Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  “The longer we wait, the farther away from us that person gets.”

  “All right, fine,” Cohen gave in. “I’ll go check out what’s happening, but you have to stay here. Do you promise?”

  “Sure.”

  Cohen gave her a look like he didn’t quite believe her, but could no longer hang around. He was soon moving away as quickly as sound restrictions would let him.

  Nessie watched him disappear from sight, trying to decide what she would like to do. Did she want to go after this person as well? Find Boyle and tell him about it? Or check out what was happening on the roof? Although she had half-heartedly promised Cohen she wouldn’t move, she intended to break that promise. She even thought up a way to keep Cohen out of trouble should that arise. There was an advantage to being one of the elderly, in that Nessie could simply forget she had made such a promise and people would believe her. Strangely, the thing holding her back was leaving the door without anyone outside of it. Most people weren’t like her, weren’t going to risk leaving the safest building in the yard, but it wasn’t them Nessie worried about. She worried about the little kids who might wander off, disappearing out the door the second eyes weren’t on them.

  Standing outside the door, Nessie resisted the urge to tap her cane on the concrete, a habit she developed when nervous. Coming up with a possible solution, she turned to the door and poked her head through it. Scanning faces and postures, she searched for someone who could help her with her predicament. When she spotted a gangly teenage boy, she thought she was in luck. Unfortunately, he wasn’t facing her way, and Nessie didn’t want to leave the door. Staring hard at the side of his head, Nessie hoped that the kid would feel her eyes boring into him.

  Eventually he turned, although it took nearly three minutes and Nessie had almost given up. The moment Nessie knew he could see her, she waved him over. The kid looked around, thinking that she was gesturing to someone else. Nessie pointed at him and gestured him over again. When he pointed at himself for clarification, Nessie nodded with an exasperated sigh. Continuing to look around him as if this were some sort of mistake or trick, he made his way over to where Nessie stood half-in and half-out of the building. As soon as he was close enough, Nessie clasped his arm and pulled him outside. He clearly became agitated about the sudden increase in zombie noises.

  “How old are you, kid?” Nessie whispered to him. Whatever his age was, he had already hit puberty and had sprouted up taller than her.

  “Fifteen,” he puffed out his chest, looking like he was about to debate the ‘kid’ comment, but then decided against it. “Shouldn’t we be using sign?” he said instead with a complex wiggling of his fingers and arms that probably meant an approximation of the same thing.

  “Look at me, you think I’m young enough to be learning that shit?” The truth was, Nessie had tried to learn. She really had, but every time she finally got down one word, another slipped out of her mind. She continued to practice letters and numbers once a week, in case of emergency, but trying to learn more than that was beyond her capability. “You got a gun?”

  The teen turned and showed her the small revolver holstered just behind his hip.

  “Good, leave it there. But you’re going to do something for me, and for everyone else inside that building, understand?”

  “What?” he asked warily.

  “You’re going to stand here, and make sure no one slips out, especially the little ones.”

  “Like a guard?”

  “Exactly like a guard.”

  “Where’s the guy who’s supposed to be here?”

  “That’s what I’m going to go find out, but I can’t leave this door until I know it’s being properly watched. Can you do that? Can I trust you to do that?”

  The teenager nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up with the responsibility. Nessie was relieved that she seemed to have chosen well, that she had picked a boy who wanted a job like this, an opportunity to prove he could handle himself and follow orders.

  “If you have any questions, go to one of the building’s corners and flag down one of the other guards, but don’t step around the corner. Make sure that this door is always within your sight when you’re not in front of it. Got it?”

  “I got it,” he nodded again, causing his hair, which needed trimming, to flop about on his head.

  Nessie nodded back and patted him on the shoulder. She then turned and headed off toward the container that had held the zombie. She knew there was no way she could catch up to Cohen and whoever it was that had gone sneaking by, but she could look for Boyle. Figuring out what was happening on the roof still had her mighty curious, but potential danger within the walls was a greater priority. Technically, neither was her business, not since she had told Karsten and Boyle about what the kids had found. It was up to them now, and usually Nessie was fine leaving it at that, but with everything that was going on all at once, she was no longer content to sit on her heels. She bet if more people knew, more of them would be trying to get involved as well. Nessie wondered if that was part of the reason why Boyle and Karsten weren’t telling people, and not just because they didn’t want to tip off whoever it was keeping the zombie.

  As Nessie made her way between the containers, cane clasped firmly in hand, she thought about how secrets had started this whole debacle. Everyone knew it was Marble Keystone’s secret science that had created the virus thing in the first place, and that they had released it upon the unsuspecting population of Leighton. Had someone decided not to keep either of these secrets before it was too late, something may have been done to prevent them. But many tongues were held, including several who were now living in the container yard. Nessie was willing to bet everything she owned that the zombie-holding culprit was someone who used to work in the White Box in some capacity. She wondered if they were attempting to develop a cure. A noble cause, sure, but when it put everyone in danger by allowing a zombie in their midst, it resulted in immediate banishment, no exceptions. No one knew for sure, but it was generally considered that a search for a cure had resulted in that Roy monster outside the prison. Nessie had hated living in that prison, and as she walked along, she was reminded of why. Although she almost never went outside the wall here, she at least had the option, unlike living at the prison. Now, with the zombies gathered outside, it was the same.

