Detour: Book Two of the Humanity's Edge Trilogy

by Paul B. Kohler

  Alayna nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. She turned back to the door of the kitchen, with Clay following behind. Their hearts were heavy at their disturbing realization. For a moment, Clay had the strangest desire to hold her hand. But he pushed the impulse back. No use complicating things.

  Chapter 51

  After putting Alayna to bed, Clay sat up for another hour or two, sitting in a chair by the window, staring at his hands—amazed at how strong he was becoming, and yet how powerless he remained. Checking that Alayna was still resting comfortably, he decided to return to his coffee mission. He wasn’t fatigued enough to need a cup, but the feeling of that routine—of sipping a mug of hot bean water—might help bring his mind from the brink of insanity.

  He needed a bit of normalcy. Even if only for a moment.

  Once in the kitchen, he was able to fill the glass pot with water from a water cooler near the freezer door. Grateful that it wasn’t toilet water, he guzzled a bit of it from the pot. As he wiped his mouth, he realized he had no mechanism by which to boil the sucker.

  Shit.

  He caught a glimpse of the outside through the window. Darkness was falling, thrusting them into another terrifying night in this strange town. He hated that they’d destroyed the glass door when they’d entered, putting them at the mercy of whatever crazed came upon them.

  The kitchen door swung open. Sam walked in, alone, carrying his pistol and rifle. She passed them to him carefully, without a word. Clay slid the pistol back into his holster and set the rifle on the counter, next to the coffee. He nodded gratefully.

  “I suppose I owe you an apology,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “After all that’s happened, it’s difficult to know who to trust. Apparently, I’m not that good a judge of character. It wasn’t personal.”

  Clay considered her words, remembering how cold she’d been when she’d confronted them at the hospital. They lost so much time in the back and forth. And if she hadn’t listened to him about his daughter, they’d be watching Alex die right now. He wasn’t sure how much he could forgive her.

  “I guess I wouldn’t trust me either,” Clay said, half-lying. “Considering the situation we’re in.”

  He wanted to believe he wouldn’t be as horrible as she had been. But of course, he couldn’t be certain.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter and eyeing the half-filled pot.

  “Certainly not heating the water, that’s for sure,” Clay said, giving her a half smile. Tipping his head toward the staircase, he continued, “When the kid’s awake, I want to learn more about the people he was traveling with. I want to know where they might have taken Maia.”

  “And you think they have Maia?” Sam asked. “Why are you so sure?”

  Clay hesitated, feeling her doubt pouring over him. “It’s a gut feeling. Which I know, shouldn’t amount to much. But if you had seen the way he was talking about Maia, you’d know there was something to it. More than just knowing her name. There was a connection between them. So much so that the moment before he nearly died, he said her name repeatedly. If that’s all I have to go on, then so be it. I’ll take it.”

  She considered his words carefully, but made no reply.

  “And you?” Clay asked her. “Are you on your way somewhere?”

  Sam shrugged. For the first time, the muscles in her face relaxed to reveal a layer of confusion and fear. “I’m not sure,” she said. “My family’s all gone. I have my people—the ones I cared enough about to call, and the stragglers I picked up on the way. But now we’re just looking for a sanctuary. At the same time, I don’t know what the rest of the world’s like. I’m scared of staying in one place for too long. Getting comfortable somewhere. Calling it home? It doesn’t sound possible in a world so cruel.”

  Clay remembered the moments of comfort he and the others had felt before: at the hotel in Carterville, back in Helen. Always, those feelings were tainted when they’d been pushed too far.

  “I know what you mean,” Clay said, noticing Sam’s cell phone bulging in her hip pocket.

  “Hey, I meant to ask about that,” he said, gesturing to it. “How in the hell did you maintain cell phone reception? We lost connectivity more than a month ago.”

  Sam slipped the shiny black phone from her pocket and swiped across the screen, waking it from sleep mode. “You noticed that, huh? Dwayne, a guy we picked up along the way was able to reprogram all our phones to connect to one another, without the use of cell towers. He called it hawking, or something . . .”

