by C A Gleason
What had given him pause didn’t look wet, which was something unavoidable right now; the ice and snow and all of winter kept on melting. Then he noticed there was no trunk to the tree, but also that it wasn’t a tree at all, and what he’d originally mistaken for branches were actually legs.
Those legs belonged to a Behemoth. Long dead and dried up, concealed by the blanket of winter. Jonah had never seen one like that before. It wasn’t strange that it was dead, since all living things died eventually, but it looked so out of place and exposed. The thing looked shriveled up and dehydrated, almost as if it had been drained of life before death, similar to what was buried in grave mounds.
Except the Behemoth had not been buried. It looked like a colossal dried-up arachnid, only one the size of a house. He remembered the Behemoth that had chosen to make an actual house its home in the town before Jonah made it to Henrytown. The one he had hunted down with Donnelly, Jacobs, and Salgado.
No doubt the dead Behemoth he was looking at had been on the hunt, but clearly without Molters to serve it and become its food, so it had likely died of starvation. After that, it was buried by snowfall. Or, and this was an even scarier thought, but had the Behemoth been attacked by Molters, drained and killed, but left exposed? If it had happened that way, wouldn’t the Molters have buried it as they typically did?
Either scenario was unnerving, but what disturbed Jonah most of all was the thought of new Molters discarding their burial behavior. It meant their instincts told them they were unstoppable. He was about to remove a tan cold-weather shooting glove and reach out to touch the Behemoth with his bare hand to see what it felt like, out of curiosity, but thought better of it. Some of what the creatures were capable of was still unknown, and they were obviously still evolving.
Getting infected somehow and then going back to the cabin to molt would be the stupidest thing Jonah could ever do. He always stayed as far away from them as possible, just close enough to kill them with weapons, and was willing to take them on in a close-quarters fight, but he had never gone out of his way to touch any of them before, and he should definitely keep it that way.
If he ever believed something had gone wrong and he would molt, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a barrel in his mouth. Of course, he’d leave a note first.
Before going into the cabin, he stopped at the outhouse—he was already drinking more water now that it was warmer, and Doreen wanted him to go number one in there, too, instead of anywhere around the cabin because Heike was always looking out the windows and daydreaming. He should have gone earlier when he had first felt that familiar tickle on his insides.
Jonah had tried to explain to Doreen that urinating outdoors was practically euphoric for men, but it was as if he was speaking another language. She didn’t understand, and he agreed he would only do that while away or at night. Done relieving himself and almost to the porch, he froze.
Son of a bitch! Already?
After carefully leaning the rifle against the side of the cabin, he drew out his 9mm and quickly attached the silencer ready in one of his cargo pockets. It wasn’t as if he had the time to warn Doreen by radio. Its noise would give away his position. It was one or the other. He couldn’t very well do both, so he chose the weapon.
As he held the pistol in his right hand, he realized he had thought the man was a Molter at first. But Molters moved very differently than people, even though they were born from them. They hunched, arms out as if always ready to wrap them around prey, and couldn’t prevent themselves from looking menacing. When encountering people, it was always wise to be cautious no matter how human they looked. Sometimes, strangely—and incomprehensibly—those who were infected were themselves when they woke up right before they were about to molt. Occasionally, they were even talking before it happened.
The man looked lost, curious, but he was also clearly a threat; he looked like one in a much more recognizable way because he was a person and armed with a Russian assault rifle, its strap over his shoulder. A regular beastly threat was almost welcome because, even though when there was one Molter, there were at least two or three or more, at least they didn’t carry any weapons other than their teeth and claws. Jonah absolutely hated the idea of going to battle with any kind of threat so close to his people.
The present threat was there to take things, obviously. Probably. Maybe not. It was the way he was skulking around that gave Jonah pause, as opposed to his greeting the man immediately. He was going about things as a thief would, cautious but lurking, as if he were hoping not to be seen by anyone if they were inside the cabin so he could continue doing what he was doing and avoid accidentally getting shot. Then again, if Jonah were him, he’d probably be wondering the same thing—What was in there for the taking?—but also ready for any threats, man or Molter. That man was still alive, so he definitely knew Molters could hunt during the day.
Even though it was true that they hunted during the day from time to time, Jonah should have realized the man wasn’t a Molter immediately because a Molter being out when it wasn’t dark was something of a rarity. Easily countable since the battle of Henrytown. One of the only exceptions were the ones he’d killed a few months ago last winter.
The world still looked like winter, but it wasn’t. As much snow as had melted still remained, but technically spring had sprung. Maybe that was why the cabin had been stumbled upon? Something that also crossed Jonah’s mind was that smoke rising up from the chimney could have led him here, but if it had, he would have needed to be in close proximity in the first place.
But even nearby, because of the denseness of the trees, the cabin was hardly noticeable, even by those who had called it home these last few years. Plus, they hadn’t burned as much wood since it had gotten warmer. No, Jonah realized human behavior changed with the weather, became more exploratory, and he was no different.
