Molterpocalypse (The Molting Book 3)

by C A Gleason

  That got a grin out of him. “Fuck off.”

  Jonah grinned back at him. “Where are you from, Frox? Here probably. Dietrich. That’s the most German-sounding name ever.”

  “Originally, but I’ve lived all over.”

  “But Deutschland calls?”

  “It does.”

  “What about the rest of these people?”

  “From all over, really. You’ll probably find this funny, but some of them were on a cruise, of all things. They were just getting to port when all of this . . . happened.”

  As Jonah listened, he was an observant statue, and what Frox was saying made him realize there was at least one positive result of the Molting: how people viewed one another. It didn’t matter where they were from or what they believed in or how they looked; when someone saw another person these days, they simply saw a fellow human being. Unfortunately, people were people, which meant someone knew that someone else might have something they needed, desired, or wanted.

  Still, Jonah could tell that Frox was the type he couldn’t trust, for obvious reasons, but Jonah also found him perplexing at the same time. All Frox had done so far was attempt to pry information out of Jonah, and then all of a sudden, he just started opening up and talking. It was like some kind of game.

  Or maybe Jonah was simply reading too much into it. Giving Frox too much credit. Maybe he was just a guy between a rock and a hard place with a difficult job to do. Regardless of Frox’s character, whether he was good or bad or somewhere in between—a common wondering about people for Jonah lately—he had to remember it was best not to trust anybody unless they were family.

  “The cruise ship crashed?” Jonah said.

  “No. It docked. They needed help, so we helped them, banded together and just kept moving, and finally . . . settled here.”

  There was definitely more to that story. Frox had lingered on his thought about where they currently resided. “In tents in a fort?” Jonah said. “Seems like you’re all still on the move.”

  Frox evaded the question. “Europe is a common destination. Some of us have a common sort of job; some of us are ex-military. Like you seem to be.”

  So that’s what he’s getting at.

  “So, are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Ex-military? Were you a soldier?”

  “We all have a past. What did you do before all this?”

  Frox’s friendliness vanished, and the man Jonah first saw talking to Perry returned. “Answer my question, or this conversation will be over, and you know what that means.”

  Jonah thought quickly. He was starting to believe Frox’s threats. Jonah shook his head. “I wanted to be a soldier but . . . it’s embarrassing. The military didn’t want me.”

  That part was true, and after about thirty seconds of intense scrutiny, as if Frox thought himself to be a human lie detector, he seemed to be satisfied with Jonah’s answer. All the conversation before seemed to have led up to Frox wanting to know whether Jonah was prior service. It was like the first hard punch that wasn’t a jab in a boxing match, and it had just been thrown.

  Before Frox could dig any further and force Jonah to reveal any more information about anything he wanted to remain secret, Jonah said, “Why here? Why would you build your settlement here?”

  Frox’s charm returned. “To get away from them and then stay away from their masses. This far inland and in the mountains? Not their favorite hunting grounds. From what I hear about cities . . . not the place you want to be.”

  Which was what Jonah had always suspected. Mostly because it was common sense. There were far more people there to feed on. More to molt too. “Is the cruise ship still intact?” he said. “Is it still functional?”

  Frox laughed. “Don’t know, don’t care. I hope I never see it again. It was infested as we fled, or . . . escaped, really. Probably sank from all the blood.”

  His tone was another sign of the kind of man Frox was. When referencing blood, it meant that people had died, but he talked about it as casually as if he were talking about the weather. Steady winter and the Molting didn’t just chill the climate, seemed it chilled people’s emotions too.

  “How were there Molters at sea?”

  “I have no idea. Someone was probably bitten by an Infector somehow, or there was a Behemoth stowed away. They live to spread.”

  If what Frox said was true, then that cruise ship could still be seaworthy. If others hadn’t taken advantage already. If it were still in port, Molters might have to be dealt with. When in packs, many stragglers stayed behind dormant—there always seemed to be at least one or two somewhere you didn’t want them to be, like they’d been in the cave near the cabin—and it was probably filled with flesh piles from those who’d molted and been left to rot, but the ship wouldn’t have been destroyed. Unless somebody did something stupid like sank it to kill any Molters onboard. Hopefully that hadn’t happened, by action or by the sea itself.

  “Where is that ship?”

  Frox grinned. “I’m sorry to say that’s the least of your worries.”

  No shit. “What is this place really? What is it used for?”

  It was Frox’s turn to mess with Jonah. “For most of us, it’s a place to live.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Fort Perry.”

  “Named after your Perry?”

  “He isn’t . . . Yeah.”

  “Why not you?”

  Frox shrugged and rolled his eyes, showing his disinterest in Jonah’s questions. “Look, I can tell you have leadership qualities and experience. You can obviously fight. You killed one of my men. Maybe more than that.”

  Jonah said nothing.

  “Anybody with your skills will have stockpiled more of what we need. Not only that, but if my suspicions about you are correct, you could be of great use.”

  Probably a trick. Jonah wasn’t about to fall for it. “I’m a survivor.”

  “We all are. But who are you as a man?”

