Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  When finally he put Rifle down, the dog groaned, but it sounded like a happy groan to Misha. Even through his gloves, he could feel how hot the German Shepherd’s fur was. Rifle stumbled around a bit on the rocks, half-walking, half-swimming, until he found a good place to stand. Misha continued deeper into the cool water, a dark cloud trailing behind him as it did from most of the others who had gone in before him. Misha didn’t bother to draw his machete as others had, not caring at the moment about the swimming dead or even sharks. He just walked until he was chest deep and then sank beneath the gentle waves, his eyes squeezed shut. Under the water there was no smell, no screaming, no pain, no nothing. Misha stayed under until his lungs started to burn. As he stood back up, he felt cleaner, and not just in a physical sense. Turning to shore, he saw Rifle watching him, his head low to the water, his ears sideways. When Misha forced a smile for the dog, both head and ears perked up, even his tail lifted from where it had been floating on the surface. Apparently, Rifle had known Misha was full of shit when he said he was okay, but the smile comforted the dog.

  As he headed back to shore, Misha stripped off his gloves, took the sheath off his hip, and pulled his shirt up over his head. Once he reached Rifle, the dog accompanied him to shallower water, to a spot where he could sit down and take off his boots. A few people in the water had lost all sense of shame and were obviously naked, but Misha had righted his head enough that he needed to keep his boxers and pants on. With one hand, he kept his gear beside him, the blood slowly seeping out of it as he shifted it back and forth over the rocks. Sharks would definitely be coming soon, but for now he wrapped his free arm around his brother’s shoulder and let the old dog rest his big head against his chest.

  He could still hear the screaming from the wounded, but with his attention focused on the lapping waves and Rifle’s breathing, he could put the sound aside. He also focused on the smell of salt water, a much cleaner scent than the one that was coming at his back.

  “We’re going to be all right, Rifle,” Misha promised, while his body trembled.

  34

  Abby’s Confined

  It was extremely cramped inside the submarine as Abby knew it would be. She was standing, pressed up against the metal leg of a bunk. On the lower berth, Riley managed to snooze after commenting about how she was surrounded by asses and crotches. On the upper bunk, Dakota, Peter, Hope, and Claire had all squeezed together, knees to chests, while next to them stood Lauren, Brunt, Cameron, Josh, Anne, and several others who weren’t part of their group but had boarded the sub around the same time. Abby had never been inside the sub before. She had heard about what it was like from those who had crossed the Atlantic, but didn’t understand until now just how horrible the journey must have been. Those people had had a little more space than this, but when they dived to avoid storms, it was no different. No one had told her just how long it had taken; perhaps no one knew having lost track of the days during their voyage, but it had been long and arduous. Abby hoped this journey would be drastically shorter.

  “He’s singing again,” Lauren groaned beside her.

  Somewhere else amongst the bunks was Quincy Beharry, lead singer and only known survivor of what was once the massively popular rock band, Gathers Moss. As they had waited for the U-boat to finish loading, he had started singing one of his songs. Lauren had never been much of a fan of the band to begin with, and the lone voice echoing through the metal tube was eerie. To say nothing of the fact that those old songs dredged up old memories that most preferred to forget.

  “Let him sing,” Josh said. “Every year his mind slips a little further. His music helps him.”

  Heavy drinking, drugs, and age had all taken their toll at rotting away Quin’s mind. Abby would never say it to anyone other than Lauren, especially not Robin, but she was surprised the guy was still alive. To look at him was to wonder how he had survived the walk from the Black Box to the sub with his frail, shaking limbs and pale, thin skin. Eleven years ago, okay, he was still fairly spry to survive the Day, even only five years ago when the Diana sank. But since the sinking, the man had aged rapidly, getting worse every year as Josh had stated.

  Abby’s legs and feet hurt; she wanted to sit down but there was nowhere. She debated with herself about perching on the edge of Riley’s bunk, but the gentle rocking of the waves prevented her. She was worried about a larger swell rocking the sub harder and knocking her over onto her friend, especially while she was sleeping.

  The inside of the U-boat smelled of metal and sweat. Every time Abby closed her eyes, she remembered the inside of a locker she had once hidden inside on the Day. The smell was similar, as were the confined quarters. At least in here she could stand at her full height instead of being crammed into an awkward hunch, and her friends were around her as opposed to a zombie seeking her out.

  Abby had a wealth of memories to retreat into, and she did so now. She recalled happy times with Lauren, like when they laid beside each other in bed, whispering secrets to one another like schoolgirls. Her mind tried to wander to racier memories, but Abby wouldn’t let it as this definitely wasn’t the place for them.

  Outside of her memories, Lauren threaded her fingers through Abby’s, bringing a smile to Abby’s face.

  ***

  Docking had taken some time, unloading even more. Abby was impatient by then, more than ready to escape the confining tube. Either her friends had registered that she was more anxious than they were, or Lauren had quietly said something, because she was chosen to exit first out of their group. She had tried to insist that Cameron go first, since she was the one who suffered from claustrophobia, but Brunt said he had to lead her out as she was keeping her eyes shut to the confining sights. There was much jostling and bumping as everyone formed a line when able, all of them exiting the U-boat one at a time. When Abby finally laid her hands upon the ladder, she silently cursed the person above her for climbing so slowly, but then quickly took it back. People were moving as fast as they could.

