Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  “You’d think after an attack like that, they would give them back,” Clay whispered back, grateful that Alayna was dropping the issue. He didn’t want to face it himself. “Anyway, we’re just around the corner from the hotel. I think we’ll make it without another fatality.”

  “Those sound like some last words,” Alayna said, giving him a half grin.

  Clay grimaced and cut his eyes back to the front, still reeling from the shock of his mountainous rage. He needed to regain control. He remembered what it had felt like to hold his daughter for the first time, when she’d been an infant. How small she’d been in his arms, how delicate. He’d looked down at her, conscious that his muscles were tense, trying to keep his body entirely still so as not to in any way rock her world.

  He needed that kind of control over his body again. He needed to restrain his strength, to only use it when it was necessary. The entire world was just as delicate as baby Maia had been.

  In any case, he knew he’d proven something to Sam and the others. But he wasn’t entirely sure he’d proven something good.

  Chapter 48

  The hotel was quite the sight to see in full daylight. With the drama of the past twelve-plus hours, Clay had almost forgotten about the score of dead bodies on the hotel’s front steps. The crazed were still piled atop one another, decomposing in the morning sun.

  “Wow,” Sam breathed, impressed, or slightly disturbed.

  They stood behind the mound of corpses, looking up at the hotel entrance. Clay rested his hands on his waist, trying to ignore the dense stench.

  “What happened here?” Sam asked, her voice almost light. “A sign of your handiwork, I take it? Course, I don’t see the jaws separated from the bodies in this pile. A bit of laziness on your part, Clay.”

  Clay rolled his eyes, not giving her a response. But inwardly, he appreciated her attempt at humor. An hour before, she’d been ready to put a bullet through his head. Now, she was cracking jokes. Hopefully this was a sign that not all of humanity was lost.

  At the very least, it meant she wasn’t yet too frightened of him to be sarcastic.

  Damon and Al entered the sea of dead first, clearing a path toward the front door. The others followed, with Sam bringing up the rear, her rifle held tightly in her hands. Clay tried his best not to look at the dead, but not because he was worried that he’d recognize someone from his past, but because he was fearful of seeing more of himself in them.

  They entered the hotel through the shattered glass door, compliments of Alayna’s badassedness.

  “Subtle,” Sam said, joking again. “You didn’t bother to try the door?”

  “It must have been the adrenaline,” Alayna said. “I got caught up in the moment. What’s another glass door at the end of the world?”

  Sam nodded. “Not gonna lie, we’ve done it too. Still, it’s a shame that we’ll never experience the good things in life again. So, why not take what we need?”

  “The grocery stores are hard to explore,” Alayna said. “All that rotting fruit. And the meat. It’s a horrible smell.”

  “We’ve stuck to gas stations, mainly. Although living off of chips and pretzels isn’t going to keep us going much longer,” Sam said.

  “Same,” Clay said.

  “So hungry,” Alayna said, passing the concierge desk, her eyes drifting toward the kitchen.

  “A constant state, isn’t it?” Sam agreed. Her eyes turned to Clay. “So. You want to take us to the kid?”

  Damon stepped closer to Clay, unslinging his rifle as if to say, “Make one false move, motherfucker.”

  “Sure thing,” Clay said, and started for the staircase. “And in just a few minutes, you’ll see that we’ve done nothing but tell you the truth.”

  “You’ve already lied. But it’s your lucky day, I guess,” Sam said from behind him. “I’ve decided forgiveness is the best route in your case. I really like my jaw where it is. Some ex-boyfriends said it was one of my best features.”

  Clay laughed, in spite of everything. With a last burst of energy, he bolted to the top of the steps, landing on the fourth floor hardly out of breath. Waiting for the others to catch up, he closed his eyes for a moment—praying inwardly that Alex was still alive. That he’d been able to rest. That Lane had found a way to keep him tethered to the world for a while longer.

  Please, he thought. This is the last thing I’ll ask for. I promise.

