by C A Gleason
“Will you make it, please? Sandwiches always taste better when someone else makes them. For some reason.”
“That’s because I put—”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” It tasted like corned beef to him, but he wasn’t sure. For some reason, he liked that. “Keep it a mystery. If I know what’s in it, I’ll make it all the time, and we won’t have any food left.”
Doreen beamed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Heike laughed, chomping loudly with her mouth open. “Wow, you are hungry.”
“Chew with your mouth closed, please,” Doreen said.
They were sitting at the dinner table, which was a nice piece of furniture Jonah had found in an abandoned house. It was bigger than the table that was already in here when they’d first arrived. It had been for someone who didn’t care about how things looked, had probably been a man, as Doreen had suggested, and had lived alone. There was hardly room for even one diner.
Except what Jonah had discovered in the nearby cave made him think otherwise, that there had been others, more than one person. Probably. There were two small bedrooms. He had no idea who had lived at the cabin since it had been built but had realized it didn’t really matter, so he didn’t think about it much anymore.
Knowing they would live at the cabin for a while, Jonah had done his best to find chairs that matched the table as well. For some reason, they weren’t in the house he’d found the table in. He remembered guessing they were probably used somewhere else to block a door. The main door hadn’t held because it was wide open, the wind rifling through as it pleased, and there were no chairs anywhere in that particular house. He had no idea why.
“Good sandwich, Mom,” Heike said, finishing hers, holding her hand over her mouth as she spoke. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Doreen said, using a spatula to lay another freshly made sandwich from the counter on Jonah’s plate. “And that’s very polite. No one wants to see the food in someone else’s mouth.”
The way Heike’s eyes squinted showed she was smiling behind her hand as she chewed and finished the last bite of her sandwich. “I’m stuffed!”
“Really good,” Jonah said, standing briefly to kiss Doreen on the lips before she sat down. “Thank you.”
She tittered and shrugged. “I’m so glad you both like them so much.”
“May I be excused to go play?” Heike said.
“Take your plate to the counter first.”
“OK.” Heike carefully carried her plate to the counter as if she were balancing it on her head and then quickly walked out of the kitchen and flopped onto a blanket next to the warm stove.
There’s just something about your woman making you a meal, Jonah thought. The comfort. The warmth that filled him had nothing to do with the enclosed fire crackling nearby. It was the warmth of bonding while dining. Knowing that was probably why Jonah had searched so hard for what felt like home, what they would all consider that to be. Their meals and quality time together would always be pleasant but also very different if they all just sat on the floor or used a cardboard box as a dinner table.
And he knew how much women appreciated an aesthetic that matched when it came to interior decorating. He had come across most of their furniture when he ventured outside what became his controlled perimeter, something he did a lot shortly after arriving at the cabin, but he hadn’t gone out very far in a while. It hadn’t been necessary, but he was edging closer to another mission of that sort, although he didn’t need to worry himself about that right now. They had almost everything they needed. Anything more would be more of what they already had, and if they ever were low on what they actually did need, Jonah knew where to find it. But that didn’t change what needed to be done soon. There was a different kind of mission in his immediate future involving a new home. It would be his duty to find it.
Doreen was abruptly up, clearing the table and then hand-washing some dishes used to make the meal. Jonah watched her, feeling their bond, wanting it to last forever, and as she came back to the table to clear off the remnants of the lunch, she bent down and kissed him. Now that was something he always needed more of. He closed his eyes, enjoying the intimacy as long as he could, knowing it would be brief because Heike was nearby. They saved those longer kisses for when they were alone.
Closing eyes when kissing showed trust, and that’s what he always did with Doreen, but when the kiss was over and he opened them, he saw her eyes were still closed, but he also saw something else past her, and he gently—but urgently—tugged her to the floor.
“Heike, stay where you are,” he said.
Doreen opened her eyes, her entire face asking the question she wanted to verbalize, but she had recognized Jonah’s tone.
“Get under the table,” he said to her.
Doreen ducked her head under without question, and while Jonah was beside her, he pointed up at the kitchen window. When she turned, she did it slowly and saw what he had: a Molter with green skin—it was an Infector bomb, veins running all over it like erratic rivers—staring inside. Teeth lined the outside of its mouth, the sharp tips pointing inward toward the dark maw of its hunger for blood. It was peering inside the cabin, but it didn’t seem to be looking at them directly.
“I don’t think it sees us,” Jonah whispered. “Don’t move.”
Most likely it had only been investigating the cabin, understanding that a structure was where its prey might dwell, or maybe it had even heard them from outside but wasn’t aware of their exact location within the walls, and that was keeping it from getting inside. But only for the moment. If it wanted to get in, it would.
One aspect of Henrytown Jonah yearned for was the armed guards. Jonah couldn’t very well patrol continuously, and he had just gone out recently to ensure safety and seen no hint of danger, but that didn’t prevent a steady stream of expletives inside his head.
Where the hell did it come from?
He couldn’t figure out how it had slipped through his clearing without seeing it firsthand, and that seemed impossible. He decided it wasn’t, but also that it was possible for any predator to go where it wanted if it were determined enough.
Work to do. A forthcoming killing. Think about it later.
