by C A Gleason
Eventually, they would try to regroup, which would be impossible now as two of them were dead. Jonah needed to deal with them before they tried to no avail. He lifted and then kicked the corpse over with his boot, wondering what was inside the backpack. Maybe something of use like intel about where he came from? He bent down and quickly searched through it. Empty. He grabbed the dead man’s shotgun and pumped it multiple times, each crunch ejecting a shell that he placed in his cargo pockets.
The shotgun shells were the same gauge as his favorite, the weapon he had equipped with a silencer, his preferred method for taking out Molter nests whenever he came across them. Even though that hadn’t happened in a while. He liked his own shotgun better, of course, so he would use the shells for his weapon but keep the shotgun as another backup. In the cellar, or bury it somewhere. He could decide later.
Glancing back, Jonah decided to leave him as he fell. A body count was starting to pile up, and unless he decided to bury him, nature would take care of it. If the body were to be discovered, hopefully it would be by a Molter and not by anyone from the community he had belonged to. He might return to bury the corpse—he would have to deal with the one at the cabin somehow—but only if he didn’t have to kill anyone else.
CHAPTER 5
Once again, Jonah was reminded that he might need glasses. Even after squinting, it was difficult to count the bright smudges of clothing. Not only because his eyesight was weakening, but also because they were moving, and he had to move frequently to keep up. Not so easy to remain silent, and any slipup could inadvertently give him away. It was amazing one hadn’t already because Jonah had actually been conversing with the man he’d killed.
Based on how careless the ones Jonah had dealt with already were, the others likely hadn’t been in the military either, otherwise he would have had to deal with them already. Still, no one should be underestimated; they were all likely armed, and those without much experience with weapons tended to have itchy trigger fingers, especially if they discovered new supplies they wanted to protect. Holding the recently obtained shotgun in his left hand near his waist and his pistol at the ready in his right, he slowly took steps closer.
Because all his focus was on the new threats—after eliminating the one behind him—he allowed anything out of the ordinary to enter his senses: smells, sounds, footprints, newly fallen or broken branches, anything that would keep him on their trail. Of course, they were heading where he didn’t want them to, but he didn’t believe they were making their way toward the cabin on purpose. Probably going in that direction because it was slightly uphill, tapping into a natural human instinct that punishment would be rewarded.
They were only exploring, likely thinking they were as alone as Jonah had thought he and his people were until only recently, and it was possible they might pass by. They could also be decent. Just because two of them were threats didn’t mean they all were. But based on what had happened at the cabin and what he had just had to do, but also what his gut told him, he would likely have to squeeze the trigger again.
But only if I absolutely have to.
There was a snap so close to him that it almost made him jump. It sounded like a tree branch breaking, and then it was followed by laughter. One of them had obviously fallen, and the rest stopped to help him up and also thought it was funny. Humor for them but an unexpected advantage for Jonah because it meant they had slowed down, and he closed the distance. Their extraneous noise had allowed him to move with a purpose.
Except he still didn’t know the exact number of people he was dealing with or where they intended on going. If they changed direction, he could deviate from a confrontation and instead of heading right toward them, which he was doing now, he would hike ahead and far past them, hoping they would return to where they’d come from. Except sooner or later they would realize that some of their group was missing and go searching the area. Jonah wasn’t sure what to expect when that happened.
It didn’t seem like any of them had radios; the dead two didn’t, and Jonah hadn’t heard any either. If they did have them, the man who’d stumbled across the cabin and trucks would have informed the others before he’d been killed by Doreen. Not having radios was a mistake on their part. Then again, their lack of training also likely trickled down to their lack of proficiency at searching. Not only was Jonah good at these skills, but he also had a nose for finding precious supplies. Clearly, they did not.
They probably all planned on meeting at a designated location. They had also made the mistake of separating, and because of that, it would take them a while to locate their missing members. Not even because of what Jonah had done; it would be because of their carelessness, and that would give him the time to return to the cabin, get his people somewhere safe, and pick off the trespassers if they appeared. Then he would bury them or leave them where they fell . . .
But he was getting ahead of himself. Even though he always liked to have a backup plan.
Their meandering course through the slush allowed Jonah to get so close to them that he could see their brightly colored winter jackets clearly. Their path was definitely erratic, but they were still heading toward the cabin somehow. That was unfortunate for them. Their clothing obviously kept them warm, but it was so bright they could probably be seen from orbit. Something else Jonah would use to his advantage, to keep his eyes on them.
Other than the cabin being out in the open enough to be in sight once you were near it, the few trails leading to it—other than the main dirt road—were among its few weaknesses. They’d stumbled upon one of those trails. He would have to intercede soon.
The men—Jonah could see them clearly now; there were three of them, and there weren’t any women among them, thankfully—were picking up the pace. He would always do whatever was necessary, but he never wanted to have to kill any women. Three plus two equaled five—two dead, three still alive, walking and talking—and a group of five was relatively small. He wasn’t sure, but there were likely multiple groups of people out there somewhere, and they all probably belonged to the same community. It was the way they were going about things, far too confident to be wary.