  Abby was looking forward to the fresh air, so when the powerful stench hit her, she nearly collapsed back down the ladder in addition to almost retching.

  What happened to the air? she wondered as she had to continue upward into it.

  “Oh! Ugh! Gross!” Claire called out from beneath her as she registered the same. “What is that?”

  No one had an answer for her, at least no one in the submarine. As Abby neared the sunlight and the source of the smell, she began to identify individual elements: fire, smoke, cooking meat, gunpowder, blood, sweat, and above all, rotten, decayed flesh. Only the salt water had a friendly smell; everything else suggested something horrible had happened.

  Exiting through the conning tower, Abby kept moving as she quickly took in the sights. The people who had come over from the Black Box were huddling together on the dock, unsure about what to do, while those with weapons were clutching them securely. Beyond the squared-off-U-shaped dock was what had once been a space for washing tubs or sports during down time, but was now a pyre of burning corpses. An even larger pile of bodies was growing beside it. The people from the container yard were carefully monitoring the fire so as to use as little accelerant as possible. Everyone she saw who hadn’t come over on the sub was moving like someone from a dream. Before she could make out anything else, Abby was down from the conning tower and onto the dock, where a slope blocked her view of the rest of the place. Still, she could see the flames and the thick, black smoke rising from the burning corpses.

  Abby found a space on the dock for her little group to gather. They were joined by others they knew, like Robin, Quin, and Winchester. None of them knew what was going on. From what they could see, no one from the container yard had even come down to greet them.

  On her stretcher, Riley was fully awake and alert, holding her daughter’s hand.

  “Come on, we need to find out what’s going on.” Brunt led the way, directing their group along the dock. Being a resident of the container yard made
him bolder than those from the Black Box, but it wasn’t much longer before everyone was making their way off the dock.

  The heat of the fire was intense, felt from a good distance away. Those working to keep it going, feeding the bodies to the flames, looked up at the arrivals through their goggles and masks, then returned to their task. Not one of them wore clothes that weren’t soaked in blood and other bodily fluids. Beyond the fire, more people wandered about, carrying corpses to add to the pile of those to be burned. All zombies, Abby hoped, although she wouldn’t be able to tell if one had been alive this morning. She could barely tell that the people carrying the things were living.

  “Let’s get to the community centre; Robin and I may be needed,” Josh recommended.

  Following behind Brunt and Cameron, Abby saw that the bodies were being carried from everywhere. Down every container alley, pairs of people emerged with something dead between them, while others disappeared down them to get more. Some were even toting shovels and wheelbarrows, scraping up the remains that weren’t solid enough to be lifted. Around the community centre were more corpses piled high around the walls of the building like snowdrifts, although a path had been cleared to one of the doors.

  Inside, cots were scattered about, used wherever they had been tossed. Doctors hurried around them trying to take care of the patients as they screamed and writhed. Most of them were amputees, but some seemed to have sustained other injuries, such as gunshots or broken bones. Josh and Robin immediately integrated themselves into the hectic gathering, getting themselves filled in and joining the chaos. Along one wall, a small line of people were getting their blood checked for infection; a single doctor sat at a table with a microscope. A young-looking boy was with him, writing down the names of everyone who had been cleared in tiny print on a set of chalkboards and whiteboards that hung on the wall behind them.

  “Bring me over there,” Riley ordered from her stretcher that was currently being carried by Winchester and Brunt.

  They obeyed, moving with the group as they brought Riley to where a stash of medical supplies were kept.

  “Help me sit in this chair.” Riley struggled to rise on her own, but with help was soon seated in a chair beside the supplies. “I may not be able to administer aid, but I can help organize this crap. Hope, I’m going to need your help.”

  Hope nodded, already knowing what to do as she opened the nearest container and checked what was inside.

  “I’ll help too,” Dakota volunteered, while Peter also stepped forward.

  “Should I stay here, or check on the horses?” Cameron wondered aloud as she spied other vets running about.

  “Check on the horses,” Riley recommended. “If they’ve already been seen to, return here. If not, get them ready to help move those bodies outside.”

  In a flash, Cameron was gone.

  “Come on, Winchester, we’ll get some gloves from my place and help move that mess out there.” Brunt whacked him on the shoulder and they left as well.

  “What can I do?” Quin asked as his large eyes swept the room.

  “Stay with me,” Riley suggested. “Find a clipboard or something and some paper. The kids will check the boxes, I’ll identify the contents, and you can write it down. We’ll keep track of what we have and what the doctors use. Think you can do that?”

  Quin nodded, happy to take the seat beside her.

  “Come on, we should see if we’re needed outside somewhere; we’ll only be in the way here,” Lauren spoke to those remaining. Abby agreed and followed her back out into the sunlight with Anne and Claire.

  “I’m going back to the sub,” Anne said, unable to tear her eyes away from the devastation around them. “I’ll make sure the medical supplies we smuggled out are moved to the community centre.”