  A trained killer who went to war, and since then, I’ve put down more Molters than I can count. I even killed some of your people, and soon I’ll kill you and Perry and whoever else or whatever else gets in my way.

  “How much pride are you willing to set aside to survive a little longer is what I’m asking?”

  Jonah shook his head. “You’re going to kill me no matter what.”

  “No, we aren’t,” Frox said defensively. “We aren’t.”

  Whatever that meant. Jonah didn’t want to be too defiant and deviate from learning more that might help him escape. He thought back to Doug, the man he had wrestled with before the Behemoth fed on him. All of them had pretended to want to know personal details about Jonah but that was only to get to what they were truly after, which was supplies, food, and weapons. Frox didn’t care about what kind of man Jonah was or what skills he could offer. He was only trying to flatter him enough so Jonah would tell him what he wanted to know.

  All Frox cared about, what any of them cared about, was what Jonah might own that could help them with whatever they deemed important. Intel was a weapon unto itself, and how it was used was up to the wielder. Jonah understood that very well, and his many fake maps crossed his mind.

  “If I tell you where my stashes are located, may I leave?”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  I’ll fucking kill you. “Then why would I . . .? Of course, it is. The most important aspect of a negotiation is that both sides benefit.”

  “Negotiating. Is that what you believe is going on here?”

  You’re not the only one who can blow smoke up someone’s ass to get what they want, Jonah thought. “I’m not sure why I have to remind a man of your intelligence about that,” he said.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . I’m not the man in charge.”

  So it’s a man and not a woman. “Then who is?”

  “His name is Archard. He’s ex-military.�
�

  “Which branch?”

  “He never said.”

  “Which country?”

  “He won’t say that either.”

  “Why? What’s he hiding?”

  “You of all people should understand. I think we both do. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Then how do you know he’s telling the truth?”

  “He’s a natural leader. If you ever meet him, you’ll see.”

  Jonah had no doubt Frox believed that. “You speak for him?”

  “Yes. I carry out what he—what we all need to make happen in order to stay alive.”

  Frox seemed like he was on the verge of explaining more, but for some reason, he held back. Something made Jonah think that if Frox threw back a few shots of whiskey with him, he would be an open book. Maybe Jonah could be the whiskey.

  “How long will I be a prisoner?”

  Frox only stared at him.

  “Man to man,” Jonah said. “I can take it.”

  “Not much longer, I’m afraid.”

  “Meaning?” When Frox struggled to explain, Jonah said, “Look, my outcome is gloomy, I get it, so what’s in it for me to tell you anything?”

  “Doing the right thing for your fellow man.”

  “Would you? Maybe it’s where I am right now, but what the hell does that mean? What the fuck do I get out of cooperating? A quicker death?”

  Frox inhaled and exhaled slowly. “You’re a pain in the ass. Most people just go along.”

  “Go along with what?”

  “This . . . but I can tell you aren’t like the rest. So I’m going to be honest with you. We’ve survived this long by following a . . . system.”

  “What kind of system?”

  “Invented by Archard. Reminiscent of ancient times. We call it the Draw. Basically, a deterrent. Either they go for one of us . . . or all. We choose one, so when they go for him, we end them.”

  Frox left it at that as if Jonah was supposed to understand. Deep down, he probably did, but even for Jonah it was difficult to imagine that other people like himself, his own species, could revert to such barbarism. Sacrifice? Really? He felt his blood go colder than the ground beneath his booted feet. He wanted more intel.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Jonah said.

  Frox turned slightly paler. “You really need me to say it?”

  So, you have some reservations. That’s a relief. That made it possible for Frox to slip up and present certain opportunities for Jonah. It didn’t matter how determined people became; because they were human; there were always momentary possibilities in their behavior for an uptick from barbarism toward being civilized. As long as they weren’t evil, it meant they could screw up their own plans.

  “No,” Jonah said. “Sacrifice.”

  Frox stretched his arms out, doing a poor job at masking his sore muscles as he’d gotten so involved in the conversation. “You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last.”

  “Is that supposed to be reassuring? It doesn’t matter how much you try to justify your actions.” Word jabs. It was the only weapon Jonah had on him to use that might spill more intel. “If you kill people here or allow them to die, by your hand or by teeth or claws or however, Fort Perry will always be known as a place of slaughter. That’s how history will remember it.”

  “If we don’t do it, there might not be anybody to remember history. We need to spread our strength. It doesn’t matter what the name of a place is. I don’t care, and nobody else does either.”

  “Why name it then?”

  “So we know where we’re talking about.”

  “There are more of these forts? For the Draw? Is there a Fort Frox?”

  “I’ll let you wonder about that.”

  “Perry named this place, obviously.”

  “No, actually, he didn’t. Archard did.”

  It was natural for people to name things, often nicknames—each other, pets—but also to endear places and things with names too. Similar to Henrytown, except Henrytown wasn’t a place intended for sacrifice. Many people had died there, but that was an accident. They were attacked by Molters. This Archard had more power than Frox was letting on, and Jonah’s word jabs had served their purpose. Now he knew more.

  “You probably think Perry’s just a brute,” Frox said.