  “Ad hoc? I’ve heard of it, but never realized it was actually possible.”

  Sam handed Clay the phone, and he tapped out Valerie’s phone number and hit the send button.

  Nothing happened.

  “It doesn’t actually work like that,” she said. “It’s more of just a walkie-talkie, and the distance is limited to other node’s close by.”

  Clay’s moment of anticipation faded quickly as he handed the phone back. “I suppose that it’s still encouraging; not all we had is lost. If one stranger can put us all back into communication, humanity still might have a chance—”

  Lane burst into the kitchen, panting. She looked at Clay as a smile stretched her face—one of pure, unadulterated joy.

  “I’ve done it,” she said, triumphantly. “I fixed it.”

  Chapter 52

  “The neutralizer?” Clay asked, inhaling slightly.

  “Yes,” Lane said, rubbing her palms together. “It took a bit of adjustment inside the device itself. But I think the thing works. The battery interface wasn’t perfect—not exactly the way we designed it. But I got it in there.”

  Sam and Clay exchanged a glance, Sam looked a bit confused. Despite her own bit of technological show and tell, this was far more advanced than the life she’d been living for the past month: kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

  “That’s wonderful,” Clay exclaimed.

  Lane’s eyes sparkled, making her look almost cocky. “Anyone care for a demonstration?” she asked, grinning madly.

  “I’ve heard so much about this gizmo, I’d be up for a show,” Sam replied.

  Lane clapped her hands excitedly, and hurried back upstairs to fetch the device. Clay slung his rifle over his shoulder, excited to be armed once again, then he and Sam met Lane at the entrance, looking out at the dark streets. When their eyes adjusted, they crunched through the broken glass and then walked through the dead crazed, to the street. The stench of the decomposing crazed was horrific, making them hold their breath as they passed.

  “Strange to be hunting for them, instead of the other way around,” Clay whispered, once they were clear.

  “As it’s night, I don’t think it’ll take too long to find them,” Sam said. “We’ve found that they’re more active at night. At least that’s what we experienced.”

  “Look,” Lane said, pointing across the street. She pointed with the neutralizer. “I think I see one in the alley.”

  “Ah. Yeah,” Sam said, leaning forward and drawing her gun. “Strange she’s by herself. Kinda weird fighting the urge to take a shot at it right now. You’re saying that thing can take it out instantly?”

  “Well, not quite, but yeah,” Lane said, sensing that Sam didn’t trust the neutralizer. Her eyes gave away her reluctance to speak with Sam, this stranger.

  “Looks like she’s spotted us,” Clay observed.

  As if on cue, the crazed—a middle aged women wearing a dingy sundress and one high heel—scrambled out of the alley and came at them, a howl rising from deep in her throat. Her arms clawed at the air, ready to rip into them. Hair streamed down her back, curling slightly with the wind whipping in from the mountains.

  Lane swung the device toward the monster, aiming it with precision.

  “Any time, now,” Sam whispered, her voice raspy. “Otherwise I’ll take care of things . . .”

  “All right, all right,” Lane said, rolling her eyes. She squeezed th
e trigger with confidence, sending the invisible waves into the air.

  But nothing happened. The crazed continued to ramble forward. Filled with rising panic, Clay aimed at the crazed, prepared to shoot.

  “I don’t understand,” Lane said, sounding troubled. She turned it over searching for an explanation. The crazed was now a mere eight feet away, moving fast. One of them was about to be its food.

  “Lane! I’m going to shoot!” Clay warned.

  “Oh! Stupid me,” Lane gasped. “I forgot to turn it on.”

  She flicked the power switch. A soft hum emanated from the interior, indicating it was fully charged. She squeezed the trigger again.

  Four feet away, the crazed stopped in its tracks, staring at them quizzically. Its dried-out, purple-tinted lips remained open, exposing rotting teeth. Its skin sagged at the corners of its eyes as it stared ahead—perhaps realizing, for a mere second—that it’d once been human, and was now something else entirely.

