Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “What the—” Clay turned around.

  The bullets were coming from somewhere beyond the crazed—from someone crazy enough to take on a horde that large without batting an eye. One by one, the crazed convulsed before flailing to the ground in a miasma of blood and puss, their muscles twitching with their final throes. Realizing that the bullets were getting closer, Clay shoved Alayna to the ground and covered her with his body. The bullets began to impact the glass, shattering it into clouds of twinkling shards.

  Chapter 40

  “There. The reception desk. Get behind it,” Clay said, pointing. He had no idea if the person shooting was their enemy. Not knowing if this world would be friendly to other survivors—he couldn’t chance it knowing that someone had literally tied a teenage boy to a bed and left him to die.

  That was the kind of world they were living in.

  Alayna and Clay crawled toward the reception desk as the blasts grew louder, more insistent.

  When they reached the safety of the desk, they hunkered down and waited as the barrage of gunfire continued. They didn’t dare look out, for fear of being struck by a stray bullet themselves.

  “What are we going to do when it’s over?” Alayna whispered. Please, protect me, she seemed to ask. Save me.

  The gunfire finally stopped. Clay peeked around the desk, blinking into the brightness of the new day. Several armed people were storming the steps of the hospital, their automatic weapons strapped across their chests and their motions sure. They looked like full-sized action figures from Clay’s youth, ones he’d positioned on the windowsill and forced to tumble to the floor to their deaths.

  The gunmen stepped over the threshold and into the broken glass, their boots crunching. They didn’t speak. Why weren’t they talking? Clay’s heartbeat ramped up, making them both shake. It was the adrenaline asking him, what are you going to do now?

  He wasn’t going to be a coward.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice booming. “Hey. Don’t shoot. We’re human back here.”

  He heard his voice bounce across the room. The gunmen cocked their weapons, clearly alert. The sounds of the clicking echoed in the stillness.

  “I said don’t shoot,” he said again. “We’re not the crazed. We’re survivors.” He waved the tips of his fingers over the counter, careful not to expose his face or head. “Please. Listen. We’re human. We’re from Carterville. We’re just trying to stay alive.”

  The silence was heavy. Even with their own automatic weapons, they’d never be able to take all of them. They’d be blasted to the ground immediately, their bright red blood running across the linoleum. Their futures—finished.

  Finally, the voice of a woman met his ears.

  “Show yourselves,” she demanded. “Immediately.”

  Clay grasped Alayna’s upper arm, pulling her to her feet. They turned toward the voice. A woman and two men, all three holding automatic weapons. Pointed directly at Clay and Alayna.

  “Don’t shoot,” Clay said, raising his hands high. Alayna followed suit. “We were just looking for medicine. A friend is sick. Real sick. He—he might not make it.”

  The woman jerked her head, sending one of her comrades to take their weapons. Clay watched helplessly.

  “We really, really do need those to stay alive,” Clay said. “How do you expect us to make it out there without guns?”

  “And the backpacks,” the woman said. “Take them, too.”

  The man relieved Clay and Alayna of their packs, including the one with the defibrillators, then walked back to the woman and the other armed man. Their eyes were blank.

  “You don’t understand,” Clay tried.

  “Thanks, but I think we need this more than you do.” Her words were flippant. “I really, really do.”

  The men positioned themselves on either side of her, holding their weapons steady. The woman—tall, blonde, perhaps once beautiful, if that meant anything at all in this new, horrible reality, looked mere moments from laughter.

  Clay and Alayna had become pawns, yet again. And it made Clay’s blood boil.

  Chapter 41

  Clay’s eyes narrowed, making him look capable of madness, of murder. He watched as the strange armed men took the supplies, the things that could have helped him to find his daughter again. His words were hoarse, illustrating his distress.

  “You can’t just take everything,” he said. “I told you. We have to save our friend.”

