Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “He’s delirious.”

  “But is he infected?” Clay asked. “It looks as if he’s in the initial stages. Can you tell?”

  “Hey, can you hear me? Have you been bitten?” Lane asked, gazing into his eyes with all the compassion of a mother. “Can you tell us what’s going on? We can help.”

  What if they couldn’t? Clay thought. He closed his eyes, waiting the final fall of the ax.

  “I—I’m not—” the boy stuttered. “Please—Help me . . .”

  Clay and Alayna shrugged at each other. Lane leaned closer, whispering, “What’s your name, kid?” She reached forward, making her first physical contact, feeling his forehead.

  “Alex,” he breathed. “It’s Alex.”

  Chapter 35

  Clay leapt forward and began to untie the ropes.

  Alex. The kid’s name was Alex.

  He was coherent enough to remember who he was, that he had a past. He was a person, not at all one of the crazed. And someone had tied him to this bed. And left him to die.

  The ropes were wrapped multiple times, with the strength of sailor knots. Alayna started at Alex’s ankles. Lane continued to mop sweat from the boy’s forehead, muttering to herself the whole time.

  “We need to get him cleaned up. Now,” she said, unaffected by the putrid smell.

  That stench seemed to grow worse with each passing moment. Clay paused to swipe the back of his hand across his mouth, sensing he was on the verge of vomiting. Alayna was a pale shade of green. Their eyes met across the boy’s rail-thin body, both holding the same truth.

  “One second.” Alayna headed for the doorway. She disappeared down the hallway, the sound of retching echoing back to them.

  “You gonna do the same?” Lane asked Clay.

  “No. No,” Clay said, hoping it was true. He finished the last of the restraints, releasing Alex’s ankle. His skin was livid underneath. The boy’s eyes had closed again, but he continued to sweat, causing him to shiver.

  “We need to get him out of these clothes. Immediately,” Lane said.

  Alayna appeared, carrying new sheets and pillows. She tossed them to the side of the bed then instinctively wiped her mouth, clearing the last of the vomit. “Sorry about that,” she said, unable to look at either of them. “Just lost it for a minute.”

  Clay slipped his hand behind Alex’s shoulders, helping him ease forward. Alex coughed, his chapped lips growing whiter with each heave. Clay eased his legs over the side of the bed.

  “He won’t be able to hold his own weight.” He eyed Alayna. “Can one of you—”

  Alayna stepped forward, taking Alex’s other side and pulling him to his feet. He slumped over and leaned heavily against Clay’s shoulder, his arms hanging like twigs. Clay remembered photographs of concentration camp survivors he’d seen in antiquated history books: carved out cheekbones, lost eyes. Alex resembled them perfectly.

  As Alex clung to Clay, Lane busied herself undressing him, with the air of a hospital nurse. She tugged at his soiled pants and then folded them for later disposal. She pulled his shirt over his head, undoing one arm after the other, and then turned in a swift motion and yanked the sheets from the bed, revealing the piss-stained mattress beneath.

  “All right then,” she said, her voice bright and cheery. “Let’s get these new sheets on. And get him cleaned up.” She looked at Alayna.

  “How?” Alayna asked. “There’s no water in the hotel. I just tried down the hall.”

  “Check the toilets,” Lane said firmly.

  Clay picked him up, carrying him like a child. The hotel room had a bathroom behind a closed door. When they opened it, they revealed an antique, gold-edged mirror on the far wall, which reflected manic-eyed Clay, the anxious and still green-tinged Alayna, and Alex, in Clay’s arms reeking of sickness and death.

  Alayna grabbed a basin from the sink and then begin to scoop the water from the toilet into it, as Clay eased Alex onto the counter. A washcloth, still new, hung in the shower. She grabbed it, dipping it into the water, and then began to wash him with a tentative hand.

  Clay watched as Alayna’s washcloth moved from the boy’s crotch to his feet, using the soap to make suds, eliminating the grime. Slowly, the stench was fading, allowing both Alayna and Clay to breathe through their noses again. Clay helped clean him then, taking a large towel and mopping at Alex’s head. With each dab of the towel against his face, Clay was reminded of all the times Maia was ill, sweat on her forehead and her eyes searching her father’s—begging for him to make her better.