  It dropped to the ground, falling first to its knees and then to its face, shattering its nose and cheekbones. Sam remained standing with her gun drawn, still skeptical of what she’d just witnessed.

  “Wow,” she said, still prepared to shoot, as if she thought the crazed was playing dead. “That was . . . really something.”

  Lane grinned with pride. She held the neutralizer up, admiring her handiwork.

  Behind them, Alayna’s voice piped up, “Damn. That was close.”

  Clay jumped, startled. “Shit. Alayna. I didn’t even hear you come out,” he said.

  “Are you trying to scare us to death?” Lane asked, her eyes wide.

  Alayna chuckled. She looked a bit better after her rest, although the bags were still prominent under her eyes.

  “Haven’t had the power to frighten anyone in a while,” she said, smiling. “A bit refreshing, really. Anyway. Doc Rodney wanted me to tell you that Alex just woke up.”

  Clay’s heart began to hammer. Incredibly, he’d forgotten about the boy. “Can he speak?”

  “He can,” Alayna said. “He’s ready for you.”

  Clay sprinted to the hotel entrance, oblivious to the others behind him, focused wholly on the upcoming conversation. Whatever Alex told him would alter the course of his life. Information that he would have to accept.

  Even if Alex told him something he wasn’t prepared to hear.

  Chapter 53

  When Clay entered Alex’s room, he felt oddly manic. Blood pumped against his eardrums, making it difficult to hear anything but his own breathing. Dropping his gun at the door, he went to the bed, where he found Rodney seated beside the skeletal boy, feeding him something sour-smelling that looked like applesauce.

  With Clay’s arrival, both Alex and Rodney looked up expectantly. The boy was chewing slowly, taking in every bit of energy. His eyes were orbs, too bright and too big for what remained of his skinny frame. Lane, Sam, and Alayna entered a minute later, having fallen behind Clay in his race from the ground floor. After caring for boy for so long, Lane reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice colored with sadness.

  Alex gave her a small smile. There was no way he remembered her. Maybe he trusted something in her face. “Much better, thank you,” he said softly.

  Clay’s heart squeezed. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, amazed at the transformation the kid had made since they’d found him. “Rodney, this is really something,” he whispered. “He’s completely—”

  “He still has a long way to go before he’s healthy,” Rodney said, leaning back. The boy lifted his other hand and took the bowl of applesauce, starting to scrape it clean. “But get a lot more food in him, and he’ll regain his strength in no time.”

  “Alex. Right? That’s your name?” Clay asked him.

  The kid nodded. “Yeah. That’s it. Do I know you?”

  “You were pretty out of it when we found you,” Clay said.

  “The fever dreams I had were wild. Strange ones. About zombies? And about a million other things. Aliens coming to earth. Getting a D on my math test.”

  Behind Clay, Alayna chortled softly at the joke. Sam shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain if she should care about every aspect of the kid or get straight to the point. Clay focused on Alex, ready to dig for information.

  “So, what’s the last real thing you remember?” he asked.

  “The last memory.” Alex looked thoughtful. “It’s pretty harsh. I remember Malcolm, of course. He was tying me to this bed. Everything seemed blurry, though, so I can’t remember what he said before . . . But the ropes—around my wrists—and then the door clicking as he went away and left me. I remember that.” Alex’s words were still jumbled, but the gist of it came through clearly.

  “Malcolm?” Clay asked. “Who’s Malcolm?”

  Behind him, Sam gasped. Clay glanced at her, seeing her jaw drop. But he returned his attention to Alex.

  “Malcolm is—was our leader. The group I was in for a while, at least. There were about thirty of us, give or take, mostly men but a few women,” he said. He dropped his bowl and put his hands across his chest. His cheeks already seemed fuller.

  “And you were traveling together?” Clay asked.

  “Going from town to town around here. Hunting for supplies. We came to the hotel and God—that was a sight to see,” Alex replied.

  “How so?” Clay asked. He still hadn’t mentioned Maia. When was he going to get to Maia?

