Being Hunted

by C A Gleason

  “What do you miss, Heike?” Doreen said.

  “I miss . . . Grandpa . . . Opa.”

  Shit. I fucking knew it.

  For a while the only sound was the CD playing at a low volume, low enough so to as not be heard outside and draw in killers with teeth and claws, and also the occasional snap of timber in the stove as it burned up and broke down into ashy nothingness. They all missed Henry, and Jonah often wondered if he was actually still alive, how that could even be remotely possible after all this time with all the dangers that had surely gotten in his way, and if he’d ever actually show up here. It seemed impossible.

  This wasn’t a game. It was therapy, and sometimes it was necessary to open up, even if it was inconvenient, or not the right time, or if Jonah was being weak. He felt like he had to say something right now, so he did.

  “I miss Henrytown,” Jonah said, “and everyone who died there. I wish . . .”

  He wanted to finish that sentence, to continue and tell them how he really felt, but he didn’t dare, realizing it would be a mistake. He didn’t want to remind them of their losses, but it had slipped out.

  Instead of saying anything else, he quickly darted to the bedroom, holding back tears as he realized he’d said too much; threw on his clothes that were ready for morning, which also included a jacket; and grabbed his silenced pistol off the dresser.

  When Jonah walked out, Doreen and Heike both looked very confused. “Going for a run,” he said, putting his boots on.

  “But it’s night,” Doreen said. “And the game.”

  “Don’t you like my game?” Heike said.

  Jonah swallowed back his emotion, and instead of answering her question, he said, “We’re going to be OK. Lock the door.”

  Then he went outside as fast as possible, welcoming the chilliness that fit his decisions and indecisions, accidentally slamming the door behind him. Jonah heard the door lock as he headed out into the cold winter night.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Son of a . . .”

  That was not what he planned at all. At all. Everything had been going so well, and how he’d reacted was so far away from his intent. Why did he have to do such things?

  Regular people had no idea how easily emotions activated an ex-soldier in unpredictable ways. They were like invisible land mines that caused other emotions to explode, except it was unknown even to them when it would happen. Even Jonah wasn’t sure why he overreacted sometimes, especially during something as innocent as a simple game. All he knew was his heart was still racing for reasons he didn’t understand, and so were his thoughts, and it made him feel like a weakling.

  Some vulnerability was inevitable at some point, he supposed. They had no idea that his thoughts, remembering suffering and the specifics of what had occurred during his past, often ate him alive inside. He knew it was because on a certain level he blamed himself. For all of it. Most of the time, it was controllable, compartmentalized, but trauma never completely disappeared. It was simply dormant, buried, and under the right—or wrong—stress, it could be triggered and brought forth, boiling to the surface. He had wanted to pretend everything was fine and do his best to be a normal person, not freak out during a game that a little girl made up.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He wasn’t that exposed very often, and it hadn’t happened for a long time. Most of the time, Jonah was able to hide how he truly felt, but he knew not to ignore it. The reality was that what had happened had happened, whether he’d meant for it to or not. He definitely needed to clear his head, and one of the best ways was to go for a run.

  Yeah, run away.

  His breath quickened, and he switched the pistol from his right to his left hand.

  That’s not what you’re doing.

  Even though his version of a run was actually a jogger’s pace, he still liked to think of it as a run. Sometimes he was going fast enough to believe it was such, and there was something about pushing himself, facing whatever it was that was making him feel out of control, that would benefit whoever he decided to be tomorrow. Or later tonight. When he had to face them again.

  For some reason he found the best way to better himself, to figure things out in a controlled manner, was through exercising or working. Right now jogging in the snow with the temperature below freezing was more bearable than talking about how he felt. It was frigid out, and he was cold, but he wouldn’t stay that way for long. Not if he kept up his current pace. Hopefully he’d find some Molters to kill.

  The path was the same every day—he didn’t run on Sundays—and the only way he mixed it up was when he jogged the circular path in the opposite direction. He knew it by heart and already felt himself warming as each second ticked by. Jogging in the snow was good exercise as long as he didn’t step in a hole and sprain his ankle, which he’d done before. He could only go so fast while there was snow on the ground, but he knew where most of the bigger holes were located now. Unless those underground varmints had dug new ones. They were an easy kill for Molters, so that wasn’t likely.

  Because he jogged every day but Sunday, he hardly ever breathed hard. He was in the best shape he had ever been. Thankfully, he could still see well enough not to get lost. The dark sky was covered with clusters of stars.

  Typically, he did his best not to show emotion and was able to hide it when he needed to do things like this, just casually mention to Doreen where he was going and then work things out in his head on a run or on a mission. On his own. It was better for women when they weren’t burdened by a man’s worries. Most of which could be worked out with a few hours of thinking. When he returned, he would be normal again or at least normal enough to seem that way. They’d never mentioned being concerned about him before.

  Except this time he’d left during the middle of a damned kid’s game! That was something he’d never done before. Almost every man instinctively knew that if he burst into tears for no reason—what seemed like no reason—it could be very difficult for women to handle, and had he not left, he might have done just that. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, but that was why he was out. Anyone who saw a man show emotion might or might not accept it. It depended on where they were in their lives, but in today’s world, tears were a weakness, and men needed to remain strong.

