Molterpocalypse (The Molting Book 3)

by C A Gleason

  Leaving the straightjacket on was a mistake on their part, and that was the only benefit of them not understanding Jonah’s skill set. Even though his bragging was heard, Jonah had still been dismissed as if he were like anybody else. As if he would just accept what they had planned and allow the Molter to sink its teeth into him, and he would die without protest.

  But none of them really knew Jonah, had no idea who he truly was, didn’t know how much training he had or all the Molters and Behemoths and even fellow humans he had faced and defeated in battle. They hadn’t witnessed what he’d accomplished or been a part of any of it. And it was impossible for them to understand how much he had to lose and what his people meant to him.

  When the predator gnashed its jaws, lurching forward with a predatory confidence, Jonah tackled it to the ground, twisting it as they both fell. As it struggled to right itself, Jonah grabbed its head from behind as tightly as possible while avoiding its teeth, ignoring its thrashing and snarling, and with all his strength, he twisted sharply. The Molter squealed just as its neck popped and then crunched. Then it went limp, and Jonah shoved it to the ground angrily.

  Jonah breathed heavily from within the cell, glaring at the group of men marching away from him as if he were already dead. “Told you!” he yelled.

  The men, who had only just delivered the creature meant as Jonah’s intended death, turned and then stared in disbelief.

  “You didn’t take the damn jacket off?” Perry bellowed to the nearest man from a distance. Seemed Perry hadn’t wanted to watch Jonah die either.

  “And get bit?” he said. “I’ve seen how fast—”

  “What the hell did you think would happen?”

  “I’m a Molter killer,” Jonah said. “Turn me loose.”

  Perry’s incredulous expression and agape mouth closed when he marched back to the cell and said to Jonah, “You think that changes anything? We’ll just put another one in there with you.” Perry turned to glare at his men. “Without a fucking straitjacket on.”

  “That sounds like way more trouble than its worth. You just happen to have more Molters on standby?”

  “We do.”

  “That’s so fucked up. I’m just one man, but I can kill more of them than all your men combined.”

  “So you say.”

  “If you let me out of here, I promise I will stay and fight tonight.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I won’t harm any of you, and I won’t run off. I promise. And that’s only because I understand how things are . . . I want to live.” This time Jonah was telling the total truth. “But once I see daylight again, I’m leaving. I’ll just disappear. But if I somehow escape on my own, I’ll do everything you’re afraid I will.”

  “I’m afraid of Molters. Not you.”

  Jonah ignored that. “I’m offering you a truce that lasts until the sun rises. During that time, I’m on your side because it’s against them. Do the right thing, not just for me, but for yourselves because, believe me, you want my help.”

  Perry’s expression wasn’t as stoic as it had been. Maybe it was the idea of getting another Molter and going through the arduous task of putting it in the cell again. Straitjacket or not, it wouldn’t be easy. “It ain’t up to me.”

  Jonah groaned. “Get Frox over here.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Get him over here, Perry.” When Perry turned away, Jonah spat at his direction, but it didn’t even come close. It was the intent behind it. “Fucking coward.”

  Perry’s head dipped somewhat, hardly noticeable, probably not to anyone but Jonah, but Jonah had seen it. Jonah didn’t actually believe Perry was a coward; he was only trying to get him to react so he could get out of the cell. All his efforts had amounted to nothing so far, so he had no choice but to make a new offer. But even that hadn’t worked. Maybe Perry just needed some time.

  Jonah calmed himself and turned in the other direction, gazing out to where the enemy was expected, taking deep breaths, and considered briefly if he and Perry would have been friends if the world were normal. Nah. He’s a prick.

  With almost every man and woman aiming their weapons toward the dark growing toward them, what looked like the edge of the world, Jonah knew what to expect, just as they did; the enemies were going to be here soon. Jonah wasn’t going to be set free. Whenever that door opened next, a Molter would be forced inside again and apparently without restraints. There was nothing else he could do . . .

  Only so much he could do, so for now, he sat in the dirt, leaned his head against the metal mesh, and closed his eyes. Behind those eyes, there was a whole heck of a lot of plotting within a mind plagued with being in mission mode.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Just like clockwork,” someone said.

  The woman next to him said, “You said that yesterday.”

  A few down the row shouted, “And three months ago!”

  Laughter rifled down the line, all in on the same joke. The enemies were beginning to reveal themselves but with reluctance; they didn’t like to be unhidden, and it was then that Jonah saw how Frox’s men used the armament at night. There were lanterns and other light sources he couldn’t quite identify—probably flashlights balanced upright—but the trail of bright seemed to stretch for miles. They were obviously not concerned about calling attention to themselves. The Molters were incoming and couldn’t be prevented.

  Seemed Jonah would be used as bait for the masses. From where the cell was positioned, he could see the hills, the dark still showing a slim gash of horizontal visibility. It was generous of the night, almost like a preview, as if it were a delayed promise of what was to come if they could all just survive until morning.