  Who am I talking to? he wondered half-heartedly. Was anyone watching over them? Was there anyone to pray to? He’d never bothered much with church in the time before, opting to sleep in on Sundays instead. But the concept of a higher power had never been something he’d eliminated completely.

  Please, he thought again, as Sam and Alayna landed beside him. Just this once.

  “Down the hall,” Clay said, taking long strides toward the furthest room. They followed behind him like ants in a line, with Sam directly behind Clay. When he reached it, he knocked sharply, and opened the door.

  Immediately, Lane raised her gun, pointing it at the them. Her nostrils were flared, making her look almost demonic, like a bear watching over her cubs. For several seconds, Clay stood at the door with his hands high.

  “Lane. It’s me,” Clay said softly. “Put the gun down.”

  Lane dropped her aim and flung herself across the room, hugging Clay close. She shuddered. “You were gone so long, I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, looking at Alex who was barely breathing. He was still sweating, and he appeared to be talking in his sleep, mumbling incomprehensible words. “We brought some reinforcements. Meet Sam.”

  Sam nodded curtly. “The scientist?”

  “That’s right,” Lane said, extending her hand.

  As she stepped into the room, the stench from before—the soiled sheets, the clothing, reared its ugly head. Perhaps Lane had grown accustomed to it in the hours she’d sat there alone, spinning in her own head. Sam backed into the hallway, pointing at the sick child. “Rodney, I think this is your time to shine,” she said, her voice still holding its sarcastic tone. “I can’t stay in there another second. It smells like death warmed over. And God, am I tired of that smell.”

  Chapter 49

  Rodney dropped his cigarette in the hallway and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe, then approached Alex’s bed. Clay watched him curiously. The man hadn’t said much, making him more mysterious than he probably was. But he worked diligently, looking practiced in his bedside manner, lifting Alex’s wrist slightly and checking his vitals.

  Clay stood by the bed, Alayna next to him. Lane hunched near the door, looking almost ready to fall apart after having the room and Alex to herself for so long. The boy was even more sallow than he’d been, resembling the dead that piled up outside the hotel. His cheeks were so sunken they could hold pools.

  “What’s it look like, Doctor?” Clay asked, addressing Rodney properly.

  The doctor didn’t move. “He’s malnourished, severely dehydrated,” he said. “His pulse is quite weak. When was the last time you saw him conscious?”

  “About twelve hours ago,” Lane said.

  Rodney motioned toward the backpacks, gesturing for them to bring the one with medications toward him. Alayna yanked it away from Al and handed it to him. Ripping open the zipper, the man began to sift through the various bottles of pills, reading the brand names and muttering to himself.

  Sam whispered to one of her gunmen, eyeing the boy. Clay thought she was making a bet that the boy would die within the hour. Despite showing a bit of humanity earlier, he knew he couldn’t trust someone like her. Someone who’d been willing to steal their guns and their medication, indifferent to them.

  Finally, the doctor took three bottles from the backpack and shook them like rattles. “Found it,” he said.

  Alayna perked up. “Is he going to make it?”

  “I don’t know,” Rodney said. He popped open the top of the first medication with a ti
ght twist of his wrist. “I really don’t. But what I do know is that I need privacy. Please.” He gestured at the door. “Let me work on him in private. And good god, get those soiled linens out of here. They reek.”

  Clay nodded and went into the hallway. Alayna and Lane followed, but not before Lane scooped up Alex’s stained sheets and clothes. The six of them formed a circle, looking like loiterers, lost, blinking at one another. Except for Alayna, Clay wouldn’t have known any of these people in his real life. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to say good morning to them. He wouldn’t have helped them with their groceries.

  So he waited, knowing good and well that one of the women would certainly step up.

  Lane fulfilled Clay’s prophecy.

  “Did you find the defibrillators?” she asked, resting her hand on Clay’s forearm. She looked at him anxiously.

  Sam grunted to herself, shifting her weight.

  Clay looked at Sam, unsure of what to say.

