“Watch out for sharks,” Doyle warned Rose as she went deeper. “Canary’s blood might draw them.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said back, waving her stump at him.
It was nice to be able to talk above a whisper, the slapping waves covering them.
“The sea’s calm today,” Canary commented as Doyle waded shallower and sat down nearby, holding his axe draped across his shoulders, away from the water.
“That’s good for the submarine.” Doyle used one hand to scoop up water and rinse off his upper body, focusing mostly on his shoulder where he had been punctured by the nail.
Out where it was deeper, Rose dove beneath the surface.
“She should be careful of the undertow,” Canary commented when the other woman’s head popped back up.
“Try telling her that,” Doyle chuckled.
Rose didn’t stay in the deep for long, soon swimming over to them. She kept low in the water, using her hand and stump to pull herself along the rocks and looking like a strange, red-haired crocodile.
“Think there might be alligators around here?” Rose asked as she found a spot she liked, thinking along the same lines Doyle was.
“I doubt it.” Canary shook her head as she inspected the wrappings around her wound. “Alligators tend to stick to fresh water from my understanding. Now salt water crocodiles I’m less sure of; I can’t remember if there are any in the Americas or not.”
“Salt water crocodiles?” Doyle hadn’t heard of them.
“I liked watching the Discovery channel growing up. They’re the really big ones.”
“There might be alligators,” Rose continued. “They get weird when they get infected.”
“True,” Canary nodded this time. “I still don’t think there will be any here though. Don’t they usually crawl out on land and start walking around when they get infected? I’ve never heard of one being found in the salt water.”
“Sharks are what we have to worry about,” Doyle told Rose again.
“And zombies,” she added.
“Always zombies, and always people.”
Doyle got out of the water first, letting the sun dry him off before getting dressed again. He kept his eyes roving along the shore and tree lines, watching for both threats and James. He was relieved when James showed up first, but surprised that he wasn’t alone. The man with him carried a large pack and had a familiar face, definitely someone from around the Black Box, but Doyle didn’t personally know him.
“Doyle, I think you know Jamal?” James introduced them once they were close enough to talk comfortably.
“I’ve seen you around but I can’t say we ever really spoke. Hey,” Doyle held out his hand and shook the one offered back in return.
“Right, you weren’t at the prison,” James suddenly remembered. “Jamal was one of our ward heads, so most people would know him from there.”
“Were you one of the people at the…what was it? A hotel?”
“I think it was a motel,” James corrected.
“No, Canary and I,” Doyle gestured to Canary so the man would know who he was talking about, “are from a third party. We’re from Leighton though. We managed to overhear your guys’ transmissions and learned about the plane, so we made our own way there.”
“I didn’t know that,” James said, surprised.
“Were you with Robin?” Jamal asked.
“Yeah, she was with us.”
“Wonderful, I thought I recognized the story. I sometimes help out in the medical centre so I know her.”
“So that must mean you have some medical training. Canary got hurt; a piece of copper pipe went through her leg yesterday. Can you take a look?”
“Sure, although I’m not a doctor; I just have field medic training. I was left with some medical supplies in case you guys showed up wounded, although I didn’t think it would be so soon. Had you been maybe two hours earlier, you could’ve caught the sub.”
By then Rose had helped Canary out of the water. She was lowered gently to the rocks where Jamal could inspect her leg.
“So it’s as I guessed,” James told Doyle, loud enough for Rose and Canary to listen in if they wanted. “Some group showed up and managed to storm the Black Box. They somehow got into the vehicle elevator shaft and were able to attack from both ends. Crichton was captured, and after a while ordered an orange level evacuation to prevent anyone else from getting killed. Not many died, but some have. They were led here, where Bronislav and Crichton knew the sub would be waiting. Jamal was left behind to look for us and watch for anyone from the attacking force who might be following their trail.”
“Does he have a safe place for us to hide out while we make plans?” Doyle asked.
James shook his head. “He was up a tree. If he hadn’t started throwing small sticks at me, I never would have spotted him. With Canary’s leg, hiding up trees isn’t really an option for us.”
“So we should go look for a place.”
“I’ll come,” Rose immediately volunteered.
“You’re not even dressed yet,” James pointed out.
“I will be soon,” she retorted as she buttoned up her pants.
“I may end up needing an extra set of hands here,” Jamal told them.
“Hands, emphasis on the plural,” Rose immediately pointed out before James could use it as an argument against her, waving her stump for added effect. Doyle wondered why James seemed to be keeping Rose back more lately.
“Rose and I can find a place,” Doyle offered. “James, you already know the area somewhat, so it’s probably best you stay with Canary and Jamal in case you end up needing to run.”
“All right.” James sat down on the rocks without a word of argument. Doyle never could predict him.
“Grab some food first,” Jamal advised them. “In the front pocket of my bag there should be some dried fruit and grains. Not great, but it’s all they were able to leave me with.”