  There was a large mass of them, hunched, moving jerkily, like ants, constantly moving, but that was only from the casual observer who didn’t know how coordinated their movement could be. It wasn’t random; they were hunting and scouring every inch of ground for potential prey. The enemy hadn’t just happened upon those hills. They’d gone there deliberately, and it was likely some of them had survived previous battles. At least there wasn’t a forest for them to hide in to stalk.

  Then even more of them appeared as if they’d been on the move for years and had finally arrived. The only reason Jonah knew that wasn’t the case was because of the reaction of the combatants. They were calm. It was expectation, and it was shocking to Jonah to know that they fought on this battlefield like this every night.

  Jonah realized his mortality, the insignificance of his own individual life, and during the here and the now, he also realized he was nothing special, regardless of his skills and training, just as he had been treated during the war before the Molting. Had he died then, it would be as if he were to die now, a tiny microscopic blip during the history of the planet.

  People had died on this particular battlefield so many times that they’d all probably grown used to it. Difficult to avoid emotional coldness when dealing with death all the time. It was why Jonah was treated as if he were already deceased, but also why Frox and Perry had attempted to help him understand his contribution to the Draw, part of the foundation that kept the rest of them alive. Another big part was the firing line.

  “No,” Jonah said, quietly.

  His disillusionment was fleeting because the battle had begun. Seeing so many of the enemy was extremely humbling. For a few seconds, he completely forgot about himself, Doreen and Heike, and his woes. But everything he fought for came roaring back as quickly as the short time he’d been awestruck by what was before him. His life wasn’t insignificant. It meant something because he meant something to others.

  There’s just so damn many of them.

  The men and women who were prepared to fight carried small arms—pistols, shotguns, and rifles, semi or fully automatic. That didn’t make Jonah very hopeful for the night’s outcome because it meant close-quarters fighting was expected. How many civilians actually possessed that skill? But also, could even trained soldiers
kill Molters that way? It wasn’t as if Molters were born wearing straitjackets.

  Before the fighting got uncomfortably close, many had makeshift supports for the more powerful weapons to keep enemies away: .50-caliber machine guns, but mostly Russian assault rifles and regular automatic rifles. Some carried grenade launchers, German and American weaponry, and there were placements for fully automatic grenade launchers like the one Jonah had used at Henrytown. His was presently stored under the cabin in the cellar.

  There were quite a few howitzers, but mostly there were mortars. The mortars looked to be from modern day, but there were also the kind used during World War II. There had to be ex-military among those who manned the firing line, just as Jonah was; he was sure of it. Anyone who could handle those kinds of weapon systems needed training unless the knowledge was passed down before death, which was possible but not likely.

  Jonah was unsure how to operate a howitzer or mortar. He was never trained to operate either weapon. He never saw them fire during the war either; none of his missions involved them, but he had seen a demonstration of a howitzer firing during basic training. He hadn’t seen one fire since, though, so he supposed his unfamiliarity with their explosions had woken him during the night over the years because they had been used during the battles on the firing line. He must have mistaken their blasts for thunder and lightning.

  That only confirmed how far away the cabin was as most of their impacts were only echoes and vibrations. It was a little embarrassing for him to mistake artillery for weather. For some reason, he thought he should know every aspect of every weapon system, but just like any training or knowledge, if you don’t use it you lose it.

  When he was in a war theater, Jonah never had to look up to know which kind of helicopter was flying overhead. After he got kicked out of the military, he slowly found himself having to look to the sky on occasion. But he was sure the catastrophic howitzer and mortar weapon systems weren’t ever fired as much as they would be tonight. If so, he would have been able to eventually identify them as artillery.

  What was once a slow emergence changed into dramatically high numbers of the creatures, which seemed to increase as each second passed, spreading like a flood that not even nature could control. The ready combatants reacted accordingly. What at first was stoic expectation and a few jokes quickly transformed into a panicked urgency.

  Without warning, explosions and gunfire ramped up into a ferocious battle, prompting the creatures to scramble forward on the attack, forgoing an attempt not to get spotted. Someone, likely Frox—Jonah had seen him with a radio in his hand earlier—had given the order to fire.

  Not being involved in the battle felt terrible to Jonah. To know what he was capable of and how those around him had no idea showed how primitively they were all thinking. Though it was not said, it was obvious; everyone was fighting for their own tomorrow, and most of them were clearly only concerned with their own lives. Those doing the fighting were probably delaying the actions of some who no doubt wanted to flee, but only temporarily.

  If there were any hint of the offensive crumbling, some who wanted to run would likely turn into many, and the others would also likely scatter, which could cause all their strength to break down completely. Something told Jonah that tonight’s battle was different from any of the others that had preceded it. Even the people who held powerful weapons looked on edge.

  “I can fight!” Jonah yelled.

  No one listened, though. Not that anyone who was nearby could even hear him very well. There was too much gunfire and far too many explosions. Plus, anyone who didn’t keep their eyes on those hills was a fool. Those who were aware of Jonah, or even had him in sight, probably chose to ignore him anyway. Until any Molters got near him. He had been chosen to contribute to the Draw, after all.