The man hadn’t noticed Jonah standing as still as the trees surrounding him as he cupped his hands around his eyes to stare into the window on the passenger side of Henry’s truck. A gloved hand checked the door handle to find it locked. Locking doors was a habit Jonah was glad he still had.
Locking a vehicle hadn’t really been necessary—until now—but one reason he did so was that he’d learned Molters could open doors. He always kept the truck doors locked so that he wouldn’t open it one day to find a Molter inside, ready to launch out at him. He honestly hadn’t thought of the habit as a way to keep people out. He hadn’t even considered a person attempting a break in in years, and he also wasn’t used to seeing anyone other than Doreen or Heike.
Then it crossed Jonah’s mind that the man might know Henry; he hoped that somehow he did. His deductions were momentary and required as a soldier, a former one, now a new kind reborn from his past, and necessary due to the evolution of the new Earth.
Only a few seconds passed before Jonah realized who the man truly was to him: a stranger. A threat obviously interested in the trucks and then likely what was inside the cabin. The stranger had probably noticed the trucks could drive anywhere since they were equipped with snow tires.
The man crept closer to the cabin, trying to get a look inside it. When he got to the front door, it looked as if he was contemplating whether or not to kick it in, seconds away from putting Jonah’s loved ones in danger. Who knew what he would do to them? Would he leave after discovering it was occupied? Would he be decent enough only to request supplies, food, or weapons? Would he just kill them outright? Was he decent at all?
There was no way to tell what kind of man he was just by looking at him. Jonah felt his finger tighten on the trigger. “Was ist los?”
The guy jumped as he turned toward Jonah, fumbling in his jacket with one shaky hand while holding the strap of his assault rifle.
“Whoa,” Jonah said, marching toward him, his left hand flat and up in a show of potential peace while his right hand raised and aimed his weapon. “Deutsch? English?”
The man likely spoke one of those languages, but
he was intent on pulling something out of his jacket instead. Jonah was pretty sure what that something was, and if he were to guess what language the man spoke based on how he was dressed, it would be English. He made his intentions perfectly clear when he yanked a revolver out, seeming to have forgotten about the assault rifle over his shoulder, and raised it. He had no interest in conversing, only shooting.
Upon first sight of the stranger, Jonah had a terrible vision of the situation had he not gotten there in time. It was of his people being hauled out of the cabin against their will with frightened faces. But that wouldn’t happen because of who Doreen was. Not just as a person and a protective mother but also as a former soldier.
Jonah was about to shoot to kill, but he didn’t have to. He noticed the door to the cabin was cracked open. He also noticed that Doreen was aiming her snub-nose revolver. She fired the weapon three times.
CHAPTER 4
The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, which spun him around as if he were intending to run—he had no doubt spotted a revolver aiming at him—but the second two disappeared into the back of his stocking cap. He pitched forward off the porch and splayed limply, the momentum of the fall sliding him across slush. After that he didn’t move. He was clearly dead.
Jonah peered around, in case there were any more of them. Probably. He wouldn’t have to explain what he needed to do. When Doreen stepped into view on the porch, the barrel of the snub-nose revolver he’d given to her as a gift still smoking, he placed his hand flat above his waist, at about Heike’s height, and she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Heike was safe.
Doreen could handle herself, but she’d never had to kill anyone before. Jonah shoved his silenced pistol into the holster under his arm and briskly walked over to where he’d leaned his bolt-action rifle, then went to Doreen and handed it over along with the backpack, briefly trying to get a read on her. He couldn’t. She seemed fine. It was probably because she’d been protecting Heike. Killing in cold blood was one thing, protecting someone you loved quite another.
Doreen placed Jonah’s rifle and backpack down inside the cabin next to the door along with her revolver. He turned, quickly spotting the dead man’s revolver on the ground. He walked over to it and picked it up, and as he did, he yanked the assault rifle free from under the corpse too. He trotted back to Doreen and handed both weapons to her.
As he backed away, he put a finger to his lips, then made a twisting motion, miming as if he held a key and locked a door. Doreen nodded and disappeared behind the cabin door with the revolver and assault rifle. He heard the lock click securely.
Because Jonah had to ensure the territory was clear, he went hunting. This time for members of his own species.
There were more of them. Jonah had kept his territory relatively free of the creatures, but that had the consequence of making it possible for other people to venture inside it. And as of right now, they were a threat. For some reason, he had never thought that would happen. In the past, he had actually looked forward to others showing up, especially Henry, and only in the back of his mind had he believed they would be hostile.
They were probably all part of the same group, but they’d separated, and they obviously weren’t aware that Doreen had killed one of them, or even heard the gunshots. They weren’t behaving like people who were in danger. It was as if they were out for a casual stroll. That could mean anything.
Where had they come from? Was it just an outing, a break from a more stressful environment? Jonah remembered how he had behaved when he was done for the day in a war zone. People did their best to be normal whenever they could. And it wasn’t as if their surroundings weren’t gorgeous, with stubborn cold doing its best to ice the trees and cover the mountains with snow even though it was spring on every calendar.
