The sky was grey when Misha reached his destination. He was surprised to see just how many people there were lingering around the area. It also looked like every single horse was being carefully encouraged over the wall, using massive, temporary ramps made out of the sides of hacked-up containers. It had been a long time since they used the cumbersome and somewhat dangerous ramps, but the cranes they had been using instead still hadn’t been returned to their normal state—they were still makeshift trebuchets on the side of the submarine.
“Danny!” Misha called out, spotting the closest thing he had to a human brother.
“Hey!” Danny jogged over to him, his bag bouncing on his back. He was forced to stop a bit short as Misha’s dogs all crowded up to him, seeking attention. “You going out, too?”
“Crichton’s sending me to check out the Black Box, but there’s no way he’s sending all these people. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t hear? Some of us are being sent out on scavenger runs, but others are being sent to make contact with other communities.”
“Communities?”
“Yeah, Evans’ people know of a bunch of communities, and so does Boss. They know which ones are safe to make contact with, so we figured it was time to reach out. Maybe we’ll be able to do some trading, and I know a lot of people would be happy to know that there’s somewhere to go if they decide this isn’t the place for them.”
“Are you going to one of these communities?” Misha generally distrusted strangers, and didn’t like the idea of Danny going to meet a bunch.
“No, I’m on a scavenger team. Jon, Larson, Bryce, and I are going to do our thing. Rose is coming with us, too.”
“No Lenny or Shaidi?” Usually when Danny went out, those two were with him.
“No, they’re in one of the contact parties.”
Misha nodded. He wondered how many communities they were planning on reaching out to.
“Well, I better get going. We all plan to move out as one, but we’re supposed to gather with our groups.” Danny hiked a thumb in the direction of his waiting team.
Misha raised his hand toward them in acknowledgement, getting the same in return. He couldn’t help but notice that Bryce still hadn’t healed from his beating. And he made note of Larson’s missing finger and Rose’s more prominently missing hand. She still wore a bandage from her more recent injury sustained during the Black Box’s destruction, and Danny’s shoulder still wasn’t completely healed from the bullet that had grazed him. The container yard was truly desperate if they were sending out all of these potentially ill-formed parties. He was glad he hadn’t refused to take on the task that Crichton had assigned to him.
“You’re bringing Trigger?”
Misha turned to find Cameron frowning at him. The veterinarian had confirmed shortly before the zombie horde had attacked them that Trigger, the golden retriever-lab mix, was pregnant.
“She could whelp her puppies while you’re out there, you know that?” Cameron continued.
“I’m aware,” Misha nodded. “It just doesn’t seem right to leave her here by herself without the rest of the dogs. Besides, I want to be with her when her puppies are born.”
Cameron sighed. “I guessed as much. That’s why I brought you this.” She thrust a large sack into his arms.
Peeking inside, Misha found nothing but tightly packed fabric.
“So you can build a nest for her,” Cameron quickly explained. “Just make sure there’s always room on your cart.”
“Are you being sent anywhere?” Misha wondered.
“No, the health of our farm animals is more important than ever, so I’m staying right here.”
Misha nodded, glad to hear it. If everyone he was close with were to be sent out, he’d probably get too stressed worrying about them to do his job effectively. “By the way, do you know where I’m supposed to be? I wasn’t given much information about this whole part of the process.”
“You’re not the only one. I think a lot of information didn’t make it to the people who are supposed to have it. This was put together way too fast. But I found out you’re going to the Black Box with a cart, so you can probably find your team already on the other side of the wall.”
“Thanks.”
Cameron petted all the dogs who had been seeking her attention. Misha watched as she performed a few basic tests on the sly, like trying to look into their ears and at their teeth, while holding her hand flat against their chests to feel for their various heart beats. When she was done, she waved toward the ramp.
“Okay, enough of that. You better get going and I better get back to work.”
“Make sure Riley doesn’t work too hard,” Misha said, at the same time doubting the woman’s twin sister needed to hear it.
“Definitely. And you all come back in one piece, without puppies if possible. Having them born here would be better than out there.”
Misha nodded and turned back toward the ramp. He whistled sharply to make sure he had his dogs’ attention, and then walked toward it, with the sack Cameron had given him cradled in his arms. All nine of his pack stayed close.
After joining the group of people lined up to cross over the wall, they patiently awaited their turn. The ramps could only take so much weight, and so the organizers were limiting how many people could walk up at one time. When it finally came to Misha and his dogs, they climbed without the accompaniment of any other people.
The metal ramp was a little slick. Even though it was corrugated and therefore looked like a tightly packed staircase, it wasn’t easy to walk up. A couple of ropes had been draped down the ramp’s length, but they weren’t helpful for the dogs, who were cautious and untrusting of this ascent. Spring, the little terrier mix, was fine, bounding up the ramp in an instant, while the rest plodded their way along, always making sure they had good footing. Misha had to encourage several of them to keep climbing, but they eventually all made it to the top.
“Good boy! Good girl!” Misha scratched and petted all of his dogs in turn. “Now we have to go down the other side.”
Rifle looked over the edge and whined. If he were younger, this would be easy for him, but his old bones were less co-operative.
