by C A Gleason
But at least—it seemed—they’d put the horde behind them.
Some structures were still intact and upright, but many were destroyed. Town limits looked like a mouth full of crooked teeth. And teeth were knocked out.
Drivers slept in shifts, replaced by volunteers within the same vehicles. Anyone else, who wasn’t a gunner—who wasn’t Jonah or Salgado—could close their eyes and rest whenever they wanted.
It was easy enough to wake up someone in the passenger seat to get on the radio or grab the mic themselves.
And gunfire was an efficient alarm clock. Too often lone Molters took interest in speeding vehicles.
Jacobs remained unconscious. His skin was blue and puffy in a recognizable way. Everyone knew what was happening to him. It was even hinted at over the radio.
Jonah hadn’t expected everyone to make it north alive, but he’d honestly believed those who left the cabin together would still be breathing. Not to have lost three already: Myers, Patty, and Nico.
Though a dangerous place, Fort Perry had been familiar, and the reason Jonah was convinced they needed to go there. Going somewhere Jonah had been before, seemed controllable to him for some reason.
Similar to how people typically lived where they’d grown up, no matter how dangerous, going to Fort Perry had been a mistake. Any hope of rescuing survivors was extinguished by the absence of them, and the deaths of their own people.
Jonah forced his regret to go away. It was pointless to dwell. As long as they were still driving, they were getting closer to their destination.
His stress, all he’d been feeling, kept him up at night. Night after night, for years. But it was slowly diminishing. For the first time in his life, he envisioned a future without a war. He saw it clearly in his head, and being happy with a family.
He wondered how many times Doreen wanted to get pregnant. He would definitely be flexible about the number.
Jonah remembered how he’d been before meeting her. When he’d been an empty shell. Just a survivor. A killer. He wasn’t just those things anymore. He didn’t feel the same either. He was so much stronger now, emotionally and physically.
No matter what the future held, good or bad, he would handle it. He could handle it. Because he wasn’t alone. He was part of a family. And families handled obstacles together.
The end of the war for all of them, hopefully, would be a cruise ship in sight.
“Where to after the boat?” Donnelly radioed.
Jonah was glad he wasn’t alone thinking optimistically.
“A place with planes, and those planes have pilots,” Salgado radioed.
Philip grabbed the mic from the passenger seat. “Hopefully, rumors are true.”
“It doesn’t matter as long as we’re well away from the horde,” Donnelly radioed.
“Yeah, but there could be more hordes in other places,” Salgado radioed.
Henry broke in. “One horde at a time, gentlemen.”
There were all kinds of rumors. Jonah didn’t believe them all, especially the one about how the Molter threat was ending. No more people were molting. Jacobs’s condition proved that wrong. At least for the time being in Deutschland.
And no more Behemoth cocoons forming wasn’t accurate either. They’d already seen hundreds growing in the trees during their drive. And surely there were hundreds, or even thousands more, growing out of sight.
All of the rumors about the Molting ending would be nice, Jonah thought, but there were no facts to back up such current optimism.
Although what was happening was similar to other plagues from the past, how it burned through humanity and reduced the population significantly, the Molting might actually succeed in causing human extinction. Where previous plagues had failed.
Behemoths were the primordial ooze. Molters were the things sprouting legs and walking out of it onto land. Lately, Molters could birth Infectors as they were Infector bombs.
Maybe a Molter’s life cycle was similar to how male humans can’t have babies but female humans can. It would categorize their sexless existence better.
Regardless, the trajectory of their evolution was astronomical. The creatures could dominate Earth and destroy human beings forever. Be their extinction event.
Except humans still currently breathed. Jonah and his people driving north was proof of human resilience, as Sven once said.
Perhaps the Molting would be an evolutionary flash in the pan, as so many other species that walked or crawled over the surface of this planet during its history.
Jonah would do his best to ensure human beings were not among the species lost to time. And forgotten. He was positive the others with him would remain integral to the mission.
CHAPTER 23
An explosion.
Another.
Thump-boom.
Thump-boom.
Salgado.
The ground vibrated with each eruption. It felt like Jonah had recently only closed his eyes but he’d nodded off. Practically unpreventable, because of how long he’d remained awake while others rested. But he was alert immediately.
He raised goggles over his eyes, put his hood up over his head, cinched it tight, and climbed up the gunner’s hatch. He placed a gloved hand on the SAR handle, feeling the familiarity of the weapon.
He shivered. The cold of night discovered a new victim, nibbling at his cheeks below his eyes, where his beard didn’t grow.
At first, he stared ahead, temporarily entranced as the bright high beam headlights of the lead vehicle shone into the darkness.
Behemoths weren’t why Salgado had gone loud. None Jonah could see. Which meant Molters.
Jonah squinted . . . Yes, there were Molters all right.
They needed to drive around them. Somehow.
Salgado continued to pepper the enemy with consistent controlled blasts, like a patient drummer.
Being in the rear vehicle, Salgado was closer to the enemy. The fact he wasn’t auto-firing meant there were far more than one destructive weapon could handle. It meant he was being methodical where he aimed the grenades, like a sniper.
