Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  Elijah nodded and set to work.

  Evans guided most of the people into the second gym, planning to keep the horses and carts near the door where they had entered. Although the prisoners’ smaller carts fit through easily enough, it took more careful manoeuvring to get their own through. The horses were unharnessed and, accompanied by a monitor each, they were taken to nibble on the grass in a nearby overgrown lot. Bryce and Lenny were still bound to their chairs, but now sat against one wall of the gym. They watched the procedures with Danny, who stood bound next to them, the end of the rope that had been tied to Thumper now tied to a bracket in the wall.

  “Where are we going to keep them?” Arman asked in a low voice, his head flicking toward the prisoners as the final cart was squeezed in through the doors.

  “There’s an equipment room there. We can put them inside and put a guard at the door.” Evans had opened every door in the gym before they could be blocked off, verifying what was on the other side. As soon as he saw the equipment room, he knew he was going to put Danny and his friends in it.

  Eventually, the horses were brought into a section that was roped off for them by using the carts as posts. Evans untied Danny from the bracket. A couple of men joined him, ready to pick up the two who were bound to their chairs. Once Evans gave the nod, they brought the prisoners to the equipment room.

  “Untie them; they won’t be able to do anything in here,” Evans ordered, taking off the rope that held Danny.

  One of the men grunted in disagreement, but they all obeyed, freeing Bryce and Lenny from the chairs. It was pretty obvious the prisoners couldn’t do much in this room. It was small, smelled of rubber, and was very dark once the metal doors were shut. All the equipment had been removed as a precaution, even the single dead light bulb. From the other gym, Evans could hear some of the kids giggling with delight, punctuated by the bouncing of a recently inflated basketball, and overlaid with the rumble of the spinning wheels of scooter boards. Evans thought they should take the air pump with them and maybe even the scooter boards; they might come in handy one day. He’d take a closer look at them later.

  “I’ll make sure you get some dinner provided you behave yourselves in here,” Evans told the prisoners as he stood in the doorway. They were all rubbing the spots on their skin where the restraints had been tightest. Evans then shut the door, casting them into darkness.

  In the second gym, almost everyone had already set up their tents and tarps; each one a glowing bubble from the lantern, flashlight, or candle inside, the canvas jiggling as people laid out their sleeping bags and mats within. In the aisles formed by the tents, kids were racing on the scooter boards, zooming along the dusty hardwood from one wall to the other, occasionally spinning out of control. Older teenagers were also finding joy in the small square boards with the four omnidirectional wheels.

  Back in the first gym, most of the people had opted not to bother with the privacy of tents and tarps, merely laying their mats and bags down on the floor. Evans picked out a spot for himself near the equipment room, intending to make sure that the door remained shut; that no one opened it from either side. No sooner was his mat laid down, than the black and white cat reappeared, making himself comfortable on Evans’ stuff. Evans sighed at the thought of car hair and possibly fleas transferring to his things, but at least his bedding would be warm when he decided to lie down.

  Going back outside, Evans waited for the other party members who wanted to talk about what was going on. During their walk, it had been decided they would meet just outside wherever they stopped for the night. Evans stood under a long-dead light pole in a weedy parking lot, far enough away from the door to prevent accidental eavesdroppers, but close enough for his solar-powered lantern to be spotted. Eavesdroppers weren’t really a problem; Evans let whoever wanted to, come to these things, but he understood that some people didn’t want to know, and others didn’t want their kids knowing.

  Ki-nam and Arman showed up first, Elijah and Old Salt following not far behind them. Evans suspected he’d see the same group as when they decided to leave the townhouse, but then wasn’t surprised when more arrived this time. The same mother as before was here; however, the father of a different family joined her. Two of the newcomers came to participate: an elderly man on wobbly legs, and a couple of members from Arman’s team, most notably those who had found Wycheck. Even Leo came out, despite his dislike of groups and decision making. He lingered around the fringes of the meeting. He was probably there to make sure nothing happened to the horses.

  “So by now you all know where we’re going,” Evans started off with.