While Rose strapped on her homemade prosthetic, Doyle got the food. The stuff in the front pocket was neatly organized into little cloth and leather bags, as well as a few surviving Ziplocs. He grabbed a Ziploc for himself and a leather bag for Rose. He knew she could use the fasteners to tie the bag open on her hip and eat one handed.
“We’ll head away from the building, unless you think you might know a good area?” Doyle asked James.
“We didn’t explore much to either side, so I have no advice for you. Sorry.”
Leaving their gear behind and taking only their weapons, Doyle and Rose headed down the shore. The closer they could find a place to the water the better, just in case the sub came back for some reason.
“Well, this trip has certainly been a lot more than I bargained for,” Doyle commented to Rose as they walked.
“If you’re blamin’ yourself, stop it,” Rose told him unexpectedly. “No one coulda predicted half the stuff we ran into out here, let alone all of it together.”
“Yeah, but for books?”
“So? People like books, why not get a supply of them? Besides, both you and I know this was not entirely about the books. You just needed to get out beyond the fences again, like I did.”
Doyle had no argument for her.
“If it was your fault, then my arm is my own fault. No one blames me for that, not even myself anymore, so you gotta suck it up. Shit just happens, and sometimes it all happens at once. Stop the pity parties.”
“Are you deliberately trying to sound like a sergeant from some movie?” Doyle was smiling despite himself.
“Little bit, yeah,” Rose grinned at him. “Is it workin’?”
“Surprisingly so.”
They had walked on a little farther when Rose thought she spotted something through the trees. Doyle followed her into the brush, where they came across a long-dead tree lying across the forest floor. Following it to its crown of brittle branches, they discovered another tree that had partly fallen. This second tree hadn’t quite made it to the ground, as it h
ad fallen against a hill at its backside. The torn-up root ball of the second tree tangled with the branches of the first. Doyle spotted bare rock beneath them both and thought there might be a sort of cave.
“Looks dry in there as far as I can tell,” Doyle commented. He couldn’t see much beneath the second tree, but it was on the start of the slope, so any water should run out down the rock. It must have been a very strong wind to knock the tree over in the direction it had.
“I’m goin’ in.” Rose crawled a little awkwardly with her prosthetic, and some of the old branches snapped loudly around her, but she got inside. “This is great.” Her voice was faint.
“Yeah? I can’t see you.”
“Then it’s perfect. We should be safe inside while we figure out what to do.” Rose scrambled out, snapping fewer branches this time. Those she had broken, she brought with her and piled up on top of the others. “It’s even bigger than it looks out here.”
“Let’s go get the others then.”
By the time they returned to where their friends were sitting, Jamal had done all he could for Canary’s leg, as well as looked at her hand. According to him, she should be all right if allowed to rest and keep off it, provided an infection didn’t set in; he had given her the mere antibiotics he had but washing it regularly with seawater should help. After gathering up all their gear, the five of them went back to the deadfall and crawled inside. Rose was right: it was bigger once inside, a hollow in the rocks forming a natural cave in the hillside beyond the roots. Jamal had been given one of the large tarps that formerly protected a cache from the elements, so they took it out in case they needed to protect themselves from the same thing.
“You look nervous,” Doyle told James.
“I don’t like having only one way out is all, and we probably won’t be able to hear if anything is moving around outside.”
“Do you want to look for someplace else?”
“No, I doubt we’ll find anything better than this.”
“So what’s our plan?” Canary asked from the darkest corner, where Rose was helping her get comfortable.
James turned to Jamal. “Were you expected to walk back, or is the U-boat supposed to return for you?”
“The sub is supposed to come back in a week.”
“A week?” That sounded like a very long time to Doyle.
“There’s enough food provided we ration. Other than the tarp and what few medical supplies I have, that bag is stuffed with as much food from the caches as we could fit.”
“It would probably take us a week to walk to the container yard anyway, what with having to circle around the Black Box,” James sighed.
“Will Canary be okay for that long?” Doyle asked.
“She should be fine, as long as we keep her hydrated.”
“Is there a clean water source nearby?” Doyle wondered next.
“Not far from that tree where James found me is a fresh water stream. It should be all right if we boil it, and if you don’t want to risk the fire, I don’t think small sips will kill us.”
“No, it’ll just kill us with dysentery,” Rose commented.
“We’ll make a small fire for boiling,” James decided, “but we’ll build it beside the sea, away from our camp here. We should also keep our eyes open for anyone from that hostile group following the trail. It’s really easy to tell which way we’ve gone; they’ll be able to follow it even after a few days.”
“That’s partly why I was to wait here a week,” Jamal nodded.
“We should send someone to spy on the Black Box, see what they’re up to,” Rose suggested.
“Maybe, but not today; it’s too late for that. We should make sure this area is as secure as we thought, find the easiest route to the stream, pick a spot for our fire, and settle in for the rest of today.” Orders came easily to James.
“So we’re going to live in this cave for a week?” Doyle groaned.
“Looks like it. Best get comfortable.”
