by C A Gleason
Before he was brought inside the tent, sat in a chair, and his hands zip tied behind his back, he’d peered around the fort as inconspicuously as he could. The fort had been built recently, obviously since the Molting began, so within the last few years, but its architecture was reminiscent of structures from hundreds of years ago during times of war. It was made from full-length trees that were sharpened at the ends and tied together, their bases buried deep underground, to form a protective wall. Jonah couldn’t be sure who was directly responsible for its planning, but it was an impressive structure.
Some of the people he’d glimpsed milling about had certainly helped build the fort. It would be impossible for a project of that scale to be erected by one person. There weren’t very many of them, though. Less than a hundred? He’d seen other large tents, similar to the one he was in.
Tents typically meant short-term living quarters. In all likelihood, the fort was for defensive purposes, a place envisioned for a possible battle or it had become one—the tips of the trees that made up the fort were sharpened for a reason—and one of those battles likely involved a Behemoth impaling itself in an attempt to breach its walls.
From Jonah’s brief perspective, having peered almost straight up the walls of trees before being hauled inside the tent, the fort looked to be nearly fifty feet tall or higher. He’d glimpsed guards carrying weapons on a lengthy platform that circled along the top, keeping an eye on things from above. Ladders on both sides reached upward. Jonah hadn’t glimpsed any trees growing past the fort. They must have been cut down. Smart.
Jonah had considered doing the same thing around the cabin, but if he was busy cutting down trees, then he couldn’t be clearing, which was the foundation for their safety there, and that was always his most important mission. And Jonah was only one man, but most importantly, he didn’t want to provide a clear view of where they lived. Considering the trouble with people already and his current predicament, it was smarter of him not to have gone that route.
He’d also thought about throwing a camo net over the entire cabin, but he remembered his days in the military, and once covered in snow, caked with mud, or frozen stiff, those things weighed a ton. It would only be partial camouflage anyway, and only to other humans—assuming they were hostile—but the creatures probably wouldn’t even notice it. A net would have been ineffective unless there were multiple attacks by dangerous people, and if that were the case then he would have left it over the roof for the duration. But if there were that degree of trouble, Jonah and his people would have left the cabin already. Going through the process of locating a net, hauling it back, and covering their home would have been a waste of his time. His focus had been best directed elsewhere.
On the ground of the fort, there had been mostly men in view, who were also armed, but there were also some women and even children. Jonah hadn’t expected that. For some reason, when he decided the people he’d encountered were his enemy, he imagined that all of them would be male and look like Perry: big, strong, and intimidating. None of them had looked in his direction when he was brought in, and that made him suspect there had been others brought in the same way and used for a purpose that made him think his future was bleak.
Jonah wondered if any of them had been from Henrytown, but he didn’t recognize any of them, and it was difficult to get a clear view of anyone from where he was currently. Also, no one was in a hurry to go near him. Since his arrival he’d been treated as an enemy, which he understood. He would, and did, view a stranger the same way until proven otherwise.
It occurred to him that the fort and places like it existed thousands of years ago in their many barbaric iterations. Things did not look good for him at all. At least he hadn’t been put in the cell he’d glimpsed beyond the fort. Dressed warmly or not, exposure would kill even him.
Like most, the ones outside the tent had looked like decent folks, but they were obviously under someone’s control. They moved about like drones, not unlike the first strain of Molters that obeyed their Behemoth masters. A pecking order—or rank—could be a difficult lesson for many. The luckiest lived through a time without going to war, but being human, and by that being unable to avoid human nature, those blips throughout history were few and far between.
It was difficult for people to be decent or rational when fearful of who was in charge, which they obviously were because everyone seemed to be on edge but in a very busy way, as if they all had a job to do, and if they didn’t do it correctly, there might be repercussions. It was probably far worse than that. Because of their behavior, he suspected whoever led them was dictatorial, so they were all likely brainwashed, something Jonah understood very well, being a former soldier. He quickly decided he would not trust anyone in the fort. However he escaped, which he would, it would be by his own doing.
That was when the tent flap opened all the way, and Jonah glimpsed a man talking to Perry. The one in charge? Maybe, maybe not. Perry was obviously briefing him about something of importance, which meant he was someone with authority, likely answered to the man or woman in control of the fort and whatever was going on here. The new guy was shorter than Perry, just as most human beings were—most weren’t half man, half bear—but he had a strength Perry obviously respected. That meant something.
Upon a casual, inconspicuous inspection, Jonah saw he wore a bright orange jacket, and he had a mustache that had grown past his mouth. That wasn’t the only reason Jonah couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other; it was also their distance from him, and that wasn’t a coincidence.
When Mustache Man turned to look directly at him, Jonah looked away. Jonah guessed they were talking about him, but when he glanced back at them—the flap was still being held open by someone Jonah couldn’t see, some subordinate—their attention was elsewhere.