  “What’s going to happen when we get there?” was the immediate response from the father.

  “The majority of the party will hang back; only a few volunteers will continue forward to see about this container yard.”

  “What if they’re hostile?” the elderly man asked. Several people jumped on his question in agreement while others answered him, saying they had already proven themselves to be hostile.

  “That’s something we’ll have to figure out when it happens,” Evans shrugged. “We don’t know anything about that place yet.”

  “Get the prisoners ta tell us,” Old Salt offered his opinion. “Get them ta talk about the defences there.”

  Several more cries of agreement.

  “They’re not going to tell us anything,” Evans shook his head.

  “How do you know if you don’t ask?” Elijah wondered, his voice making it an actual question and not a judgement.

  “If someone grabbed you in the middle of the night and was heading toward your camp, would you tell them anything?”

  “Anyone would talk if you hit them hard enough,” one of Arman’s men grumbled.

  “Yeah, they’d talk, but would they tell the truth? Probably not. Besides, do you really want to be the man that tortured someone? Because I gotta say, I wouldn’t want to travel with you if you do.”

  Arman’s man turned sheepish and looked down at his feet.

  “And that goes for all of you. If this party turns sour, I’m out of here. I understand beating on that young man, Bryce, the first time. People were angry and upset, needing a release. I’m sorry it had to be on him, but that’s not going to happen again.”

  A few exchanged looks, considering Evans’ threat to leave. Evans knew it wouldn’t happen. They would have to get the whole party on their side. If they didn’t, and they made a move against him, they’d be cast out on their own. The reason people joined the party in the first place was so that they weren’t alone anymore.

  “Can’t we just not go to this container yard place?” one of the newcomers asked timidly.

  “These people are murderers!” Arman turned on her. “We know for a fact they killed Wycheck, and they probably killed the others as well.”

  “Others?” the father asked, as a ripple of similar concern waved through those who weren’t in the know.

  “Remember Carol? Lee? Moore? They didn’t just disappear or have an accident. Someone cut their throats.”

  “And you didn’t tell us?” the mother wheeled on Evans.

  “There was never any danger to the group,” Evans attempted to calm her. “Everyone who was killed was alone when it happened. There’s a reason I always tell people to partner up, to never be by themselves.”

  A couple of people now looked at Arman, wondering why his searchers hadn’t followed this basic instruction, one they virtually all knew before even joining the party. It was dangerous to be alone.

  Arman didn’t bother to give them a real response. “We can’t let them get away with this.”

  “What if their place is unassailable?” the old man questioned. “If they’re as dangerous as you say, maybe we should just leave them alone.”

  “We’re going to at least investigate,” Evans answered. “Knowing where people are and what kind of set up they have has always benefited us in the past. As I said, once we see the place, we’ll make
a decision as to what we’ll do next. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

  Evans sighed as the group went over the same ground, again and again. It was essentially a discussion of anger versus fear. They weren’t going to come to an agreement, so he planned to do what he said he’d do, as it was the best middle ground he could find. Only volunteers would go near the container yard, the rest could stay safely back. Whatever happened after that would happen; Evans just intended on surviving it.

  When the others realized that further talk with this group was pointless, punctuated by the arrival of a handful of zombies, the meeting was called to an end. In the darkness of night, they headed back inside the gyms leaving behind Arman, Ki-nam, and Elijah to take out the dead. Evans knew the group members would discuss things further with people who were likely to take their individual sides, who would see things from the same perspective. As he shifted the cat and lay down on his bedding, he was glad that they would be there by tomorrow. Any longer and his party might tear itself in two.

  ***

  This time, the prisoners were with the first cart. Evans had ordered that all three of them be tied up as Danny had been the other day, bound to the team of captured horses pulling one of their own carts. There had been some disagreement about this; people worried that with all of them together, they might make some sort of break for it, but Evans managed to persuade them that that wouldn’t happen. He personally walked beside the prisoners, Leo drove the cart, and Arman and several of his men surrounded them. They wouldn’t get the chance to attempt an escape.