“Going to take care of it,” he said. “I’ll be quick. Don’t go outside for any reason until I get back.”
“Just make sure you do,” Doreen said.
He kissed her and winked at Heike.
Heike winked back at him by scrunching up her whole face. Then Jonah belly crawled, staying under the view from the kitchen window. The Molter was no longer in sight but surely nearby. He stood once at the door, put his boots on, yanked his 9mm out of the holster hanging from the coat rack, and quickly attached the silencer. He flicked the safety switch to the firing position and slowly opened the door with hardly a sound. He made sure the door always opened as silently as possible by oiling the lock and hinges once a week, just in case. That door barely made any noise at all, necessary for how things were but especially for what he was about to do.
It was out of sight, so as he moved, he held the weapon at the ready and tried to anticipate where it could be, hoping it wasn’t on the roof—he looked up and down—and wondering if there were more of them and where they might be too. Most likely, it would head downhill since that’s the way it seemed to be headed. He based that on where it had appeared.
The woods where he had tracked the men who needed to be dealt with were on the door side of the cabin, and the hill was on the back side where he’d killed Molters before. He wondered if the Molter—or Molters—had fed on the corpse of the man Doreen had killed. And what it thought of the dead Behemoth sprawled in front of the cabin. Perhaps both had drawn it in.
If there were more than one Molter, they were likely still hunting on the ground. They didn’t typically take to the trees unless they were about to attack or in the midst of a battle. If there weren’t any prey to pursue—Jonah always s
tudied them before pulling the trigger when he could do it safely—they typically remained on foot—clawed feet that aided their climbing.
After stepping on the top of the hill, he didn’t see it until he looked to the right; he also saw there was another one. There were two, and both of them were about to disappear into the trees. Following closely and as silently as possible, he was almost positive there were only a pair. Then again, he had been enjoying lunch with Doreen and Heike only minutes ago, confident there were zero and that they were safe. He was wrong on both accounts.
Ignoring his sense of déjà vu, for he’d had to kill some cousins of theirs a few months ago, he advanced on them fast, weapon aimed. Just as they processed that one of their prey was running at them, they managed to twist toward Jonah, but then there were two bullets in each of their heads, fired from his silencer-equipped pistol.
They fell at the same time and almost as quickly as Jonah had decided to move. They didn’t even get the chance to snarl, howl, or decide which tree to climb and hide in to wait for an opportunity to drop onto him from above.
Both had green skin and wore ragged pieces of clothing that almost seemed like they were embedded in their flesh. Sometimes Molters were able to rip all human skin off but somehow remain partly clothed. Jonah always suspected it meant they had molted recently. Steam rose up from the bullet holes in their heads as blood leaked out. They were both the new strain, different from the original Molters in appearance but also likely Infector bombs. It was wise of him never to know for sure what he knew for sure, so he took out his machete.
After both their midsections were open gashes of a steaming, reeking stew of pale entrails and Infectors, he was positive.
So close to the cabin, he was deciding what to do with them. Allow them to rot for a while after he killed the Infectors, or burn them now and bury them afterward? He had left the Molters he’d killed down the hill last winter to rot, figuring the stench of their deaths would act as a defense, and the decaying corpses certainly had prevented some from entering his territory. But as he’d thought before, doing so was no longer a way to completely thwart them.
His indecision was set aside when he heard a very familiar sound, the kind that caused instant alarm—what sounded like a bedsheet tearing—and then Doreen let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Doreen never screamed. Never. The fact that she had was jarring, even more so because he could actually hear her from outside the cabin. The only good thing about her muffled scream was that it meant she was still alive.
Doreen wasn’t the type to stay hunkered down and hiding, not be looking out a window for trouble, so she obviously had seen something. Or maybe she only heard it? They were all familiar with such a terrible sound. Immediately running, he didn’t even care if there were more Molters behind him.
See if they can get their claws into me while I’m on the run.
When he neared the cabin, he saw what he expected: another Infector bomb. A Molter he had missed. His clearings would be doubled, tripled even, if that’s what it took. He could take short naps and count that as sleep. He’d stay up all night if he had to. Doreen could stand guard as he rested for short spells, and then he would resume a protective patrol throughout his perimeter. The details would be improvised, but no matter what, the missions were about to get amped, and they would be in addition to his eventual scouting mission. Hopefully then they could leave the cabin for good.
The Infector bomb must have stayed out of sight but also waited for Jonah to move away, a tactic, and had practically exploded all over the porch. There was so much stringy and shiny, steaming goop he had to ignore his urge to wretch. It was practically everywhere as if the thing had swallowed a stick of dynamite. No wonder Doreen had reacted. The front of the cabin was coated.
The first time they had encountered an Infector bomb was during the surprise attack at Henrytown, and one of the many Infectors born from the Molter had almost bitten Heike. Jonah didn’t blame Doreen for remembering what such a creature was capable of and being so fearful. It was one of the times Jonah had been the most thankful he was a solid marksman as he’d killed any Infector that got remotely close to Heike. Today would be no different in terms of his shot prowess, this time with a pistol.
