“Maybe. Do you feel that way?”
“No. But we’re moving toward potentially hostile territory, so I suppose it’s only natural you’d be extra wary.”
Crichton’s words made sense, but Misha didn’t think that was it. He would have felt like this earlier if that were true. Was it because of the zombie attack? Misha remembered the suffocating feeling in his mask, wondering if it was somehow related. Was it possible that he was finally cracking up? That he had finally reached the point where his mind was breaking down? He didn’t want to believe that it was true, but it had happened to others, and at calmer times than this. The skin on Misha’s back crawled at the idea that maybe he could no longer trust his own senses, his own mind.
Because they couldn’t completely block the entrance, they organized a watch detail for the night. Ki-Nam had the first post, but Misha found himself restless and unable to sleep. He could see his feeling of anxiety was affecting his dog pack, who also struggled to find comfortable spots, often getting up and circling another area of the laundromat. Eventually, Misha gave up on sleep and went to sit with Ki-Nam where they could both see outside. He had the second watch anyway.
“I’ve been mildly curious about something,” Ki-Nam whispered in the dark. “Are you one of the Russians who came across in the submarine? I detect a similar accent.”
“I’m not,” Misha told him. He knew that over the years his accent had changed, becoming less pronounced, but the Russian still clung to certain syllables. “I am from Russia though. I was attending college in Leighton when the Day happened.”
Ki-Nam nodded, satisfied with his answer.
“Where are you from?” Misha decided to ask. “You also have an accent that’s different.”
“I’m from North Korea originally.”
“Were you here before the Day, or did you find your way across an ocean afterward?”
Ki-Nam didn’t answer, so Misha didn’t pry.
“Angela, she is Texan?” Ki-Nam eventually asked instead.
“I guess so.” Misha never really thought much about where people had originally come from before joining their group. “She was living in the Black Box when we found her, and I guess her accent is Texan.”
“Harry is from Leighton like you are,” it wasn’t a question this time; it seemed Ki-Nam already knew. “And while Crichton was living there when what you call the Day happened, he has lived in many places around the world.”
Misha had no response to that. Ki-Nam was generally a quiet individual, however he clearly had an interest in people’s origins, and had asked a few questions regarding the topic.
“You have a large variety of people living at your container yard,” Ki-Nam eventually spoke again. “They come from many places.”
“The subs had a lot to do with that,” Misha said. “Especially the German sub. It picked up a bunch of people in Europe before meeting up with us.”
“That’s when you lived on the cruise ship, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Which came from Canada. The world has lost its borders.”
“I guess,” Misha shrugged. “You could make the argument that our wall of shipping containers is a border.”
This seemed to please Ki-Nam. “Yes, I suppose you could.”
They lapsed back into silence, and this time neither of them chose to break it. Not until Ki-Nam’s shift ended, and he went off to bed with a quiet goodnight.
Misha didn’t like keeping watch alone. He had enjoyed sitting beside Ki-Nam, because his calm presence kept Misha calm. Now, it was just him and his nerves, and a slight distrust of his senses. What if he saw something? What if he thought he saw something? Misha didn’t want to overreact and wake up the others for nothing, but then he also didn’t want to let something slip by in an attempt to overcompensate for his fear. It was a tough predicament.
Eventually, Misha briefly left his post in order to wake up Bullet. Having the dog sitting with him helped to put him at ease. If there was something to really worry about, Bullet would know. Unless it was a sniper. There was never anything anyone could do about a sniper who decided to fire. Not for the first shot, at least.
Misha found himself wishing that Alec was still around. It had been five years since the bomb in their room aboard the Diana had killed him. A former military sniper, he always had an air of confidence about him. Even while in his wheelchair, Alec always seemed to know what to do. Misha often had no idea what to do in most situations, always relying on his instincts to get him through. It had worked so far, but such luck could change in an instant.
Bullet had been lying with his head on Misha’s lap, more asleep than awake, when he suddenly lifted it up. His ears perked up, as they and his muzzle pointed toward a nail salon that was across the street and a few doors over. Misha felt his spine solidify, but he didn’t move. He watched the nail salon: both its dark interior and the roofline. When Bullet got up on his feet, his attention still completely focused on the building, Misha knew there was definitely something over there. But what was it? Something he needed to wake up the others for, or something he could handle on his own?
“Stay,” Misha whispered into Bullet’s ear, reinforcing the command with hand gestures.