  Anything less made them all vulnerable, and for many women, seeing their man break down registered in some deep, primal part of their brains as something close to absolute horror. Today’s threats required the strength of primitive survival behavior for both sexes to survive. A man perceived as weak was hardly a man at all.

  Even if that wasn’t entirely true, it was a guideline Jonah would live by. He knew he was strong, but he also needed to be realistic, and right now he needed to deal with the stress of their predicament the way he knew to do it best: exercising and thinking by himself.

  He suddenly imagined the cabin surrounded by the very Molters he wished would show so he could kill, his ladies afraid and the scary kind of vulnerable, and all because he left. He shouldn’t have gone out so impulsively.

  “Not real,” Jonah puffed.

  That wasn’t actually happening. It was just his worst fears blossoming into images in his mind, compounded by his mood. He picked up the pace anyway. He didn’t turn around. He would complete the one-mile lap, but he intended on turning the jog into a run no matter how deep the snow was so he could finish faster than he typically did and return to them. Make sure they were safe at the safest place on Earth—the cabin. The safest place he was aware of.

  Thoughts of possible relocation spots always peppered his mind, though. Head to another town, stay in the country, leave it, go to a city, go to America. While on his own, and for a long time, he’d considered returning to America—somehow—to attempt to track down his immediate family, his mom and dad and brother and sisters. But that had been before Doreen and Heike. His life had changed so much since meeting them.

  Besides, attempting to find his immediate family wouldn’
t raise them from the dead if they were gone. If they were alive, he would find them again someday. But the specifics of the how and the when, along with the fact that they couldn’t stay at the cabin forever, would be considerations for the future. Eventually he would find another place, somewhere safer to live, and permanent, but he didn’t know where that would be.

  It was then that he felt the change in him. Somehow, thinking about other things, things other than his usual self-loathing, made him feel better. Sometimes a man just needed a few minutes to himself to pick himself back up again. For Jonah it was a side mission wrapped in exercise. Nothing wrong with that.

  But within those selfish minutes, something unpredictable—or worse, predictable, if what he feared was out there and close—could happen. Jonah ran even faster, his boots stomping into the snow so deeply it was as if he were overweight. He even heard himself breathing hard, as if he were actually out of shape, but that was because his pace was faster than a jog or even a run. Now it was a sprint.

  When he stepped onto the porch, he heard the door unlock, and he took off his jacket. He was drenched in sweat. That was rare, especially for the time of year, and he was still breathing heavily—so invigorating—and steam poured off him as thickly as smoke from a fire. A run was just what he’d needed. Exercise technically belonged in the category of torture because it was often painful, but afterward he always felt better.

  A natural health injection for the mind and body, he thought. He was also probably feeling as good as he did as a result of his pace. That was another thing about exercise; sooner or later the body got used to the regimen, so going so fast had shocked his system. He felt great. He was so glad to be back. He stomped his feet, accidentally dislodging fresh snow from the roof to fall in clumps onto the fresh powder below. That furrowed his brow, and he decided to take his boots off outside.

  He opened the door and stepped inside with wet socks on. He hoped he wouldn’t see the same worried, confused, and frightened faces as when he left. Or he thought he’d seen. He did feel a lot better. The anxieties from before were gone, burned away, destroyed by a necessary part of his routine, even though he hardly went out during the danger of night.

  “How was the run?” Doreen said.

  I love you so much, he thought. Thank you. He held the pistol in one hand and the wet jacket in the other like a trophy. “I feel like a new man.”

  “Good.” She rose from the couch and took his jacket from him. “You’re sweaty!”

  “I am.”

  “You want another bath? I can heat some water.”

  “No thanks. I’ll just towel off if I need to.”

  With a smile, she kissed him. Then she allowed him to kiss her back. One of the longest they’d shared in days. However Doreen was feeling, she knew when to put her own feelings aside, just as Jonah did, and be there for him, just as he was for her. It was an understanding between men and women who knew each other well enough, and not all understandings needed discussion.

  Many understandings did require discussion, however, especially assumptions, so a lack of communication could cause much of the stress in a relationship and lead to unrealistic expectations or even unreal imaginings. That was probably why Jonah had been so worried about Doreen’s well-being and their relationship lately. Much of it was probably only in his head. He wasn’t sure, so just as he’d learned, he would talk to her about things more. Not just assume.

  As far as tonight went, because of the love between them, how much they’d gone through together, and how much they meant to each other, nothing could get in the way of protecting the other’s feelings when they were down. Unrealistic or real, sensing the temperature of each other’s emotional wellness was the spine of their relationship.

  Jonah finished the kiss and gave her another quick peck on the lips and then even a longer one on the cheek. If his actions had been discussed while he was away, it was a conversation of understanding because Heike hardly reacted to his return at all. It was as if he had only gone to the outhouse. She was on the floor in front of the tree, reading the instructions from one of the many board games Jonah couldn’t remember finding for her.