  “And why on Earth should I care about your friend? Just another man taken out of society. Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” the woman said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your lady here feels the same. Darling, how often have you been at the mercy of whatever this man wants of you—especially now, with civilization lost?”

  The woman turned toward Alayna. Alayna didn’t speak. The woman laughed softly, as if she didn’t need a response to know the truth. Clay was too distracted to comprehend the anxious spinning of Alayna’s own mind.

  “It’s not just another man,” Clay protested. “It’s a boy. A teenage kid. He’s going to die if we don’t get him that medicine.” He pointed at the backpacks “And the kid. He knows things. Things that could—”

  The woman smiled grimly. “A boy, huh?” Her words dripped sarcasm. “Well. That changes everything.”

  Clay took a step forward. The woman’s henchmen aimed their guns directly at Clay’s heart.

  “Please.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” the woman snapped. “I don’t owe you or this sniffling boy a goddamned thing. It’s a dog eat dog world out here, to use an old expression.” She turned, the heel of her boot crunching on the bloodstained glass. “You should just be grateful I saved your asses.”

  Clay was flabbergasted. He realized he hadn’t faced another group of humans since riding into Helen. He hadn’t expected such ruthlessness.

  What had happened to this woman to make her this way? So bitter?

  She began to walk away.

  Alayna balled her hands into fists. “Wait!” she cried.

  The woman’s back stiffened.

  “Wait,” Alayna continued. “I’m asking for just an ounce of compassion. Just a little understanding, please. We’re begging here.”

  The woman flipped her hair off her face, with a mannerism reminiscent of another time. When flirtatious actions spoke louder than words. The men on either side turned with her, prepared to aerate Alayna. But the woman held up a slim hand, staying them.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, her sarcastic tone unchanged. “If I give the two of you weapons, then you’ll undoubtedly shoot us in the back. Imagine it from my side, won’t you? Offer sympathy and understanding? Not today, dearie.”

  “We wouldn’t do that,” Clay stated. “Absolutely impossible.”

  “And what makes you say that?” Disbelief in her voice.

  “I’m Clay Dobbs. That’s why,” he said. “I’m the sheriff of Carterville. This is Alayna Cordell, and she’s my deputy. We’re sworn to serve and protect, and we definitely wouldn’t shoot you in the back. Not like cowards.”

  The woman looked surprised. Clay hoped he’d gotten through to her. She blinked several times. “My, my,” she breathed. “If it isn’t the sheriff of Carterville.”

  “Exactly.” His heart started pumping again. “I knew you’d understand.”

  She cut him off. “That is to say—you were the sheriff of Carterville.”

  Clay’s eyebrows furrowed. “What—”

  “You were the sheriff. Just another servant to another dumpy little town that no longer exists. That is, if Carter-son-ville, or whatever it is, is anything like the other towns I’ve seen so far, it’s nothing but a wasteland.”

  Thousands of images of Carterville flashed through Clay’s mind. All the unique places that every town had that made it home. Memories that shaped him into the man he was today.

  Could it really all be gone for good?

  “If anything,” the woman continued, “If anything, I sho
uld be worried about you and your deputy even more.” The word “deputy” in air quotes, belittling them. “You’ve made it this long, in this . . . this nothingness. You’ve survived against these horrible creatures. You’ve had these weapons, and I’d bet that you haven’t been afraid of using them. Otherwise, you’d be dead. Like the rest of the world. No, no. I think I’ll keep all the weapons to myself. If you’re worth anything, I think you’ll be able to survive without them. And if not, that’s not really my problem. Is it?”

  She turned away, whispering curtly toward her soldiers. They began to retreat, easing through the mounds of death.

  “Please,” Clay said, his voice low. “We just need the medication. The kid at the hotel. The one who’s sick—”

  “I’ve already told you,” the woman snapped. “I don’t give a damn about your sick kid. I don’t have time for it. This world doesn’t have a future. Why should we give up anything to save him?”