  It was unsettling how empty the yard was. Nessie knew that people were hiding behind most of the container doors she walked past, but there was no sign of them, no indication that they were there. She was used to most of the doors sitting open, inviting guests to pop in. People were always moving about outside, going from one task to another, the sound of their footsteps and light conversations drifting on the air. Now, all was barren and silent save for the groaning of the dead. Nessie found herself regretting leaving the community centre. Even though uncomfortable and boring, at least there were people everywhere.

  ***

  It took Nessie longer than she expected to find Boyle, and when she finally did, she didn’t know what to say. He was inside the container in which the zombie had been confined. Nessie had walked past it several times because the door was closed. When she finally pulled it open, she was blinded by a flashlight pointed directly at her face. As it lowered, she made out Boyle and Freya in the dimness of the container. They were huddled around the U-bolt that had held the zombie chain, a toolbox beside them. Their eyes bored into Nessie. She realized how suspicious she must look, showing up here. Beyond the wall, the sound of the zombies was louder than ever, the single stack of containers less effective at blocking the sound.

  Freya said something in sign to Nessie, but she had no idea what. Nessie twisted her hands around her cane, unsure what to do. There was no way she was going to speak aloud this close to the zombies, something she hadn’t thought about earlier.

  Boyle gently tapped Freya’s wrist, and then signed something to her when she looked at him. It drew a nod from Freya, who looked back at Nessie and gestured for her t
o come over to them.

  Nessie resisted shuffling her feet like a guilty child as she entered the container and made her way over.

  Reaching behind her, Freya took out a small chalkboard from a pouch and then a piece of chalk from a pendant she wore. She quickly scribbled some words down and handed both items to Nessie without getting to her feet. She was asking what Nessie was doing there.

  Nessie wrote back in a careful script, not wanting any of it to be illegible. She didn’t tell them everything, just that she had seen someone suspicious-looking who Cohen had gone after, and that Karsten was up to something that Boyle should probably know about. She left out the part about being bored and wanting to help. Now that she was here, she had no idea what kind of help she could possibly offer.

  It took several iterations to get this message across on the small chalkboard. Each time, Freya read the response, then passed the chalkboard to Boyle so that he could read it. The two then held a conversation in sign which Nessie had no hope of following. Finally, Boyle stood upright as he handed the chalkboard back to Freya. He made two gestures while looking at Nessie: an open palm directed at her chest, and then a finger pointed at Freya. Nessie didn’t need to know sign to understand that he was telling her to stay put and that Freya was in charge. Nessie nodded.

  Boyle left the container, leaving Nessie alone with the intense-looking woman. Nessie knew that it was because of her that the Diana had been attacked, although she wasn’t to be blamed. She had just been trying to escape those monsters, and Nessie couldn’t fault her for that. Still, she wondered if other people did and how she handled it. Was her being mute a hindrance, or did people see that as punishment enough and leave her alone?

  Whatever it was Boyle and Freya had been doing before Nessie showed up, Freya returned to it. She plucked a wrench out of the toolbox and compared it to the bolt that held the bracket down. It was slightly too big, so Freya returned to the toolbox to search for a smaller size. Nessie wondered if the bracket was being removed simply for removal’s sake, or if there was some way to use it as evidence. The lighting in the container was dim, her eyes not sharp enough to tell if it had been dusted for prints. If they had found prints, did this mean they were going to take the fingerprints of everyone in the container yard and manually compare them? That seemed like a long and arduous process that not everyone would agree to. Even before, when computers could make far more accurate matches, people didn’t want their fingerprints taken. Maybe they’d be less reluctant since they couldn’t be stored in a database? It’s not like their prints could be compared to any previous files or records. Hell, their prints probably wouldn’t be kept here very long, not without taking up space that could be used for more important things.

  Nessie wondered what the next step in the investigation would be. Searching all of the containers one by one? Her first reaction to that thought was that she wouldn’t mind, she had nothing to hide, but then she remembered that she did. There was a box under her bed right now with grenades nestled inside. She certainly couldn’t claim those as a personal weapon. Of course, it was unlikely Boyle would perform a container by container search, even to find someone who had brought a zombie over the wall; the people wouldn’t stand for it. Too many were hiding various forms of contraband, from extra weapons, to drugs, to foods that should be shared at the centre. No, Boyle wouldn’t perform such a search. Unless he found a way to do it in secret. Nessie’s hands tightened around her cane again as she realized that Boyle and Karsten were absolutely clever enough to come up with something.

  A shadow appeared in the doorway, prompting Nessie to spin around. One of her hands moved to the silver bear on her cane, ready to draw out the sword hidden within. It was only Jon, one of the recently returned scavengers. He glanced at Nessie, and then held a conversation with Freya in sign. After a few minutes, he left again.

  Was Jon part of the investigative team? He had been away from the yard when all this was discovered, so it was possible he wasn’t on the suspect list. Maybe he had just come by looking for Boyle as Nessie had. But then why would he know to look here?