  Lane appeared in the doorway. “The sheets are back on. I tossed the dirty clothes and sheets into the corner. I didn’t want to throw it out to attract the crazed. How’s he doing?”

  “Just about got him clean,” Alayna said, focused on her work.

  “I have about a million questions for him,” Clay added.

  The boy blinked up at him, almost on cue.

  “I want to know whether or not he knew Maia.” Clay stared directly into his half dead eyes.

  “Clay,” Lane said, hesitating. “I don’t think you should. I think it’s too soon.”

  “He was coherent enough to tell us his name,” Clay insisted. “He should be able to tell us something. Anything else. Hey. Alex. How did you come to be here? Who was here with you? Did they tell you where they were going?”

  Alex’s head lolled to the side, resting his cheek against the mirror. “Ummm . . .” he murmured, then began muttering to himself. “They were here. There they were. All . . . here.”

  “Who was all here?” Clay pressed. “Was someone named Maia?”

  “Clay,” Lane warned. “He’s too sick for this.”

  “Dammit. We’re all too sick for this,” Clay retorted.

  Alayna cleaned the last of the grime from Alex’s face, tossing the dirtied washcloths and towels into the bathtub. Alex continued to shiver uncontrollably, looking moments from passing out again.

  “Let’s get him back to bed,” Lane said, stepping back into the hotel room.

  Clay scooped him up and carried him back to fresh, clean sheets and eased him onto the mattress. Lane tucked him in, then pulled the comforter up to his neck.

  “That’s okay, Alex,” she soothed. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll get you better, won’t we?”

  His body continued to tremble for several moments. Alayna and Clay glanced at one another, with Clay’s thoughts centered only on what information he could get out of the kid, knowledge that could possibly reunite him with his daughter. They had to keep him alive if only for that.

  “Who were you with, kid?”

  Lane gave Clay a dark look.

  Alex’s eyes popped open. His lips parted.

  “Give him water,” Clay said. “Now.”

  Alayna rushed back to the bathroom, filling an empty hotel cup with toilet water, and delivering it to Alex. They watched as the boy gulped the water greedily.

  Licking his lips, Alex hunted for words. “Who the . . . who are you?” he asked, his voice raspy. He looked fearful, his eyes yellowed.

  “We’re here to help,” Lane reassured him. “We cleaned you up. You’re very sick. Try to stay calm.”

  “I don’t know you.” Alex’s his eyes darted from face to face. “But I—I don’t know anyone anymore.”

  “You were here with someone. They tied you up,” Clay said, lifting Alex’s head so he could drink more water. “We just need a bit more information from you. We need your help. Can you try and help us?”

  Alex nodded, seemingly trying to focus his thoughts. “I was with a . . . some others,” he whispered. “People. Survivors. That’s what we call ourselves now, isn’t it? We survived something. At least, we have so far.”

  “Why’d you stop here?” Alayna asked.

  “Food. Shelter. The hotel had it,” Alex continued. He dropped his head to the pillow. “But there were others here already.”

  Alex’s eyes began to droop. Clay put his hand on the boy
’s shoulder, and started to shake him.

  “Don’t, Clay. He needs to rest,” Lane said.

  “We don’t have time. We need to find out as much as we can.”

  “We can’t get anything from him if he dies on us,” Lane retorted.

  But Clay continued to shake the boy, insisting he wake. “Hey. Kid. Alex. Who was in the hotel already? Other survivors? Do you remember any of their names?”

  Alex’s eyes popped open. “We—we weren’t here very long,” he murmured. “Not long. Before they came. The dead . . . monsters. They used to be people. They used to be just like us.”

  “And they escaped? They left you here to save themselves?” Clay demanded.

  “The healthy. They got to leave. But me . . .” Alex started gasping for oxygen, before losing consciousness once more. His lips hung open, fish-like.

  “Fuck,” Clay yelled. He let go of Alex’s shoulders and stormed to the far side of the room.