Jonah followed the entire group from a distance until one of them separated. Jonah decided to follow him. Not directly behind him or across from the same path he was walking, but to his flank and always blocked by the cover of trees.
When he moved, Jonah did, too, to muffle the sound of his own steps. It was difficult even for Jonah to step noiselessly. The slush of melting snow and the snap of branches were practically amplified when everything else was silent. Even the wind seemed to be taking a break.
The man Doreen had killed must have just happened to stumble across the cabin. Jonah didn’t think he had known it was there, or the others would have gone there too. If they had a specific destination, they wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly through the woods as this man and the rest of his group were doing. He would deal with the others soon.
It must have meant they were searching. For something they weren’t expecting? Similar to some of Jonah’s own missions, they were probably hoping to discover supplies. But out in the woods? That didn’t make any sense, unless they were simply exploring. That didn’t really make any sense either because it was dangerous to do so. He didn’t know them, but he was sure they at least understood that. Jonah wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly the same thing, but hardly anyone was as well trained as he was or had his experience.
Of course, it was always possible for the naïve to get themselves into trouble. Just because they were the same species didn’t mean they were smart. Or desperate enough to risk their lives for a great find. Jonah was a risk taker too. It was human nature, and he would be wise not to underestimate anyone. Especially people he’d never met.
Regardless, Jonah needed to stay close to the man he was following to see where he was heading, hoping it remained a random direction. That way, Jonah could do what he was prepared to do without notice. The one he was following looked to be on a hunt and was dressed that way, wearing bright orange clothing. But when a rabbit appeared, he didn’t take the shot. He’d seen it, Jonah had seen him see it, but he didn’t fire the shotgun he held ready. It seemed he wanted to remain quiet.
Well, the normal, untrained civilian type of quiet, Jonah thought. I don’t want to have to kill you.
The dead man at the cabin had drawn his gun without hesitation with the intent to kill Jonah, so Jonah had had no choice but to defend himself. If Doreen hadn’t intervened, he would have. But killing his fellow man hadn’t been necessary for Jonah since the war. Having to deal with people was completely different than having to deal with the creatures. Jonah had only killed Molters since the war, so the predicament was putting him on edge.
Following the man over a hill, the snow got even deeper as there were still patches of winter everywhere. Spring was probably only a mindset for humans. Nature had its own agenda, and it was as if it had other ideas. Best to think it was that season once it truly was, like if he ever got back to the States, especially on his home turf. He knew when a California spring began. They were practically summers, aside from June Gloom.
Some places were still so deep with snow that it had to be kicked through to venture forward, which the stranger did noisily. He reacted when tree branches snapped deep in the woods, and Jonah thought they almost sounded like silenced gunshots. The man was on edge, too, but in a way that made Jonah think it was not in anticipation of Molters, but of other people, and perhaps what he was willing to do to somebody if he crossed paths with them unexpectedly.
Jonah couldn’t be sure about what kind of person he was, unless he reached for a gun like the other had. Jonah should probably try and talk with him, even though the last time didn’t go so well. Whatever was about to happen, he felt nervously prepared.
A forest blanketed with snow made sound travel easily when it was melting, partially frozen, and crunchy, but especially when somebody who was being tracked didn’t care how audible their footsteps were. It was also easier for the tracker to get spotted if he made the same noisy mistakes, so Jonah remained patient, controlled his breathing, and concentrated on avoiding any other noises he might accidentally make to give away his position.
Jonah tried to anticipate what a stranger was capable of, imagine what he was after exactly, where he was headed,
but especially where he was coming from and if he belonged to a larger group. Larger than the group that was presently stomping around carelessly in the woods. There was no way to know any of that for sure, so speaking to him was probably Jonah’s smartest option, as opposed to tracking him all day and being forced to deal with more of them than he could handle.
Keeping his hand ready to draw out his weapon, he would give the guy the benefit of the doubt until it was time to act. Deep down, Jonah suspected he was going to have to do what he didn’t want to have to do. He didn’t want to have to, though. Not only for the act itself—he’d never wanted to kill anyone—but also for what was required afterward: disposing of the corpse and anticipating the consequences.
In Jonah’s past, he was afraid not only of being alone, but also of wanting to be. Since then, as an older person and a man, he’d evolved. But there was another part of him that he was afraid would take over, a much older version of himself who was forced to be alone, absolutely hated it, but was also capable of killing anything or anyone he perceived as a threat.
Until somebody was clearly dangerous, they shouldn’t be treated that way. He could and would think however he wanted, but he needed to remember to tread carefully in how he acted. It would be very easy for him to stalk every person traipsing through his perceived territory, treat them as an enemy, and eliminate them before they even knew what was happening. But that would be unwarranted, and one of the destinations for such behavior was seclusion. Possibly madness.
Aside from all the existential preoccupations that rattled around in his head constantly—and endlessly—Jonah was mildly annoyed because he never wanted to freely relinquish an opportunity to kill a rabbit. One of the best things about the area was the growing abundance of rabbits, and ignoring an easy shot to pursue a trespasser was a wasted opportunity to bring home more meat.
