Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct

by Stittle, Kristal

  “Sounds easy enough. I don’t know why you didn’t just ask earlier, before going through the whole rigmarole of drugging and kidnapping us.”

  Their host looked back at one of the guards, the one that hadn’t retrieved the notebook. That silent one nodded, giving permission for something. Their host scooted forward, coming right up to the bars.

  “We’re not supposed to leave,” came a soft whisper through the rags.

  “I understand,” Evans nodded to each of the silent ones in turn. It was possible they weren’t even supposed to be down here with him. His notebook had likely been stolen from whoever was in charge of this place. “Can you do it?”

  Their host nodded.

  “Do what?” Gerald asked, not figuring it out for himself.

  “They’re going to have to break us out of here,” Evans told him.

  ***

  It was impossible to mark the passage of time down in that cell.

  “Are you still bringing me to the place you said you would?” Gerald asked.

  “Yes, it’s only somewhat out of the way of a direct route from here to where they want to go. I’d probably stop there anyway for supplies and news, so don’t worry, you’ll get there.”

  Gerald had asked questions incessantly that Evans couldn’t answer, like how their host was going to get them out, why had the others caged them, and were they going to get their supplies back. He had asked pointless questions, like what would they do if they were followed, or if one of the silent ones who came with them turned out to be a spy. Evans simply told him that everything would be dealt with as needed.

  His notebook had been left with him. He got the impression that their host wasn’t sure if their supplies could be returned to them or not. By letting Evans keep the notebook, they would at least have that. Evans also suspected that if whoever was in charge realized the notebook was missing, the cell was unlikely to be one of the first places they’d look for it.

  Gerald eventually fell asleep, based on his even breathing and the fact that the questions had stopped. Evans found the ensuing silence somewhat unnerving. The passage of air entering and exiting their lungs was all he could make out. No pipes rattled, no floorboards creaked overhead, no shouted orders drifted through the covered windows from outside. There was no ticking clock, no electric hum, or even a wind in a hollow. The place was a crypt, somewhere only the fully dead belonged. The total silence brought him back to the time before his father had killed his mother. It had been silent then too. A winter storm had blanketed the earth and killed the power. It felt as though everything in the world except for thirteen-year-old Evans had been asleep in that moment. But then he heard his mother softly weeping in the kitchen. And his father slammed their bedroom door and began to stomp down the hallway toward her. Whenever Evans found himself in such a silence, he found himself becoming tense. He was always waiting for that soft weeping, for that slamming door.

  When a door finally did open, it barely made a sound. If Evans’ ears hadn’t been straining for any sound at all, he wouldn’t have heard the soft click of the mechanism as the handle turned. There was no beam of light this time. Whatever had been causing it above, either the sun or something artificial, it was gone now. Evans worried that someone other than their host might be coming down, and gently shook Gerald awake, who grunted as he came to.

  A pencil thin beam from a tiny flashlight momentarily highlighted the stairs, and then went out. Evans strained his hearing to listen to the silent one come down. It was hard to track the sound across the concrete floor, but he could tell when whoever it was got close. The little light blinked on again, just on the other side of the door.

  “It’s time,” came the soft whisper.

  Evans thought it was their host, but he couldn’t be certain.

  Keys were produced, each one individually wrapped in leather. Gerald stood close to Evans, with a hand on his shoulder, as they waited. The thin light illuminated one lock at a time. Each key was unwrapped and inserted slowly and with precision, producing as little sound as possible. The locks all opened with a soft click, and were placed gently on the floor. Gerald was clearly impatient with this process, but he managed to hold his tongue. Finally, the bolts were drawn back and the door was opened. The light located Evans’ face, and the silent one stepped right up to him, first taking hold of his arm and then his neck. Evans bent so that the silent one could reach his ear.

  “No sound now. You must be one of us.”

  Evans nodded his understanding. When the silent one let go of him, Evans turned to Gerald and whispered the instructions to him in a terser tone and emphasizing that he shouldn’t speak a word.

  Gerald kept his hand on Evans’ shoulder, and Evans placed his own on the shoulder of the silent one. They were led slowly through the dark, being careful to lift their feet high so as to prevent their boots from scuffing. Every footstep was taken one at a time, and every motion was exaggerated to prevent their clothes from ruffling.

  At the steps, the silent one briefly shone the light along the railing. They ascended one at a time.

  The stairs led into a kitchen illuminated by the light of the moon and stars coming through the windows near the sink. With their eyes adjusted to the dark, this was more than enough to see quite well. Two other silent ones joined the first. They had a bundle of rags on the table, which they proceeded to drape and wrap around Evans and Gerald. They even strapped thick furs to the bottom of their boots. While this would cause a serious lack of traction should they need to run, it would silence their footsteps a lot more.

  Once they were ready, Evans and Gerald were led outside. They moved in a line, with one silent one ahead, leading the way, and two behind.

