“What do you know of the bus?” the man finally asked, his voice deep and without emotion.
It was a strange opening question. Had he asked it purely to throw Danny off guard, or was there another purpose behind it? Were his captors the people from the bus? He had already decided the sound he had heard while inside it must have come from these men. How long had he and the others been followed before that?
“Only that it wasn’t there the last time we had been through,” Danny decided to answer. He gave the man no indication as to when that was, or what destination they had in mind.
“What’s your name?” was the second question.
Danny chose not to answer that one.
“Telling me your name will only give me something to call you. I’m Evans.”
Danny thought for a moment, but decided he was right. It wasn’t like there were databases that could be searched to find people based on things like names. “Danny.”
“And your friends?”
“Bryce, and the black one you gagged is Lenny.”
Evans nodded slowly. “Lenny already told us his name, so thank you for not lying.”
The small hairs stood up on the back of Danny’s neck, no doubt the desired effect. By telling him he already knew Lenny’s name, and by mentioning the bus, Evans was trying to unnerve Danny with a show of knowledge. He was letting Danny know that lying might not be a good idea.
“Where were you going?”
No answer.
“Where were you coming from?”
No answer.
“Why did you kill Wycheck?”
No answer, but this time it was because Danny had no idea what the question meant. It must have shown on his face.
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t have learned his name, not from shooting him in the head with a rifle.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Danny retorted, breaking his silence again.
There was a shuffling of feet behind him. Danny turned his head to look, but couldn’t see anyone. Whoever it was, must have been listening from beyond one of the shelving units that flanked them. Evans didn’t bat an eye. The man’s focus was completely on Danny, to the point where it was unnerving. His voice maintained the same emotionless monotone as he told Danny about someone being shot as it had when asking Danny his name. When Danny returned his full attention back to Evans, the man reached beside him and picked up a pair of boots from the shelf, dropping them at Danny’s feet without a word.
Danny studied the boots, trying to make sense of what was happening. Had the boots come from one of their supply carts? It seemed likely, based on the way they were presented to him. But they had gathered several pairs of boots during their scavenging run; what made this pair so special?
“Allow me to jog your memory,” Evans continued in that calm tone of his. “Two nights ago, you, with three others and one horse, spent the night in a shop, the kind with the owners’ residence above it and a stairwell to the roof. At some point, you decided to beat up and gun down a man as he made his way along the street toward your fake camp a few blocks over. Very clever, the way you laid out the fire so that it would burn and smoulder all night. Tell me, how many others have you fooled with that trick?”
Danny had to reel back his memory to the time Evans was talking about. He remembered the crack of Jon’s rifle, the one he was testing, as he fired it from the roof. Jon had shot a zombie in the street, and they had taken its boots afterward.
“I see you remember now,” Evans commented on some change that must have occurred on Danny’s face or in his eyes.
“We didn’t shoot a man, we shot a zombie,” Danny defended their actions.
The scuffling happened beyond the shelves again. Whoever was listening, was upset. Evans still didn’t acknowledge it, but was shaking his head at Danny.
“We know that’s not the truth.”
“But it is!” Danny didn’t like being accused of murder and found he couldn’t hold his tongue. “We had recently found a rifle that needed to be tested, so we tested it on a zombie that was shuffling down the street.”
“Liar!” a pissed-off voice shouted from beyond the shelves.
This time Evans responded by turning his head toward the outburst, shifting his weight so that his chair creaked. There was some more scuffling from over there, and another voice or two shushing the one that had cried out. Danny had no idea how many people were listening in and found himself frightened by the prospect of being lynched.
Evans returned his gaze to Danny. “Tell me about the others.”
“What others?” Danny assumed he meant Jon, Shaidi, and Larson, but he wasn’t going to say anything about them.
“Carol, Hector, Lee, Moore, Millia. Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to know their names either.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Danny was now even more confused. It sounded like he was being blamed for more murders.
The scuffling and murmuring behind the shelves got worse. The small hairs on Danny’s arms stood on end as gooseflesh crawled along his skin.
“You stabbed them.”
“What?” Danny would have stood in outrage had he been able. “We would never do such a thing!”
Someone from the group of listeners had finally had enough. Danny had no chance to defend himself, before the back of his head was struck. He was stunned, and the world spun as he held tightly to consciousness, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw before the black bag and blindfold were returned, was Evans’ expressionless face.
***
Danny had been returned to the bathroom, still bound to the chair, and Lenny had been removed. Someone stayed in the bathroom this time, so that when Bryce tried to ask Danny what had happened, he received a threat about his teeth being kicked in. Danny’s head pounded as he sat there. Again, he might have been able to remove his blindfold and the bag, but decided against it. Not just because of the guard who was present, but if the blow to the back of his head had broken the skin, the blindfold felt like it was in the right spot to be applying pressure. Later, Lenny was returned, now also strapped to a chair by the sounds of it, and Bryce was removed. Lenny no longer breathed heavily around a gag, but that was all Danny could tell about his condition.