They were so desperate to find supplies or whatever it was they were searching for that none of them had noticed they were being followed, and they were behaving as if they had no idea that two of their own were even missing. Jonah was dealing with common folks with survival experience—they were still alive, after all—but definitely no training. The disadvantage was that people like that were more apt to do something stupid that could jeopardize the lives of everyone in a potential confrontation, especially Jonah, so he would remain cautious.
Then, to Jonah’s disbelief, they actually broadcast their intentions. One of them started raising his voice even more, practically shouting, and talked about getting whatever they could, and when one of them asked what they should do if they saw anybody, one of them, who was probably in charge of the three, said to kill anybody they didn’t know. Anyone who wasn’t one of them. So, because they’d verbally expressed their immoral intent, Jonah charged them. He didn’t care if they spotted him now.
Jonah was sure he could handle all three of them with the bullets in just one pistol magazine. Two were dressed in bright orange hunting jackets, one a blinding yellow. When they turned in his direction, Jonah saw that they all had beards. They instinctively raised their hunting rifles, but Jonah shot two of them in the head with silent cracks. Both their heads snapped back, and their bodies slumped to the ground.
The other man dropped his rifle. It clattered to a bare spot of dirt as the others lay around him. He raised his hands. “Don’t shoot!”
Jonah nearly had shot him. Instead, and because of his demand, Jonah faltered and merely aimed the silenced 9mm, but at his nose, the trigger ready to be depressed and make him as dead as the others. “Get on your knees!”
The man’s mouth hung open; he was speechless and clearly in shock, but he did as he was told, kneeling. Jonah would h
ave had the same stunned reaction if he had had to watch people he’d known die right in front of him. Around the corpses, blood rivers ran all over the icy, slushy snow.
“Wait!” he said, hands shaking. “I didn’t do nothing!”
“How many more friends you got?”
“Why’d you do that?”
“How many?”
He hesitated, breathing heavily. “You just killed ’em all.”
“Answer honestly or you’re next.”
The man lowered his hands.
“No, keep those up.”
He flung his hands back into the air. “I’m on my fucking knees!”
His face contorted into a question that seemed to be about what Jonah intended on doing. His eyes darted nervously from the pistol to the shotgun that Jonah held loosely in his left hand. Jonah placed the shotgun between his knees, pinching it there; grabbed the man’s rifle off the ground; and threw the strap over his shoulder.
A little cumbersome having three weapons on him, not including his machete. As he stood up straight, an unloaded shotgun in one hand and loaded pistol in the other, and the man’s rifle strap over his shoulder, he briefly considered what to do next. While doing that, he imagined what these people might have done had he not confronted them.
They would have gotten quiet upon discovery of the place he considered his home, wondering if the people who lived there were inside. One of them would have crept up close to a window but would have ducked after spotting Doreen or Heike or both of them, signaling to the others with a nervous hand, envious of the warmth inside as they all tried to imagine what supplies might be in there for the taking. Everything someone as desperate as they were would need. And want.
Desperate to survive. It was all Jonah needed to know about him. Like the others, there was no way for Jonah to know what kind of man he was truly dealing with, who he was before the Molting, if he was good now or bad or somewhere in between. Most people were good, but Jonah couldn’t take any more chances. The dead men had spoiled it for the only one still alive; their intent to raid and loot or worse made that clear, and far too close to his front door.
“Get up.” Jonah motioned with the 9mm. “Start moving. Fast.”
The man rocked and stood, his hands still raised. “Which direction?”
Jonah pointed. He did as he was told. Jonah followed him away from the bodies and onto one of the trails that would lead to the cabin, except now in the opposite direction.
“Do I have to keep my hands raised?”
“Walk faster.”
He picked up the pace. “You have two guns. And mine.”
It might be a mistake, but Jonah wanted him to walk as quickly as possible, so Jonah decided to allow it. Swinging arms helped with speed. “No, you can lower them.”
The man dropped his hands as if they weighed a ton. “Thank you. So who are you, anyway?”
Jonah said nothing.
“You must live up here? We were too close to where you call home? That it? If so I’m real sorry. Real sorry.”
He had said up, which meant he and his people didn’t live near the present elevation. That probably meant substantial distance between Jonah and wherever they resided, which was good. Jonah may have very well ripped danger out by the roots. Temporarily. The real issue was when others—Jonah was almost positive they came from a larger group—eventually came looking for those who were missing.
“What’s your name?” he said.
“I’m the one with the . . .” Don’t say weapons. Don’t give any hint you were in the military. “I’m the one with the guns. Just keep going.”
“We were just looking for some food.”
“Not all of you.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Hey, man. Come on. You want to see my ribs?”
“How many more of you are there?”
“There were five. You probably killed the rest?”
He was actually telling the truth, and Jonah’s attitude was the man’s answer to that particular question. “I’m not talking about the ones you were out here with.”