Sliding his finger against the fat, comfortable trigger of the SAR, Jonah joined in with his battle buddy, going loud with the weapon, belching its war capability.
There was no choice. There were creatures on both sides of the convoy. Some Molters even got run over.
From windows, barrel blasts flashed at insatiable predators. By the headlights and gunfire—by anyone who held a weapon—the segmented convoy emitted the faint glow of humanity. Humans who were battling endless, churning and moving darkness that was alive.
Jonah continued to shoot into the cascading flood of Molters. Creatures rampaged like a tsunami crashing onto a shore. There was not a Behemoth among them. If there were any this far north, they’d all probably been sucked dry.
Along the road and up the slopes visible by the periphery reach of vehicle headlights, Infector bombs opened up like silent firecrackers, vomiting uncountable mucus drenched Infectors.
“Easy, brother!” Philip shouted up at Jonah from the passenger seat. “Or we’re going to have to change out the fucking barrel! No time for it!”
He was right. Jonah should ease down. Others fired weapons. He should remain methodical, like Salgado.
Controlled bursts, as he was trained to do, but it was easy to get carried away. Except he must keep them at bay. He spotted a cocoon in a tree. It was dark yellow, with discolorations all over it. Throbbing, glistening with organic warmth.
He’d seen similar Behemoth cocoons before. The creature within would likely be introduced to Earth shortly. It looked like it was about to burst.
Because the UV remained as the lead vehicle, behind Jonah was constant gunfire: automatic rifles, but handguns too.
Even if Jonah could magically put the battle on pause and change out the barrel of the SAR, the Molters were too close. Every vehicle was about to get overrun, no matter how fast the convoy was going, or how much ammo was expendable.
Years before, when his strategy was different, he would hit them with a rocket launcher. At that stage, Jonah could actually see what was growing within the cocoon as it stretched. Because it was about to be born from the sac.
Aiming ahead, targeting the cocoon, he breathed out and in, out and in, tracking his target, and squeezed the trigger, thinking back to basic training and counted in his head:
Three-to-five-round burst.
Three-to-five-round burst.
Three-to-five-round burst.
The first salvo of bullets split the ripe sac open precisely where he intended, at the base, and the second and third finished the job.
The newborn monstrosity fell out of the cocoon prematurely, landing awkwardly on the ground. Jonah took his finger off the trigger, the barrel smoking in his line of sight.
Molters were predictable in their determination at least, so the ones closest to the newborn Behemoth instantly lost interest in pursuing speeding vehicles and went after the easier prey instead, as any predator would.
The Behemoth was already buried under starving Molters, moments away from engulfing the convoy.
The thump and boom of Salgado’s grenade launcher fell silent.
Then everyone else ceased fire.
And the horde fell back . . . further . . . and further.
Until the only sound of the horde was it feeding somewhere in the darkness, like one giant beast.
The prehistoric feeding ritual—many converging on one—was chilling, but natural, and eventually the powerful reverberation of modern engines silenced the horror.
An invention of mankind drove them away from the brutality of what would always happen. And closer north to what would be for them.
CHAPTER 24
There was snow on the ground in patches. Jonah could see his breath. Abandoned vehicles littered the road at improvised and desperate turns.
Cars, vans, and trucks were pulled off to the shoulder, but they’d smashed into vehicles already in the ditch, and a speeding semitruck had plowed through gridlocked traffic. It was tipped over on its side.
Some vehicles were still parked in the middle of the road, which meant drivers of the convoy needed to slow down to steer around them, keeping everyone on edge.
“Nice chopper,” Salgado radioed.
The American motorcycle could rumble the world with a twist of its throttle. It balanced on the kickstand. Perhaps its rider noticed something of interest but didn’t return?
That was the optimistic hypotheses. What actually happened was likely much bloodier.
“Jonah,” Donnelly radioed.
Up in the gunner’s hatch, Philip patted Jonah’s boot from below. With no enemies in sight, Jonah crouched down and briefly interrupted the unending whine of the gusty and chilly wind.
He lowered his hood and raised his goggles to his forehead. The moment he did, his cheeks warmed.
The heat was always on in the UV, one of the benefits of being below and within. Philip passed Jonah the mic.
“Go ahead.”
“Jacobs,” Donnelly radioed. “We must do something for him.”
Everyone knew how blue-skinned Jacobs would end up. What he would become. But no one wanted to handle it yet. No one ever did. It meant the end of his life, but what else could be done?
Jonah knew why there was hesitation. Everyone was tired of euthanizing loved ones. But also, a molting often took longer these days. He didn’t know why and no one else did either. When the Molting first began, sometimes people molted within a day. Now it sometimes took five.
Thinking briefly about the woman who’d molted at Fort Perry, the specific time they were there, how she fell and molted before their eyes so quickly . . .
It was a blind spot. There was still so much they didn’t know.