“I know, bratishka. It’ll be all right. In fact, I’m going to help you.”
Taking himself out of the descent line, Misha brought his dogs to one side. He removed the harness from Bullet and put it back on Rifle. Bullet shook his fur out, having grown used to wearing the harness. He then sniffed Rifle all over, as though checking to make sure the old man had it on right. When Misha brought all the dogs back to the top of the ramp, a few of them seemed disappointed. Even the big dogs, Powder and Guard, seemed to prefer the method of being carried up and down ladders.
“Okay, here we go.” Misha let the fabric bag tumble down the ramp so that he could have his hands free. He kept one firmly wrapped around a rope, while the other held tightly to Rifle’s harness. As he had while walking, he paced himself with the old dog. Spring, once again, showed everyone up by zipping straight down without a problem. Barrel ended up being the only one to have issues. The dog that looked like a Doberman with stumpier legs and a much thicker body, was the lowest member of the pack, despite Misha’s equal treatment of him. Near the bottom, his back legs suddenly went sideways on him. The dog spun around when his front legs managed to find a bolt to hold onto. He whined pathetically.
“It’s okay, Barrel. You’re all right,” Misha comforted the dog. But Barrel refused to move; his eye, ear, and tail postures ones of stress. He had always been somewhat clumsy for a dog.
After getting Rifle to the bottom, Misha climbed the short distance back up to Barrel. He stood over the dog, and placed his hands on either side.
“Here we go,” Misha soothed the dog. “Here we go. Just going to step backward now. We’re almost there. Just a little farther. There we are.”
Once Barrel’s feet were on the flat pavement, he shook himself, and then went to stand at Rifle
’s side, the only dog who never tried to establish dominance over him. Probably because he felt no need to. The other dogs all knew who came after Misha in the pack order, and they accepted it without challenge.
Glad that that was done with, Misha grabbed his sack of fabrics and went to check which of the carts he was supposed to be with. The first person he asked directed him over to a large, flat bed cart hitched to two horses. Misha recognized them as Thumper and Potato, who usually went out with scavenger teams. The only people waiting with them were Harry, and a man Misha recognized as having come with Evans’ party but whose name he didn’t know.
“Harry, I’m surprised they’re sending you,” Misha commented as he reached the cart. He threw the sack of fabric into the back, then knelt down to put each of the dogs’ collars on. He also moved the harness back onto Bullet.
“There could be some salvageable equipment from the things we left outside. Also, Crichton really wants to make sure the Geiger counter is in proper working order, and so needs someone who should be able to fix it if it starts misbehaving.”
“Still, I figured they would need you here to fix the cranes, or build new ones, or something.”
Harry shrugged. “Enough people helped me with them that I think they can put them back on their own. By the way, Misha, have you met Ki-Nam?” He gestured to the quiet man.
“Not directly. Hi.” Misha waved from where he was still kneeling on the pavement, not much of one for shaking hands.
Ki-Nam nodded, his silver hair waving with the movement. He either had ancestors from somewhere in eastern Asia, or had come from there himself at some point.
After all the collars had been clipped on, Misha climbed into the back of the cart and started to build a nest for Trigger. Harry looked on with curiosity.
“There’s a possibility of puppies being born on this trip,” Misha explained. “I figured I might as well get this part out of the way, just in case.” He also lifted Rifle up onto the board that served as the driver’s seat, so that he could accompany whoever took the reins.
While they waited, Misha spotted a few people he knew joining different parties with empty carts outside the wall. There were more grouped together without carts, but it was impossible to tell who was going out to scavenge and who was going to investigate new places. Misha could only guess a few based on the amount of supplies they carried.
In the end, they were joined by two more people: Angela, who had lived in the Black Box before Misha had even known of its existence, and, surprisingly, Crichton himself.
“Everyone ready?” he asked the assembled group.
They all nodded or verbalized that they were.
“Excellent. Let’s get going then. Misha, I want you and your dogs to take point.”
Of course he did. Misha whistled sharply again to make sure he had his dogs’ attention, and then started to lead them through the remainder of the container yard. Behind him, he heard the cart start to roll across the pavement, quieter than one would have expected. They made sure all of their carts were well oiled and outfitted with rubber tires for just that reason, although there wasn’t much they could do about the actual sounds of friction, or the horses’ hooves.
“Is anyone going to be checking out these containers?” Angela asked of the stacked metal beasts on either side of them.
“Bronislav might arrange for a team to open up and look inside the ones we can get to, but he has to wait to see just who’s left, and some of the contents of these containers aren’t so easily determined.”
Misha’s job, before the double shot of attacks, had often been to help clear out the containers, and so he knew exactly what Crichton was talking about. Sometimes it was easy, as there were boxes labelled in clear English, but sometimes the writing was in a language no one knew how to read, and the disassembled products inside were equally as mystifying.
They didn’t get far before they reached the edge of the cleaned up area. The lower containers and pavement ahead were all slimed with zombie debris. Pus, and guts, and hunks of skin coated everything, just like it had their home after the attack. Dark, poisoned blood was everywhere. At least the container maze had already been cleared of any moving zombies that had remained, somehow getting caught on the latches of various boxes. Still, the dogs had paused and looked back at Misha, silently asking if they really had to walk through the slop.