The fort was another community similar to Henrytown, only Jonah had no idea where the fort was located on a map. He had been unconscious during most of his transportation. The only thing he could tell was the place was at a lower elevation than the cabin because he could breathe a little easier.
How far had they taken him from home? Doreen and Heike weren’t in the tent with him, so he guessed far enough to alleviate his worry for a little while, but being away from them—especially imprisoned in a fort that belonged in another century—was daunting. Mostly because of Perry’s threat to find where Jonah lay his head most nights and kill whoever lived there with him. That was something Jonah would never forget and might mean the difference between saving Perry or allowing him to die.
Jonah wondered about Henry’s truck and its whereabouts. They’d obviously found the keys because they weren’t in his pocket. When he’d woken up, he’d searched for his machete—amazing things could be done with a sharp blade with a handle—but he remembered where he’d left it before the fight, and they had probably taken it with them.
Then he spotted it. The machete wasn’t that far from him and on a table nearby. Out of reach, though, especially with hands that were bound.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jonah saw Mustache Man say something to Perry that gave Jonah the impression it was a command because Perry hurried out of Jonah’s view as if the speed with which he accomplished that command would impress. Then the tent flap fell closed, and Mustache Man was inside with Jonah. He walked in farther but remained at a distance as if he was prepared for Jonah to escape his binds and grab him. He stared at Jonah and waited expectantly.
Jonah didn’t have the patience for any of it. He had to get back home. The sooner he could figure a way out of there the better. “You in charge?”
“I don’t think anyone is these days.”
“Then let me go.”
“Can’t do that. You’re a threat.”
“Because you don’t know me.”
“No. Because you killed one of us. The man you struck is dead.”
Good. He was an asshole, and I told him as much before I killed him. “I was only protecting myself.”
>
“But you’re also staying put because of what you said to Perry and the others. More accurately, what you didn’t say.”
Jonah was about to ask what exactly the fuck his cryptic question meant, but he quickly decided he didn’t give a shit. At least now Jonah knew the only way out of this mess was to escape. But he didn’t allow his frustration to show. “I got shot.”
“With a tranquilizer. My men felt threatened.”
So, he is in charge. Funny how quickly people gave themselves away. But that was probably on purpose, just so Jonah knew who he was dealing with. “I was just minding my own business, man.”
“What business would that be?”
“The one we’re all in. Survival. Then I was surrounded and taken prisoner. Give me a damn break. I was the one who was being threatened. What would you have done?”
“Probably something similar. Except I wouldn’t have made the mistakes you did to get myself into your situation in the first place. I wouldn’t have been that far from my vehicle. I would have driven off.”
“You weren’t there. So what the fuck do you know?”
He didn’t take the bait. “Forgive their overreaction. They were only following my orders.”
“What were those orders exactly? Had I made it to my truck and they went after me, what would they have done?”
He ignored both Jonah’s questions. “We don’t bump into many new people out there. A few of our own went missing recently, and because of how well we handle things around here we suspected regular interference. Not the kind that involves Molters.”
The man stared at him as if he were waiting for Jonah to confess, tell him all the secrets Perry had tried to get out of him, to admit right there and then that he’d killed some of their people—the missing were likely the ones he was talking about—and that being in the tent would make that happen. As if that would have been enough. It wasn’t. Since his time in the military, Jonah had learned to be mentally prepared for something unexpected such as a circumstance like this, and if he had to rot to death before spilling his guts, he would. But there were ways to avoid that.
“I’m Jonah.”
He chuckled, studying him. “Frox.”
“That sounds like a last name, Frox. What’s your first name?”
Any way to show his dignity was a way to maintain control and could help Jonah in the immediate future with this kind of people: the desperate, bullying kind who believed themselves to be in control of something uncontrollable. But Jonah could tell Frox was tough no matter how calmly he was behaving.
Being civilized with the leader or someone with power was always wise, but establishing defiance to his underlings was wise, too, and would be expected because Jonah had made sure it had already happened. Especially by killing one of them. Both tactics could be ways for Jonah to manipulate all of them and then somehow free himself.
“Dietrich,” Frox said.
“Dietrich, what do you want from me?”
“I want to know where you came from but also what you were doing out there.”
“Out where?”
“Where you were found.”
“You mean abducted. Let’s be clear.” When he didn’t react, Jonah said, “Same as your guys. Searching.”
“What were you searching for?”
“Supplies.”
“I bet I can guess just what kind of supplies interest a man like you the most. Weapons. Am I right?”
Jonah said nothing.
“Since the Molting, some things most would consider junk are practically priceless. Like your machete on the table.” Frox waited for a reaction. “Think we could trust a killer such as yourself?”
Frox was baiting him. He was trying to get Jonah to admit to what he had done, but he wasn’t about to do that. “It was self-defense. That’s what happens when somebody tangles with me. Tell the others.”