  “Anything you want to tell me about the container yard before we get there?” Evans asked Danny without looking at him.

  Unexpectedly, Danny actually spoke. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “How so?”

  This time Danny kept his silence. His words could be taken several ways, and Evans wondered which way he had meant. It could be that Danny was protesting his innocence again, or that the container yard was going to slaughter the party when they arrived. Either way, Evans knew he couldn’t stop what was unfolding, only mentally prepare himself for it.

  It was a very silent journey with the party members worried about what was to come. Those who could do so while on the move checked that their weapons were ready, while others held tightly to loved ones. Some of them had been in a battle before, even a siege after some slavers had kidnapped a few of their people, but this was the first time they were so divided about the attack. Once someone died, and Evans felt sure that someone would, they would all swing one way or the other, retreat or push forward.

  “There’s the warehouse,” Arman pointed.

  It had been decided that the party members who weren’t volunteering were going to stay with the horses, carts, supplies, and children in a warehouse on the outskirts of the container yard. Not knowing how much of the container yard was inhabited had made it a bit of a risk, but Evans didn’t want too large a gap between them. As they approached, Evans was pleased to see that it was a stable-looking structure, clearly unused. Debris had built up along the edges, predominantly on one side, over the course of several storms. Some of it had to be cleared away to get the doors open. Once it was, a few holes were discovered in the roof at the far end that let in the light, but it would do. There was easily enough room for the entire party to fit inside while avoiding the holes.

  “Volunteers, meet me outside when you’re ready.” Evans shrugged out of his pack, placing it on a cart. He then started untying the prisoners from their horses.

  Evans, Ki-nam, and Arman were the first ones out, each of them holding the end of a prisoner’s rope. Gags had been bound tightly around their mouths so that they couldn’t scream and give away positions, but the blindfolds had been left off. They waited several minutes, and then Evans was surprised when a lot more volunteers than he had expected joined them. Either several people had been convinced during a late night talk, or a bunch would rather be where the action was than waiting for word. More likely it was a combination of both.

  “Everyone ready?” Evans asked once it appeared that no one else would be joining them. He was answered by a lot of solemn nodding.

  “Remember why we’re here. These people killed our friends,” Arman spoke, shaking Lenny’s rope in the process. He got a few grunts and quiet, yet encouraging, vocalizations in response. No one would outright cheer or war cry, not without knowing exactly where the container yard camp was.

  “Split into three groups, each of which will be following either myself, Arman, or Ki-nam,” Evans ordered. As a shuffling of positions took place, he watched the worried faces peering out of the warehouse. Young Annabelle was one of them, the black and white cat dangling absurdly from her arms. She would probably get scratched up soon if she kept holding it like that.

  Once the volunteers had formed their groups, Evans nodded to the other leaders. They weren’t going to separate much, never more than a container aisle over from one another, but it was safer than being all clumped up.

  “Just remember, the prisoners are our bargaining chips,” Evans whispered to them, holding his gaze longer on Arman.

  Arman grunted, but they both nodded. Now they were ready. Evans led his group into the nearest aisle.

  The container yard was a maze, with several right angle turns, but thankfully no blind alleys. They quickly learned that the three groups would have to share a path from time to time, and so would have to take turns, keeping a safe distance between them. Evans’ eyes darted everywhere: around corners, to the tops of containers, to exposed container doors. There were far too many places for someone to hide in this warren, and he kept his shotgun poised and ready to fire at any of them. They came across a single zombie, his ragged clothing and loose skin having somehow become caught on a container latch. Evans let the man behind him take it out, a quick and quiet knife through the eye socket. It was the only thing that moved in this place besides them. Beside him, Danny began to tense and Evans knew he was getting close.

  They rounded a bend. Evans saw the large open space between the containers on either side of him, and the ones straight ahead. He had just enough time to realize that those containers were definitely a man-made wall, before the shot came. In a single moment, there was the whine of a bullet passing nearby, a muzzle flash from the wall, and a spray of blood from Danny’s shoulder. The crack of the rifle came less than a second later.

