by John Inman
With the passage of time, a routine began to unfold. They worked hard, they ate together, and yet their conversations were sparse. Jonas never quite felt comfortable around Terry. Not because he didn’t like him, but for the opposite reason. He suspected he liked him too much. Especially the physical aspect of the man. Terry Jones was a big, hulking, bushy-bearded redhead with muscles galore and sweet green eyes that stopped Jonas in his tracks every time they homed in on him. In the world of gay men and gay relationships, Jonas had been around the block a few times, and he knew what he liked. If he could ever break through the barrier they had erected between them, Jonas knew he wouldn’t mind exploring that world again. With Terry.
But their first priority was survival. Without that, relationships or possible relationships, didn’t matter much, did they?
Over the course of the next two weeks, they worked continually on reinforcing the cabin. The chore of moving the generator inside occupied a lot of that time. It required days on end, through endless rounds of trial and error, but eventually they were able to hook it up to the wiring inside so it could be started up without anyone needing to go outside. They had to hold off on electrifying the metal lining until they finished sealing the cabin completely, but in the meantime, Jonas succeeded in using a length of plumber’s pipe to run the exhaust fumes through a hole in the cabin wall to be released outside.
When all that was finished to their satisfaction, they continued making supply runs in Terry’s Jeep to stockpile food and salvage what they could from the stores in town. A few more fence posts to finish lining the cabin walls. Spare clothing. More guns. Anything they thought might come in handy if they were forced to lay low in the cabin for any length of time.
With every trip into town, Jonas expected cops to pop up and arrest them for looting. Or worse yet, simply start shooting and not bother arresting them at all. But Spangle was a ghost town. Or close to it. At first appearance as uninhabited as the mountain.
On one trip back up the lonely mountainside after a food run, not long after Jonas arrived, they spotted a splash of color in the bushes off to the right of the unpaved road that wound a path through the trees. Terry braked, and they both got out to investigate. Curious to see what was going on, Bruce padded along at their heels.
It had rained the night before, and the forest was muddy. They squelched downhill beneath the sodden pines, hopping logs and roots while the ground got boggier and squelchier the farther they descended. The air was thick with the earthy stench of mold and rot. Creamy-headed mushrooms had popped up overnight in the crevices at the base of plants and stones. Moisture still dripped from the trees. As the weather had cooled off considerably since Jonas first arrived, they both knew cooler weather was moving in. Thus the big rush to stock up on supplies.
“It was around here somewhere,” Jonas muttered, out of breath from tromping through the underbrush. He was sweating like a pig under the leather jacket, and with the frigging helmet with the Suzuki emblem wrapped around his head, he felt like his noggin was stuck in a bucket. Not a wisp of air touched his skin, and he knew Terry was in the same boat. They were both sweltering in what couldn’t be more than sixty degrees.
“It was red and green,” Terry added. “The flash of color I saw. Sort of like a tartan kilt.”
“Great,” Jonas grumbled with forced glee. “Maybe we’ll find a cute Irishman down here among the pussy willows. I wouldn’t mind stocking up on one of those if we get the chance.”
Terry muttered, “Asshole,” and Jonas snickered, unrepentant.
A few feet farther on, their joking ended.
“There,” Terry said.
Jonas followed where Terry was pointing. In a patch of California poppies, their blossoms long gone, he spotted a clump of padded cloth. Or nylon, maybe. It lay wadded up, shiny with moisture and sprinkled with pine needles and mud, yet the colors were still vibrant. Scattered around the clump of shiny material, other items could be glimpsed in and out of the undergrowth. Two backpacks, torn and faded, lying side by side. Empty soda cans, shimmering like silver. Shreds of clothing. A pair of men’s hiking boots, and another boot with pink laces that clearly belonged to a woman. The matching boot must have been carried off. Perhaps when the body was taken.
Jonas realized he was staring down at the remnants of a campsite. A ring of stones with muddy ashes in the middle showed where a fire had been set. Maybe for warmth. Maybe to heat the food tins, which they could see tossed around in the undergrowth, the labels washed away by either rain or the deterioration that comes from lying in the weeds for however long they had been there.
