by C A Gleason
Its immobility allowed Jonah to yank out the depleted magazine, slap in a fresh one, yank the charging handle, lower the weapon just above its face and gnashing jaws, and squeeze the trigger.
CHAPTER 2
The first stage of the Molting was the Behemoths. Molters was the second. The third seemed to be the Molters with green skin that birthed Infectors. The new strain didn’t cocoon and liquefy to become food for a Behemoth like their predecessors after they’d fed on enough blood. Instead, once the Infectors within them gestated, the Molter itself burst open—practically exploded from the waist up—and poured forth death on spiderlike legs that propelled the Molting closer to the annihilation of the human race.
All three stages reacted and built upon the others and still coexisted, it seemed, but no cure for each, and a person was required to die for their kind to populate. The possibility for a cure was a pleasant fantasy for a while, but that’s all it turned out to be. It wasn’t real. How could it be? In hindsight, it was easy for Jonah to remember why he’d believed that it might be possible in the first place. It was just so horrible to watch someone cease being who they were, fall unconscious, and wake up briefly just to molt.
He’d also believed a cure might be possible because of simple logic. After being bitten by an Infector, there was a sudden change in someone, a mutation, and for a while it seemed conceivable to reverse it to some degree because it happened so quickly. Under the right conditions and with the most sophisticated surgical instruments and medicine and after long documented studies and the communication of information of those studies to others who were the most gifted, skilled, and innovative medical personnel all over the world, then some sort of treatment must be possible.
The hard truth was that none of what was required for that scenario to take place even existed. The doctors who could have begun to investigate a cure were long dead. Those who could have helped the most were the first to die because they were the first to deal with the plague in the first place. Not to mention the natural order of any perceived contagion with panicked loved ones bringing their family members to hospitals in droves wondering what could be happening to them. The tools and medicine and complex medical machines necessary for such treatments were now relics, the personnel with the knowledge to use all of it dead. All of it might as well be considered alien technology.
The one thing Jonah continued to believe, and would always have faith in, was that there were surely some people still alive who also still believed in what he used to, enough to argue and possibly make him think differently, but Jonah was a realist. He remembered hypothesizing about the very subject of a cure with Sven while living in Henrytown. Even then, there were doubts, but people couldn’t prevent their positive nature. Most saw a half-empty cup and focused on what was in it and not already gone. Even though there was still hope, the reality—and what Jonah and everyone else should probably accept—was that once people molted, they were gone, replaced by what took over every particle of who they had been.
Molters’ behavior seemed to be in a continuous state of change, probably because they were evolving, and what used to keep Jonah and his people safe was no longer reliable. Molters often hunted as a pack, were seen during the day, and many or most no longer ended up as Behemoth food. The new strain of green Molters were Infector bombs and rogues that could go as far as their clawed feet could take them. The creatures were once again as unpredictable as when the Molting first began, and they weren’t the only things that seemed to be changing.
Jonah tried to imagine the world as it had been before the Molting and places people normally commiserated: cities, towns, working at their jobs, walking the streets. While there was traffic, irritation would flare up among drivers enough to honk horns. For most of them, that had been the most troublesome part of their day. Jonah thought of all the parties, birthdays, and family reunions during the summer, just groups of people doing whatever they wished, getting together for any reason. Lately, he found he had trouble remembering the way it used to be, and if a city was full of pedestrians, they all likely had sharp teeth.
Their numbers had tipped as if they were the ones that were supposed to be at the top of the food chain. Jonah and his fellow humans had some say in whether they got knocked off the top or not, but it was definitely going to be a hell of an uphill battle. There may not be a way to reverse a molting, but one thing Jonah believed in—what he knew for sure—was that those creatures could be killed.
See how well they deal with a nuclear bomb.
That type of weapon might not even be possible, either, as likely to be used as the complicated medical instruments Jonah imagined. The battle that would decide things would not happen today. There was some time in between now and the end, and if they lived to see another winter, they would be safer, perhaps long enough to witness a new beginning.
The positive aspect of where they lived was the snow never melted for long even though the seasons technically changed. The temperature rose and fell, but it mostly remained cold, as if the territory surrounding the cabin were winter all year long. There just seemed to be less snow or some bare spots throughout the other seasons. Jonah remembered his first conversation with Henry on the road and knew the Molting hadn’t just altered every living thing that walked the face of the earth, but the atmosphere too.
The beginning of spring showed some normalcy by there being birds. Jonah first heard them while hunting with Heike. Their incessant chirping was a welcome sound, just as Doreen’s laugh was, because complete silence was jarring. When the snow was deepest, he thought the white silenced the world around him, and silence reminded him of death. Though he was apprehensive about how things would be and what was possible—the deep snow that kept them there also prevented others from reaching the cabin—he would still remain vigilant to anticipate any repercussions the brief rise in temperature threw at them. Usually, that meant more Molters.
What was surprising, but somewhat comforting, was that the area had been without the creatures since his extermination mission using the dead deer. Something told him his regimented clearing wasn’t entirely the reason he hadn’t had to stalk and kill more.
Another mystery to solve, he thought.