And maybe it was because of the unknown, Jonah suspected, as some of them did—especially those who were friends of Jacobs—maybe the Molting would simply end, the infection in Jacobs would burn through him. Somehow, he’d simply wake up.
There were millions of creatures pursuing them proving otherwise, though. It was a fantasy and must remain one.
“Understood.”
“And we’re getting low on fuel. Recommend merging passengers.”
Again? Jonah considered it. Where the hell are we going to put everyone?
“There’s all those cars around us right now,” Salgado radioed. “I bet some of them have gas in the tank.”
Jonah doubted it. But while Salgado checked, they could handle Jacobs. “Henry, do you copy?”
“Yes,” Doreen answered for him.
Sven automatically took his foot off the accelerator, slowing the three-vehicle convoy, soon to be two, and stopped.
So many times vehicles needed to pull off onto the shoulder. These days, the middle of the road suited fine. And with the shoulders so crammed with abandoned vehicles, the middle of the road was the safest location.
There was something about standing still on a freeway—in this case the autobahn—that made Jonah feel like they were even more vulnerable. Probably because, normally, when roads were bumper to bumper, doing so meant the chance of getting hit by a speeding car.
Something else occurred to him. Condensing from three vehicles to two meant dumping even more supplies, even weapons. Not ideal. But what choice did they have?
Exiting vehicles, everyone, except for Heike—and Jacobs who was still human at the moment—gathered near the pickup truck.
“Because the grenade launcher is mounted, will you transfer fuel from the lead vehicle?” Jonah said to Salgado as he approached.
“Let me knock on some other gas tanks first,” Salgado said without slowing, and heading back toward the cars scattered across the autobahn they’d passed already.
“What do we leave behind?” Doreen said. “We need everything.”
“Food, water, weapons and ammo are the priority. Everything we can’t hold with our own two hands needs to go to make room for passengers.”
“Not my stuffy, right, Mom?” Heike said from the truck window she’d rolled down, so she could hear the conversation.
“No, you can keep it, sweetie.”
“You’re keeping the S-A-R of course,” Donnelly said to Jonah. “And the grenade launcher and rocket launchers.”
“I guess it comes down to our personal favorites,” Henry said.
Salgado called out from the distance. “I already got my favorite mounted!”
Jonah lost his prior favorites while a prisoner at Fort Perry. But a weapon was a weapon. As long as Jonah carried a pistol, automatic rifle, and there was a machete on his hip, he was good to go. But if everything went sideways, a blade and booted feet would suffice.
Salgado carried an empty fuel canister and siphon hose he retrieved from the UV, where Jacobs was inside.
Jonah cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. “Anything yet?”
“No!”
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re wasting time!”
“Let’s go with plan A!”
Salgado actioned agreement by hustling past them to the former lead vehicle. Minutes later he was already siphoning into the empty fuel canister.
Jonah eyed the rear vehicle. Jacobs is in there. He removed his pistol from its holster under his arm.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Someone patted Jonah on the back gently. When Jonah turned around, Sven was holding a syringe.
“A peaceful death,” he said. “Something I never hope to give again for as long as I live.”
Jonah appreciated that. He squeezed his shoulder. “It will be.”
“It must.”
“Get the e-tools!” Jonah shouted.
It was getting lighter out as Jacobs was buried and words were said. Though necessary and unde
niably human, the custom delayed driving and by doing so, it increased the danger.
At least the tradition allowed them to be human, and take time to make the room necessary in the UV for extra passengers.
There were many necessities on the side of the road. It was something Jonah had witnessed before and always thought people were being wasteful. He’d even rummaged through such piles, shaking his head with disgust as he did.
But he was wrong to do so. Whoever did it was desperate to survive. As they now were. He remembered finding the windup radio in the shack near the cabin before he discovered the cave, and thinking people didn’t know what was important.
Now, he knew better. He had his skin on his back and the ones he cared about still had theirs.
Right then, the wind fell away like a flame being snuffed out to submerge the world in unfamiliar darkness. For a few seconds, Jonah heard only ringing in his ears.
The air turned humid too, similar to how it was being in a large group. Like a sports stadium. Where there was a lot of extra body heat.
He glanced around as everyone continued to load up and get ready to go, but they weren’t reacting. He wasn’t going to alarm everyone if he didn’t have to, but he got a familiar ping on his inner radar, similar to how it was possible to sense when a storm was approaching.
CHAPTER 25
As their roars rose, louder and louder as every second ticked by, the bloodthirsty monsters closer to revealing themselves, his stomach dropped. He’d been correct. There was an approaching storm, but one made of creatures raining down crimson droplets.
Jonah turned toward where his inner radar directed him. What he saw was madness. He’d never seen so many. Not clearly. Not during the day. Every space of distance was covered by them.
It was the horde in all its might, moving, running, skittering in every direction. The natural spacing between them Jonah had seen before when they were in packs, was absent. They were overcrowded together and dominantly confident.
Had they been hunting the convoy? Could Molters track the scent of vehicles? Was exhaust perceptible to them? Maybe it was as noticeable as smoke for human beings.