Time passed in darkness, with Danny doing his best not to throw up. He still felt dizzy from the strike and hoped that no permanent brain damage had been done. It was possible he had a concussion.
Bryce wasn’t returned to the bathroom. Instead, he and Lenny were hauled back out. The jostling movement as he was carried on a crooked angle, made Danny feel even more nauseous. He wanted to focus on where he was being carried, but not puking required all his attention. Had he actually eaten last night, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hold it in.
Eventually, he was stopped, upright, and potentially outside. The air smelt like outdoors, and there was a sense of space. With a rattling jerk, he began moving again, and once he identified the sound of horses’ hooves, he realized he was on the back of a cart. Unable to sit in darkness any longer, Danny reached for his blindfold and bag. Tucking his head down so low made his mind swim dangerously for a moment, but Danny was able to grasp both pieces of fabric and pull them off. The bright, white sunlight passing through the overcast sky stung his eyes, but again he adjusted to the light as swiftly as he was able.
Looking around, Danny assessed his situation. He, Lenny, and Bryce were all strapped to chairs facing backward on the rear end of a cart that was much larger than their own. Behind the cart, facing them, was a scarred mug Danny hadn’t seen before, watching his movements without comment. The horse he rode was unfamiliar, as were the two to either side of the cart’s rear, with still more strangers riding them. Lenny started to remove his own blindfold; Bryce didn’t have one. It seemed Bryce had taken the brunt of these men’s anger to his face, which was swelling and turning various shades of purple. His lip was split and bleeding, and as he looked
back at Danny across Lenny, his tongue darted out to lick the wound. Behind the unknown horseman, Danny saw the front of the furniture store slowly receding. He had no idea where they were going. Twisting in his chair, he attempted to look ahead. The cart he was in was definitely larger than the ones he and his group had brought along, and was loaded down with supplies, all packed in a way that kept the contents safe from the weather. It seemed like a more permanent packing job than their own carts, and contained nothing that suggested the supplies were being brought to a camp. On either side of the cart, elderly sat upon running boards, a few of them eyeing Danny and the others suspiciously. It was hard to see beyond the front of the cart, but Danny suspected that one of their own was ahead of them. There were also more people walking along up ahead.
“Danny,” Bryce hissed, drawing his attention back around to him.
Lenny was already leaning toward the younger man conspiratorially. Danny did the same, eyeing the horse riding guard behind them, but the scarred man didn’t seem to care.
“They have our map,” Bryce told them.
Suddenly, Danny knew where they were headed. As vertigo struck him again, he looked back at the guard, this time specifically focusing on the rifle he carried.
12
Abby’s Worried
Stretching her sore muscles, Abby took a brief break from her work to look at the storm heading toward them. They hadn’t been able to finish the field the day before and were now trying to complete it ahead of the rains. If they didn’t, it meant working in the mud later on, which would cause a severe drop in their volunteer numbers. Abby suspected that Lauren would be one of the dropouts, although Abby found herself enjoying the exercise and wouldn’t mind getting dirty.
They worked for hours, the storm clouds moving closer and closer, until they could see the sheets of rain pouring out of them. All the other field workers had packed up and moved inside. Most of the guards who didn’t have sheltered watch spaces had abandoned their posts, with a few remaining to watch over the volunteers. Several had even pitched in to help, everyone working like mad beasts to beat the rain. Working near the fence now, they ditched the wheelbarrows; the close proximity of the fence made it faster to carry the rocks as soon as they were pulled up.
Finally, Abby’s row was done and she turned to help the people in the row next to her. As that one was finished, she and those volunteers looked for any other rows where they could assist. When no more rows appeared in need of help, Abby finally took a short pause. She gazed out through the fence, toward where she had picked up the boy in the field. Throughout the day, she had thought about him, wondering how he was doing and whether he had woken up yet. Crichton was managing that whole affair, which meant that rumours were many while facts were few.
When every row was complete, the volunteers rushed to gather up their supplies and headed as fast as they could for the nearest entrance. The wind was at their backs, hurrying them along just that much faster. The guards who didn’t have trains, or cars, or shipping containers to watch from kept pace at the back, making sure no one fell behind. The rains were nipping at their heels, and by the time everyone had crammed into the stairwell, several people were completely drenched: specifically those who had to drop off the supplies in a nearby storage shed. Most of the volunteers flooded down the steps, but Abby joined Lauren and a few others who were taking a brief break on the large upper landing. The door was still open, protected from the wind in an alcove and under an overhang, so that they could watch as the water pummelled their hard work and attempted to drown their crops. In no time at all, it became too dark to continue watching, and so the door was pulled shut, cutting off what wind had been getting in.
“Well that was fun,” Lauren laughed.
“I’ve got bruises on top of bruises,” Abby commented as she pulled off her work gloves. Labouring at what felt like break-neck speed, she had stopped being careful, frequently scraping her knuckles or stubbing her fingers. Looking at her hands now, it appeared the gloves had done their job and none of the skin was broken.
“Yeah, I got a pretty good scrape,” Lauren held up her arm to show Abby the angry red welt along her forearm.
