Being Hunted

by C A Gleason

  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that Infector bombs were the next stage in Molter evolution, and the main proof was some that were bombs having a different appearance. If Jonah were to guess, he suspected the green Molters were born only from humans bitten by Infectors birthed by an Infector bomb, which would mean there were different strains of Infectors too. But most importantly complete independence from a Behemoth. He wondered if Infector bombs had ever served Behemoths at all. That would mean that the Molters had been evolving since the Molting began.

  The fact that Behemoths secreted Infectors after the stingers in their tails could no longer infect a potential host might be irrelevant. That didn’t mean that the Molters those particular Infectors created would serve a Behemoth. It was possible that Behemoths were not meant to be dominant. They’d only begun the Molting and had already served their purpose. Their job was done. Jonah let that sink in.

  Animals that didn’t need each other were often enemies because they were competition. There being three Molters together also concerned him. It was another example of them acting as a pack but one without a Behemoth to serve. All were capable of killing, and all were also capable of birthing many more that could infect humans. No Behemoth meant Molters weren’t tethered to a confined territory. They were free to hunt wherever their clawed feet could take them, which explained how some could just show up at the cabin out of nowhere like the ones Jonah had recently killed. They were proof of that.

  The threat of the Molting was an attack on humanity but with the efficiency of a military by air or land—Behemoths formed out of thin air, and that could likely happen anywhere. And if each Molter, the Molters that were Infector bombs, was capable of producing a dozen or so Infectors—some more, some less—and a human was required as the vessel to mutate into a newborn Molter, then it was only a matter of time before humanity would be extinct.

  We’ll just see about that, Jonah thought as he trudged home through the melting snow.

  CHAPTER 17

  “You going to answer me?” he said again, no longer holding back his irritation.

  He was being ignored, had been since he had been brought in to this particular tent. Archard had finally agreed to speak with him, but that had taken many conversations with his subordinates and weeks to work out. So far Archard hadn’t even sipped the coffee he’d just poured for himself. It was as if he thought himself the most important man on the planet and that speaking to someone such as him was beneath him. The bold aroma from the coffeepot emanated just out of view.

  Archard’s back was to him. “What was the question?”

  About time. “You’re obviously keeping me alive for a reason,” he said, scratching at his long, thick beard, one that would grow back within days if he were allowed to shave. “What’s in it for you?”

  “Nothing. It’s about what you do for the others.”

  “I ain’t doing nothing of importance in this cell. Or any of the others.”

  Archard’s posture straightened, and he turned. “You are, though. When they see you in there, they know it could be them.”

  “You’ve killed everyone I know.”

  “No, Molters did.”

  “All you’re doing is putting the fear into your own.”

  “Not all of your people are dead.”

  “No, just the ones I cared about. The hell with those Americans.”

  A slight smirk cornered Archard’s mouth. “Their perception of what is happening to you keeps them afraid, and that keeps them productive.”

  “And what if I cut my throat?”

  Archard took a long sip of his coffee from the metal cup, the steam rising up his face as if the drink were three hundred degrees. “Will you?”

  Let him think about it, he thought. Archard wore green fatigues, and they looked as if they had been pressed that morning, which he supposed was possible. He had mentioned he’d been in the military but wouldn’t say for which country, and his uniform gave no hint. Archard seemed to wear the same green fatigues every day and likely had multiple articles of the same clothing. The way Archard dressed reminded him of his father when he was a boy, how he’d worn a similar uniform before heading out on a field exercise.

  But Archard was nothing like the man his father had been. He’d been a good man, an upstanding citizen who had served his country honorably, and that couldn’t be said for Archard, the maniac currently in charge of all this. He acted like an officer, though, or thought himself to be, and he was always clean shaven. He had a cleft chin with sharp features and deep-set eyes under thick black eyebrows. In contrast he had gray hair. The way he looked at people was how most considered a bug before squashing it.

  “You would do that?” Archard said, studying him for a response. “Kill yourself?”

  “To take away your power.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Some of your control then, to allow others to escape.”

  Archard offered him the cockiest smile he’d ever seen. “To where? There’s nowhere they could go that’s safer than here.”

  I hope you’re wrong. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m doing all of you a service. Without me you’d all be dead already,” Archard said and took another sip of his coffee, unblinking.

