by C A Gleason
Heike considered that, her head momentarily tilting to the side. “When it snows the next time, I’m going to make snowmen!”
“Wow. That’s ambitious.”
“You should have named me that.”
“What? Ambitious?”
“Yes.”
“Instead of Heike?”
“Yes.”
Doreen laughed at her daughter’s humor. How fast they grow up.
“Do you think Jonah will help with our snowmen?” Heike said.
“I’m sure he will. But we might have to wait until next winter. I’m not sure how much more it will snow.” Doreen glanced over at Heike. She could see that worry was tugging at Heike just as much as herself. “He’ll be back soon. I’m sure of it.”
Heike smiled, but it faded, and Doreen saw worry return to her face. Heike tried to hide her feelings by stepping forward, just barely out of view of her mom, toward the snowman. Then she took a step back.
“Mom, get away from it.”
Doreen felt a puzzled expression flash over her face until she saw what Heike was referring to. There was movement that caused both of them to take involuntary steps backward, very slowly, across the powdery, slushy snow.
As the shiny black legs appeared on top of their iceman’s baseball cap, Heike slowly removed the pistol from her jacket pocket, pushed the clip in snugly, pulled the slide, chambering the first round, and allowed it to go forward again. Then she took the safety off, cocked the hammer, and took a confident step forward.
For what seemed like a minute, Doreen felt paralyzed, and then when she felt the adrenaline coursing through her, she almost demanded the gun from her daughter. But then she thought better of it. Not only did she remember that she was confident in Heike, but she was also confident in Jonah’s teaching. “Not too close,” she said.
“I don’t want to miss,” Heike said.
“Are you going to attach a silencer?”
“I don’t want to take my eyes off it. I’ll only fire once. One shot, one kill.”
Heike didn’t seem to be afraid of the thing that looked very much like a spider. It had a slight body, and the entire thing was practically only legs. That and small teeth at its center as its only purpose for existing was to launch, grapple onto, and infect a host. Doreen remembered what had happened at Henrytown, when Heike was practically defenseless because of her age. She was a very different little girl today as many children probably were now. If they were still living, then they were growing up to be warriors.
The Infector wasn’t crawling, but it definitely knew where its potential hosts were standing before it. It aimed itself at them, no doubt waiting for either one of them to get close enough for it to jump onto and sink its small, yellow, infected teeth into flesh to begin a molt.
Afterward, if it were successful, the Infector would die having served its only purpose. That wasn’t a factor for this one in particular because it wasn’t going to get that chance. Not with someone taught by Jonah Browne with a pistol aimed and ready to shoot.
Heike didn’t blink. “Do you see any others?”
“No,” Doreen said.
“Do you think it’s the last one?”
“From the Infector bomb? I believe so. Others would have shown themselves by now, I think. But we should assume it isn’t the last one for our safety. That’s what Jonah would advise.”
“I agree,” Heike said, and then she squeezed the trigger, firing one round, just as Jonah had taught her, and the Infector disappeared from view.
After peeking around the snowman, it had fallen belly up behind it onto the melting slush, seeming to get smaller as its legs curled inward, and it died.
Heike scanned the area, carefully aware of the muzzle of the pistol as it was now aiming at the ground, her finger no longer on the trigger, and when no other dangers presented themselves, she bent down and rolled the bullet casing, which sizzled atop the icy snow before she picked it up.
Suddenly there was a male voice coming from Doreen’s pocket. It startled both of them enough to cause them to jump. “Anybody copy? Over.”
Heike’s eyes got big. “Mom, it’s him!”
Doreen was already digging into her pocket. “I know, honey. Oh thank you. Thank you, thank you.” Fumbling for the radio, she pulled it out, brought it to her mouth . . . but then hesitated. Her smile faded.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Shh.”
Doreen held the radio out in front of her, inspecting it, waiting . . .
“Anybody copy? Over.”
What were they supposed to do? Go somewhere else? The best thing for them, although dangerous, was to do nothing. To stay put. Even though part of her thought they should get in the truck that was ready for this exact scenario and drive away. But where?
“Heike, get your things; we’re going inside.”
“Why Mom? Why didn’t you answer him?”
“Because he’s in trouble. Now do as I say!”
CHAPTER 11
After hearing of Archard’s death, Frox’s demeanor changed almost immediately. It definitely wasn’t grief. Jonah had no idea how close the two were or how well they knew each other or if they were even friends at all. Maybe they only worked together. The shift in behavior was hazily familiar to Jonah but recognizable, similar to when he’d witnessed the next in line of a chain of command assume power. For Frox it seemed welcome. Even expected.
Perry shook Frox’s hand. It was obvious Perry wasn’t that close with Archard either, and Frox reached up and patted him on one of his massive shoulders. The veil of power fit over Frox as if he were born with it on. It fit him like a snug, comfortable jacket.
“What about the Draw?” Perry said.
Frox looked directly at Jonah. “It’s in good hands.”
Great, Jonah thought.