  “Maybe he was left behind because he was too sick to travel,” Lane suggested. “They must have thought he was going to turn. The symptoms are similar.”

  “This epidemic—that you all created—is a bit more common than the flu, these days,” Clay interjected.

  “Whatever,” Lane snapped. “Regardless, he probably wasn’t told much. Just tied up here to die. What kind of monster would do that?”

  “One that was probably no better than those crazed wondering the streets,” Alayna said, leaning against the bedpost.

  “Alex. Hey,” Clay said, shaking the boy’s shoulders. “Alex. Wake up.”

  The boy blinked awake. He stared at them incredulously, as if searching his mind for recognition.

  “Do you remember anyone else that was here? The other survivors? Can you remember their names?” Clay asked, his voice rising. “Anything. Anything at all?”

  “He doesn’t remember, Clay. He’s had the flu for who knows how long. You know what it’s like to get the flu,” Alayna said. “You’re really out of it.”

  “Anyone’s name, kid. Can you remember talking to anyone?”

  “I—” Alex breathed. His eyes searched the ceiling, like a daydreamer. “Survivors? What a silly—” He pressed his lips together, licking what was left of the toilet water. “I—I miss her. She was—she was—” He paused. “M-Myy.”

  Clay jerked up, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

  “What did you just say?” he demanded, wanting to know for sure.

  “Mona—” Alex whispered, tailing off. “Mmaia.”

  His eyes closed. He took a long, gasping breath, and then fell into darkness—a deep sleep from which Clay couldn’t awaken him. Not in that moment.

  In the silence that followed, Clay’s mind raced.

  Maia. Jesus. Maia.

  He’d heard only the name, and nothing more. Was she alive? Was she safe? Had she gone with the others, or had she—God forbid—been attacked?

  His eyes swept the room, hunting for any clue of her. He wished he could smell her. Feel her presence. Know if she’d existed in that very room.

  Alayna broke into his reverie. “We should let him rest for a little while, Clay.”

  “He knows her,” Clay said. His head swung back and forth wildly, his fingers twitched. Could Alayna even understand how this made him feel? She wasn’t a parent. She’d never even expressed any desire for children. She could never imagine the love for a child. This wasn’t a game for him. This was his lifeblood. This was his everything.

  Chapter 36

  Lane stepped in front of Clay.

  “No,” she said, her voice low, like a growl. “You’re done here for now.”

  “You heard him,” Clay exclaimed. “He said her name, Lane. Maia! Don’t you understand what that means?”

  “I understand that he’s delirious,” Lane said. “And it’s quite incredible that he’s even lived this long. You know, if we’d been just one day later, we would have found a dead body instead of a malnourished boy who was left for dead by people. People like us. We have to remember our humanity, Clay.”

  “Fuck humanity. He knows where she is,” Clay snarled at Lane, jabbing her with his finger.

  The motion was forceful, jarring Lane back slightly. Alayna gasped, and covered her mouth. A heavy silence followed.

  Clearing her throat, Lane stood her ground. “I will not be bullied.”

  Clay felt a burning in his brain. He pulled his fingers through his hair, his shoulders shaking with anger. He realized he was out of line and knew he should apologize, but words would not form. He pointed at the dying boy.

  “You have to save him, then,” he said. “You have to make sure he lives. He knows Maia. He knows where they took her.”

  Alayna interrupted, “Clay! Just because he said her name doesn’t mean he knows any of that.”

  Clay shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “She could just be the last person he remembers. Possibly not your Maia at all,” Alayna said. “Just the last friend he had before they all packed up. And that doesn’t mean he knows where they went. He might have been delirious when he was tied to the bed. It’s actually a pretty sure bet. Right, Lane?”

  Lane nodded, not looking at Clay. She placed a hand on Alex’s forehead, checking his temperature. It seemed to radiate through the room, fueling all their nerves.

  “If he knows anything about Maia, then that’s all the more reason to save him.” Clay folded his arms across his chest. He refused to believe that Alex knew nothing. They’d found him for a reason. Now, they’d save him. They were limping along from miracle to miracle. Weren’t they?