  Archard actually believed what he was saying. “Dying out there, out there, is better than ending up like the others,” he said.

  “It all comes down to the simplest of things, doesn’t it?” Archard must have decided his cup wasn’t hot enough because he went back and topped it off with another pour. He raised it to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Delicious. Want some?”

  Of course he did. “No.”

  “You could have everything I offer. All you have to do is be a yes man. Like the others.” Archard waited, as if just a cup of coffee would be enough to change his mind. “Suit yourself. Without this”—he raised the cup—“I’d definitely turn into a brute.”

  His whiff of the coffee actually made his belly rumble with hunger as if it were food. Well, for some, like himself, it practically had been before the Molting. “Turn? I think you’re there already.”

  The steam from the drink cascaded up Archard’s face, making him look like a demon immersed in smoke. Archard grabbed a foldout chair and sat in front of the cell. “A man your age probably has a kid or two. Adults by now. Got any adults?”

  “Only a man who has no children would think a parent would betray them.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “What do you really want? Why did you finally agree to meet with me?”

  Archard’s expression gave away nothing. “Some here look up to you.”

  “I already told you—”

  “I kill you, and they’ll panic, try to escape. We need them all. Everyone who is alive with two good hands or even one that can aim a weapon. You’re the type of man who is a leader. You inspire, and you are of better use alive than dead. Keeps the rest from doing something stupid. Or delays it. I’m not promising you you’ll live much longer, but you will definitely extend some lives.”

  “There’s another reason, and I bet I can guess.”

  Archard smirked. “Go ahead.”

  “More.”

  “What?”

  “More. You think I come from a place where there are treasure chests filled with whatever you believe is important.” Probably weapons. “You think I’m the only one who knows where it all is and that I’ll eventually talk.”

  “Will you?”

  “You haven’t been paying attention.”

  Archard stood and dumped the rest of his coffee to the side with a splat. The puddle steamed. “You’re serving a purpose, for now, but that won’t last, unless you and the people you care about simply tell me—”

  “You’re wasting your time. You should just do to me what you’ve done to the others. I’ve known men like you before.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  He approached the cage mesh, tow
ering over Archard at six feet five inches. “You’re the paranoid type. You think I’m going to organize and take you down.”

  “Will you?”

  “Is that your favorite question?” he said, like an annoyed father. He couldn’t help it. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  “All I want is to get as far away from you and all your fucked-up people as possible.”

  “You don’t just mean you. You’re referring to yourself and those who you claim not to care about anymore. And right into the warm embrace of what fucked us up in the first place. Even if you left today, you’d be dead tomorrow. There’s no escaping them.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You don’t understand. Your life is mine. The only reason you’re still alive is because of me, so I’ll do with you as I wish.”

  “I’ve endured worse than you.”

  “The only thing worse than me would take you to the ground and feed on you.”

  “That already happened, and I’m still alive.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true. I can drop my pants and show you the scar on my upper leg if you want.”

  “Keep pushing me, and everyone will see how tough you really are.”

  “You would have put me out in the open already if that was your plan, which it isn’t, and that’s because you aren’t man enough to rule on your own.”

  Archard reddened. “Attempting to anger me will only—”

  One of his men opened the flap to the large tent. “Sir?”

  Archard’s unreadable expression returned, and he calmly addressed the newcomer. “What is it?”

  “If I’m interrupting . . .”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Frox and Perry are here. They have the lists for the volunteers willing to go out searching.”

  “Good, good. Tell them I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and allowed the flap of the tent to fall closed.

  “You have good instincts. I do want to know where your possessions are. I know you have family out there somewhere. There’s no other reason for you to be in this country.”

  “I was on vacation.”

  “I’m sure they’re wondering where you are. No man strays from base with the minimal amount of gear you had. You were not planning on going far when you were caught. They’re close. I know it, and we’re going to find them. Take what’s there and kill them. That’ll be on you. Unless you change your mind, of course.”

  Archard was making mistakes. The biggest was keeping another leader around. If he wanted to maintain his power and keep control, he should surround himself with only subordinates. The man he was keeping in the cell most definitely was not that. Archard turned and marched away from him.

  “Archard . . . Hey, asshole!”

  Archard held the flap to the tent open, maintaining his mechanical composure.

  “You’d better hope I never get out of here.”

  “You won’t, Henry,” Archard said and exited the tent.