Ravenous

by John Inman

  Jonas swallowed. “That’s… horrifying.”

  Soberly, Terry nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  Jonas’s eyes burned with eagerness as he stared at the man in front of him. Enthusiasm welled up in his gut, as it always did when he considered the creatures he had come here to find. Sometimes he wondered if his interest really sprang from a need to write about them or if it was his own inherent nosiness that made him want to learn everything he could about the fuckers.

  Jonas fiddled with his napkin while he spoke. “I’m not a geologist, but I did get my hands on a US Geological Survey map of the area. Entrances to two of the larger caves are clearly identified on the map. There are other scars on the face of the mountain that simply show up as shadows on the prints. Fracture zones. Openings to underground rivers and lakes, maybe. Geological gaps in the crust, some small and tight, others endless, which, as you say, probably go on for miles. There are other caverns that have been sealed up tight by the movement of the mountain over time, either as it rose up in millennia past or eroded down to what it is today. Those I don’t suppose we need to worry about.”

  Jonas let his enthusiasm trail away when he noticed Terry’s apparent lack of interest in what he was saying. “You don’t think this stuff is important?”

  Terry drew in a long, deep breath and stared out through the metal slats covering the cabin window. It was early afternoon. There were house finches playing on the firewood stacked up outside. Finally his attention returned to Jonas. “Rather than wondering where they live,” he said, “I think the more important question is how did these creatures evolve at all? What force of nature set them on the track they’re on? There has never been an animal quite like this in the zoological records.”

  “Pteranodons?” Jonas ventured. “Flight capability. Carnivorous. They were far bigger, I know, but—”

  Terry shrugged, interrupting. “There’s a resemblance, maybe. But pteranodons were nowhere close to the monsters we have here. These things can whiff blood on the air like sharks sense it underwater. From miles away. And once they smell it, there is no stopping them. In mere seconds, they swoop in and tear you apart.” He leaned closer, his gaze burning into Jonas’s, “And when they tear you apart, they leave nothing behind. Nothing.”

  “You’ve witnessed them feeding?” Jonas asked.

  Terry’s gaze slid to the pictures on the windowsill. The pictures of Terry and the man Jonas assumed had been his lover. Photographs of the man whom Terry said died the day they were coming here to ride out the storm.

  “Yes,” Terry said, his voice firm but muted in sadness. His fists lay clenched on the tabletop as a flush rose to his cheeks under his pale skin. Those cheeks clearly weren’t reddened by embarrassment this time. But by fury. And infinite grief. “Yes, Jonas,” he repeated quietly, clearing his throat. “I’ve seen them feed.” Terry pushed his plate away and settled back in his chair. He wiggled around sideways and stretched out his long blue-jean-clad legs. In another place and another time, the big lumberjacky-looking guy would probably have pulled out a pipe and lit up. Now, of course, he simply shook out a couple of mints from a tin in his shirt pocket and popped them in his mouth.

  He stared into the fire on the grate for a moment before asking, “So tell me, Jonas. What is the government doing to correct the situation?”

  Jonas blinked, not sure quite how to answer. Then he decided the best bet would be to simply tell the truth. “As far as I can tell, they aren’t doing anything.”

  It was Terry’s turn to dumbly blink. “Nothing?”

  Jonas tried to look apologetic when he said, “They seem to think the best thing to do is sit back and hope for the best. Maybe the creatures will die out on their own. Or maybe they’ll annihilate one another. To tell you the truth, I think the closest thing the government has to actual game plan is to simply wait and see.”

  “That’s amazing. Not exactly proactive, is it?”

  “No. No, it isn’t.”

  Terry’s eyes were glued to one of the photographs on the wall. An eight-by-ten blowup of Terry and his former boyfriend hiking through a pine forest, probably on this very mountain. They looked happy and young and very much in love, Jonas thought.