That was his current reality, but it still didn’t make him feel comfortable. After all that had happened, and no matter how safe he felt, he’d learned it was better to assume Molters could show up at any time.
Doreen had grown bored with him describing what he did each day long ago, so he didn’t always tell her everything even though he wanted to. Men liked to talk about their work. Jonah was no different. Women liked being with a man who was passionate about something, and that something could be anything, but they typically only wanted to hear about it so much. Doreen did a terrific job of pretending not to be bored hearing about his missions by holding her eyes open slightly wider than normal—he’d noticed her doing that but never mentioned it—so he was choosy when he brought it up in their conversations. Clearing had technically become his profession, and Doreen didn’t always want to hear about such bloody work.
What else was there to talk about, though? The thought crossed his mind on occasion, but he showed restraint and reminded himself just as often how much women, or anyone really, liked to do the talking.
It was important to converse about the day to day, but that often reminded everyone of all the unpleasantness going on, too, so instead of bringing up all he did during his missions, Jonah asked more questions about what Doreen and Heike were up to. What they talked about was more on the normal side of things, the niceties of the world. In fact, he did more listening lately than he ever had in his life. Perhaps it was meant to be that way: women talking, men listening. Doreen justified that she wasn’t as good a listener as he was because her ears weren’t as big as his. It made him laugh.
After concluding his morning routine, including a controlled panic about their present circumstances, he went back inside the cabin and was pleased to see Doreen ha
d risen earlier than normal and was making some sort of breakfast, working busily on the countertop by the sink. She hardly ever got up early, and he’d grown used to her sleeping in. He went on perimeter check missions just about every day, so he was never quite sure how long she stayed in bed. Definitely not after Heike woke up, but he realized she had probably gotten used to staying in bed when she was depressed after her miscarriage.
But she was obviously feeling better now. When Jonah asked her what she was making, Doreen only replied, “Breakfast,” and then grinned mischievously. Puffs of steam escaped the top of the metal coffeepot on the woodstove.
“That ready?”
“Pour yourself a cup and find out.”
Jonah usually made himself some coffee anywhere between when his morning routine began and before he went out on a mission, so it was nice that it was already ready. “My favorite part of the day. Unless you want to hug and kiss,” he said, stealthily patting her on the bottom on his way to grab a coffee mug from the cupboard.
“I always want to hug and kiss,” Doreen whispered.
Jonah poured himself a steaming mug of black coffee and sat down at the dinner table. “Me too,” he whispered back. He took a careful sip as it was very hot.
“What are you whispering about?” Heike said from her room.
“Nothing, sweetie. Your dad—” Doreen stared at Jonah, and her face reddened. “I mean, Jonah was just making a joke.”
Her slip of the tongue made him smile and feel as warm as if he’d just drunk a shot of premium whiskey. Heike’s real father had passed away, but Jonah was very much alive and more than willing to do his best to help with that role. He felt as if Heike were his real daughter. He had trouble remembering not feeling that way.
Jonah took another sip. “I wasn’t joking,” he whispered.
She waved at him playfully. “How was your workout?” she said in a tone that meant she wanted to change the subject.
If there were any hugging and kissing, it would be tonight. “Great,” he said.
“You aren’t sweating.”
Jonah set his mug down, groaned, and stood. “I’ll be back.”
“No! I’m being humorous.”
“I’ll have to visit the outhouse soon.” Coffee always seemed to get things moving on his insides. Even just a few sips. “Sit down and do some paperwork.”
“Gross!” Heike yelled from her room.
“Hey, you have to do it too,” Jonah said.
“Yeah, but I’m the one doing it, so it’s not so bad.”
Jonah chuckled and took a sip of the steaming coffee, barely enough to fill an empty 9mm shell because it was still too hot to take a pull as if it were the whiskey he would no longer allow himself to drink. Except he loved the taste of the coffee so much he could hardly wait. He blew on it instead. “Heike, what are you doing in there?”
“Reading!”
“Don’t yell, please,” Doreen said.
“OK,” Heike said.
“Is all that reading making you hungry?” Jonah said. “Your mom is making . . . well, something.”
“You keep making jokes, and you’re going to have to make your own something.” Doreen made butcher knife slices into the pan.
“What is it?” Heike called out. “It smells bad.”
“Heike!” Doreen said and brought the pan to the table.
“Whatever it is, it’s ready, Heike,” Jonah said.
“Such a funny guy.” After placing a potholder down and setting the pan on top, Doreen sat across Jonah’s lap and put her arms around him. “It doesn’t smell bad, does it?”
“Smells delicious,” he said and kissed her. “Don’t get me started now.”
She wiggled back and forth on his lap and then leaped off when Heike appeared. “You hungry?”
“No, but I will eat,” Heike said, and sat down at the dinner table, eyeing the pan. “Is it ready?”
“We’re letting it cool,” Doreen said.
Heike shot Jonah a look, and Jonah said, “Sorry, almost ready. What were you reading?”
“A suspenseful story where dead people have come back to life.”
Doreen’s brows knit together. “I don’t like you reading those kinds of books. Jonah?”
“What?” he said. As if it were his fault. Actually, he realized, it was. He took any book that might interest any of them. Heike just happened to be reading one that he had wanted to read. “Well, I guess I grabbed that one for me.”