  “He knows things about my daughter,” Clay said, spelling out his last hope. “He knows where she is, and that’s all I care about anymore. I don’t care about hurting you, or anyone else for the matter. You can go kill anyone you please. You can rule this dystopian universe, for all I care. I just want to find my daughter. My wife. My family.”

  Chapter 42

  The woman stopped. Something in Clay’s words reached her. She tilted her head slightly, almost birdlike, before turning to face them. She no longer wore that look of superiority—the one that implied she’d fill both Clay and his deputy full of bullet holes if they said another word about compassion or her lack of it.

  Her new expression told a story, maybe of a past life—one rich in the matters of family, of love.

  She stood there, silence stretching between them. Her comrades flicked their eyes from Alayna to Clay and back to Alayna, uncertain which one to point their guns at with the most ferocity.

  Finally, when Clay thought that the reticence would go on forever, the blonde woman found her response. Her words were hesitant, reminiscent of someone who’d perhaps had lower self-esteem in the time before.

  “How do I know you’re not making them up? Your wife and daughter?” she asked. “As far as I know, you’d say just about anything to get what you want.”

  Clay shrugged, sensing a crack in her outer shell. “You really don’t,” he said truthfully. “I could tell you for five minutes the way Maia likes her oatmeal, or the way Valerie twirls her hair when she’s nervous—but you’re right, I could be making any of that up. You just have to take my word that I’m telling you the truth. I took an oath as a sheriff about a million years ago, pledging to be a truth seeker. Pledging to fight for justice.”

  “Justice,” the woman echoed, her eyes fixed on Clay’s. “I haven’t heard that word in a long time. It doesn’t seem to belong to this reality.”

  “My wife and daughter left Carterville before I did, right after the outbreak,” Clay said, trying to start a dialogue. “I thought they’d be able to stay together, but apparently, they were separated when they got to Helen. My wife was sent to a military base up north, and my daughter—well. She was sent south. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” the woman said, her voice dropping.

  “We found a boy at the nearby hotel. Like I said, he’s very sick. But if we get him this medication, then he’ll be able to tell us where they took her—my daughter. She apparently stayed with these people at the hotel. You understand? Once we get him to wake up, he can tell me where to go next. He’s the missing link.”

  Beside him, Alayna flinched slightly. Clay’s lie was subtle—giving a bit more weight to Alex’s knowledge. All he’d said was Maia’s name. That was true. That was going to have to be enough.

  The seconds ticked away, a countdown approaching zero.

  “Suppose I believe you,” she started. “Suppose I believe everything, down to Maia eating oatmeal.” Her eyes flashed. “What’s in it for me, if I help you?”

  Clay’s mind raced. “If you do this, and I’m lying, you can keep everything. You can keep our weapons. You can keep the medication. You can have all the supplies back at the hotel, even. But if we’re telling the truth, we split everything equally. Except for the defibrillators. We get to keep those.”

  The woman glanced at the backpack filled with clunky devices. “And what on Earth is so important about those?” she asked. “Are you planning on having some sort of cardiac event?”

  Clay offered her a small smile. Jokes were rare enough, especially coming from an enemy.

  “We have—” he considered how much of his hand he should really show. “We have this device that actually neutralizes the crazed, without firing a single shot. But it needs a power source.”

  Chapter 43

  The armed man on the left spoke up in a voice reminiscent of a cartoon villain.

  “We shouldn’t believe him, Sam,” the man said. “They’re lying. They obviously want to ambush us. And there’s no telling how many of them there really are. We can’t give them the upper hand.”

  Sam. That was the woman’s name. Clay took it in, beginning to humanize her—if only slightly. He focused entirely on her as she began to shake her head, having already made up her mind.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think so. I’m a pretty good judge of character, as you know.” With this, she rolled her eyes slightly—almost mocking herself.

  The men beside her shifted, their boots crunching on the glass.