Steaming chunks of mucus dribbled down the support beams that held up the roof. There were Infectors swimming through the gunk as they climbed all over—where Jonah, Doreen, and Heike had stood too many times to count, thinking it safe—over the slats, up the door, and some were already on the roof.
Because Jonah knew how many Infectors gestated inside just one of them, he knew the others were out of sight already. They were fast once matured and knew to hide. Hopefully, none had gotten inside the cabin. That wasn’t likely because there weren’t any openings he was aware of, and Doreen wouldn’t open the door again until he gave her the all clear. Still, as was the theme lately, it was wise never to be sure.
“Any get in?” he said.
“No,” Doreen said, muffled. “I don’t think so!”
Jonah sized up the cabin, stepping back and giving himself some room for careful aiming. Infector bombs were the worst because their aftermath was so difficult to contain. Each had a various number of Infectors gestating inside them: around a dozen, even as many as twenty, and all of them needed to be destroyed as fast as possible. If they weren’t, they could be anywhere. There could be a few up some trees, nestled near the outhouse, or even in the undercarriage of one of the trucks, waiting to eventually sink their tiny teeth into flesh. They could lie in wait for longer than he dared to think about.
He was a good shot with a pistol, but killing them with an automatic rifle would be even easier; if only he could blow them away without fear of shooting up the walls. Either of those weapon systems or, in a pinch, a lighter and canister of Doreen’s hairspray, but he only had a lighter in his pocket, and he wasn’t about to go searching for a way to kill them that could very well burn the cabin to the ground. He would have to worry about patching holes later.
“Get away from the door. Both of you go into Heike’s bedroom and lay down on the ground.”
Their OKs were muffled. After analyzing the number of creatures that looked like hand-size spiders in sight—ten moving around, but there always seemed to be more than could be seen—he began squeezing the trigger.
One shot, one kill for most of them. He did miss a few times, but he stayed far enough away that they couldn’t leap onto him. He aimed carefully at the ones that weren’t moving at all and trying to remain still, as most of them were, but there were others that seemed to understand their lives were in immediate danger—not a complicated mystery as the others were dying around them—and the ones still alive scrambled in random directions.
Forced to reload—because of having to kill two Molters minutes earlier—and after closing the distance with nearly continuous shots, he was pretty sure he’d gotten them all. That were in sight anyway.
Carefully, he peeked inside what was left of the corpse of the Infector-ridden Molter splayed out on its back. Its entire upper torso had ripped apart in ribbons, as if it had blown up from the inside, and flowered in uneven petals of bloody flesh. It was all still connected with thin, ragged ropes of skin holding it together but barely. Except for half the head, which had fallen off. It was a few feet away, tilted back, one eye open aimed at the sky, a jagged part of a jaw of teeth exposed, and looking very pleased with itself. Jonah couldn’t tell what had happened to the other half of its head.
Even when they were dead, they looked murderous. Infector bombs just came apart above the waist, as if they were formed in pieces at birth, yet they looked as if they could just as easily connect back together. After inspecting it longer, Jonah thought it looked as if it were melting. Something close to the liquefying Molters of the original strain did on the inside when they cocooned to become food for a Behemoth. That must happen after they served their purpose, but why hadn’t it happened to the Molters in the cave he’d discovered? He must
have disrupted their life cycle by killing them.
His brow furrowed as he realized what that could mean. If Infector bombs liquefied after birthing the Infectors that grew inside them, then there would be no trace of them in no time at all. Once again, he’d learned something else that was frightening about them. That could be a very good explanation as to why the earth was so barren of society, how people had practically vanished, yet the same world was so flooded with Molters.
Jonah wanted to put a bullet in the one splayed out before him because he was pissed off but also because there were so many pieces to choose from. It was frustrating, except there was never a good reason to waste ammo out of fear. But especially out of anger.
He shrugged. “Oh well.”
Jonah shot what remained of the thing’s head. A hole exposed pink flesh. It was definitely beginning the liquefying process, taking on a slick look that made it look wet, similar to the look of the cocoons a Behemoth fed on in its lair. The gunshot made Jonah feel somewhat better. Even though he knew better. But that feeling wouldn’t last long.
“Done shooting!”
He heard footsteps behind the door. “Day hunters,” Doreen said from inside. Although muffled, she couldn’t hide the concern in her voice.
Jonah hid his concern as best he could. Seemed relying on Molters mostly hunting at night was definitely over. “Yes,” he said.
“Get all of them?”
“I think so, but stay inside.”
Jonah continued to scan the area, looking for any movement whatsoever. The roof still had some white on it, so if there were Infectors there, he would spot them relatively easily. There were none. The only movement was the wind pushing against tree branches above him and the bushes at their bases. He carefully grabbed the Infector bomb by the arm so it wouldn’t come apart completely—except for half the head he’d taken his frustration out on by shooting—and dragged it around the corner of the cabin nearer to where the other Molter corpses were.
He jogged back and grabbed the head by the jaw, briefly wondering if it was a mistake doing so with his bare hand, but he decided that it wasn’t—not every piece of them was infectious, he was certain of it, no matter his deepest fears—and then went over and threw it, adding to the pile of gore. For some reason, he was out of breath.