  “No,” Jonah said. “I think he’s an asshole.”

  Frox laughed quietly. “He’s an architect, or was.” He raised his hands up as if outside the tent could be seen from within. “Look at this place.”

  “You think I care about the quality of the architecture of the place I’m going to die in?”

  Frox’s raised hands lowered and clenched into fists at his sides, and then he looked like the man Jonah suspected him to be. “I know you killed our people. They never made it back, and you’re one of the only strangers we’ve encountered in years.”

  That was disappointing to hear. Jonah had hoped everyone left alive from the battle in Henrytown would still be breathing, but he couldn’t know.

  “It had to be you,” Frox went on. “Even if it wasn’t by your hand, you were definitely involved.”

  “Are you kidding?” Jonah said. “What about Molters?”

  Frox laughed. This time, he didn’t try to quiet himself. “You’ve been living in the mountains for some time now. That’s obvious. I’m sure you’ve noticed there haven’t been many of them around lately. Why do you think that is?”

  Because of my clearing. “Because of winter.”

  “That helps. The cold has always kept them sluggish, but it’s what we do that keeps them scarce in this territory. Ever wonder how that was possible? How that was happening? With the way it is now?”

  Frox waited, but when Jonah didn’t reply, he went on, and as Frox spoke, Jonah thought it sounded like a confession to someone who didn’t matter because he would soon be dead. The end of Jonah’s life seemed like it was fast approaching.

  “Every battle someone has faced has been possible to win,” Frox said. “Every war, every fight, every threat. But not this. Never has the planet turned against us like it has on this one.”

  “Don’t forget mosquitos.”

  Frox almost laughed but grew serious again. “This war is unwinnable. Personally, I think the Molting is a response to overpopulation. But what I think doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change the fact that our race is doomed.”

  “If that’s the case, then why the Draw?”

  “Because I’m just hoping to live a lifetime before that happens. So, to make that happen, and under Archard’s leadership, we do whatever we have to. To ensure our survival until the end.”

  “Just your people, though.”

  “Not necessarily, but what we do works.”

  “If you say so.” Jonah wasn’t about to give up no matter what. He wouldn’t just lie down and die no matter what his gut was telling him, that any fight left in him might be pointless. That his fate was already sealed. Up yours, gut! “How does the Draw actually work?”

  Frox whipped his hand around from his back and slowly revealed a two-way radio. Jonah’s two-way radio. As Jonah focused on it and all it meant, Frox reached under his shirt and grabbed an automatic pistol with his other hand. He then aimed it at Jonah’s forehead, still at a distance that expressed he believed Jonah could break out of his bonds and go after him.

  “I gave you a chance to do the right thing. Unless you contact whoever is on the other end of this,” Frox said, holding up the radio with menace. “I’m going to pull this trigger.”

  Jonah laughed at Frox as something else occurred to him. They hadn’t found the fake map in Henry’s truck.

  Frox’s bushy eyebrows knit together. “What could possibly be funny?”

  Thinking quickly, Jonah said, “It’s just a radio.”

  “A two-way radio.”

  “With multiple channels. Whenever I go out, I’m hoping to find others. Well, usually. At least that’s what I was t
hinking before you folks.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Jonah said nothing, just stared up at him, trying to ignore the bullet that might or might not enter his brain in the next few seconds.

  “I figure whoever you talk to is on the selected frequency,” Frox said. “Say something or you’re dead.”

  “Hard to do that with my hands tied behind my back.”

  Frox held the radio close to Jonah’s mouth. “Go ahead,” he said, and then thumbed the mic.

  Jonah hesitated. Doreen, please remember. “Anybody copy? Over.”

  Nothing. No response. No noise on the other end. He waited another ten seconds or so.

  “Anybody copy? Over,” Jonah said again.

  After a few minutes of silence, Frox seemed to be satisfied.

  “See?” Jonah said.

  “That changes nothing. Sooner or later, we’ll find out what we want to know.”

  “What are you going to do? Torture me?” Not that Jonah wanted to suggest the idea, but Frox’s response would surely give him a hint of what he was in for.

  Frox swallowed thickly. “We do not torture. Imprison is as far as we go.”

  “You’re aiming a gun at me. And don’t forget sacrifice.”

  “Now you understand why we never need to go so far as to—”

  Suddenly, Perry barged through the tent flap, encompassing the empty space with his bulk. He marched inside. “Bad news.”

  Frox dropped the pistol’s aim away from Jonah’s forehead. “What happened?”

  Perry glanced at Jonah briefly, but he obviously didn’t care if he heard him. “You’re in charge now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Archard’s dead.”

  Frox thought for a moment. “Molter?”

  Perry shook his head. “One of the other prisoners.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Doreen wasn’t breaking an agreement, something she and Jonah had settled on, not exactly; it was more like she was only bending it a little. What they’d discussed was for their safety while he was away, but going outdoors with Heike was something she would only do for a little while. Doreen had made sure all was safe to the point of her comfort, even neglecting the amount of sleep she typically preferred. That way, she could patrol around the cabin for an hour before setting foot outside with her daughter.