  “When we got here, half the rooms were filled with those things. Locked inside, you know. Trying to get out. Malcolm decided to check on all of them to see if anyone had survived. It seemed like some kind of weird science experiment. Like a bunch of rats in a cage,” Alex said. “But there were some who’d survived. Who weren’t monsters yet. Maybe eight or nine? I lost count.”

  Clay’s heart leaped. “Was one of them named Maia?”

  “What about a Megan?” Alayna asked, leaping over Clay’s words. “Was there a survivor named Megan?”

  Alex shook his head sadly, his eyes glassy. “I don’t remember all of them. I wish I could, but everything was confusing. I was starting to get sick and was out of it most of the time. But there was a girl. A girl around my age, or a bit younger. She was really sick. We talked a lot. I tried to help her. She was—she was the nicest person I’d met in a long time.”

  Clay bowed his head, praying. “Do you remember her name?” he asked patiently, but struggling with frustration inside.

  Alex nodded. “Maia, I think. That’s right. That was her name.”

  “And she left with the others?” Clay demanded, almost insane with worry.

  “I wasn’t the only one who liked her. When she started to get a better, Malcolm really took notice of her,” Alex said, his eyes turning toward the window. He swallowed hard, clearly losing steam. “He took her. He chained her up. They left with her.”

  Clay stared into Alex’s face. “Chained her?”

  “Like some kind of animal,” Alex said, his eyes moistening. “It was horrible. Malcolm wouldn’t listen to me. I was getting too sick, anyway—”

  “He wouldn’t listen to you, despite being your father?” Sam asked from behind Clay, staring down at Alex with eagle eyes.

  Clay and Alayna gaped at Sam, wondering how in the world she’d known that. Alex began to nod; his breathing grew shallow.

  “How did you know that?” he asked her. “I haven’t called him my father for a long, long time.”

  Clay’s blood felt close to boiling. He imagined Maia, chained to this horrible man, being dragged through town, her small feet trying to keep up with him. “Your father. He chained Maia up?” He was barely able to get the words out as his agitation swelled. Bolting to his feet, he glared down at Alex—the current source of his anxiety. “He chained up my daughter. And he carted her away like an animal?”

  Alayna moved forward, placing a hand on Clay’s shoulder. She rubbed at the tense muscle, trying to soot
he him. “Shhh,” she whispered. “We’re going to find her.”

  But Clay shrugged her off with a violent motion. He barreled from the room, so enraged he could barely see.

  The world was crumbling around him.

  Chapter 54

  Once in the hallway, Clay let go. Agitation and rage ripped through him, causing him to batter the walls, to punch holes in doors. He was in a mode of destruction, leaving debris in his wake. Tears streamed down his face. His cheeks burned. “FUCK!” he screamed, beating his knuckles against the staircase walls, feeling the plaster crumble under his fists. Nothing could fight back; he could tear the entire hotel down, if he wanted.

  And in that moment, he wanted something to feel as badly as he did. To look as ruined as he felt.

  The others followed, watching as he ripped and tore at the bones of the hotel itself, shattering windows and allowing blood to course down his arms and legs. His heart felt like it might burst from the inside out and splatter against the floors below. He couldn’t feel anything else.

  In the lobby, Clay flattened his palms against the reception desk. He remembered feeling as if his daughter had been in the hotel from the very moment they’d walked in. He’d felt her presence there; he’d sensed that she’d been a part of whatever had happened, whatever made it such a horrible, grey, shadowed environment.

  She’d been locked in a hotel room, while the rest of the travelers she’d come with from Helen had turned into the crazed all around her.

  How she’d survived that long was beyond Clay.

  He screamed again, a frightening howl from deep within his chest, then he tore the top of the reception desk off, hoisting the massive granite slab above his head. Phone cables and power cords dangled to the floor. Holding it aloft, he caught a glimpse of Alayna out of the corner of his eyes, sobbing uncontrollably at his complete and utter breakdown. With a flourish, Clay hurled the counter at the wide open front door, and into the darkness outside. The granite shattered on the noses and skulls of the crazed, creating a noise almost too horrible to imagine. Alayna covered her mouth, surely about to vomit again.