Being Hunted

by C A Gleason

  He realized what was actually happening to him. He was absorbed in a battle, the battle of his life, one that not only challenged his wits but also every part of him—his body, what strength he still had, his mind, and his will—more so than any peril he’d ever encountered. As a result of the preceding events, he felt as if he were already a different person. Tougher. Stronger.

  That was when he heard a bang, and the trees above snapped in a hundred places at once. It sounded like a rifle shot, and there was shouting right afterward. Although he couldn’t hear the voice clearly, it was definitely a threat to shoot again. They were shooting at him? Thankfully, they didn’t know where he was.

  The gunfire had to be only a tactic, their continuance of attempting to coerce him into showing himself and giving up. He wasn’t stupid, and it made him angry that they believed him to be. He needed to remember if they were OK with him being dead, they wouldn’t be searching for him. They simply would have killed him already or let him escape.

  It was quite sad that it took a perilous predicament to strengthen him, Otto thought. Maybe that was how it always worked. How it was supposed to be, not just for him but for others too. Danger exposed weaknesses, and the common result was growth and strength. He may have been in danger, but there was a certain thrill to it also, similar to a debate. It was probably the unknown aspects of it and uncertainty of what might happen next. Of course it was difficult for that thrill to sustain. It revolved around his life.

  A familiar noise suddenly came out of nowhere, as if it were behind a wall, so he headed toward it. That was when he saw a mountain that looked somewhat familiar in the distance. The situation was looking up, literally. If there was any more trouble along the path, he could deviate and find a different one that headed toward it. As long as he didn’t encounter the men who were tracking him.

  The sudden sound transformed into a splashing trickle, a stream, and melting snow had helped fill it. No matter how cold it might be, it was a welcome sight. He was already on all fours, scooping water into his mouth. The icy water instantly cleared his mind and gave him a burst of energy. The multiple handfuls even temporarily tricked his stomach into feeling full.

  After quenching his thirst to the point where he thought it might all come back up, and trying not to choke as he was breathing heavily at the same time, he stopped and got ahold of himself. Thankfully every ounce of refreshing liquid remained in his stomach. Staring at the surging stream, he briefly considered hiding under its surface, but that would be a useful tactic only if his pursuers appeared and only long enough for them to pass him by.

  Upon further inspection, he realized the stream was probably too shallow and far too cold. If he waded into it, it would probably come up only to his waist, and if he submerged himself completely, he might still be visible and also might burst back up almost immediately, sputtering, regretful, and miserable, because of the stream’s temperature. Envisioning going through with it almost made him laugh out loud. He may be running for his life, but at least he still had his sense of humor.

  If the pain of the icy water didn’t cause him to rethink the hiding place, then actually going through with it and holding his breath surely would. How ridiculous would he seem to his pursuers if he gave himself away by exploding up out of the water, coughing. Otto wouldn’t be the only one with a sense of humor. They would easily subdue him and laugh at him while they dragged him away.

  Following the stream had initially seemed like a good idea until frustration overwhelmed him when he realized the end of it was a waterfall. When he carefully leaned over the ledge to assess the cliff’s height, he realized the bottom was a long way down. A hundred feet at least. Hearing what was going on behind him somewhere in the wood, the callous traipsing and angry voices, assured Otto that the men would appear soon. He could even almost make out who was speaking.

  Panic of a sudden decision overwhelmed him—what to do, which decision would be correct—and he briefly considered backtracking, what he’d thought of doing before, but that could mean getting spotted if he weren’t fast enough. He didn’t know the area. Never set foot there. He only knew it generally from looking at a map and that had been only briefly. The only places he was familiar enough with to navigate were the main roads, and he was far from them. He had no choice. He would have to attempt the cliff next to the waterfall.

  Will they follow me? He hoped not.

  Descending too close to the waterfall itself meant he might slip, so he trudged far enough away from it so its current wouldn’t trip him up. The final leg of his escape would be absorbed by the loud volume of rushing water.

  Peering over the edge made him feel dizzy. He’d never cared for heights, so he decided to focus only on what was directly in front of him. That would be his plan, and it made the most sense for him to remain calm. Bushes jutted out an angle that was slight but looked gradual enough to maintain a grip and sure footing on, as if the cliff itself were shaped like an abandoned ski slalom. Because there were brush and bushes to hold on to, it was possible to climb downward. Even though his hands were in gloves, the kind that kept hands very warm during winter, he suspected he could still maintain a grip, despite the fact that everything was covered in snow. Thankfully today the world wasn’t completely frozen.

  Archard’s men would probably search for a way around so they didn’t have to attempt a descent so precarious. The probability of finding another way down and then locating him was minimal, so he wasn’t sure what they’d do. If they couldn’t find him, they might even forget about him, especially with night fast approaching. No matter how tough they believed themselves to be, nighttime was often filled with teeth and claws, and that would chip away at anyone’s confidence.

  Once on the ground, he would run even faster than before, and then he would be safe, free, and the next group he joined . . . He would be much more cautious. Getting ahead of himself was easy for him to do, and he heard them again, their approach edging closer, actual sight of them looming, and his positive outlook was only wishful. It wasn’t realistic. If he didn’t act now, they would take him.