  If Jonah were part of a community, and it was decided that a stranger should be put in jail, he would probably ignore him too. What would be the point of listening to somebody once it had been decided they were to be incarcerated? Responding to ravings from a caged man was pointless and the ravings likely endless. Most of them probably thought Jonah was insane or a coward and likely had no idea why he had been chosen for the Draw. Not that it even mattered to them.

  Except Jonah remembered it was important to regard everyone on the field as his enemy for his own survival. It was the worst situation he could think of, being imprisoned—he couldn’t get over it—being away from his loved ones, wondering how they were doing, worrying about what would happen to them. But it was decidedly more frustrating because he wasn’t even able to participate in the battle that was happening directly in front of him, something that had never happened to him before.

  To not have a choice took away his dignity. It made him realize that a warrior who was unable to choose to fight was no warrior at all. That might not be entirely true, but that’s what it felt like. That part of him, Jonah’s true identity, was figuratively in neutral. All he could do was rev his engine by shouting, and so far, that was an exercise in futility. Jonah had been part of the war machine in its many iterations during his life, but he wasn’t now, and it was awful.

  Worse still, he’d allowed a bad thing to happen. A very bad thing. A very bad thing that belonged in the category of the worst kind of bad things, the kind he had assured Doreen would never happen again. Even though he’d practically promised her, he’d still fucked up again.

  Why? What compels me to make these decisions that endanger my loved ones and force me down a road where I end up alone?

  Closing his eyes allowed the momentum of tears building up for years to finally pour down his cheeks. The wetness was cooled immediately by a steady wind, and he felt it signifying his failure as a man. Him giving up.

  Jonah’s eyes popped open. “Fuck that!” he shouted at his momentary depression, a brief dip into one of his few weaknesses. “This isn’t over!”

  This is just a speed bump. I’m not in neutral. I’m on standby and ready to act whenever possible. Life is full of peaks and valleys and places in between. I’m going to find a way out of this. And my mistakes will benefit us. Somehow. I know it.

  In the meantime, to remain positive, searching out anything that was an uptick toward the better part of him, even while Jonah’s inner self had a continuous wrestling match between the weak and the strong, both relentlessly attempting to choke the other out, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the ingenuity at work.

  From Jonah’s perspective, a fresh one to him, to witness the absolute devastation of modern artillery—but also weapons from the past—to be a spectator of war, was absolutely jaw dropping. It made him want to be involved even more.

  “Give me a mission!” Jonah yelled.

  CHAPTER 15

  Doreen knew neither of them had realized what the thumping sounds had been over the last few years because they had been so sporadic. Now they were more consistent than they had ever been. The tremendous booming sounds that had woken Jonah and herself on numerous nights hadn’t always been storms; they had been artillery fire, obvious now that they were so consistent. There was a battle going on somewhere. Miles away but still close enough for her to hear it well enough to know what was happening. She hoped Jonah could hear it, too, which would mean he was still alive.

  Tonight was distinct from any other night since she and Jonah had been together. Doreen couldn’t just assume her typical roles: a mother to Heike and a woman to Jonah. It was similar to when she was in the military; she needed to be a soldier again and would have to be tougher than usual. Not just for herself, but for Heike too.

  Similar also to when she thought she would never see her father again as a little girl or when her husband had died in the accident, she would have to be the soldier she was trained to be and the one required for whatever might occur next. There was a lot of uncertainty on the horizon since the Molting began and in the immediate future, and more danger would likely show itself before the sun rose.

  “Mom?” Heike�
��s voice was muffled from inside her room with the door shut. “Do you hear that?”

  “I do.” The noises coming from somewhere far in the distance sounded like large drums that shook the earth every time they were pounded. Right now, someone was beating on them furiously. “Do you want to sleep in my bed?”

  “Ja.”

  “OK.”

  “Danke.”

  “Bitte.”

  The door opened slowly, and Heike appeared in her pajamas, looking much younger than she actually was, younger than she typically did. Children had roles just as parents did, and every so often, for comfort, they embraced being young. It showed on their faces, in their movements, and in their behavior. Heike was closer to nine years old than eight, but right now, she seemed as if she were only about five.

  Heike stared for a second, noticing her mom wasn’t in bed as she’d expected her to be and was instead sitting in a chair next to the window. Once Doreen encouraged her with friendly waves, Heike rubbed her eyelids and was already under the covers, having gone through the same routine on many other nights before but under circumstances that weren’t as potentially risky. Something had definitely gone wrong for Jonah during his mission. He had sent them the signal by radio.

  Glancing at her rifle leaned against the wall next to the door and hoping she wouldn’t have to use it before Jonah returned, there was part of Doreen that wished there was a silencer attached to the end of the barrel. Not that she was familiar with silencers. It was just that it was the most appropriate and nearest weapon, and she expected to have to use it soon, but the sound of the rifle could draw in more of whatever she was shooting at. And a report as loud as the one from a rifle wouldn’t only attract the attention of desperate men. That’s what she was most afraid of.