  When he spoke, Terry’s voice came out as barely a whisper, fragile but with an underlying tension that put a sharp edge to his words, like a knife honed to the point of shattering. “I can’t believe they’re doing nothing. What about the people that have died? Are they going to simply write them off as fodder?”

  Jonas leaned forward. “It might be worse than that. There are activists out there who want to protect the creatures. Keep them here on your mountain and around the remains of Spangle, using the land as a sanctuary. They want to give evolution a chance to set things right. They’re calling what’s happening here a genetic anomaly.”

  There was a fire burning deep in Terry’s green eyes. “You’re joking. It’s not an anomaly, it’s a smorgasbord. Or was, back before most of the residents were eaten.”

  Jonas sighed, forcing himself not to glance at the photos on the wall. “They think this is nature’s way of fighting back, Terry. Against what’s happening in the world. Against the latest round of mass extinctions that have started to decimate the planet. The pinheads want to see how nature runs with this disaster. Give nature a chance to correct its own mistakes. They figure as long as the infected area is relatively small, nature has a better chance of solving the situation on its own.”

  “It’s also the best time for the government to send some troops in here and blow the fuckers out of the sky, don’t you think? While there aren’t that many creatures here? Before they have a chance to spread?”

  Jonas rapped his knuckles on the wooden table, and his fork fell out of his empty bowl. He picked it up and put it back.

  “There are people aching to do that too. Soldiers. The military. They are lined up along the quarantine line beside the scientists right now. Each of them trying to get their way before the other one does.”

  “So what’s your plan, then?” Terry asked, eyeing him cagily, as if now they had come to the moment of truth, and it was time for Jonas to put up or shut up. “What exactly do you think you can do? Like you said, you’re not a geologist. Listening to you, it doesn’t sound like you’re much of a scientist either. In fact, if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say you aren’t any sort of ist at all. So what’s your plan, Mr. Writer-With-A-Portable-Typewriter?” he asked again. “What is it you want to accomplish?”

  Jonas settled back in his chair and crossed his ankles, staring into the fire. He tried not to look worried but suspected he did anyway.

  In a voice far calmer than his statement warranted, he said, softly but firmly, “After seeing what they did to your town—and to the people here—I think there’s only one thing we can do. We have to find them. And then we have to side with the military and wipe the fuckers out.”

  As if drawn against his will, Jonas’s gaze fell on the photograph by the window. The one with Terry and the young man hiking through the trees.

  Terry must have seen where he was looking. “His name was Bobby,” he said. “Or did I tell you that already?”

  Jonas nodded, unsure how to respond. To his surprise, Terry continued, “You can stay here with me if you want. While you’re figuring out where their lair is. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s shelter. It’s the safest place on the mountain, or will be when I finish fortifying the cabin.”

  Jonas’s eyes bounced back to the man across the table from him. “Really? I can stay here?”

  “Yes. On one condition.”

  Jonas took a second to chew on the lining of his cheek, as if thinking it over. “And what condition might that be?” he finally asked.

  Terry narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers across the tabletop. “That you let me help you wipe them out.”

  Jonas sat motionless for a moment. He paused only a second or two before extending his hand across the table. He didn’t allow h
imself a smile until Terry extended his own hand in return, slipping it like a warm glove over Jonas’s fist.

  “It’s a deal,” Jonas said, enjoying the touch of Terry’s strong hand surrounding his. Probably more than he should. Then a smile crept over his face, and before he could stop it, he was grinning like a fool.

  “Partners,” he said.

  And with a little less jubilation, Terry answered, “Partners.”

  “Friends?” Jonas prodded coyly. “Or is that too much to ask?”

  Terry grunted and rolled his eyes. “Let’s say friend… ly. But don’t let it go to your head.”

  In the corner, between snores, Bruce farted.

  At that, the two men, hands still clasped, shared their first laugh.

