by C A Gleason
The look on Doug’s face was one of confusion as he thought that maybe he was about to be spared. But then he slouched when he heard the groaning of the branches behind him, about to snap under the weight of something too massive and far too heavy to remain poised up in something as brittle as a tree weakened by winter.
Jonah peered upward to see what still looked like tree branches, which he knew were not, even though they blended in with the real ones all around them, and their movement gave away their life. It was something biological, steaming, and ready to strike. Jonah was momentarily fascinated by how well some predators were able to blend in with their surroundings. Turning—there was so little time—Jonah dove, rolling down the hill he and Doug had only so recently scrapped on top of.
The Behemoth dropped from above, instantly containing Doug in a cage of legs, and then he was gruesomely stabbed through his stomach by a tail equipped with a stinger. As he did his best to voice alarm, he was in the air and brought to its mouth. He shouted something when its large maw opened wide, a low growl emitting from somewhere deep inside its throat. Jonah couldn’t make out what Doug had said, and it didn’t matter because his brief pleading tone distorted into a scream. Then half of him disappeared into its bite.
The horror of what Jonah was witnessing made his heart hammer in his chest as if he were actually the one inside the creature’s mouth. Goosebumps spread all over him and not because of the wintry surroundings. For some reason, he thought it was linked to one of his terrible nightmares, the meaning behind them, what some deep primitive part of his subconscious had been trying to tell him.
Cautiously creating more distance with each carefully placed backward step, Jonah held his 9mm at the ready, watching Doug’s legs kick around outside the Behemoth’s mouth, when he realized how much danger he was in and also how useless a pistol would be against a creature that size. Where there were differences in the appearances of Molters, especially with the new strain of Infector bombs, Behemoths all looked the same to him: huge, with many legs; dark stripes that reached toward a pale face like a Molter’s; large teeth; and that active stinger-equipped tail.
As what was happening before him registered—the Behemoth wasn’t eating Doug, it was drinking him like a Molter would—those legs stopped kicking, and dangled as limply as a doll’s. Jonah realized he didn’t have much time, so he turned and ran as fast as he could. The rifle and shotgun were somewhere near the feeding zone, and there was still enough snow on the ground for them to remain hidden. He had no time to search for them.
And it wasn’t as if an unloaded shotgun would do him much good, and he had no idea if Doug’s rifle was even loaded. Both weapons were of no use to him at the moment—all three of them, if he counted his pistol. He couldn’t very well outrun the Behemoth, so he needed to sprint. Easy to fall on such uneven terrain, but he had no choice. He remembered how fast they could scramble after somebody.
It remained silent behind him, but that was only because the dead man hadn’t been completely drained yet. The Behemoth was still feeding. Jonah had made sure he and Doug were a good distance away from the cabin, but now that was unfortunate because he needed to get back and fast. There were far more weapons there. He knew it was a risk to lead the monstrosity home, but if he didn’t rearm, it would get him. He wasn’t sure how long, or even if, he could evade the creature out in the woods.
His confidence in his skills, practically weapons themselves, were all Jonah had on occasion, and he was still alive. He had to trust his instincts. He could do this. He pulled out the radio as he ran, wishing he didn’t have to alarm Doreen this way.
What was I supposed to say to let her know there was trouble? He couldn’t remember.
He thumbed the mic anyway. “Get inside!” In case Doreen was outdoors for some reason. “Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!”
The feeding was obviously over because the forest came to life at his back. It went from silence to a shit storm. What had been only the quiet of the trees recovering from the harshness of winter’s chill transformed into a roar, one that sounded almost like desperation, as the creature on top of the food chain went after Jonah with everything it had and probably still very hungry.
Judging by all the crunching, snapping, and breaking noises, it obviously didn’t care if there were bushes in its way or trees or even a brick wall. It intended on doing to Jonah what it had just done to Doug if it could get to him, and what it had done to that man was something Jonah had never seen a Behemoth do before.
His breath shot out in forceful gasps and not because of the shape he was in or that he was out of breath. He wasn’t; he was in very good shape because of his daily exercise routine, but it was because of the shock of what he had just witnessed. He would have to wrap his head around it later, if he was still alive, but what the hell did it mean? Was it better for people? Worse?
“Ah!”
He ran by a bush that seemed determined to reach out and scratch him. It was so rigid that the branches stung his arms even though he wore a jacket, as if it were frozen. A little pain was good, though, because it gave him a little extra adrenaline that helped him with his running speed. He just hoped he didn’t trip and fall. If he did, he was a dead man.
The Behemoth was closing the distance behind him, he could hear it, and Jonah relished the day when he wasn’t considered a potential meal. Doreen hadn’t responded by radio when he yelled into his own, but he was positive she had heard him. Jonah wasn’t the only one who was diligent with his duties.
The woods went from a swirling blur to recognizable as the foliage peeled back and opened up. There was smoke in the sky, remnants from a fire in the woodstove before everything went wrong when the stranger found the cabin. Jonah was so close. The familiar outline of walls and a roof appeared through the brush and between the trees, the pleasant familiarity of home, parked trucks, but then the dead man on the ground.