“Oh,” Abby made a sound that was half-distress and half-sympathy as she inspected her partner’s injury.
“It’s not that bad,” Lauren told her, gently removing her arm from Abby’s hands once she had had a long enough look. “It’s not like I did this or anything,” she playfully swatted the scar on Abby’s forearm.
“I pray you never do.” Abby smiled as they turned to head downstairs. They joined the trickle of stragglers, most of whom were people who had gotten wet and had paused on the upper landing to wring out their clothes and hair. Both Abby and Lauren held onto the railings as they walked, being careful to avoid the puddles left behind by those ahead of them. Slipping and falling on concrete steps would make their work-related injuries look like nothing.
When the pair reached the landing to their floor, Lauren opened the door but Abby stopped, looking farther down. Lauren noticed her pause and, while standing in the open doorway, figured out what she was thinking about.
“I’m sure the boy’s fine. Crichton’s watching him like a hawk, and the doctors are taking care of him. He’s probably already awake and just being questioned before he’s allowed to join the rest of us.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Abby turned to her with a small, forced smile. “Crichton can be a little intense.”
“He has to be, what with all that’s happened to us.” Lauren took her hand and guided Abby into the hallway, continuing to hold it as they walked along.
“I know. It’s silly of me to worry.”
“It’s because you saved him, you feel responsible for him. I understand. Remember how I was, once we got all those kids with foster parents on the Diana? I kept hovering, making sure they were okay, that they were happy and that their new caretakers were doing their jobs right.”
“I remember you wondering if you should set up a program, where you’d go to visit each kid at their new place once a week. You thought they’d all be miserable without you.” Abby laughed, although it wasn’t the unkind type. Lauren and she had frequently laughed about it in the past, as it was the best way to deal with it.
“Of course, once the kids were settled, they got annoyed with my constant popping up. Remember Robbie telling me to get lost?”
“Of course I remember. You kept checking to make sure he was eating all right.”
“Well, he wasn’t a very good eater when I had to take care of him. He pulled the ‘you’re not my mom’ card, and that’s when I knew the kids weren’t my responsibility anymore. At least not those kids.”
They had rounded a bend, reaching the hallway where their living quarters were situated. Ahead, in front of their door, Claire was sitting on the floor with some of her friends, gabbing away. They fell quiet once they spotted Abby and Lauren. It was nice to know teenagers never changed, even if it was annoying as hell at times.
“Did you get caught in the storm?” Claire asked as they approached.
“Some did, but we managed to get in just ahead of it,” Lauren told her.
“Is it as bad as it looked?”
“It’s pretty bad, yeah. We’re going to have to do a lot of clean up tomorrow.”
“Did you get the field done, though?”
“Sure did, and I think our clothes paid for it.” Abby looked down at herself. Not only did she have several dirt and grass stains, but a few new tears as well. An especially big one had her right knee exposed. “We should probably clean up.”
“You going to be in for dinner?” Lauren asked Claire.
“Yeah.” And with that confirmed, it was obvious Claire was done talking to them and hoped they would disappear once more. She was old enough to consider moving out on her own now, but having people cook for her and clean up after her were so far keeping her home. Abby was only too happy to head into the apartment space, loo
king forward to a nice hot shower. All her muscles were sore in unusual ways and starting to stiffen up.
Entering the suite of rooms, Abby immediately spotted Riley sitting on their couch, slouching forward, and could tell by the sounds that Hope and Peter were playing in his room with the door closed. Even Peter was at an age where he preferred the adults to not completely know what he was up to with his limited number of friends.
“Who’s showering first, you or me?” Lauren asked.
“You go ahead,” Abby told her, casting a quick look in Riley’s direction. Lauren understood with a nod, and disappeared into the bathroom. It took only seconds for the sound of rushing water to seep through the door.
Abby made her way over to the couch and perched on the armrest, so as not to get any dirt on Riley’s bedding.
“Hey, Riley,” she opened with, prepared to gauge the other woman’s response. Abby knew there was something wrong the moment she had walked in and Riley didn’t turn to see who was entering.
“Hi, Abby, do you need something?” It took her that entire sentence to turn her head and look up at Abby’s face.
“Just wondering how you’re feeling. You look a little distant.”
Riley nodded. “Just thinking, is all. We were supposed to be home by now. Not that I don’t like visiting you, and the hot water is especially nice.” She tilted her head in the bathroom’s direction.
“It’s just not home, anymore,” Abby finished for her. “I get it. I mean, you guys left here for a reason. Is there anything else on your mind? Maybe I can help.”
“Have you read many medical papers?” Riley asked with a weak smile, already betting she knew the answer.
“Sorry, no. I can tell you about the history of Spain, if you’d like.” That drew out the more genuine smile that Abby had been hoping for. “There a patient you’re worried about?”
“Always. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember everything I learned, all the papers and studies I’ve read. I feel I’m missing something, that there’s more I could be doing.” Riley flopped backward against the back of the couch, her head coming to rest on top of it so that she stared up at the ceiling.
Survival Instinct (Book 4): Defensive Instinct Page 16