  “Well, I don’t have the proper supplies,” Lane said. “There’s not a lot I can do for him here. I can keep him warm. Administer fluids. I don’t have a great deal of hope, to be honest.”

  But Clay refused to believe it. He turned to the door, his mind already rolling. “Then we need to get to a hospital. Even though they’re most likely abandoned, they must still have plenty of supplies. We could even stock up for the future.”

  “Well, of course,” Lane said. “But Alex is in no condition to be moved. We could hardly handle moving him to the bathroom, let alone across town. And if we come across the crazed—”

  “He would hold us back. Put us in jeopardy,” Alayna said. “I agree with Lane. He needs to stay put.”

  “Then, you both stay here. Watch him,” Clay grunted. “I’ll head to the hospital. I think I saw it on the other side of the railroad tracks as we came into town. Shouldn’t be more than a thirty minute walk.”

  “No. You’re not going out there by yourself,” Alayna protested. “I’ll go with you. Lane can stay here. Watch over Alex. She’s safe here. But out there—there’s just no way we can know how many are out there, waiting for you. I don’t want you to be surrounded.”

  Clay felt his heartbeat ramp up. He nodded slowly, knowing Alayna was right.

  “We’re losing time,” Lane said, and began to describe the supplies she needed, scribbling them down on a piece of paper from her back pocket. She passed it to Clay, sounding breathless. “But shit, I almost forgot. The neutralizer. It needs a new battery.”

  Clay flipped his thumb toward the door, shrugging. “I’ll just stop by the store on the way back. What size does it take?”

  “You don’t understand,” Lane said. “It’s a special kind of battery. Long life, high output. That sort of thing.”

  “You’re saying we can’t get it at the local supermarket, then?” Clay asked, incredulous. “Because that doesn’t seem practical in this end of world scenario. I’m no rocket scientist here, but wouldn’t it have made better sense to design the device to utilize a standard battery? I mean, assuming there are enough batteries in the world to power it up.”

  “It wasn’t developed for this kind of emergency. It was designed for the military. They would have always had supplies . . .” she trailed off. The silence stretched between them, heavy with recriminations.

  “As far as I
know, there’s no military base around here,” Clay said, bringing his fist against his thigh. He immediately felt a bruise begin to form. He didn’t know his own strength.

  “Mobile defibrillators. At the hospital.” Lane’s eyes were dancing through computations or algorithms that only she could see. “They use a similar power source, if you can believe it. If you find one at the hospital, grab it. If all goes well, I should be able to make it work.”

  “And if you can’t?” Clay asked.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  “Fuck it,” Clay said and shrugged. “Let’s get a move on.”

  He passed through the open door and into the hallway, which reeked of Alayna’s vomit. He marched toward the staircase, Alayna behind him. As the minutes ticked by, he knew Alex’s death was nearing.

  And with his death, Clay was afraid he would lose Maia for good.

  Chapter 37

  Clay bolted down the staircase with Alayna following. He didn’t dare look back; she would see that he was near sobbing. His eyes were tinged red with a mix of anger and sadness and fear, knowing that with each passing moment, his daughter was inching away from him.

  At the hotel entrance, where they’d shattered the window, he crunched through the glass. Alayna’s voice calling out his name hardly registered.

  “Clay! Hey! Clay,” she cried. “Listen to me.”

  Clay paused at the doorway. “We don’t have time to talk.”

  “But we don’t have what we need to just leave like this,” Alayna said, resting her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him. His body twitched at her touch. “We need to look for weapons, ammunition, anything they could have left behind. If they were in such a hurry to leave, they might have left supplies, things we could use out there. Let’s not go out there half-cocked, is all I’m saying.”

  Clay knew she was speaking reasonably. He sighed, and turned back toward the foyer. She eyed him fearfully.

  “Let’s split up, then,” Clay said. “You take the upper floors, and I’ll look down here. The kitchen. The supply closets. Maybe there’s a basement we missed. The hospital I saw was across town, but maybe there’s a closer one. Find a phone book.”