The cabin door was cracked open. He considered requesting the rocket launcher, but the fight was about to be too close quarters for that kind of weaponry. Explosives were too unpredictable, especially with the nearby trucks. Which to choose . . .?
“My rifle!” he yelled.
Shooting past the bluing corpse, he grabbed the weapon Doreen was ready to hold out to him as if she’d read his mind before he decided. Doreen’s rifle had a scope mounted permanently, pointless for the short range of the incoming danger, and his did not. He turned and lunged off the porch, hearing the door slam shut behind him. He needed to aim carefully, or he was about to be stabbed through by the Behemoth’s tail, raised to its large and sharp-tooth-filled mouth, and then drained.
Jonah had always thought it would be a Molter that finally drank his blood. Never once had he thought it would be a Behemoth.
Understanding their behavior because of all the times he’d faced them and betting it was already closer than he expected, Jonah shifted where its path had been and aimed his rifle to the left. Then right, understanding how they typically attacked: making noise on their main path only to sneak around and surprise their prey where they wouldn’t be expecting.
The creature stalked Jonah to his right, low to the ground, making itself look smaller than it actually was. Hard to do that once in view, and it seemed to realize that, so once it knew it was spotted, it rose up to its full height with pride, dwarfing the cabin as if it were only some scale model, roared, and rushed Jonah as if he were an adversarial Behemoth threatening its territory. He hoped it wouldn’t trample either of the trucks.
The sight of it terrified him, no matter the number of times he’d faced them, with its many long, tree-length legs scurrying all at once like a giant spider. Its pale head, similar in appearance to that of a Molter of the original strain but much larger, its mouth open and long teeth bared, ready to snap onto Jonah with its steel-trap bite. Jonah squeezed the trigger, and a high-caliber round smashed into its forehead, causing it to lurch forward and fall in a heap of tumbling, twisting legs.
Hoping that one shot might have been enough to do it in but reflexively practicing the opposite, Jonah recocked the rifle and waited, ammo conservation always on his mind regardless of the arsenal at his disposal.
But he watched as the thing struggled back onto its many clawed feet and struggle onward, blood trickling from the head wound and down its face. It would die from the gunshot eventually but might be able to grab him and drain him before that happened. And if it knew who else was inside the cabin only feet away . . .
Doreen wasn’t in sight, but she was surely a witness to what was going on and, armed within the safety of the cabin, ready to join the fight if necessary. She would do her best to save him if she had to, Jonah knew, but he would do his best to end this before endangering anyone else. Jonah fired again and again and again, recocking as fast as he was able to between each pull of the trigger, every bullet smashing into it with sickening crunches through its firm flesh and bones, and he was thankful for his aim.
The Behemoth finally collapsed to the ground only feet away from him, seconds away from grabbing him to do what they did, possibly destroying the trucks or even the cabin had it not died. But thankfully it was now dead, steam rising from its blood and exposed insides. It had been waiting in those trees a long time to feed. Desperate, hungry, and struggling to survive.
“Like all of us, fucker.”
Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t tell where the other bullets had hit it. Somewhere center mass as he hadn’t wanted to waste a shot going for the head with it so close. He looked over at the door to see it was open again, Doreen cautiously leaning out. She had probably been watching from one of the windows. He put his finger to his lips, pointed two fingers at his eyes and then one at the trees. She nodded, shut the door, and locked it. She knew what he meant. There might be more.
More what, though? Behemoths? Molters? People? Which were the biggest threat?
Seeing that the dead Behemoth was no longer a threat—or moving—and definitely dead, Jonah took careful steps forward, still ready to fire again no matter how positive he was of its demise. Guns were dependable weapons, but he was always ready to pull his machete or yank that ax off the chopping block.
Upon closer inspection, he saw that the Behemoth looked old and wrinkled, paler than normal even. It wasn’t as shriveled up as the dead one he’d seen recently, but it also didn’t look healthy. It was probably one of the older ones that was born around when the Molting began. It must have been very desperate—maybe even close to death itself—to drink Doug the way it had, then attempt the same thing with Jonah, which meant there were no Molters serving it to become its food.
That wasn’t exactly a shock. Jonah hunted all the creatures daily—except for the occasional day off on a Sunday to coincide with a day off from exercising—but even when he wasn’t clearing, he was constantly on the lookout for lone Molters or packs of them. Still, this was the second Behemoth he’d seen recently, counting the one that was already dead when he found it—that looked like it had been fed upon—and he hadn’t had such a battle with a Behemoth since before Henrytown.
“Is it dead?” Heike said from an open window.
Jonah turned, a little startled by her young voice being so on edge. “Yes. Shut that, please.”
“But it’s dead. You said so.”
“Danger not over, sweetie.”
“OK.”
He heard the window slide shut as he turned back around. What to do with it? He hated the idea of any corpse being so close to the cabin but especially one the size of a Behemoth. Using it as a repelling tactic against Molters, as was done at Henrytown, was no longer reliable. And it wasn’t as if the temperature dropped below freezing right now, so the corpse would decompose and begin to stink very soon. Then there were the other bodies. He wasn’t looking forward to what had to be done, but he wanted to get it done and behind him.