  The sound of the groaning zombies was beginning to get to Nessie. She found herself becoming increasingly agitated as the monotonous moan dragged on and on. She wanted to go back to the centre.

  When Freya finally succeeded in freeing the bracket from the floor, she put it and the bolts that had held it into a large Ziploc bag, taking precautions not to touch them. Did that mean they had found prints, or that they hadn’t looked for them yet? Or did it mean nothing, and Freya was just making sure that if anyone else wanted to check for prints later, they wouldn’t find hers.

  As Freya moved for the doors, Nessie pantomimed writing. Freya understood and handed her the chalkboard and chalk. Nessie wrote down that she’d like to go back to the community centre. She was both uncomfortable and afraid spending this much time near the wall. Freya nodded, but instead of letting Nessie return on her own, she walked with the much older woman. Had Nessie been by herself, she probably would have returned to her own container to check on Dragon, but wasn’t going to try that now. As she walked, relieved to be heading away from the noise, she came to the conclusion that checking on her bird would have been a bad idea anyway. He might have been tempted to make some noise given how long she had left him alone.

  As she thought about her bird, a flutter of feathers startled both Nessie and Freya. For a brief second, Nessie thought that somehow Dragon had escaped both his cage and the container, that maybe the suspicious looking individual had released him. The thought was quickly dispelled, however, as the bird was both larger than Dragon, and white in colour. It was a seagull that had landed between the containers to peck at a stain on the pavement.

  Nessie looked at Freya wondering if she was thinking the same thing. It was highly unusual that this bird had decided to land here so close to so many zombies. Would it continue to be irregular and start squawking? It seemed to be getting irritated as it figured out that the stain held no food for it. Gripping the bear on the end of her cane, Nessie prepared to shoo it off, but Freya held her back with a hand to the shoulder.

  Stepping in front of Nessie and putting down the toolbox, Freya then loosened the strip of leather she always wore around her waist. Plucking a smooth stone from a small pouch on the side of her belt, she deposited it into the thickest part of the leather, in the middle of its length. Having stepped a safe distance from Nessie, she began to swing the sling in tight, fast circles.

  The seagull looked up, its eye drawn to the fast motion. Nessie watched as its wings began to expand, its body tighten, readying for lift off, but it never got the chance. The stone whizzed free of Freya’s sling, striking the bird square in the eye and snapping its head back. The bird collapsed into a heap of feathers, with blood leaking out of its crushed skull, dead.

  Nessie relaxed the tension that had built up in her, both surprised and impressed by Freya’s skill. If others knew she could do that, then she probably had no trouble with people blaming her for what happened to the Diana.

  Just as Freya bent over the seagull, Nessie caught up to her, after scooping up the toolbox en route. The younger woman took a rag out of her pocket and wiped off the stone before returning it to her pouch. She then picked up the bird by its legs—why waste potential meat?—and held out her other hand for the toolbox. Nessie was happy to hand it back, as it was kind of heavy, and risked clattering if not held level. With the dead bird in one hand, the toolbox in the other, Freya fell in step with Nessie heading back to the community centre.

  Upon reaching the centre, they were able to spy Boyle standing alongside Karsten, both men looking up toward the roof. A short distance beyond them were two strangers. They must be the people who had warned them given that they weren’t locked up. Freya walked straight over to the leaders, handing Boyle both the toolbox and the drawstring bag into which she had put the Ziploc.

  “Thanks, Freya,” Boyle whispered, placing the items on the ground b
eside him.

  With Nessie’s courage returning in the presence of more people, and the slight reduction of sound that distance created, she sidled up alongside the container yard’s leaders. They were both looking up at the tops of the containers that had been hastily emptied in order to incarcerate the group that had attacked them. On one of them, a ladder had been erected and leaned against the edge of the community centre’s roof. Misha stood on the ladder, looking toward the peak that those on the ground couldn’t quite see. He was gesturing in sign language, likely relaying for whoever was on the roof. After a moment, Nessie realized he was simply signing letters. She could have translated on her own, but decided against it, knowing she’d probably end up in the middle of a sentence and get lost. Looking at the leaders again, she saw that Karsten had a notebook in his hands and was jotting down each letter.

  “What’s going on?” Nessie whispered to Boyle. Anyone who came out and spotted Misha could decipher on their own, so it probably wasn’t a secret.

  “The three people who warned us about the zombies? There are others in their group on the far side of the horde,” Boyle whispered back. “They found a tall tree or something, and are using a mirror and Morse code to communicate with their guy on the roof, completely out of sight of the zombies. Jans is up there monitoring the situation and translating the Morse for us.”

  Nessie wasn’t entirely sure who Jans was. She knew he was one of the German submariners, but a couple of faces popped into her mind and she couldn’t narrow it down from there.

  “They know where the really smart one is,” Karsten whispered louder than anyone else as he briefly read the page. “It’s just standing there, staring at the wall.”

  “Can we take him out somehow?” Boyle asked.

  Karsten shook his head. “Apparently, he’s wearing a lot of body armour, helmet included. We don’t have anything powerful enough for that distance.”