  It was likely the middle of the night, yet they didn’t conceal themselves at all. Their small group walked boldly down the middle of the residential street, heading toward the shops and offices. It seemed it wasn’t unusual for bands of silent ones to be out and about so late. They passed a few others, mostly in pairs, a few alone, but not one tried to stop them. Evans felt very conspicuous. At six feet, four inches in height, he was taller than most. These people could likely recognize one another beneath their rags in the daytime, but even at night, Evans likely stood out. He tried to walk with a slight hunch, and kept his knees somewhat bent at all times, reducing his height as much as he could without it being too obvious.

  They walked through a large portion of the town, never once being accosted. Evans could see a few people on the roofs every now and again. They appeared to be working, not guarding, and ignored those below. Based on the watering cans and spades he spotted in a few hands, he guessed that it was up there where they grew all their food, out of sight of anyone passing through. Evans bet that if he had arrived with a party the size of the one he had left at the container yard, the silent ones would have stayed hidden and he would have passed through the town without even knowing about the community that lived there.

  At the far edge of town, Evans and Gerald were guided through a parking lot, toward the loading entrance of a large grocery store. The leader of their little band walked up to the one person-sized door, which had an opaque window set within it. The little light was once more produced and pressed against the glass. The door immediately opened; someone had been waiting for them.

  There was no light other than the flashlight’s narrow beam, but they didn’t linger long. Within the grocery store’s warehouse space, a second large room with plywood sides had been constructed. As they walked through a thick door set into it, Evans could see the soundproofing material built into the walls of the new room. Inside, the room was fairly evenly lit by lanterns, but they all burned low to preserve everyone’s night vision. And there were far more people than Evans had imagined there would be. With the addition of the three who had accompanied Evans and Gerald, the room contained eleven silent ones. It was a hostile looking room, with pointed foam cones covering the walls: more sound suppression material. And it was needed. With t
he people were Moe and a herd of six camels. Evans understood that while camel feet were a lot quieter than a horse’s hooves, their vocalizations could be rather loud.

  It was revealed to Evans and Gerald that not only was Moe perfectly well, but their packs had been loaded up on him. Moe looked rather pleased to pick up the scent of his companions, and whickered softly when Evans approached to stroke his muzzle. The horse had been decked out in a manner similar to Evans and Gerald, with dark coloured rags draped over his grey coat, and hanging in strips from his tack. He looked like he belonged to an interpretation of Sleepy Hallow, minus the headless rider. The horse’s feet had also been wrapped in furs to silence them, to which Moe was clearly still adjusting, based on the way he kept lifting and shaking his feet.

  “Are you all ready to leave?” Evans whispered.

  Heads nodded all around the excessively warm and smelly room.

  “Lead the way to the closest edge of your community then. We’ll reorient ourselves once we’re out.”

  Pins were removed from a section of wall, allowing it to be lifted and placed elsewhere. The camels were already up and prepared to go, burdened with packs, but Evans hadn’t spent nearly enough time around such animals to know how to read their body language. He had no idea if they were going to be stubborn or not. As they were moved into the gap between the inner room and the doors to the outside, Evans saw he had originally miscounted the number of camels. There was a seventh, although it was a baby calf and carried no gear. A silent one led the young animal; they were followed by the adult camels. Evans led Moe behind them, wondering what the horse had thought of the camels when he had first been shacked up with them. Camels made for even uglier horses than Moe.

  The section of wall was returned, blocking off the lamplight within. A silent one remained in the room to replace the pins and to snuff out the lanterns. They weren’t in the dark for long. A roll up door was raised on greasy tracks. The silent ones were trying very hard to reduce the amount of noise it made. A ramp was retrieved from somewhere in the room and set in place. The camels and Moe were walked down it. Like Moe, the camels were draped in rags to hide their pale fur, which had the added advantage of allowing Moe to better blend in with them. It seemed that while the camels could be taken, the horse was supposed to stay put. The silent ones urged Evans to walk him in the middle of the camels, which they carefully guided in a clump as opposed to the line they wanted to form.

  Evans had lost track of which figure was Gerald. He tried to spot a pair of feet wearing furs like his own, but it was impossible with all the camel legs around him. He just had to trust that Gerald knew where he was, and wasn’t going to do anything stupid that would get them caught.

  They were travelling through town for far longer than Evans would have liked. He had hoped that the camels had been housed near the edge of their territory, but this was not so. Even after they left the town, they kept walking a considerable distance. When finally the camels were allowed to form a line, Evans figured that they were safe. He noticed then that not all of the silent ones were with them. They must have split up to reduce the size of the group while travelling where others would see them. As he looked around at those who were with him and the camels, he realized that he hadn’t been able to spot Gerald earlier, as he wasn’t among them. He must have ended up following, or being brought along, by a different group. Evans hoped to hell that he kept his mouth shut until they reached wherever the rendezvous point was.

  9: James

  5 Days After the Bombing

  White had hit the pavement hard when the lioness attacked him.

  “Katrina!” James shouted, calling on the only person with bullets. The rest of the group had quickly reformed their defensive circle, terrified about where the rest of the lions might be.

  Katrina had appeared at James’ side in a flash, but she was taking her time aiming.

  “Why aren’t you shooting?” James demanded.

  “Because White is already dead,” Katrina told him calmly, focused on her task. “I want to make sure I use only one bullet to repay the favour to this kitty.”

