed. But the gunfire echoed off the mountains, drawing others toward me. It was like an announcement a. I don’t want to take the risk again.”
Lane slipped her backpack from her shoulders, unzipping it with a swift motion and handing him the device. She spoke in a hushed voice.
“You’re going to want to be about a dozen meters away when you hit this button,” she said pointing to one of two buttons. “It’ll charge it up. And then, just pull the trigger. About the same pressure you need to squeeze the trigger of a gun.”
“A dozen meters,” Clay confirmed.
“I can come with you, if you want,” Lane said.
“No. I don’t want to take any risks. I need both of you to hide. Immediately.”
Alayna pressed her lips together. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
But he did. Clay pointed at a dried-up irrigation canal where the girls could hide. “Go,” he whispered fiercely. “I don’t want to ask again.”
Chapter 26
Clay waited as the girls hustled toward the ditch. Satisfied with their cover, he spun toward the movement ahead and began his pursuit. With each stride forward, his anticipation increased.
It was nearly time.
He was well aware that the same nanites pulsing their way through the crazed monsters’ bodies also flourished deep within him. Triggering the device meant potentially ending his own existence. With a single flick of the button, he could be leaving Alayna and Lane to fend for themselves.
He could be abandoning Maia.
Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy Page 9