Archard, the one Jonah had heard about—and heard enough about that he had already decided he would have eliminated him if he could have—had been killed by another prisoner. Whoever that prisoner was must have been a serious threat because of how Archard was regarded: respected but also feared. Jonah didn’t know the specifics of what went down, but it was clear whoever had killed Archard was still a threat, which meant he or she was still alive.
Since Perry had delivered the news, and Frox had assumed his new role, Frox whispered something to Perry, and Perry grabbed Jonah’s machete off the table close by and then both Frox and Perry disappeared outside the tent. Seemed further discussion of events would consist of hushed whispers. If Jonah didn’t escape soon, Frox’s men would find the cabin. Eventually. And again. It was only a matter of time.
Jonah felt lucky no one had communicated its discovery to the rest of the group. It showed their inexperience, but also, they clearly weren’t expecting to run into anyone out in the forest as they searched. Jonah had been fortunate he showed up when he had. Even though Doreen had done the shooting.
The next time something like that happened, it would probably be a sweep. Everything anybody would ever want for survival was there, and if they discovered Jonah’s authentic map and deciphered his burial method that was thirty-one paces north, south, east, or west of the actual burial locations according to which direction he was from the cabin . . .
His burial method was a contingency in case that real map was discovered, and he’d chosen the number of paces because it was random. He’d actually chosen the number because the amount of work he was doing to keep his people safe had reminded him of how Jonah had assured Henry he would. Thirty-one was also the number of Behemoths Henry claimed to have killed when Jonah first met him on the road.
The likelihood of the map being discovered and also deciphered wasn’t great, but Jonah still couldn’t waste precious time. He had too much to lose, and he couldn’t allow any other precarious situations with more trespassers. These weren’t the good folks from Henrytown. Frox, Perry, and their people were selfish and desperate, and it was clear they would do anything to survive.
A lot like Jonah himself at a certain point in his life, but moral roads often go in different directions. Some ascended into normalcy and selflessness as his own had, but others had surely descended into savagery and rapidly, as fast as a fully loaded semitruck flooring it full speed downhill with its brakes cut.
Ironically, Jonah, Doreen, and Heike had been relatively safe from Molters since they had arrived at the cabin because of Jonah’s clearing, but now they were susceptible to another threat entirely, a very unexpected one, which was their fellow man. Jonah needed to get out of there—not just the tent but away from Frox and his people—and fast. Period. There were no other decisions for him to make.
Frox abruptly threw the flap of the tent open and marched toward Jonah as if his assumption of power had already changed him into a different person.
Jonah remained as calm as when he was getting chewed out by a superior while serving his country. “You look happy.”
Frox reddened. “You shouldn’t provoke me.”
“You’re just going to kill me anyway. Get it over with.”
“You haven’t been paying attention.”
That was where Frox was dead wrong. Jonah had been paying strict attention, and his attempt to provoke Frox was about to pay off. Frox was going to slip up and reveal a way to allow Jonah to escape, and he wouldn’t even know he’d done it until Jonah was gone. All they had done so far was threaten him. Frox had already admitted they didn’t torture. If they were actually going to kill him, they would have already done it. Not that Jonah believed they wouldn’t kill him if he pushed enough, but he suspected they needed him for the Draw, however that worked, and that wasn’t happening at the moment as far as he could tell, which meant he had time to plot.
Jonah stared up at him. “Why chat with me?”
“Even though you won’t be alive for much longer,” Frox said, “you deserve to know why.”
Obviously to clear your conscience, Jonah thought. “OK. Why?”
“Because the hell with this world.”
If Jonah could have rolled his eyes without interrupting Frox’s precious spiel, giving Jonah more time to further his plan, he would have. “Say again?”
Shit, Jonah thought. Military jargon. Hopefully Frox hadn’t noticed. It would be difficult to convince anyone who recognized such language that the person phrasing it that way hadn’t been in the military.
“It’s been trying to kill us off since our beginning,” Frox said.
If Frox had recognized the phrase, he hadn’t reacted, and Jonah was able to relax somewhat. If they knew everything about him, they’d probably kill him. They would understand he was too much of a threat to be left alive as a mere prisoner.
“It?” Jonah said.
“Nature,” Frox said. “Can’t make up its mind. Always trying to come up with something better to take us out and replace us.”
“But you said the Molting was population control.”
“Many planets are meant for life, but which kind is best for each? Who knows? The Molting is a biological infection to humans, like a virus, and all cells are replaced. The monstrous results live only to kill, diminish the masses, and our planet seems intent on replacing us with them. Maybe they are something . . . better than us for Earth. More controllable. It’s not like Molters are going to push industrialization.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“I just told you.”
“Then you don’t understand.”
Frox’s bushy eyebrows knit together. “What don’t I understand?”
“That nothing is a fact except the fact that many things about this planet are changing,” Jonah said. “Even they are unalike now. And I actually suspect they’re turning on each other.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Release me and I’ll mail you a letter with an explanation. I find I can express myself better when I write down my thoughts as opposed to pointless conversation.”
“Do you ever tire of being annoying?”
“Do you ever tire of being an arrogant prick?”