  “Do it.”

  His voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger, a man who was prepared for all this, and it prompted him to head over the side of the cliff without any more hesitation. The bush handholds were sporadic but close enough for him to grasp for stability. He did his best not to look down, was afraid of heights actually, but his new inner person was not. Still, the majority of him that was still Otto noticed just how high up he was but did his best to see that only out of the corner of his eye.

  A clump of shrubs snapped, and his foot slipped, forcing him to grab an improvised handhold but also involuntarily look down. His heart attempted to beat out of his chest, and he tried to blur out the bottom as if it were only directly below him and not a hundred feet down and just focus on what he hoped was a sure grip. He forced himself to calm down. Once he did that, he kept on.

  There turned out to be plenty of branches, outcroppings, and flat rocks to grasp and hold on to the farther he lowered himself down. The chilly morning wind actually felt rather nice and cooled him with its forceful gusts, coaxing his exertion into something close to pleasant exercise. Even though it was winter everywhere, he had been growing rather hot. He was sweating quite profusely and steam poured off him continuously now.

  Stealing a glance upward to where he’d begun, he saw he had already climbed down quite a distance. At least thirty feet. That was when a face appeared. A man whose name he couldn’t recall. The one who was good at capturing monsters and also tracking people. He didn’t look angry, or concerned, or anything really. It was a blank expression. It was as if he weren’t seeing Otto as person, as if he were like any other animal that needed to be hunted down. That really made him panic. Others had obviously linked up with them, probably from the firing line or Fort Perry.

  Otto had been wrong about his assumptions of what they would be willing to do. They were all coming after him the same
way he was climbing down. Thankfully, he’d already climbed far enough to be well ahead of them. Not far enough, though.

  Other than the one slip, the brush grew deep in the dirt and remained sturdy with each handhold, so he sped up his descent. They definitely didn’t want him dead, a persistent worry, because one of them could have shot him already. The cliff wasn’t as steep as he’d initially thought when he’d first peered over. Different from his current angle. It was probably why there was no hesitation in the pursuers above.

  A sharp odor suddenly filled his nostrils, and he wondered if cliffs were also a place the monsters made their nests. He relaxed when he saw an animal stick its rear end out of its burrow for a morning excrement, and the steaming clumps of waste tumbled down the cliffside to disappear among some snow-dusted green leaves. He memorized where it was so he didn’t accidentally grasp a pile of slippery shit and tumble down the cliff to his death. Another funny thought, and more proof of his sense of humor, but not so funny that he heard his own laughter. Better to remember the spot all the same.

  He didn’t know what kind of critter it was by seeing only its rear end. A raccoon or something? There were plenty of them in Deutschland. He couldn’t think of anything else that looked like a raccoon, so he thought that was what it must be. The raccoon, or whatever it was, then disappeared back inside its den, oblivious to the descending stranger.

  There were only so many things to hold on to, so Otto had no choice but to scale right over where the animal had appeared. Hopefully it was still turned around, and it wouldn’t be facing outward, ready to scurry forth and bite him. He was directly in front of the hole, and he must have startled the animal because it let out a steady growl as loud as a bear as he passed, as if it were afraid Otto might take its home for himself. He didn’t know the animals were so aggressive. The Molting hadn’t changed only human behavior.

  As he passed it by, he didn’t bother to look. If it bit him, he would deal with it, but if he could just get by unscathed . . .

  It was what they both wanted, he was sure. He probably could have reached in, grabbed it, and thrown it off the cliff, but there was no doubt it had teeth ready to use. Most animals just wanted to be left alone. He was no different. Best to ignore its display of ferocity, so he moved steadily but as quickly as he could, trying to make himself the least threat possible.

  Having cleared the den, something that seemed to take an eternity, he resumed his hurried handholds. Navigating the animal’s home had slowed him down a lot longer than he would have liked, and it happened inopportunely. The men were climbing after him as if it were a race. In a way it was. Them being anywhere close to him was already too close for comfort.

  Hand under hand, and fast as he could without looking up for fear of wasting precious seconds of escape and distance, he heard one of them yell. Not words, it was hollering, which caused him to glance upward long enough to smile before resuming the descent. The animal had clearly bit one of them based on the cursing that followed. It was just the distraction Otto needed.

  When his boots finally hit the ground, he landed hard and realized just how exhausted he was from the climb. That but also all the running before the cliff, which was thankfully now behind him. Glancing over where the waterfall filled, he was impressed by the depth of the runoff. Finally at the bottom, on solid ground, he was ready to conclude his escape. Except he felt so strange.

  Weak all of the sudden but not the kind of exhaustion caused by arduous activities such as running and climbing. And it felt as if somebody was pinching the skin of his shoulder. He reached as he marched away and felt that something had penetrated through his jacket. Plucking the thing out of him, he saw it was a dart. A tranquilizer.

  As he felt the rush of unconsciousness quickly approaching, he looked behind him and up at the top of the cliff to see a man with a rifle. It was obviously one that fired such a dart. He could have shot Otto sooner but obviously didn’t want him to fall. They needed him alive for what was planned, not dead. At least not yet.