  “Get down!” Evans screamed as Danny fell to the pavement.

  Grabbing his bound prisoner, Evans ducked into cover with him, ending up behind a different container from everyone else: a sort of island where he couldn’t get back to the aisle that led away without first crossing within sight of the camp. Evans ignored his predicament, and inspected Danny’s injury. He had been hit high in the shoulder, the bullet having torn a chunk out of his trapezius. It was so close to a head shot that Evans had to believe that had been the intention. Did they know it was their own man? Unlikely, but it still meant they were shooting to kill.

  “I need a med kit!” Evans shouted, removing Danny’s gag and pressing it to the wound.

  One came clattering over on a scooter board. Evans looked over his shoulder and saw Elijah giving him a thumbs up from a place of safety. Apparently, he not only decided to bring the board from the gym, but had correctly assumed it might be useful during their raid. Evans nodded his thanks and set to work patching up Danny, who writhed in shocked pain beneath his hands.

  Arman’s group had begun to return fire. Lenny cowered on the ground beside them, tied to Arman’s belt. As more and more shots rang out, Evans knew that Danny was right. It had been a mistake to come here, but it was too late to turn back now.

  16

  Misha’s Awake

  Misha was woken by a low whine next to him. It had been steadily increasing in frequency over the span of months: Rifle needing to go out in the middle of the night.

  “Okay, bratishka,” Misha mumbled as he sat up on the mattress. Rifle was wiggling next to him,
trying to get up, while still whining deep in his throat. Without any light to see by, Misha was still able to get his arms around the dog and place him upright on the container floor. In the darkness, the other dogs shifted, some of them annoyed by the disturbance while others looked forward to a late-night trip outside the container.

  Stepping carefully, Misha made his way past the dogs who had gotten up and were standing in the way to the container door. He slid the simple inner latch aside, not having bothered with the bigger, more secure one, and pushed open one of the doors. A stream of fur burst forth from his container as the dogs exited. Misha waited patiently for Rifle to make his way over, and then walked slowly out with him.

  “Where are we walking tonight, old man?” Misha asked in a whisper.

  The night was cloudy and dark with only a few reflective surfaces visible, and only those not in shadow. Misha walked slowly between the containers more from memory than from any sort of vision. Rifle chuffed beside him.

  When he chuffed again, Misha looked down at him. It wasn’t unusual for Rifle to give some sort of reply to his questions, but an unprompted sound usually meant something. The sound of dog nails on concrete came clicking up behind them, but Rifle was focused forward, his ears not even twitching backward to listen to who was coming behind them. Misha glanced over his shoulder and spotted Bullet, his patches of paler fur easier to make out than Rifle’s in the darkness. Bullet caught up to them and started to keep pace just behind Misha, also focused forward. Whatever Rifle had caught the scent of, Bullet seemed to have noticed it too. Concerned about what it meant, Misha headed for the wall in the direction they were pointing, reluctantly leaving Rifle behind.

  Even in the dark, he spotted movement on the wall, and once he got close enough, he made out whispered voices, but not their words. Misha’s heart leapt into his throat. Freya had shown up the other day, claiming a need to check on their storm damage personally. They were fine, as they usually were; just a few things that hadn’t been properly bolted down needed to be fished out of the river, while other items had sunk to the bottom. If they ever found another scuba tank, Misha and a few others were capable of retrieving that stuff. Something else had happened during Freya’s visit, however. Boyle and Karsten had taken her aside for a private conversation, and her face was exceptionally stern afterward. Misha thought he knew what might be happening, as it had happened before with other people. Evidence had been found of a fairly severe crime, but there were no suspects. Anyone from the container yard could be the perpetrator, and so someone from the Black Box was brought over to help investigate. Misha was sure he would have heard something if someone had turned up murdered, so what sort of crime could it have been? Was this activity on the wall a part of it? Were vital supplies being stolen and handed off to someone on the other side?