  Chapter Eight

  LATER THAT night, they shared their first drink together. Scotch. Neat. In little souvenir shot glasses with Spangle, California, printed on the sides. While they sipped, they watched the sparks from the fire shoot up into the flue. The wind had picked up, and occasionally a pine cone would go bouncing down the slope of the roof to land with a dainty thud in the mulch outside.

  It was the first night in a long while that Terry did not dread the coming darkness. The first night in months that loneliness had not sat down beside him while the mountain’s shadows closed in.

  “It’s good to have someone else here,” he said with his lips still on the shot glass. Startled by his own courage in admitting the truth, Terry tossed the rest of the whiskey down his throat as if to burn any further declarations from his system before he could utter them too.

  “Careful.” Jonas grinned, eyeing him closely. “Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me how you really feel.” The guy was starting to get a little drunk, Terry thought. Maybe his houseguest wasn’t used to undiluted scotch. As far as that went, neither was he.

  Terry worked up a smile. “Are you saying I don’t know how to open up?”

  Jonas held the shot glass up to the light coming off the fire and read the writing on the side. “No, but I will say your glassware sucks. Not exactly Waterford, is it?”

  Terry eyed his own shot glass. “These are for guests who pop in without warning.”

  “Ouch.”

  “All the other glasses in the house are from Smucker’s. Want to complain about them too?”

  “No. Actually so are most of mine.”

  Jonas reached over, snatched the whiskey bottle off the little table between their chairs, and poured them each another shot, prompting Terry to snipe, “I love it when a houseguest feels comfortable enough to steal my dinner, then make fun of my crystal before proceeding to dole out my booze like he’s the one who looted it instead of me. Glad you feel at home.”

  Bruce was on the floor on his blue blankie, licking his butt. He was really going to town. Both men scrutinized him for a minute. Terry was tempted to joke “Golly, I wish I could do that” but thought better of it. That tiny glimmer of self-control told him he probably wasn’t as drunk as he thought he was. It also set a host of other thoughts scampering through his head concerning his houseguest, most of them inappropriate.

  Since they were no longer tossing digs at each other, Terry burrowed down in his chair and studied Jonas clandestinely from under his drooping eyelids.

  Jonas James, he decided, was a very attractive man. He was as tall as Terry but without the muscled bulk. His legs were long and graceful, his hands large and expressive. Most of the time when he talked, his hands were fluttering around his head like startled birds. His eyes were golden amber, the color of cognac. They lay buried beneath long lashes, as dark as kohl, that swept up and down gracefully when he blinked. His hair was dark, not quite as black as his lashes, but not light enough to be called brown either. He clearly hadn’t shaved for a while, whether because he was growing a beard to protect his skin from injury like Terry or because he simply hadn’t got around to it.

  The most interesting facet of Jonas’s appearance, Terry thought, really had nothing to do with how he looked at all. It was the timbre of his voice. Rich and mellow. Like a perfectly tuned and expertly played reed instrument. Well modulated and soothing. An oboe, maybe. Or the low notes of a clarinet.

  On the other hand, there was also a wise-guy aspect to Jonas that Terry didn’t know if he appreciated or not. Here they were, always a heartbeat from death, smack-dab in the middle of what could very well be the opening salvo of the end of man’s dominance on the planet, and the hunk in front of him was cracking jokes about the stemware. Even more confusing, it had prompted Terry to toss jokes right back.

  Honest to God, Terry couldn’t remember the last time he had joked about anything.

  As if the ambivalence he felt about Jonas wasn’t confusing enough, now he had gone and extended an open-ended invitation to him to stay with Terry here at the cabin. While the guy was clearly gay—to judge by some of the clever little asides he had tossed out here and there—Terry really didn’t think that would be an issue. But what exactly were the ground rules for living together going to be? Aside from the upstairs loft where Terry slept, the cabin only had one room, other than a tiny bathroom with a shower back by the kitchen and the blood room downstairs. That was it.