IV
The Bird
Dragon squatted at the bottom of his large cage, huddled in a corner full of his own waste. The bird was hungry, but he didn’t dare move. It was night-dark, too dark to see by, and there were sounds: horrible clanging and banging sounds coming from all around. He heard gunshots, a sound he was able to imitate, but they were slowly receding, fading. He knew what the groaning sounds were from: the things that should be dead. Queer creatures that ought not to be. He had never tried to imitate them and never would. He had no interest in trying to speak with such things. In the dark he roared, a mighty sound he had seen other living things retreat from. He roared and roared, until his little throat was sore and he was thirsty as well as hungry.
Section 5:
Obliterate
33
Misha’s Lost
The bullets had dried up. At times a gunshot would ring out above the din, but for the most part they were all gone. The only ammo that remained were the rounds people had decided to hold onto in case of the most dire of emergencies. Misha didn’t know what that would be, but he wouldn’t begrudge them. He might have held onto one bullet himself had he thought of it.
Misha, along with almost everyone else, had finally come down off the containers. They formed ranks in the alleys between the metal boxes, bladed weapons at the ready. One row of humans would meet the zombies, hacking and slashing, destroying skulls, while the others held back. When that first row felt overwhelmed, they drew back from the dead mob, retreating behind the rest of the people, while the second row waited for the zombies to come a bit closer, so that the slain wouldn’t be under their feet. Misha stood in the second row, awaiting his turn. He had no idea where his dogs were. Some might still be up on the containers, but others were let down. He knew that at least Powder, his tallest dog, was somewhere between this column and the one facing the other direction, sniffing humans for infection. The rest of his pack was scattered.
“Fall back!” someone in the battling front row cried out.
There was some bumping and jostling as Misha and his row pressed forward through the retreating row.
“Evans?” Suddenly, the big man with the sword was on Misha’s left where he hadn’t been before. He had been part of the first row.
“I’m not done yet,” he growled, perhaps recognizing Misha, perhaps not.
It was because of Evans that they were doing this. Several people had watched the mad man fall from the containers and thought him dead. The bullet-riddled corpses below had broken his fall, miraculously saving him from injury. As people watched, Evans had gotten his feet under him and started swinging that sword of his. At any moment, people were sure he was going to be overrun, but he kept attacking, kept surviving, until eventually someone jumped down to help him. People began to realize that hand-to-hand was effective between the containers, where the number of zombies was limited to how many could fit between them. It didn’t take long before everyone was down between the containers with blades in their hands.
Evans was soaked in blood from head to foot, only a few patches clear of gore. Someone else had managed to stop him long enough to upend a bottle of water over his face and wipe clear his eyes and mouth, but it could easily have been too late: Evans might be infected. Misha figured he knew this as they took their positions; it would certainly explain how he managed to keep going.
As his blade thunked into the first skull, Misha forgot about his hunger. With the second, he forgot about his thirst. The third skull allowed him to forget about how he needed to sleep, while the fourth seemed to make the weariness of his limbs disperse. He stopped counting after that. For every zombie he took down, another stumbled forward into its place, often tripping on the corpses of its fallen kind. Their lack of co-ordination slowed them down considerably as they stepped over the full dead, struggling to keep their balance. When he had time to think, Misha wondered how many zombies had been trampled by their own, or were still moving, trapped beneath the other corpses. There was no t
ime to have such thoughts, however. All that mattered was where his blade landed and keeping track of the men to his left and right.
“Fall back!”
It seemed like the call came too soon, but as Misha retreated, all of his ailments returned, worse than ever, and he saw a lot more dead bodies ahead of him than he had before. As he threaded back through the waiting lines, he saw the nervous expressions on those who hadn’t yet been at the front line. At the back of the column, where people had taken their turn, they wore different expressions: they were hard and tired. Several looked asleep on their feet, but stepped forward when the lines moved. Behind Misha there was a bit of an argument about getting Evans away from the front line.
“Here, water.” Misha didn’t see who had thrust the large cup into his hands; he just mumbled a thanks. He wanted to swallow the water in one gulp, but resisted. Instead, he made his way to the small, magnet-backed mirror someone had hung up in the space between the backs of the human columns and waited his turn to check his face for blood. There wasn’t much; most of the zombies’ blood was too thick to spray, splattering instead lower down on his clothes. Still, he took a clean rag from his back pocket and wiped off the dabs that concerned him. It would have come off better if he used some of the water, but he wanted to drink it, not wash with it. As soon as he knew it was safe to do so, that no blood would mix in, he downed his cup in one go.
As Misha turned to form the next line, someone on the container above him got his attention.
“Here, a bit of food.”
Misha didn’t bother to identify the offering; he just accepted it and ate as he walked. Powder pushed her way through some men and women, and bumped her nose between Misha’s shoulder blades. The Great Dane was a gangly and very tall dog, and she gave Misha’s entire body a thorough sniffing.
“I’m all right, girl,” he told the dog, pushing her big nose away. “Go check the others. Go. Sniff check.”
Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) Page 45