Being Hunted

by C A Gleason

  The functionality of what was relied upon often went south suddenly, so that was why he was so diligent. If he allowed weeks to go by without doing what needed to be done, they could be faced with a situation when things needed to work but did not.

  Another part of his routine was looking over his map after clearing the snow off the picnic table, which he’d found and brought home months before. Once it was spring, they would eat outdoors. Part of him had hesitated before hauling the table home because of what had happened at Henrytown, when the Molters had attacked as they all enjoyed a meal cooked by Bernard at tables just like it, but he wouldn’t allow the Molters to delegate how they lived their lives. He wouldn’t let them win in any respect.

  His lips worked wordlessly as he poured over the map, and he was almost ready to leave. Going over the map every day kept the stash locations fresh in his memory.

  After he made sure the quick-release scope was in his backpack so later he could attach it to the bolt-action rifle he carried, its barrel safely pointing down at the deep snow, and that his machete was in its sheath dangling against his left hip, he left the sanctity of the cabin.

  CHAPTER 3

  He had explored a southwestern direction before, but Jonah realized he hadn’t been this far from the cabin because he’d never seen the metal shack. It was possible for another community to be on the other side of any random mountain, and if there were, he hoped they were friendly, like Henrytown, but he wasn’t aware of any others. It was just himself, Doreen, and Heike that he was aware of, and if anyone else did live nearby, he hoped to have eyes on them first and not the other way around.

  The structure was in shambles and rusted, but at least the roof and walls were somewhat intact. Sturdy enough to block the wind and not collapse while he was inside it. It was rather bare except for a shoebox, and once he lifted it, he had a flashback, as it could have been a trap meant to trigger a bomb. Except such warfare was of a bygone era, was a devious tactic used only by cowards during wars from the past, not during the present one against an enemy that were only animals. Even though they could still be devious in their own right.

  Inside the shoebox was another radio that required winding to power it. Jonah had three like it already. There were dated, crumpled newspapers on top and beneath the radio, probably to keep it from being damaged while in transit. The messy innards seemed like they’d been rummaged through already, as if there had been something deemed more important inside. He considered taking all the paper with him to read later, but it was all in German. Jonah spoke German better than he read it.

  Whoever had been there last was obviously long gone. Perhaps the radio wasn’t hidden, only forgotten. Maybe it was broken or no one thought it was important enough to take along. They’d obviously taken their other belongings with them because there was nothing left in the shoddy dwelling except for the obviousness that no one had lived there in years. They might have thought the radio, like any form of old technology—other than weapons—was useless.

  Hope was pointless to most, except to those who knew better. Remaining positive was never pointless, Jonah knew, so the extra radio was quite the find. Now all three of them could have the same kind of radio and one extra. It was possible things could go back to normal one day. He envisioned himself, Doreen, and Heike scattered inside or outside the cabin, on different stations, listening to different music.

  A broadcast interrupting a favorite song explaining how everything was under control would be even better, he thought.

  Turning the radio over in his hands, he was able to inspect it further, and there didn’t seem to be any damage. It still looked functional, adding to the mystery of why it was left behind. There was only one way to find out. When he cranked the lever, the sound reminded him of a child’s toy, the kind set down to skitter across a floor to entertain a toddler.

  Jonah froze and peered around the rundown, abandoned shack, once again making sure there were no living things nearby, inside or outside, but himself. No blips on his inner danger radar, so he turned it on.

  The throbbing hum of nothing, just static. Even when he twisted the knob to every available channel, the hum of empty frequency hardly changed. He felt similar to when he’d tried the same thing in a utility vehicle back at Oberstein after finding piles of flesh in the headquarters building of the military base he’d been stationed at all those years ago. It made him feel just as discouraged.

  Maybe even more so because of how long they’d considered the cabin home. He figured there would be a hint of another human being at some point. He always hoped something significant would present itself, some nondescript example of the way things were when humans were the dominant life-form on Earth. The kind of random, meaningless experience of daily life that had been taken for granted, like smelling a neighbor cooking breakfast, eavesdropping on a conversation, listening to the sound of traffic, or hearing or a baby crying. He cringed and wished he hadn’t thought of that. Thinking of it actually caused a rare pain somewhere near his heart.

  Out of everything that had happened since their arrival at the cabin, Doreen’s miscarriage had been the most devastating. The most detrimental. It wasn’t very often during human history that a death was also a severe loss to the entire human race. There were only so many people left. Were Jonah and his people the last alive? He still had many questions, and he didn’t know the answers to them.

  Better to stay focused on the task at hand.

  His fingers found their way up to scratch at his brown beard, and he was surprised how deeply they sunk in, realizing he didn’t remember the last time he had shaved. Doreen never asked him to shave, which he appreciated because beards did their job at keeping a man’s face warm, and being allowed to grow a beard was likely every man’s secret wish anyway, including his own.

  He rolled the black backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground. After stuffing the radio inside, he changed his mind about all the papers and crammed as many of them as he could into the empty space. All paper burned, and it was the easiest way to get a fire going in the woodstove, a daily necessity to keep the cabin warm. Then he zipped the backpack shut.