  James looked forward once more and knew that Katrina was right. White was most certainly dead; his head was so battered and crushed by the lioness’ jaws that they didn’t even have to worry about him turning. As the lioness grabbed hold of White’s body and began to drag him away, Katrina’s rifle finally cracked the still air. It was a perfect shot, straight through the lion’s eye, dropping her instantly.

  Human shouting and an angry yowl had James twisting in his saddle once more. A second lioness had chosen to take a run at the group, but the spears were thrust forward once more, drawing blood.

  “Move together,” James ordered. “We have to keep moving forward!”

  The second lioness had retreated, disappearing beneath a porch. The group shuffled along in a ring. White’s absence resulted in wider gaps between people. The lions were definitely around them: people called out when they spotted flashes of tawny fur.

  When they reached the bodies of White and the lioness, James had them halt. Not wanting to order anyone else to do it, James climbed down off Soot’s back to salvage what he could of White’s gear. This included stripping off his boots, socks, and pants, which were mostly untouched by his blood. The lioness had focused all of her attention on his head and neck, cutting up strips of scalp. Even though the backpack was fairly diced up and soaked in blood, James removed it and slung it over Soot’s rump, much to the horse’s displeasure. He would go through the contents later.

  “Anyone with gear on Spark, remove it now,” James ordered.

  Katrina had her pack on the younger horse, as did Skip and Belle.

  “Throw the lion corpse over the saddle,” James ordered next.

  “Are you sure?” Katrina asked. “Spark’s not going to like that.”

  “The lions might like the smell of their dead even less. Anyway, it would be a hell of a waste of food.” James didn’t like the idea of eating the lion that had just killed his friend, but food was food, even if White had had to die for it.

  The body of the lioness was hoisted up by a trio of people and some rope, and draped over Spark’s saddle. Katrina was right that the horse really didn’t like it, but once his emergency blinders were retrieved and put on, he settled enough to be controlled.

  “What about White?” asked Vin, clearly distressed about the idea of leaving his friend behind.

  “We have no time to bury him. He’ll slow down the other lions for us.” James hated to say it, but it was true. Grieving would have to come later; for now they needed to keep moving.

  As they left their companion behind to be eaten, James could hear someone weeping behind him, but refused to turn to find out who. As long as they continued to press forward, they could cry as much as they wanted.

  James guided them toward the river, which thankfully took them along the nearest cross street and placed a building between them and White before the lions could have their meal. Unfortunately, White’s corpse wouldn’t slow the animals for long. There wasn’t enough of him for the lions’ bellies to be satisfied, and now that they had taken one down, they might become bolder about attacking the rest.

  Their progress was slow, and by the time they saw the water, they were seeing the lions again too.

  “I’m not seeing a bridge,” Katrina complained.

  They weren’t as far west as James had thought. They were just far enough to be past where the majority of the river swung north, but unfortunately there were no bridges in that area. James could see the three directions of flowing water, but not a way to cross. The closest bridge to their position was a wooden footbridge that had collapsed in a storm. The next nearest was in the wrong direction.

  “We’re going to swim.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to swim!” James called to the group. “Get out your ropes and take the saddles off the horses.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that
right?” Katrina told him. “Lions can swim too.”

  “Well, let’s just hope they remember Africa, and worry about there being crocodiles and hippos.”

  “They’re zoo animals; they’ve never been in Africa,” Katrina reminded him. “And while there may be no crocodiles, there could certainly be alligators.”

  “Would you rather deal with possible alligators, or definite lions?” James directed this question to the whole group, and wanted an actual answer. They decided on the possible alligators.

  Because the broken bridge was upstream, plenty of its boards had washed up either singly or in chunks still nailed together along the shore where they gathered. While the rest of the group watched their backs, James and Lindsay determined which pieces were most buoyant. These, they strapped to the horses’ saddles, and the dead lioness. It was nerve wracking being down by the water, since they couldn’t see where the lions were unless the animals decided to come to the edge of the road built along a ridge at the end of the river rocks.

  “Why are we bringing the dead lion again?” Lindsay wondered as they worked.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’d certainly like a good dinner tonight.”

  “What if it draws the alligators to us? Or a shark?” The river bend was where the salt water met fresh water, and while there were unlikely to be any sharks, James understood the concern.

  “Because Katrina’s such a good shot, there’s very little blood. We’ll be fine.” James projected a confidence he did not feel.

  The group members rotated their guard positions, taking turns to remove their shoes and boots. The plan was for three people to swim with each saddle, and three with the dead lion. Any wood that hadn’t already been lashed to these items was passed around to be used as personal flotation devices. The horses would have to swim, with one bareback rider each. Luckily, both horses came from the container yard, and not the travelling party. James knew that both Soot and Spark had been taught to swim with riders. Still, he worried about the river. While it appeared slow, he wasn’t sure just how deep it was, and deeper water could move faster. He also didn’t know if there was a steep, underwater drop that could frighten the horses, or any large rocks they might bump into. He was especially concerned about the width of the river, which was going to exhaust both people and horses alike.