  Jonah stared at Doreen for a while, and as he did, some of his anxiety returned, his wanting to be strong for her, but her eyes were so soothing, so understanding, those feelings vanished as if he had gone on another run.

  Still, he wanted to tell her, begin the discussion about what he thought about often: that they would leave one day but only under ideal circumstances. If ideal were even possible. Hopefully but not likely.

  Except he didn’t. Now wasn’t the time for such a talk. He didn’t know what the future held, but he would do his best to control it. Make it work for them. Protect them and only act when it was best.

  When Heike rose with the instructions in her hand and headed for the couch, Jonah cautiously pointed the pistol at the ground—he would put it back in the bedroom soon—and met her halfway, giving her a hug.

  “Eek! You’re freezing!”

  “That’s so strange because I feel hot.”

  “You’re going to give me hypothermia!”

  “You can’t give someone hypothermia.”

  Heike squirmed out of his grasp. “Can too! I have a present for you.”

  “A present?”

  Heike spun dramatically toward Doreen. “Can I give it to him now, Mom? I know it’s early.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She spun back. “It will make you feel better. Presents make me feel better, and I should know because you always give them to me!”

  “Heike?” Doreen warned.

  Of course Jonah had been discussed while he was out, but he gave no hint of feeling gut kicked. “What is it?”

  “I’m not going to tell you. Close your eyes.”

  “Wait a second,” he said.

  Jonah went to the bedroom and placed the pistol on the dresser. When he returned, he did as he was told, clamping his eyes shut. He heard crinkling paper, guessing Doreen had just handed Heike whatever Heike was about to hand over to him.

  “OK, open them,” Heike said.

  When Jonah opened his eyes, Heike had her hands behind her back. “I don’t see anything. You’re trying to trick me.”

  She giggled. “Pick a hand.”

  Pinching his bearded chin thoughtfully, he pointed at her left arm.

  “Nope!” she squealed.

  Rubbing his mustache and grinning, he said, “Hmm,” really giving it some thought, until Heike stomped her foot with impatience. Then he pointed at her right arm. She laughed and thrust a box wrapped in traditional holiday paper with pictures of trees and bells on it at him. She’d even used tape.

  Sitting down, Heike followed him to the floor with a permanent smile plastered on her face, and Jonah vigorously, but carefully, picked at the wrapping.

  “It was my idea,” she said.

  Underneath the wrapping was a shoebox, and under the lid was a notepad, pen, and what looked to be a very old pocket watch. Jonah did his best to conceal his puzzlement. He already had a watch and who knew how many pads of paper and pens. “All of this is very nice.”

  “He doesn’t get it, Mom.”

  “Tell him.”

  “OK,” she said with excitement. “When you clear, when you kill the monsters with your guns from a distance, you can use the watch by choosing where you aim at noon, writing down a landmark or something, and then you write down the locations of the cocoons according to time. Ten o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock. Like that. That way you won’t have to dig for the tentpoles after it snows.”

  “Oh.” He looked over at her proud mom. “Wow,” he said to her. Then he smiled down at Heike. “That’s great. That’s a really good idea.” Damned good. “You thought of that?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Good idea?”

  “Better than good. Excellent.”

  “You’re going to do it that
way from now on?”

  “I sure will.”

  She wiped at her brow. “Phew. I was so nervous.”

  Doreen was grinning. “She planned it for a month.”

  “Month and a half,” Heike said.

  “You never have to worry about what you give,” Jonah said. “It’s always about intent. And I can really use this.” He leaned in and gave her another hug. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “You’re welcome,” Heike said, pushing against him. “But you’re still freezing!”

  CHAPTER 9

  When Jonah woke up, he sensed he’d had a dream about being abandoned, forgotten about, which troubled him, so he immediately felt for Doreen, but there was space between them. It was interesting how, once you were awake, a dream could affect your thoughts as if it had actually happened. At least until the mind cleared. She have must been on the far side of their full-size bed.

  Then again there was only so much room. Sometimes Doreen climbed in bed with Heike when she was having bad dreams, but that happened less and less, and Doreen only seldom did that, not wanting to disturb her sleep at all if she could help it. Jonah seemed to be the only one who had persistent nightmares.

  He tried to remember if he’d done or said anything to irritate her before bedtime, making it so she wouldn’t want to be lying alongside him, but he couldn’t think of anything. From what he could recall, they’d all gone to bed contently. Maybe his behavior when he went out for his necessary run had upset her when she thought about it later. She’d seemed OK once he’d gotten back.

  He reached farther but felt only empty, warmish sheets. Was she at the outhouse? She knew not to do that. Not go by herself. He’d only joked about using bedpans.

  “Doreen?” he whispered.

  No response, so he threw off the covers. Heike was sound asleep in her bed. There were only two bedrooms in the cabin, both only large enough for a bed and some furniture. Heike had chosen to forgo furniture and was surrounded with toys and other treasures—games—that kids enjoyed instead. Jonah had stumbled across so much during his searches that he’d left most of it behind, but he always took what he thought was best or what he suspected Heike would be interested in the most.