  Sam studied Clay for several seconds before finally pulling a cell phone from her backpack. Her fingers danced across the display before she muttered into it: “All clear. Make your way to the hotel, but be on the lookout. Some of the monsters, or the crazed, as the sheriff calls them, are roaming the streets. I repeat. Some of the crazed have been spotted.” Still, her eyes remained on Clay, questioning.

  Clay was overwhelmed be several things just then. First, how in the hell did Sam’s cell phone work, and second, what on Earth had he done to make her so suspicious?

  Maybe ripping the jaw from the guy’s skull. Maybe that had had something to do with it. Maybe.

  Jesus.

  “Well?” Lane pressed, waiting. “The defibrillators?”

  Sam gestured for Damon. He passed the backpack with the defibrillators to Clay.

  Clay nodded thanks, shocked that she’d given them over so readily. What had changed her mind?

  “I hope your science thing works. I really do,” Sam said, crossing her arms. “I’m really tired of seeing so much blood spilled. Quite tired of it, indeed.”

  Clay and Sam sized each other up, with suspicion on one side and gratitude on the other. Clay opened the backpack, eyeing the defibrillators within. Lane clapped her hands together excitedly, the sound reverberating in the corridor. Damon and Al remained stone faced, as if they were mere soldiers in a greater game—pawns to be played whenever Sam chose.

  Clay, someone who was never great with words, was suddenly flooded with things to say. In the end, he decided to keep it simple. Keep it real.

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  Sam searched his face, but only nodded in reply.

  Chapter 50

  Lane took the backpack and pulled out one of the defibrillators. She gasped at the heft of the device. “Yes,” she said with glee. “You don’t know just how much this will help us. Help you. Help the world,” she said to Sam.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sam said, turning toward the staircase. “I think I need a fucking drink. There a bar in this place that hasn’t been ransacked quite yet?”

  Clay thought back to when they’d initially searched the hotel. There’d been a small bar attached to the auditorium that might have a few bottles of spirits left. “Downstairs. The dining room on the west side of the hotel. I think I saw a bar down there. I’m not sure what you’ll find, but that’s where I’d head first,” he said.

  Sam nodded curtly. “That might be the best news I’ve heard all day. Let’s go. Damon. Al.”

  Clay watched them go, reminding himself to talk to her about their cell phone reception later. Lane scurried off with the defibrillators and ducked into another room, where she set up a makeshift lab while they’d been gone.

  Alayna appeared beside him. She looked like she’d been crying. He touched her shoulder with his dirt-caked hand, suddenly conscious that he needed to clean himself up. She didn’t appear to notice.

  “Clay? I—I need to talk to you about something,” she said softly.

  Clay raised his eyebrows, wary. He remembered the “talk” he’d had with her a few days before, when he’d told her it simply couldn’t happen between them. Not now. Not ever. Not with Valerie somewhere, waiting for him to save her. Would Alayna want to talk about it all over again?

  “It’s important,” she insisted. “And I think you owe it to me to listen.”

  Clay nodded slowly, trying to read her face. But it revealed nothing.

  “All right,” Clay said, shrugging. “Let me just find someplace to get cleaned up first. Then let’s see if we can find some coffee down in the kitchen. Something normal for both of us.”

  Alayna nodded silently.

  With a heavy sigh, Clay ventured to another room, where he scrubbed his filthy hands in the passably clean toilet. He felt a slight twinge of disgust, but reminded himself of what he’d done earlier that day. Nothing about a toilet’s water should disgust him any longer.

  He rejoined Alayna in the hall, taking in her worried face.

  When they got to the kitchen, he busied himself, bouncing from cabinet to cabinet, on the hunt for coffee grounds. Each cabinet seemed emptier than the last. He started to whistle, wanting to make Alayna feel more comfortable. She stood with her arms crossed, and her mind seemingly elsewhere, watching him search.

  “Man, they really went through this place,” Clay said. “I mean, I can’t blame them. I would have done the same. Ah—wait.” He opened up the last cabinet by the walk-in freezer and found a few packs of instant coffee hiding in the back of the cabinet, behind a half-eaten jar of moldy jelly. He lifted them triumphantly, hopeful this would give them a moment of normalcy.