  Emerging outside the shack, he inhaled deeply, welcoming the chill that stung his airway with its freeze. He’d been acclimated to winter long ago. He wiggled his face, feeling it stiffen, took his glove off, and felt his mustache with his hand, wiping away the frost. Occasionally his facial hair froze. Then he shoved that hand back into the warmth of the glove.

  Today was another success, and he determined that by whether he discovered anything of use. The nice thing about the radio now in his possession was that it was similar to some of the flashlights he’d found that needed only to be wound to function. Not that he needed to use them yet. He’d found plenty of batteries, and they had a collection of regular flashlights that were powered by them. The only question was whether the batteries still had power or not. Most wouldn’t expire for years.

  The radio and flashlights that wound to function would likely be useful for trade, but considering how many people he’d encountered lately, he wasn’t sure how much bargaining would be done in his future. Almost two years had passed since they left Henrytown. And still no Henry. They’d stayed even though Henry had told Jonah to wait for him for only one year.

  Waiting for him to show up had evolved into something similar to anticipating a favorite holiday. Except it was one that might not ever arrive. They had been optimistic the first year, especially the first few months of it, because of Henry’s confidence when he’d sent them away. Marking the days on a hand-drawn calendar had been Doreen’s idea, and although Heike’s positivity had never wavered, it was disheartening to see all those Xs, especially now that Doreen was filling another calendar with them.

  The first year’s Xs were colored in red, but Doreen had changed her mind about what she would use for the second year. Red wasn’t exactly the best way to illustrate her father’s absence, as the color was mostly associated with blood
and death. Now she used a black marker instead. Jonah grabbed anything of use or potential use while out searching, and he had found plenty of pens. Most were black or blue. Doreen had mentioned she looked forward to showing Henry the calendars whenever he showed up.

  If he shows up, Jonah thought as much as Doreen mentioned it.

  Sometimes Jonah wondered why they remained at the cabin and realized a part inside him was set up permanently to do as he was told because he was a soldier and also because he was the result of attentive parenting. Jonah was obeying Henry’s wishes. They also stayed because the cabin was safe, and any unfamiliar place should be considered dangerous until proven otherwise.

  No matter what Henry’s standing, good or bad, alive or dead, they weren’t willing to move on yet. And him driving up to the cabin seemed like some far-fetched fantasy. Where else do we need to be? Doreen had said that when Jonah had last broached the subject of relocating, wording it as carefully as possible so as not to upset her. He’d said nothing because she was right. They didn’t need to go anywhere else that day, the day after that, or the next. But at what point would they decide, would Jonah decide, that it was time to find a safer place to live?

  It would be a decidedly difficult task to convince Doreen that they could move anywhere that could be safer, and to be honest, homier, than the cabin because of its isolation and their control over it. Control meant survival, and Jonah’s foothold over the territory ensured that. Killing the enemy and stockpiling weapons—plenty of them, as well as ammo—kept them alive. Each productive day made it so the next would be under control and livable too.

  Because of how many weapons were actually in the cellar, Jonah could arm a battalion of soldiers if they happened to show up without any guns and hoping for a handout. That was only a slight exaggeration because Jonah fired a bullet only when he was sure it would be a kill and loaded only whichever weapon he designated of use against the enemy for that day. It depended on which creature he was hunting for or expected to encounter.

  A high-powered rifle was ideal for cocoons in the distance, while a silenced automatic rifle, shotgun, or pistol were ideal for close-quarters extermination. A pistol was preferred for Infectors. Gunfire could and likely would attract undue attention. He did his best to pull the trigger only as many times as it took to drop any of the creatures. When they were down or already dead, he ceased fire. He was careful because bullets were practically currency and very well might have the same value as money in the future.

  That was why he gathered as much ammunition as he could find, whether he possessed the weapon system that was capable of firing the ammo or not. He knew it was always a possibility to find a match one day—if he hadn’t already—and he never wanted to be in a situation when he reached for a weapon only to hear it click empty. He had too much to lose.

  As the days went on, he’d accumulated more ammo and weapons, so much so that Doreen joked that the cabin was the armory. That wasn’t much of an exaggeration, either, which was why not every instrument of death and destruction was located in the cellar. Jonah wasn’t naïve enough to put it all down there. Not that it could all fit at this point. No, he’d buried weapons all over where he considered their territory, essentially a two-mile radius surrounding the cabin, the extended perimeter.

  He’d drawn copies of his map and backups of it in case any of them were damaged, lost, burned, stolen, or destroyed however else they could be. He kept one in his backpack, one under the mattress, and one in the cellar, and backups were buried nearby. He’d even drawn false maps of hidden locations, and they were the ones most readily available to potential thieves, easily findable just inside the door to the cabin and a little harder to locate inside both trucks. In Henry’s, the map was inside a gap in the ragged carpet beneath the seat. Jonah always tried to imagine ways to lead dangerous people away from where they lived.