  Terry gradually began to realize he was being stared at. He turned to find Jonas’s eyes on him. Those eyes were not only very attractive, but they were also crinkled in amusement.

  “You’re worrying about the sleeping arrangements, aren’t you?” Jonas asked, a tiny dimple dotting one cheek, which seemed to indicate he was trying not to grin. Terry had learned that much about Jonas already.

  “No, I—”

  “It’s not like we’re teenagers, you know. How old are you? Thirty-seven, thirty-eight?”

  Terry glowered. “Thanks a lot. I’m thirty-three.”

  “Hmm. Must be the beard. Anyway, let’s say we’re both well into the age of reason. So don’t fret, kind sir.” Jonas tilted his head toward the far wall. “I’ll take the couch right there. You and the mongrel can continue sharing your hopefully nonconnubial bed upstairs, where you won’t be bothered by little old me.”

  Terry got huffy. “I had already decided you would take the couch.”

  “Good. Then it won’t be a problem.”

  “What I was really worried about,” Terry said, pointing to the iPhone poking out of Jonas’s pack, “is that. They can track us through cell phones, you know.”

  “The creatures?”

  “No. The authorities. You’ll have to disable it if you’re going to stay here. If they decide to chase everybody off this mountain, I don’t intend to be included in their plans. I’m not leaving.”

  “Neither am I,” Jonas said.

  “Then killing the phone won’t be a problem.”

  “No,” Jonas said. “It won’t.” With that, he rose and crossed the room to pluck his phone out of the pack. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the fire. Turning back with a grin, he asked, “Disabled enough?”

  Terry shook his head incredulously. “Yeah, I suppose that ought to do it.”

  A silence settled over them then. This time, to fill the quiet, it was Terry’s turn to dole out a couple more shots of scotch, prompting Jonas to ask, “Do you always drink like this?”

  “Only when I’m annoyed,” Terry answered. When Jonas barked out a laugh, Terry allowed himself a grin too. Jesus, he really was getting drunk.

  He licked around the lip of his shot glass and studied Jonas over the smoky liquid. The amusement that had found Terry moments earlier disappeared quickly enough when a question occurred to him. “Will anyone be wondering where you are? Family? Friends? A lover?”

  Jonas smiled sadly and shook his head. “No family to speak of. What friends I had aren’t really friends at all, I’ve lately decided. Just work cronies and acquaintances more than anything else.”

  “And what about romantic entanglements? You’re a good-looking guy. You must have a few of those.”

  Again, Jonas cast a sad litt
le glance his way. “No lover” was all he said. The moment the words were out of his mouth, Terry saw his gaze return to the photographs by the window. He especially seemed to be entranced by the snapshot of Terry and Bobby hiking on this very mountain.

  “You and your husband were very happy, weren’t you?” Jonas asked out of the blue.

  Terry tried not to show his surprise. “Yes. But how did you know we were actually married.”

  Instead of answering, Jonas gazed down to Terry’s hand resting on the chair arm. Terry lifted it and stared at the silver wedding ring on his fourth finger. “Oh yeah.”

  Jonas was already eyeballing the photograph again. “I’m sorry you lost him like you did,” he said. “That must have been… debilitating.”

  Terry almost smiled at that. “Odd choice of words,” he said. Then, on second thought, he decided the word was excruciatingly perfect. Made a little breathless by Jonas’s unexpected perception, Terry softly echoed the word he had just heard. “Debilitating. Yes. That’s exactly right. That’s exactly what it was. Sometimes I think I’m still trying to pull myself out of it.”

  “I really am sorry,” Jonas said again, eyeing him closely. Then, as if realizing he was perhaps prying, he turned his head toward the fire and brought his shot glass up to his lips.

  Terry considered him for a few seconds, and then, as if the words came from someone else, he heard himself mumble, “Thank you, Jonas. That’s the first word of sympathy I’ve heard about Bobby’s death. I appreciate it.”

  Without speaking, Jonas simply nodded.