The glimpse of tartan Terry thought he had seen was what remained of a sleeping bag. “So I guess it wasn’t an Irishman after all.” Jonas sighed dramatically, not really trying to be funny, but hopefully lightening the mood a little, since he had a really bad feeling about what he was looking at here.
When he didn’t get an answer, he glanced back and saw Terry standing well away from the debris field. He had Bruce clutched tightly in his arms. The little dog was squirming to get down, but Terry wouldn’t let him.
Their eyes met through their helmet shields, but Terry didn’t say anything. There was such hurt in the redhead’s eyes that Jonas’s heart constricted.
“You’re as silent as a cloud,” Jonas softly said. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s been a long time since we saw a living person.”
“Do you think we’re the last on the mountain?”
“Maybe. But there are still a few people in town, I think.”
Jonas blinked, considering that. Then he turned away and knelt beside one of the backpacks. Using a stick to poke around, he wedged it open and peeked inside. A moment later, he pulled out a small digital camera. The camera looked shiny-new and dry.
“I wonder…,” Jonas murmured. He flipped the device open. Taking a moment to study its workings, he pressed a tiny switch on the side. A small screen at the back of the camera burst to life. A young couple’s faces appeared. They looked little more than kids. A blond girl and a handsome dark-haired boy. Jonas scrolled through a dozen photos. Some selfies taken by the girl, another of the boy lying naked on the very sleeping bag now lying tattered on the forest floor. In that photograph, his eyes were sexually bright, his legs spread wide, teasing the photographer with an unhindered view of his erect cock.
Jonas sensed a presence edging up close behind him. It was Terry, eyeing the photographs over his shoulder. Jonas continued scrolling through the rest of the shots. They were all of the young couple, many of the pictures sexual in nature, others sweetly innocent. Each of them was clearly snapped here, at this very spot on Terry’s mountain. It was the last piece of real estate the young couple would ever see.
When the final photo had scrolled past, Jonas heaved a long sigh. “Hikers,” he said. “They look like high schoolers. Teenagers. Probably came here on a dare. Or just for a thrill. They were lovers, I guess.” And with that last observation, Jonas fell silent as a rush of sadness tightened his throat.
“They died here,” Terry said quietly behind him. “They were torn apart, and like everybody else who’s died on this mountain or down in town, they didn’t stand a chance.”
“You don’t know….”
Terry looked down at the scattered remains of the teenagers’ campsite. “I know,” he said. “And so do you.”
Gently, Jonas tucked the camera back inside the backpack and left it where he’d found it. He rose to his feet and stepped back from what must have been the kill zone. “They never knew what hit them, did they?”
“I hope not,” Terry said. He lifted his eyes to the sky. “Daylight’s dwindling. It’ll be dark soon. We should get back.”
Jonas knew he was right. Darkness fell fast on the mountain—one minute dusk, the next minute pitch-black. He could almost feel the coolness of the coming darkness pressing on his skin, which was of course impossible, since he didn’t have any skin exposed, w
rapped up as he was in bikers’ leather, heavy denim, and with the bigass helmet encapsulating his fucking head. Just like Terry.
Jonas took a step back and bumped into Terry. He expected Terry to quickly step away since he had been so hesitant to make physical contact lately, but this time Terry surprised him. Almost tenderly, Terry rested a hand on Jonas’s shoulder, then slid his other arm lightly across Jonas’s chest, pulling him close. Their helmets clunked together, Terry’s broad chest splayed against Jonas’s back. Neither man tried to step away from the other. After seeing what they had just seen, Jonas suspected they needed the closeness.
Jonas stood rooted to the ground, not sure what to expect, while Terry held him close and spoke softly in his ear through his face mask. Inside the helmet, Terry’s voice echoed, deep and solemn.