“I’m putting some of the dogs on the cart,” Misha told Crichton. “We don’t need all of them walking through this stuff and getting it on them.”
Crichton agreed.
Misha helped Trigger, Spring, Barrel, and Stock up onto the back. Bullet seemed determined to stay by Misha’s side. Powder, the Great Dane whose narrow face suggested some greyhound mix in her genes, and Guard, the Newfoundlander that was probably part mastiff, were both very big dogs, and so Misha kept them on their feet. The last dog, Slide, was pure, unidentifiable mutt, and although she was no bigger than Trigger, she had the best nose for identifying mobile zombies at a distance, and so Misha kept her walking ahead with the others.
It was disgusting moving forward. As he had loaded his dogs onto the cart, Misha had withdrawn his mask from his pack and put it on. The strong scent of rubber helped cover the rancid smell, but couldn’t get rid of it completely. It also could do nothing for the sight of the mess, nor the slick feeling underfoot. Although the sun had dried the surface into a sort of crust, underneath it was still damp. Misha had to walk very carefully. Occasionally one of his feet would almost kick out from underneath him as he stepped on some particularly slimy offal. His group happened to be the first to leave. With the other groups passing behind them, the pavement would become clearer, somewhat like slushy snow, making it easier for those at the back. Misha wished he were with them instead of at the front. On top of dealing with the gore, everyone would have to maintain a vigilant watch for rats.
Other than being incredibly gross, the walk between the containers was uneventful. The dogs kept their distance from the sides and clearly found the pavement as distasteful as Misha did, what with the way they lifted their paws higher than usual. Powder and the others had walked over carpets of corpses after the mega horde’s attack was over, but that didn’t mean any of them liked it.
Past the containers was where an old warehouse once stood. Now, half the battered structure had collapsed. Misha and those following him paused for a moment to look at it, for they hadn’t known that that had happened. The sheer force of the zombies’ passage had taken out the weakest parts of the structure.
“It’s a good thing you and your people decided to join us as opposed to hiding in there,” Crichton mentioned to Ki-Nam, who nodded in silent agreement.
The zombie debris continued beyond the very end of the container yard, but at least now they weren’t so hemmed in. It was likely they would have to continue walking through it until they reached the bridge that would allow them to cross the river to the north. And even then, that was only if the zombies hadn’t come across the same bridge. No one had thought to ask the runners, who had warned them, what route the mega horde had taken to reach them. Or at least, no one had told Misha if they had.
It was unsettling, seeing all the damage that had been done. Windows that had survived eleven years’ worth of storms since the outbreak, were now shattered. Cars, long dead, on flat tires, had been pushed far from where they had once sat. Some had even been partly crushed, the zombies having crawled over them. Even without the zombies’ insatiable, infectious hunger, the mega horde had been dangerous simply due to its sheer mass. Misha was glad he hadn’t known its true size before they had had to fight it off.
When they finally came to the much smaller shipping container yard that was near the bridge, the dogs suddenly came to a stop. Misha halted the others with hand gestures. Moving forward, he stood between the two large dogs and carefully watched Slide. The mutt’s posture was one of studious intent. She had caught a whiff of something, and, with her, that usually meant a walking
corpse. Her tail and ears stood straight up as she focused on what had caught her attention. The other two dogs swung their heads slightly with their noses up, scenting the air. Misha couldn’t be certain whether that was because they had caught something as well, or because they knew Slide had.
But then Slide lowered her head, her ears twisted back, and her tail tucked firmly between her legs. Silently, she backed up until she bumped into Misha. Only one thing would make her react that way. Zombies. Lots of them.
3: Onida
Approximately One Year Ago
It was hard to keep running. Onida’s lungs were burning, and her muscles begged for a rest. She needed to stop, but was too terrified. Who knew how close her pursuers were? She was panicked, she knew, more than she should be, but if it put distance between herself and them, then so be it. Panic had its usefulness.
Right up until her footing failed her, and she went sprawling into the underbrush and a carpet of dead leaves. She was able to use her gloved hands to break her fall, but that meant she couldn’t use them to defend her face against the prickly bushes that scraped it. The wind was knocked out of her by an ill-placed root, and after all her collapsing motions came to a stop, she just lay there. Her body wanted to rest, and so now she was finally obliging.
This had been going on for too long. She couldn’t keep running like this. She couldn’t keep living like this. For nearly a week now, her life had been consumed by fear. Every day, something startled her into running. Every night, she barely slept; the smallest sound jolted her into wakefulness. Now, she was also out of food. In addition to putting distance behind her, she was also going to have to find time to feed herself. They were well into fall, not a great time to have to forage. Even if she could hunt down chipmunks, killing and eating them along with their caches of nuts, winter would hit next. She needed to go south, but didn’t know how. Some places in that direction were irradiated from melted reactors, and would kill her slowly and painfully. The sickness would be the only thing to let her know that she had gone the wrong way.
Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct Page 3