“I wasn’t talking about what you did to . . . You clean your guns well, but they’ve been fired many times.”
“A dirty . . . gun that misfires or won’t fire is useless against them. How many of ’em have you killed?”
Frox’s eyes sparkled with defeat. “I have no idea.”
“Neither do I. What about money?”
“What about it?”
“Do you consider that priceless?”
“Why?”
“Because I have a lot of it.”
Frox was doing his best to seem unfazed, but Jonah knew that wasn’t the case. No one was uninterested in money. Most people fantasized about piles of bills, rooms full of them, and Frox was surely busy wondering just how much wealth Jonah actually had. Jonah was surprised that even now, even under the weight of the Molter threat, men could be manipulated if they believed something had value. Especially cash. It probably would always be that way.
Jonah had plenty of money: coins and paper. He snatched it up whenever he came across it. American dollars, Euros, or any other currency he discovered. Some of it he didn’t even recognize. No matter what happened, there would always be someone who believed in the value of money. Even if it was just a collectible. Collectibles were worth something to somebody. How much worth could be bargained for. Unfortunately, Frox didn’t seem to be interested in making a deal with any prisoners.
“If you don’t tell me what I want to know this conversation will end, and any chance of you getting out of this tent alive will be over,” Frox said.
That’s probably true no matter what I do. But Jonah sensed a bluff. Maybe not entirely but enough for him to maintain being stubborn. “Told you. Looking for supplies.”
“You must be horrible at it because you didn’t have much in your truck.”
They had definitely searched Henry’s truck. “I’m picky.”
“With the limits of findable resources? I doubt it. It means you live nearby where they grabbed you. You were coming from somewhere else because there were only enough supplies to survive for a short period of time.”
“Is that a question?”
“Everything I’ve said to you needs to be answered for.”
Frox alluding to the proximity of where Jonah was when they took him prisoner was both good and bad. They definitely didn’t know where he lived, none of their people had informed those in charge about discovering the cabin, but considering how close every interaction with Frox’s community had been, it was possible for them to eventually locate the cabin. They couldn’t realize what a mistake that would be. Jonah wasn’t the only former soldier living there, and that particular former soldier was not only a protective mother, but also someone armed with enough destructive weapon systems to make a battalion of soldiers confident to head into battle, whether it be against creatures or determined men.
“Where do you call home, Jonah?”
“Wherever I decide to lay my head at night.”
“We both know that isn’t true,” Frox said, and waited with feigned patience that only showed how impatient he truly was.
Jonah only shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell him anything if he could help it, and only some misleading information if he absolutely needed to, but Frox seemed to be able to see through it. So when Jonah saw Frox’s intensity diminish and a calm, friendly demeanor appear, it was unnerving.
“You’re American,” Frox said. “How did you come to be here in Germany?”
Jonah thought for a moment. Perfect. More mental warfare. Two could play at this game. “By airplane. What about you?”
“I’m more interested in your answers for now. Why leave the States?”
“I was on vacation. I was traveling when all this went down. Now I’m like everybody else. Alone.”
“You were traveling by yourself?”
“Who travels by themself?”
Frox nodded. “Family?”
They’re probably all dead. It doesn’t matter. “No, friends.”
“Good. Even better. Spending time with family in such close proximity can be so stressful. Don’t you think? They still wi
th us?”
“You see anyone else?”
“I mean back where you’re from.”
Frox was much better at this than Perry. He was doing his best to coax info out of Jonah slowly, and Jonah had to admit he was quite good at the whole mental warfare thing too. But Frox had made the mistake of bringing up America. Now Jonah had a shield between answering his questions—all that Frox really wanted to uncover—and revealing anything about the cabin.
“Where are you from in the States?” Frox said.
Name. Rank. Serial number. It was the only information soldiers were supposed to give up when taken prisoner. This was a different kind of war, though, so Jonah was comfortable revealing other useless facts about himself. The more of them he divulged, the more he could implement them as a distraction. “California.”
Frox nodded. “Been there. Wasn’t impressed.”
As if that was supposed to get a rise out of him. Frox had threatened to end the conversation earlier, but he hadn’t. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. For what reason? Jonah didn’t know. Some men had a darkness in them that enjoyed toying with people before they harmed them, or even killed them. Those kinds of monsters were rare, but Frox could be one of them.
“Where do you sleep most nights?” Frox said.
In a bed when everything is going well. On the couch when I’m in trouble. “Here and there.”
“Anybody with you when you’re here or there?”
“I’m all by myself now.” That wasn’t a lie. “Just an old coot in the mountains of a foreign country.”
Frox scoffed. “You’re hardly old.”
“Been feeling that way lately.” That wasn’t a lie either.
“Shit, kid, I’m older than you. What are you, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-eight. You must be about fifty-five, Frox?”