“I like it,” Heike said. “But the monsters in it aren’t very scary.”
That definitely wasn’t true. The cover was why Jonah had been interested in the book in the first place. The artist who’d designed the cover was quite good and was able to display the feeling that the reader was about to be overwhelmed by reaching hands. Heike obviously wanted to continue reading and was doing her best to pretend that, cover to cover, the book wasn’t absolutely horrifying in a pretend sort of way.
There was no way a book equaled what they were dealing with in real life. How could it? Not compared to the real monsters they had to contend with. Mental escape through entertainment, even through a suspenseful—or even terrifying—story could be very therapeutic, similar to the many games Heike played, which was why he was always bringing them home. That was why Jonah hadn’t sabotaged Heike’s ruse.
“It isn’t giving you bad dreams, is it?” Doreen said.
“No,” Heike said with conviction and obviously hoping her mom wouldn’t take the book away from her.
“What language is the book written in?”
“English. Jonah said there’s a lot of books written in English because of all the American soldiers who were stationed here since World War Two.”
“That figures.”
Heike stared at the steaming food in the pan. “If it isn’t good, do I have to eat it?”
Jonah’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“You haven’t, either.”
“It’ll be good,” Jonah said. “Everything your mom makes is tasty.”
“Yeah, but you like everything.”
“What? Well, I guess that’s true. I even like food I don’t like.”
“That’s confusing.”
“I agree,” Jonah said, and looked at Doreen questioningly.
“Go ahead and dish up. After you both take a bite, let me know what you think,” Doreen said with confidence.
Jonah took Doreen’s plate and shoveled some steaming mystery breakfast onto it. Whatever it was, it was making his stomach growl, especially after exercising. It looked like a mixture of biscuits, potatoes, eggs, and meat—some kind of sausage. It was likely rabbit, one of Heike’s latest kills.
“Do you like everything because you were a soldier?” Heike said.
Jonah spooned a small scoop onto Heike’s plate. “You definitely have to eat what you’re given, but I’ve never been picky.”
“Even when you were just a boy?”
“Nope.”
“What foods don’t you like . . . um, that you like but don’t like?” Heike shrugged. “That sounds weird.”
“It sure does,” Doreen said.
Jonah finally spooned a heaving portion onto his own plate. “Brussel sprouts, broccoli, let’s see . . . what else?”
“So vegetables,” Heike said.
“For the most part.” He grabbed his fork and noticed both of them looking his way: Doreen with anticipation, Heike just to make sure it didn’t taste awful. He took a forkful, blew away steam, and made the food disappear into his mouth. “Jeez, this is good.” Then he took a drink of coffee.
Doreen’s smile was immediate. Jonah’s reaction meant the food wasn’t poisonous, so Heike took a bite too. She followed it with an immediate mmm sound. Doreen took a small bite and tasted it as carefully as if Jonah had made the dish himself, and she wasn’t sure about whether it would be worth eating or not. Then Jonah noticed Doreen eyeing the pan, and he realized she was eating slowly in case
either of them wanted to eat some more. It was her man who had dished her up, after all, and he’d given her as much as if he were eating off her plate. Doreen was only interested in their enjoying the dish she’d prepared. She was so selfless, as so many women were, especially mothers, always thinking of others before themselves.
“You gotta tell me what this is,” Jonah said.
Doreen smiled and winked. “It’s a secret.”
“And what’s in this secret?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“I’m not falling for that. It’s my secret. And if I told you, you wouldn’t be so impressed, but it’s a quiche. Basically.”
“Oh. What kind of meat?” As Doreen continued that playful little smirk of hers, Jonah said, “It’s gotta be Behemoth.”
“Jonah!”
Heike lowered her fork. “Eww.”
“Ick,” Doreen said. “No.”
Jonah remembered saying the same thing to Bernard when Henry introduced him in Henrytown. He hadn’t been joking then, but, of course, it had turned out to be funny. They’d had everything they needed back then—in terms of essentials—just as they did at the cabin. Jonah thought about Bernard and wondered where he was now. And the others who’d survived. He hoped they were all still alive and that one day he’d find out they were doing well and be relieved of worrying about them all the time.
Heike was still staring down at her food. “Mom?”
“He was kidding,” Doreen said.
“Sorry,” Jonah said, and laughed. “Bad joke. I do like it, though, Doreen. A lot. It’s really, really good. Thank you.”
“Yes, Mom. It is. Thank you.”
“You are both very welcome.”
And with that, they enjoyed the rest of the . . . quiche?
All three helped clear the table after the morning meal was over. There were no leftovers. Not with Jonah and Heike’s appetites, but also food didn’t keep so well without refrigeration. Jonah had considered digging a root cellar, but most of their food was packaged or canned, and their fresh kills were eaten quickly or made into jerky. And deep down he knew they weren’t going to stay at the cabin for very long. Digging a root cellar—figuratively putting down roots—meant they intended the place to be their home, but he didn’t want them to think of it that way. Planning for the future was a process Jonah had established when he was young, and that was because so many decisions ended up being short term.