  “I believe them,” Sam said. “Clay Dobbs. Sheriff of Carterville. I think you’ve piqued my interest. I’ll follow you to the hotel. If what you say is true, I get half of everything. Absolutely everything. That said—” she paused, giving weight to her next words. “I keep the defibrillators.”

  Clay’s mind flashed on the two other defibrillators still on the shelf in the storage room. He nodded slowly, knowing he could come back and retrieve them whenever he pleased—if he got out of this alive. Focus on survival, he thought. “Sure. Okay. We have a deal.”

  But Alayna chose this moment to protest. “What do you need them for?” she asked, her voice tinged with anger. “We’ve already told you why we need them. We need them desperately.” Tears began to glisten in her eyes.

  Had she forgotten the other defibrillators, or was she just making a scene? Clay wondered, shifting uncomfortably.

  Sam tilted her head back, reclaiming her authority with Alayna’s protest. “You want them. You want them desperately. And so, my darling deputy, I want them too. And that’s the end of it.” She turned back to Clay. “Let’s go.”

  She spun back, marching through the dead and leading them to five large trucks with their engines still purring. There, Clay and Alayna met her team of a dozen or so men, women, and children—each looking haggard, yet resolute. They all remained silent, and only stared.

  “People,” Sam addressed them. “We’ve met Clay and Alayna from Carterville, and we’ve negotiated a deal that could be quite good for all of us. We will follow them back to their hotel on the other side of town.”

  Taking a step forward, Clay addressed Sam. “It’s going to be nearly impossible to drive there,” he said. “The streets are full of abandoned vehicles. If you try to drive, it’s going to take you all day to find a route. We came here on foot.”

  Sam’s lips parted in a moment of shock. “Y-you walked here?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re braver than I thought. Or maybe just crazy.” She turned back to her crew. Her gun hung across her back, glinting. “Okay. We’ll walk, while the rest of you drive as best as you can toward the hotel.”

  “You know where it is?” Clay began. “It’s across town. Directly east of—”

  Sam waved her hand. “We know this town,” she said. “We’ve been through Dearing before. Isn’t that right, people?”

  Nobody in Sam’s group offered a nod, or uttered a single sound. They seemed like shells of the humans they used to be, following Sam blindly, with nowhere else t
o turn.

  “I’ll get word to you from the hotel once the coast is clear,” Sam said with finality.

  Get word? Clay wondered. He’d long since discarded his cell phone once they’d discovered that the satellite network was no longer in operation. Was she planning to send up smoke signals?

  Sam turned toward a darker man that was puffing a hand rolled cigarette, as if he were watching them all from far away. “Rodney. He says there’s a sick kid at the hotel. Says it’s a matter of life and death. You mind coming along?”

  Rodney shrugged. He dropped from the back of the truck, still puffing. “I’ll grab my medical bag.”

  Sam’s eyes twinkled at Clay, she knew she looked impressive. “We have a doctor amongst us,” she said. “How fortuitous for you. If you’re telling the truth, that is.”

  Chapter 44

  Clay and Alayna began to lead Sam and her small entourage toward the hotel. As they retraced their steps, the quaint southwestern town looked different. It still had an aura of gloom that seemed to blanket everything. But in the early morning hours, the rising sun cast an eerie glow on the vacant streets. Everyone remained alert, watching for the crazed in the shadows behind cars and between buildings. Clay and Alayna walked with their fists clenched as if they were weapons. They both felt naked, as good as dead unarmed.

  Ten minutes into the hike, Alayna spoke up. “I’d feel much safer if I had my weapon. If they jump out in front of us. I’m doomed. And wouldn’t we all be better off if—”

  Sam cackled, interrupting Alayna’s almost certainly rehearsed speech. “Don’t worry your pretty face, darling,” she said. “My boys and I will protect you. You saw it yourself. I’ve kept more than a dozen people alive since this all started. I can’t be all bad at this game.”

  Alayna glared at Clay. He shrugged, trying to tell her, “It’s going to be fine. We just have to get through this hard part, and then we’ll get rid of these people.”