“I think it’s time we started searching for the lair. We have enough food and bottled water and fuel for the generator and wood for the fireplace to last us for months if we’re careful. It’ll be getting cold soon. Occasionally, we get snow up here this time of year. Not always, and not much usually, but sometimes enough to cover the ground. Maybe the creatures will slow down in the colder weather. Maybe they’ll even hibernate if it gets cold enough. The truth is, we don’t know what they’ll do.”
“Do bats hibernate?” Jonas asked.
Terry shrugged. “Some do. Others migrate to warmer climates. Some even do both. But don’t forget, these aren’t bats, these aren’t even close to being bats, so we don’t know what to expect.”
Jonas considered all that. “I’m rooting for hibernation. With luck, they’ll burrow deep into their cave and go to sleep for a few months. Give us time to sniff them out. The last thing we want is for them to take off for parts unknown. As long as they’re on your mountain, we at least have a chance of finding them and wiping them out.”
“Our mountain,” Terry said.
Jonas tensed in Terry’s arms. “What did you say?”
Terry didn’t release his hold. In fact he tightened it. “I said it’s our mountain now. Since we’re the only ones left, it must be ours.”
Jonas let those words sink in. He took a moment to enjoy this new closeness Terry seemed to be offering him. The massive hand on his shoulder, the muscled arm across his chest, the whispered words in his ear, gruff but gentle.
Knowing he was probably making a major tactical error, but knowing too that he really had no control over the matter, he slipped around in Terry’s embrace and faced him head-on. Their helmets were inches apart when Jonas reached up and flipped Terry’s visor to the top of his head. When he could peer inside, he pushed his own visor back and out of the way.
Terry’s hand was still on his shoulder, his arm splayed across his back now instead of his chest. His breath was warm on Jonas’s face. Terry’s eyes opened wider, studying him. Jonas’s heart gave a tiny kick when he realized Terry wasn’t trying to pull away. In fact, Jonas was determined the opposite was about to happen.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jonas whispered, his voice catching in a nervous flutter.
Terry’s voice, equally nervous and just as fluttery, whispered back, “All right.” The moment those two little words were out, he licked his lips.
That tiny glimpse of tongue gave Jonas courage. He closed his eyes and carefully leaned forward. The brims of their helmets plunked together, and the next thing he knew his lips were on Terry’s mouth. The kiss was soft at first, almost virginal. Ten seconds into it, Terry’s feet nudged up closer to Jonas’s. Then his lips parted slightly, opening up to the kiss. When Terry’s hand came to lay across Jonas’s cheek, Jonas’s stiffening cock went crawling down his pant leg like a gopher. He gave a gasp, which he suspected was somewhere between a laugh and the prelude to an orgasm.
Something started squirming around against his chest, and he realized it was Bruce, still gripped in the crook of Terry’s arm. He was trying not to get squished between the two of them.
Jonas arched his back enough to give the dog some breathing space, but even as he did that, he kept his lips on Terry’s mouth. The fuzzy red beard was tickling his nose, his dick was throbbing like a toothache, and he wanted nothing more than to tear Terry’s clothes off right there on the side of his—their—dumbass mountain.
But all he did was stand there trembling, boner pulsing, knees knocking, continuing to hold Terry close and let the kiss go on and on and on.
It was Terry who finally eased away. He looked deadly serious. Jonas saw his own reflection staring back from Terry’s somber green eyes. The green shimmering there seemed to be part of the surrounding forest. Another clump of foliage. Another bush.
Jonas swallowed hard, gazing back. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he managed to sputter, licking the taste of Terry’s kiss from his lips.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” Terry said, his cheeks flushed, two little worry lines entrenched between his eyes.
“Please be ready,” Jonas murmured. Then trying not to look desperate, he amended his statement. “Or don’t be ready, Terry. Respond the way you want to respond.”
“I’m not sure I want to respond at all.”
Jonas pressed his erection against Terry’s leg. Both men were hard now, and both men knew it. A playful grin touched Jonas’s mouth. “Judging by what I’m feeling in your pants, I think you already responded.”
Terry made a feeble gesture to pull himself away, but Jonas wouldn’t let him go. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a joke. I know this is hard for you.”
Terry rolled his eyes. “Was that another joke?”