  “Now, I just need to make some hot water.”

  Alayna still didn’t speak. Clay organized the coffee on the counter, almost manic in his movements. He was still bursting with unlimited energy.

  “Clay. Clay. Hey. Can you please stop for a second?” Alayna asked. “I have something to tell you. Something serious.”

  Clay turned toward the cabinets again, hunting for a pan—anything to heat up the water. “Mmm?” he murmured. “I wonder what they would have done with all the pots and pans . . .”

  “Clay. Seriously. Listen,” Alayna said. Her face was pale with fright.

  Clay closed the cabinet slowly. “All right,” he said. “What is it you want to say?”

  “I have it,” Alayna whispered, her voice catching. “I have what you have. I think you infected me.”

  Thinking Alayna probably just had a cold, or was exhausted after so much traveling, Clay waved it off. “No, Alayna. That’s impossible. I told you in the forest that if we made love, I’d infect you. But we haven’t. Unless you took advantage of me while I was sleeping.” He chortled, hoping to lighten her mood.

  But Alayna didn’t react.

  “We made love in the hotel before we left Carterville, Clay. You remember? That actually happened, whether you want to remember it or not. And you were already infected by then. I think you infected me.”

  Waves of shock crashed over him as he realized she was right. How had he not put this together before? He stared at her, the coffee forgotten.

  “Oh, God,” Clay whispered. “You must be feeling . . . I mean, are you okay?”

  “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Alayna said. “It started when we were at the hospital. Or maybe when we got here and I found myself vomiting in the hallway. Either way, all the blood and gore is really getting to me. You know me, Clay. I normally have an iron stomach. And then when I saw you—” She paused, hunting for words. “When I saw you mutilate that crazed earlier, I almost lost it completely. I can’t think of another explanation. I’m feeling ill just thinking about it.”

  Tears began to stream down her cheeks. Clay wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close. He tried to make sense of it all. The first days of his symptoms—what had they been like? Similar? Yes. He’d been nauseous, achy, having to overcome the weakness of his stomach in order to keep track of his people.


  But wouldn’t Alayna have started having these symptoms weeks ago, after they’d made love? It didn’t make any sense. But then again—nothing in this world made sense.

  “We’ll get through this,” Clay said into her ear, trying to soothe her. “If you have it, we’ll do everything we can to get it out of you. I mean that.”

  Alayna pushed away. “Don’t lie like that, Clay,” she said. “We can’t even get this—this thing out of you. And you’re changing so fast. I’m so scared.”

  Faced with the strength of Alayna’s emotions, Clay couldn’t deny his own fear anymore. Shuddering, he pulled her closer. “I’m afraid, too,” he said, speaking the truth for the first time. “I mean, when I ripped that monster’s face off, I didn’t know I was capable of something like that. It was horrible, Alayna. And wonderful at the same time.”

  Alayna wiped tears from her cheek.

  “Tell you what,” Clay said. “If either of us turns into one of the crazed, the other one promises to take care of things before taking care of themselves.”

  “Taking care?” Alayna turned the thought over in her mind. “I suppose you’re right. It’s the only way,” she said to herself. “Murder, suicide. I never thought we’d be having this discussion.”

  Clay held her tight. “Me neither, Alayna. Me neither.”

  They stood there, lost in their own thoughts. Clay wanted to say more, but deep down, he knew that sometimes words were better left unsaid.

  “Now that we’ve cleared up that incredibly, not awkward at all situation,” Clay said, trying to lighten the mood, “Why don’t we find a quiet room so you can get some rest? You look exhausted.”

  There were half-moon shadows beneath her eyes, blood flecks across her chin

  “I would say the same for you,” Alayna said. “Scientifically speaking, you should look as rough as me. We haven’t slept in days. But you look more vibrant and alive than ever. Do you even feel tired at all?”

  Clay straightened up, breaking the hug. He flexed his biceps, marveling at the strength that seemed to build, minute by minute. He could almost feel the muscle fibers joining together. “I feel fantastic,” he said, the words almost incidental.