“Um . . . I’m the last of them, I guess. How about you give me something to eat, and I’ll just leave?”
“Even after what I did to your friends?”
“They weren’t my friends.”
“Sounded that way. All that laughter and grab-ass. I would have known where you were from a mile away. And you’re leaving no matter what, so answer my question.”
“I won’t tell anybody you’re up here.”
I guarantee that. One way or another. “Where’d you come from?”
He was doing some plotting of his own because he didn’t answer at first. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not if you’re not a threat.”
“So, however I answer your questions will determine that?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll let me go after?”
“I want to.”
“All right, I wasn’t telling you the truth. I come from a larger group. But who doesn’t?”
They kept walking, trampling across the slushy, half-frozen earth. The woods looked so impenetrable it was as if all the trees were connected at the bases but with various gaps, like a fence. He was leading Jonah now, but that was easy because he was just following the trail that had led him there. All Jonah cared about was that they were heading away from the place he considered home and at a quick pace. Whether he knew it or not, he was inadvertently getting closer to where he came from. Unless he brought it up, Jonah would continue to allow him to give up more intel.
“I’m not sure what you’re going to do here, so you can probably understand my reluctance to say too much to a stranger who might do my other friends harm. I care about my people just as I’m sure you care for your . . . whoever.”
“I thought you said they weren’t your friends.”
“I don’t know why I said that, slipped out. Look, we’re all strangers now. Those you killed, I didn’t know them very well. Worked together a few times, but that’s all.”
Jonah understood how that worked. Most of the time, that was how it was; most were just acquaintances you knew for a while, worked with, had a few laughs with, and then that was it.
“We were ordered to come out here, so we did.”
“OK,” Jonah said. “Ordered by whom?”
“Well, not ordered exactly. We volunteered for it, but they decide when we go.”
“Who decides?”
“Underling of the man in charge.”
“What’s his name?”
“What’s yours?”
“I’m not telling you my damn name,” Jonah said, “and I don’t want to know—”
“I’m Doug.”
Harder to be tough with somebody once you knew their name, Jonah thought. Doug did seem different than the others. Maybe he was actually telling the truth. Jonah had worked with plenty of people he hadn’t agreed with or even liked. Just got his work done and went home when he had a regular job, or back to his cot whenever he could while he was deployed. But then again Jonah had begun to trust the first guy he had to kill, too, before he’d mentioned women.
“You don’t have to tell me who you are, that’s fine, but before I start telling you things, I want to know what you plan on doing afterward.”
“That depends on you.”
They had made their way from the cabin to make Jonah feel relaxed enough to ease up his tension and were just stepping over a rise when Doug tripped. Seconds later, it was apparent he had only pretended to stumble because he unexpectedly lunged backward, knocking Jonah over.
Well, can’t trust the lot of ’em. Shit!
The shotgun slipped out of his hand, and the rifle slung over his shoulder pressed awkwardly into his back when he landed. Jonah still held the pistol, but it was aimed at the gray sky, and that was when Doug leaped on top of him, trying to gain control of the weapon, something he had obviously planned to do
the entire time. If Jonah were in his shoes, he probably would have done the same. Hard to be on the side of somebody who’d just killed the people you were with.
Jonah had let himself trust a stranger just long enough for something like this to happen. Not exactly his fault, even though later he would consider it to be, but also naïve of him. He wanted to be able to trust someone he didn’t know. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to trust Doug, if that was his real name, who was presently trying to wrestle the pistol away from him, nor should he have remotely trusted anyone else he’d come with.
Grabbing a clump of his greasy hair, Jonah tried yanking him upward far enough so he could get a shot at his face and end the fight, but that wasn’t happening. Doug was stronger than he looked. He had given up on getting ahold of Jonah’s 9mm and was reaching for the machete attached at Jonah’s side instead. That was probably why Doug hadn’t mentioned the machete. He’d also been planning on going after it the whole time.
Jonah shoved at his chest as hard as he could with both hands, rearing back and getting a leg in between them and then kicked Doug off him. Doug grasped for Jonah’s pistol, but the silencer whisked through his fingers, and then he slipped in the snow and stumbled backward. His boots started sliding, and then he fell down the small hill.
Standing quickly, Jonah aimed as Doug did his best to awkwardly scramble to his feet, still slipping. Jonah shrugged the rifle strap off him and let it clatter to the ground. Jonah leveled the pistol, ready to shoot and end another life.
Whatever it takes, Henry.
Jonah recalled what Henry had said to him before leaving for the cabin, an agreement between them, and what Jonah was willing to do in order to protect his loved ones. Doug was about to receive a bullet from Jonah’s silenced weapon for his deception, but then something strange happened. The tree above Doug began to move, almost as if there were a windstorm, as if it were coming to life, even though it was covered in snow.
It was something Jonah had seen before, a tree that wasn’t a tree at all and only looked to be one, and he took hurried steps backward, still keeping Doug pinned in place with the aim of his pistol.