Jonas laughed out loud. “No! I swear it wasn’t!” He molded his face into what he hoped was a more acceptable expression of concern. “Look,” he said softly, “I know you don’t want to let me into your structured little existence, but do it anyway. It isn’t cheating on Bobby. Bobby’s gone. And unless I’m reading all the signals wrong, I think you’re wanting me as much as I’m wanting you.”
Terry dropped his forehead to Jonas’s shoulder. Jonas could sense him closing his eyes and wishing he was somewhere else. Maybe.
To Jonas’s surprise, Terry muttered softly, “I do want you.” And with that, Terry shuddered in his arms. “I guess this means you won’t be sleeping on the couch tonight, right?”
“I’m pretty sure it means I won’t be sleeping at all. And neither will you.” Jonas grinned.
Terry found his own smile then. He even lifted his head and shared it. “I guess I can live with that.”
As quickly as his smile came, it dropped away. In the thud of a single heartbeat, both men stiffened and cast their gazes skyward. Terry’s face paled. Jonas’s breath was snatched from his body. He pulled Terry closer, and both men dropped to their knees in the weeds. Bruce whimpered in Terry’s arms. He was watching the sky too, just like his masters, and his bulging puggy eyes were as big as silver dollars.
The acoustic pattering of wingbeats filled the air. The thrum of meaty downstrokes pounded overhead, drawing closer by the second. The sounds intensified. Jonas continued to hold Terry close, as much to protect Terry as to protect himself.
“What’s happening?” Jonas breathed.
Their eyes skittered to each other’s faces, looking for injuries, looking for blood. Jonas saw none on Terry, and he knew by the confused look in Terry’s eyes, that he had seen none on Jonas. Their gazes parted and swiveled back to the sky.
While they had been kissing, the beginning of night had slipped over the mountain. It wasn’t totally dark yet, but the world was filled with shadow now, and the air was cooler than it had been only minutes before.
A shiver of fear crawled up Jonas’s back as the wingbeats drew nearer. The percussive pounding of fleshy wings drumming across the sky grew louder with every passing second.
Still clutching Bruce between them, both men cowered on the ground, making as small a target as they could. Breathless with terror now. Their kiss forgotten. Everything forgotten but that one
horrifying sound filling the air, echoing between the trees, showering them with fear.
Then, in an explosion of sound, the wingbeats grew even louder. Jonas tensed. He could feel the air moving over him, rustling the foliage. Or was Jonas imagining that? Bruce whimpered in their arms, and both men clutched him tighter, shushing him to silence.
In the middle of a deepening dusk filled with bottomless dread, they held their breath. Waiting. All three of them, frozen in fear as the wings drew ever closer.
And suddenly they were there! The creatures! The drumbeat of their flapping wings flooded over their heads, pressing both men to the ground in terror and dread. Again, Bruce whimpered, and together they held the little dog even closer to keep him quiet.
As quickly as the creatures came, they just as quickly withdrew. Sliding past. Invisible in the darkness. Only the thrumming of their wings gave the creatures’ location away. They were swooping past, mere feet above the heads of the men cowering below.
And then they were gone. A blessed quiet descended as the wingbeats swept over them, disappearing through the trees, moving off to the horizon, thankfully out of sight now, out of earshot. Headed to other feeding grounds. To other poor souls who perhaps did not yet know they were under attack. But very soon would.
Jonas and Terry remained crouched in stunned silence, still wrapped in each other’s arms, cradling Bruce between them. They listened, eyes wide, while the last murmur of wingbeats faded away in the distance. The sounds of the forest rolled back in. The chitter of insects. The flutter of starlings in the underbrush, daring to come out now, as if they too had been frozen with fear by the creatures that passed above.
To his amazement, Jonas realized Terry’s warm hand was still on his cheek where the kiss had brought it. When Terry moved his fingers across Jonas’s stubble of beard, Jonas twisted his head to press his mouth into Terry’s palm. He closed his eyes, relieved beyond his wildest imagination that the danger had passed and he was still crouching there in Terry’s arms. Alive.