  Others had climbed halfway down the cliffside. In minutes, they would be on the ground where he was. Imagining being forced in a cell spurred him to gather what strength he had left and start running again. But he stumbled, and then he was on the ground and couldn’t get up.

  Otto heard someone groan but realized the voice he heard was his own and then noticed the boots of Archard’s men—in far better condition than his—had already surrounded him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jonah quietly finished getting dressed as day-old coffee warmed in a mug on the woodstove. The smoke that ascended over the cabin used to worry him, as he feared that it may give away their position to threats, but it mostly faded into the surrounding trees and winter fog. After putting another log on, he glanced at the holiday tree and briefly wondered how Heike would decorate it this time, hoping she had enough ornaments. He decided she did, he thought while he slugged down the coffee that was nearly too hot. Then he went outside onto the porch, his breath powerful shotgun blasts of white.

  After chopping wood, he charged the radio—the kind that didn’t require batteries—by winding it before turning it on, and after dialing it to a low volume, he went about his morning exercises. Today was push-ups and crunches, followed by an eventual run. Exercising was an extension of staying motivated and how he’d learned to remain strong while in the military. It carried over to his life today, even though he’d gotten himself kicked out of the military for selling drugs.

  There was a reason soldiers were taught basic survival skills and also why they were all trained in the same manner: using iron sights for rifle marksmanship and staying in shape without needing anything but your own body weight and the ground to perform exercises such as push-ups and sit-ups and run outdoors. It was so a mission could be accomplished without extra equipment or the reliance on technology, which almost always failed when most needed. Those who expected technology to save them or for the world to resume the way it had been were a dying breed. The Molting had seen to that.

  Doreen discouraged him from going on runs when it was too icy out. Sometimes he asked her to go with him, and she often took him up on that. She enjoyed exercising, too, but she did not enjoy doing it outside as much as Jonah did. Plus she never wanted to leave Heike alone—they would bring her along—and running wasn’t one of Heike’s favorite activities. He would often open the door to see Doreen doing a leg workout, like body-weight squats or some other exercise that made her look sexy, and he never hesitated to remind her of how attracted he was to her.

  Listening to the radio for any voice chatter had become part of his morning routine along with exercise, even though it hadn’t resulted in anything he hoped for—communication from other people or a news report. Just like all previous mornings, the only sound was the insecure chatter in his own mind doing its best to combat the empty frequencies until he summoned up his inner fortitude to put himself back together. To do his best to hide his presumption that the end for them, and for all humans, was fast approaching. He made sure to get right before Doreen saw it on his face because he slipped up once, got drunk, and told her how he felt about everything after the baby . . .

  He didn’t want to think about that right now. The alcohol he’d drunk he’d actually meant for Doreen because she’d mentioned she could use a drink afterward. It had been so long since he took a drink himself that he actually believed he could handle having alcohol around. He was wrong. He was still weak and shouldn’t have been by himself. And he should have remembered how alcohol affected him and not been so confident that he could handle it. It would probably always affect him that way.

  After quitting alcohol, forcing himself after Oberstein, he had been surprised by how his body came back to life. His energy came back. He could even breathe better, as if his lungs were stronger and his other organs were functioning better, especially his mind, like a muddy windshield sprayed squeaky clean.

  Whiskey had made him feel sick all the time, even w
hen its effects faded hours later, but he’d had to quit to understand that. Jonah had turned to alcohol to stay off drugs, which made sense to him as a younger man, but alcohol was hard on the body too. Being much more mature now, he realized he had been so inexperienced back then and so, so stupid.

  That was then, and although he got low sometimes, just like anybody could, he felt much healthier now and also felt enough control over his addictions that they seemed behind him. And it felt pretty darned good to practically be the opposite of who he used to be, which was, if he were to be honest with himself, a manipulative fuckup. But just as it was wise to never underestimate an enemy, he would always remember that his weaknesses could cause his addictions to resurface out of nowhere and would wrestle with the strength he did his best to maintain every day.

  After he slipped up, a pathetic attempt at medicating his own sorrow, he poured the booze into the snow for fear he would finish it and say more of what he shouldn’t. Doreen had forgiven him, practically forgotten about what he’d said as if he never said it in the first place, because she never brought it up. It was as if it hadn’t happened. He appreciated that and meant to never make the same mistake again because he was often solo when he went on his missions, so he could pretty much do whatever he wanted. They trusted him, so he needed to keep his shit together.

  Doreen and Heike used to go out with him when he went on short trips to gather supplies, but lately Doreen was more content as a homemaker, still in nesting mode whether she had a baby in her womb or not.

  A controlled panic about the reality of their situation was almost always a part of his morning routine as well, but after he got himself under control, he went about the normalcy of the rest of it. He’d always been an early riser, even before he wore a uniform, when he was a boy, just like his dad and older brother. He remembered the boy he had been and the mistakes that boy had made on his way to manhood. Jonah felt like a completely different person today. It was as if those memories belonged to a stranger and someone he didn’t like.