Frox stared at Jonah for a few seconds as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard, that anyone who dared to speak to him that way was playing with fire . . . but he eventually chuckled. It was an act, though. Then he seemed to be debating whether he would kill Jonah and how, Draw be damned. But then he seemed to calm down.
It was obvious to Jonah that Frox could take slight jabs, and that meant he hadn’t been in power much throughout his life. No, Frox had likely spent most of his time as an underling, but he was strong willed, so Jonah would be wise not to jab too much, pull his punches mostly, and only go for a figurative haymaker when he was positive he could connect.
“This threat, it might not last,” Jonah said. “It’s just something else we have to endure. Until the next thing. Typically, it’s us versus them, whoever they are, and by they, I mean people, typically, but that’s not what’s happening this time. I mean, it is, but now we have a much deadlier enemy that we’re facing as well as one another.”
Jonah wasn’t too keen on conversing with Frox, a man who might very well end his life, but maybe Jonah could start an argument. Or somehow create an alliance. Or just allow Frox to think that was happening. Frox was harder to read than most. One of the reasons was whenever he spoke, Jonah couldn’t see his mouth moving because his mustache covered it. It was similar to someone wearing sunglasses while playing poker. In a way that was what was going on, but Frox wasn’t the only one holding cards. Jonah held a hand too.
I’ll let you think I’m actually focused on this conversation, offering my hypotheses while I figure a way out of here. “I don’t think they’re here to replace us,” Jonah said.
“Why then?” Frox asked with actual interest.
“Earth’s resources.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We need them. They don’t.”
Frox thought for a moment. “Gold is needed? Coffee?”
“We use those.”
“Our blood isn’t a resource?”
“In a way, I suppose. But then all meat, all tissue is a resource.”
“It is.”
“I know that, Dietrich, but I’m talking about the resources put here on this planet specifically for us. It’s proof we belong here.”
“I don’t buy it, Jonah. Just think of any animal . . . ants, birds, fuckin’ . . . whatever. They all probably have their versions of use. Shit, really? That’s all you got? It could be argued that a fucking beaver belongs on this planet more than we do. Think of all the resources it uses.”
Jonah didn’t expect that and laughed. “True, I guess. But how about our ability to make fire? The fact that it exists in a controllable way and doesn’t cause a fucking explosion when it sparks . . . and seriously, coffee? It’s the most wonderful . . . Are you going to deny that it’s the most amazing and delicious—”
“I’m with you on that one.” Frox cut him off. “Coffee is a gift from the gods. There’s no debating that.”
As the two men smiled at each other, it was likely the only moment in their lives when they would be in agreement or even close to being friendly.
Jonah forced his smile to fade. “Perhaps you’re right, though. I don’t know anything for certain. I’ve just been doing my best to wrap my head around the Molting since it began. What I do know, and this is the only thing I’m positive of, is that if we don’t fight our best, they will wipe us out, and then Molters will be the next dominant lifeform on this planet regardless of whatever conclusions you or I or anyone else comes up with.”
Frox was grinning at him for some reason. It was a little jarring because Jonah didn’t know why he was doing it, but he finished his thought anyway.
“If we don’t stick together, in a few years—a hundred, or maybe a thousand—we’ll all be gone, and they’ll be here, and then they will have to survive whatever nature decides on to make their lives complicated.”
“I’m glad you m
entioned that,” Frox said.
“Which part? About us sticking together?” Hopefully, Jonah thought.
“No. About us fighting our best. See, that isn’t enough. This is a threat that needs to be outsmarted.”
That’s what I meant, asshole.
“Nature?” Frox said, reflecting on his own hypotheses. “It isn’t concerned with who lives or dies or which species is the dominant one. One thing Molters got on us is they hibernate, and we can’t. They can wait us out. This world, nature, whatever, it’s given us some real competition, meaning that it doesn’t mind if we fade away. I have a big problem with that.”
A familiar engine sounded outside the tent. One Jonah knew very well, and for a few seconds, he relaxed because it gave him a feeling of home, hearing Henry’s truck pull up and park. Except he knew someone else, a stranger, had gotten out of it. Jonah even recognized the way the truck vibrated the ground so knowing it was out there, even under such shitty circumstances, comforted him. Regardless of who had been driving. That was more than a little confusing.
Then he felt boot steps vibrate through the ground as more men jumped out of its bed. The familiar voice of Perry belted out orders, and then, seconds later, he eclipsed the opening of the tent, shoving the flap aside like it was an annoying bug. Someone outside held it open. When Perry saw Jonah, a menacing half smile appeared through his thick salt-and-pepper beard.
This can’t be good, Jonah thought.
Frox held a hand up, obviously a command that the men wait. He turned back to Jonah. “Enough existential discussion. Here’s a revised deal. Just tell us where your supplies are, a precise location, and I’ll allow you to live.”
“You’ll let me go?”
“No. That’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible, Dietrich.”
“That’s not true. You out there somewhere means it’s impossible to trust you won’t harm any of my people. Unfortunately, you’ll have to stay with us and work. But you’ll be alive. Isn’t that what really matters?”
Frox really means it. Jonah had been lied to enough times to recognize the difference. The answer to Frox’s question was yes and no. “Doing what?” he said.