  During their ride in the U-boat, all food and medical supplies had been passed from hand to hand, moved to one space for categorisation and safekeeping. Now they would need to unload it all.

  “Maybe we should help move bodies as well?” Abby suggested hesitantly.

  “No gloves,” Lauren reminded her.

  “I’m going to find Crichton, or Bronislav, or someone,” Claire told them. “They’ll have need for message runners, and I can do that.”

  “Okay, but be careful.” Lauren kissed Claire on the forehead before letting her dash off.

  “What can we do?” Abby was disoriented by the mess, the stench threatening to knock her over.

  Lauren stood still and thought for a moment before answering. “People will need feeding, right? I noticed there’s less of this mess over by the water. We’ll grab some others to help start a smaller fire and cook up a hot meal over there. Nothing much, just soup or something.”

  Abby agreed, so the two women made their way to the shoreline to stake out a space. It wasn’t hard to find volunteers over there. Both people from the container yard and the Black Box who hadn’t been able to find tasks had gathered there, away from the disgusting sights. With their volunteers, they set to work finding tables, pots, bowls, firewood, and food.

  “Where do you think Jon is?” Abby finally asked the question that had been eating away at her since she first identified the various odours.

  “He’ll be wherever help is needed most,” Lauren assured her, but Abby knew her well enough to pick up the worry behind her voice.

  Once people began to realize that hot food was being made, they started to flock to the tables. It seemed no one had had a proper meal since the night before, and it didn’t take long for a weary line to form. A group of teens had taken it upon themselves to wash the bowls and utensils in the salt water when people were done with them, scrabbling back and forth across the rocks. Abby found herself moving from fire to fire, keeping the flames at a good height. She didn’t stop until a barking drew her attention.

  “Rifle? What is it boy?” Abby’s throat tightened, wondering if Misha was still alive.

  The old dog looked up at her, and then turned toward the water. He took a few steps toward it, then looked back at Abby over his shoulder.

  “Here, can you take care of the fires?” Abby asked the nearest volunteer, thrusting her poking stick into her hands before the girl could answer.

  Abby followed Rifle to the edge of the rocky shore. She knew a crowd of people had been wading around in the shallows, cleaning the gunk off their clothes, but she hadn’t realized that one of them was Misha. The former Russian sat in the shallow water, his torso bare, his dogs wandering about. Two sat sopping wet on either side of him, while the rest picked their way around the rocks.

  “Okay, Rifle.”

  Abby returned to the food tables and snaked a bowl of soup. She carried it back to the rocky shore and took off her shoes and socks before making her way down to Misha. He didn’t move when she waded into the water beside him, soaking the bottoms of her pyjama pants. The round dog moved away, but the larger one wearing Rifle’s old harness stayed by his side.

  “I brought you some soup,” Abby said.

  Misha looked up at her, his eyes far away.

  “Here, you should eat something hot.”

  Misha took the bowl as if he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. The smell must have broken through, however, as he soon started sipping at the hot liquid. Abby had forgotten to bring a spoon, but that didn’t seem to matter. He drank straight from the bowl, prodding the chunks into his mouth with his fingers. Abby waited quietly until he was finished.

  “So no one has actually told me what happened here. Last I heard it was a group of humans coming to attack you guys. Can you fill me in?” Abby knew better than to ask if he was okay. Rifle wouldn’t have come to get her if he was.

  “They came, we fought,” Misha said, nodding, looking back out over the water. “Then another tiny group of people came and told us about a mega horde coming our way. We made a truce with our enemies, let them over the wall, and then fought off the dead when they showed up.”

  “That explains all the faces I don’
t recognize.”

  “There were so many,” Misha whispered, his face turning down toward his lap.

  “Come on, how about we get out of the water?” Abby took the bowl from him and rinsed it. “You’re going to get a pretty bad sunburn sitting out here and your dogs are scared.”

  “Scared?” Misha looked up, his pale eyes finally starting to come back.

  “Yeah. I don’t know them as well as you do, but this looks like some nervous behaviour to me. They’re scared, I’d say, probably think something happened to you.” Something did happen to him, Abby thought. “Come on, I’ll carry your clothes and we’ll get you into some shade.”

  Misha snatched the bundle of clothing floating beside him before she could. Abby was trying to ignore the strange clouds floating about in the water, drifting off everyone from the container yard who walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” Misha suddenly asked, finally realizing who it was walking out of the water with him.

  “Long story that you don’t need to bother with now.”

  “Your face is all bruised.”

  “Part of the long story; I’ll tell you about it later. Hey, do you have a ball or something? I’m sure your dogs will feel better once you play with them.”

  “Yeah, but they’re in my container.”

  “I’ll go get it. I remember where your container is.”

  “You have to go in through the roof hatch.”

  “That’s fine.” They reached the nearest container where Misha stood in the shade it threw, his bundle of clothes dripping a dark, blackish-red as he squeezed them against his chest. He let his machete clatter to the pavement where it was immediately sniffed by Bullet, the Australian Shepherd wearing Rifle’s harness. The splotchy dog’s eyes were the same nearly-white-pale-blue as Misha’s as he looked up at his master.