Waiting another ten minutes and continuing to scan his surroundings, he eventually pulled out the radio and said, “All clear.”
The door unlocked with a well-lubricated click and opened. “Want some lunch?” Doreen said.
Turning away from all the death, Jonah forced himself to be normal again and not just some new evolution of person requiring the ability of extreme violence at the drop of a hat to survive. He forced himself to be who they knew him to be. And who they wanted him to be.
“Sure,” he said, as upbeat as possible. Except there was that part of him that was still active; the one with the radar that knew it was time to hunt and clear would not turn off. “But first I’m going back out for a while.”
“You said all clear,” Doreen said.
He was mentally still in mission mode. He hadn’t cleared enough, obviously. “Gotta be sure there’s no more of them. Collect weapons I left behind.” The shotgun and Doug’s rifle he dropped. He also remembered the other dead men had both been carrying hunting rifles. “I won’t be gone long. Why don’t you get lunch ready, and I’ll be back shortly.”
“OK,” she said. “What about those?”
He glanced at the dead man, then at the bloody, giant monstrous ruin with multiple black legs and a long tail. “I’ll deal with it later. After lunch.” Jonah ran up on the porch, handed her back his bolt-action rifle, and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” she said.
Jonah trotted to Henry’s truck, unlocked it, and grabbed the automatic rifle on the driver’s seat. He waved to Doreen. She had a look on her face as if she’d never see him again, and Jonah realized he’d seen that look too many times to count.
CHAPTER 6
Doreen had made sandwiches: meat from a can and bread she’d made over the fire in the woodstove a few days ago. Before returning, Jonah had meticulously combed through the area surrounding the cabin for just under an hour to ensure there was no longer an immediate threat. Long enough to have some lunch at least. It was probably a bit strange to have lunch as a family after what had happened, but that’s how it was since the Molting. They weren’t about to give up on life, on being normal, or at least doing their best to pretend to be, but still, it was anything but. During the time he’d patrolled, he had pondered the Behemoth.
“Never seen them do that,” Jonah said.
“It probably doesn’t happen very often,” Doreen said. “Or it’s the first time. It’s possible, and you were the witness. Who can be sure?”
“Oh, I doubt it’s the first time. I’m just wondering what it means.”
“What you already know. They’re changing, and a Behemoth . . . doing what it did is probably like us eating raw meat. We are capable of it, but it isn’t preferred. Eventually, we’ll get sick. I don’t think it could live that way for long.”
“But what if it could? What if they can? Maybe that’s what’s next for them. If the Molters are evolving, why not the Behemoths too?”
The Behemoth had fed on someone directly, which meant there weren’t any Molters to cocoon to become its food. Or the Molters were unwilling. Had made a choice. A chilling thought. Whatever the reason, it was obviously a last resort for it. A last-ditch effort to survive. Perhaps that was how it would be from now on, with Molters and Behemoths surviving independently of one another. If that were true, then it was also possible—and also likely—for them to become enemies, competitors for the same food source: blood.
That was especially probable because Infectors could be born the same way as Behemoth spores, gestating within a Molter, an Infector bomb, and Behemoth bombs might not even exist anymore. Frightening to think of all the Infectors that were born from just one Infector-ridden Molter. Dozens at least, sometimes more, and if there were millions of those Molters, those Infector bombs . . .
“How about we talk about it after we’ve finished eating?” Doreen said, and smiled at him, obviously reading his mind.
“Or not at all,” Jonah said. “We don’t have to.”
“But maybe you need to.”
“I suppose it can
help to think out loud every so often.”
“Especially for you. You have so much going on upstairs.” Doreen tapped her temple with her pointer finger. “And I’ll listen to you if you want, but for now, let’s enjoy the meal I worked so hard on preparing.”
Jonah exhaled and grinned at her. “All right.”
“What did it do?” Heike said, chewing, obviously having understood some of their conversation.
“It doesn’t concern you,” Doreen said.
Before sitting down to eat, Jonah had whispered in Doreen’s ear what had happened because, although they were both honest with Heike to make her strong, she didn’t need to know everything, especially if it was just more of the same. The human threats were a different kind of danger, but there was a time and a place, and disturbing a little girl’s lunch with gruesome details of battle was not one of them. Jonah had dragged the man’s body out of sight of their doorstep and would deal with it, and the rest of the carnage, the corpses of men and a beast, later.
Doreen eyed the food on Jonah’s plate. “Eat your sandwich,” she said to him.
Jonah mentally teleported back into the moment, and it was as if he was just now seeing the food. The aroma of it seemed to hit his nostrils at the same time: the sharp waft of bread and meat. His mouth was watering as he took a large mouthful, and it tasted so good, he closed his eyes.
“Did you bite the inside of your mouth?” Heike said. “I do that sometimes.”
“That’s because you eat too fast,” Doreen said.
Jonah politely held a napkin over his mouth. “It’s just plain old delicious. I guess I had no idea how hungry I was.”
“It’s because you were outside so much.” Doreen swallowed a bite. “You want another after that? We have enough.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do.”
“You want to make it, or do you want me to?”