  Even if all his maps somehow vanished, he’d memorized all the locations. He looked over them every morning. The real map was a convenient contingency and would be very useful if he ever had memory loss. The only way that would happen these days was if he were careless and fell and hit his head or if Doreen knocked him over the head with a cast-iron pan. For those reasons, he remained conscious of his footing while he walked outdoors but also conscientious of Doreen’s feelings.

  Regrettably the extended perimeter was the boundary of his knowledge about where they lived. He had no choice about that for now. The cabin and a little farther were the farthest east he’d ever been. His unfamiliarity of the beyond kept him from exploring but might be necessary for survival in the future. Then there was always the obvious threat. His natural inclination to keep going and gain knowledge of the land was restricted—because protecting his people was paramount—and most of his familiarity was west. Living at the cabin was similar to living on an island. Temporarily, they had no choice but to stay put.

  The extra work he did on the real map was also for Doreen and Heike if Jonah were ever killed, and anyone who discovered a fake map would not only deduce that whoever had drawn it was insane but would also be forced to give up in their searches because there was nothing to find. Well, technically there were in some places. Jonah had gone through the painstaking slog of digging and then placing empty tarps only two feet deep at random. The potential digger would conclude that someone had already been there and taken what had been buried, or they had taken what was there but reburied empty tarps.

  Jonah had taken even more steps to ensure their property remained undiscovered. He’d placed weapons in bags, then waterproof tarps, and then buried them deep in the ground. Except the marks on the map weren’t even accurate on the real one. The actual locations of the burial sites were thirty-one paces north, south, east, or west of the marks, depending on the direction leading away from the cabin. Doreen and Heike knew about that, and if they didn’t care about him as much as they did, they would probably have deduced he was as crazy as the future trespassers—turned looters—he prepared for.

  The thought of somebody, some asshole who thought he was about to find something of value, stumbling around, following a fake map, unable to find anything made Jonah laugh on occasion. Actually whenever he thought about it, he would laugh but would say, “Nothing,” when Doreen asked what he was laughing about. He knew he was right on the cusp of becoming like all those people he’d heard about who lived in the woods for too long, paranoid lunatics, but because he was aware of what could potentially happen, he thought that made it so he could control his own sanity.

  Use it even. So much of what could potentially be negative or dangerous could be used effectively if recycled the right way. Of course it would be an entirely different story if he didn’t have Doreen and Heike in his life. He really might actually end up one of those crazy mountain people without them.

  Alcohol and pills, with the exception of aspirin, he’d left behind, but he’d taken guns, ammo, cleaning kits, knives, explosives, food, gum, breath mints, fishing gear, bottled water, tools, clothing, tape, pens, paper, chem lights, chocolate, candy, first aid kits, weapon-cleaning kits, fuel, lighters, matches, condoms, or anything else of importance—especially coffee, paramount after quitting drinking and smoking. He remembered discovering a manual coffee grinder and making a sound a happy toddler would make. He was thankful there had been no witnesses.

  Those items weren’t the only effects Jonah kept a lookout for. He also never missed an opportunity to bring back any card game or board game they could play as a family or that Heike could play on her own. Keeping Heike entertained was a major objective because Doreen often brought up that she didn’t have anyone her age to play with. She had always been a gregarious little thing, and her sheltered life was a major concern. Doreen was correct to be worried. Being around people of the same age forced maturity and personal growth. He and Doreen were adults. They’d already been civilized normally.

  If Heike weren’t around kids her own age, it could limit her in adulthood. At least that was
their fear. She would no doubt grow up to be a healthy, respectful adult, but being social helped a person become who they were meant to be and also helped them be happy. Isolation was unnatural for humans and was one of the downfalls of living in the remote Bavarian mountains, where winter was prevalent and might end up being the main reason they needed to leave one day. Further scouting well beyond his controlled perimeter would be necessary before that happened, though.

  Heike liked to play, pretend, and be entertained—either with games or by conversation—and overall just stay busy, as most children did. All of those things plus doing chores, like dusting and stacking wood Jonah brought inside, took up most of her day. But it wasn’t enough. How could it be? Heike, being only eight, was at the beginning of her life, and she had many interests. Fortunately, because of her young age, boys didn’t preoccupy her mind.

  Jonah didn’t think so anyway. He hoped not. He wasn’t ready to broach that subject, and hopefully it would be Doreen explaining those things to her. Except Doreen liked to include him in almost everything, so she might make him. He didn’t have to worry about that right now. When that day arrived, he’d probably find a way to go hunt down some Molters instead. He’d much rather do that then be included in “the talk.”

  Jonah and Doreen had each other, and if Heike were older, things might be more complicated, but she seemed happy. Heike had her mom available whenever she needed her, and Jonah was her father figure, but one day she would no doubt want to meet someone special too. Everything they did was for her now.

  Jonah had been alive long enough that pride took the place of regret, and he would do whatever was necessary, even if it meant sacrificing himself, to better their lives. He never revealed that to Doreen, but he was willing to die if need be. On a certain level, he was sure she knew, just as all women probably did. Every so often dying was a man’s most important job.