Bullet stayed put. The dog hadn’t lowered his head or tail, but Misha wasn’t sure which of two things that might mean; Bullet had not yet identified what had drawn his attention, or he had determined that it wasn’t a threat. Misha felt compelled to find out, but told the dog to stay where he was in order to protect his sleeping friends.
As he was crossing the street in a swift crouch, Misha pulled his machete out of its sheath. He pressed himself up against the building, hoping there weren’t a pair of eyes watching him. Wondering if maybe this was the stupidest thing he had ever decided to do, Misha made his way toward the nail salon. Before reaching its cracked window, he glanced back at Bullet. The dog was standing in the same position with the same posture as when Misha had left. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?
Holding his breath, Misha crouched down and peered through the corner of the window, trying to present as small a target as possible. The moon didn’t provide much light, and the row of chairs and the reception desk cast even more shadows. Waiting until he was forced to exhale, Misha saw no signs of movement. Either it was something on the roof that Bullet had noticed, or Misha would have to go inside to find the culprit.
Looking back at the Australian shepherd, Misha saw that he had sat down, but remained alert. It was possible he was just watching Misha now, however. If only the animals could talk, situations like this would be a lot easier to deal with.
Keeping his eyes on the shadows within, Misha kept low, and did an awkward side-scuttle toward the door. He noticed there was a pile of old leaves and dirt where the building met the sidewalk, including along the base of the door. If the door had been opened, then that pile would have been disturbed. If someone were inside, then they hadn’t entered through the front door.
Looking through the glass in the door, which gave him a different angle of the interior, Misha still couldn’t see any movement, or unusual shapes. The nail salon didn’t seem like the kind of place to have a rear exit, but he couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t about to go check the back of the strip of shops by himself, and he didn’t want to go through the front without knowing what might be in there.
Deciding the nail salon wasn’t worth it, Misha hurried back over to the laundromat and his guard post. Bullet was pleased when he sat back down beside him, especially when Misha scratched his ears. For the rest of his shift, Misha paid particular attention to the roof across the street.
“Hey,” Harry whispered, having woken himself for the next block of guard duty. He sat down on the other side of Bullet. “Anything happen?”
“Not sure,” Misha admitted, whispering at the same volume as Harry. “Bullet became alert to something near that nail salon over there. I went over and looked inside, but couldn’t see anything, and it does
n’t look like the door’s been opened for some time. I don’t know if there’s a back door, and though I haven’t seen anything, there might be something on the roof.”
“Didn’t you think there might have been something on the roof of the bar as well?”
“Rifle alerted me that time.”
“Do you think we’re being followed?”
Misha didn’t want to answer that question. If he said no, then what would Harry think was actually going on? And if he said yes, and there was nothing, then Misha was paranoid. And he certainly felt paranoid. No one else had seen or heard anything. Misha himself hadn’t; it was entirely his interpretation of how his dogs reacted to an unknown entity. Maybe Crichton was right. Maybe Misha was just super nervous knowing they were heading toward a place where they last knew hostiles to be.
When he laid down on his bedroll, and Rifle partly woke up in order to flop over against his back, Misha found his body was exceptionally tired. His mind still wouldn’t shut up, however, constantly running through various scenarios that might explain recent events. He was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t crazy, while also fearing that he was.
***
No one else reported anything strange in the night. Misha was exhausted and definitely looked it, so Crichton had him drive the cart. Misha didn’t know horses nearly as well as he knew dogs, however, Thumper and Potato required very little guidance. Rifle was very happy to have Misha up on the driver’s bench with him. The rest of the dogs seemed annoyed that they couldn’t ride on the cart as well.
Because the horses required such little guidance from Misha, he ended up watching his dogs more than them. He kept expecting one of them to react to some stimulus that was unseen and unheard by the humans. He was just waiting for them to become curious about a roofline, but it never happened.
When they came to a massive tree that had fallen across the road, their journey was once more delayed. Misha wanted to go around, but Crichton insisted that they cut it up. The container yard needed firewood after all. It was hard work with only hand tools, but it managed to keep Misha distracted as he sawed away with the back of his machete. The task consumed the rest of the day, so they set up camp in a spacious dance studio. Despite being exhausted, Misha still struggled to sleep, so the next morning, Crichton stuck him on the cart again. It had been more than a day since his dogs had alerted him to anything, but Misha just couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong. After loading up several large pieces of wood on the cart and stashing the rest for later pickup, they continued on their way to the Black Box with aching limbs.
They soon reached the two bridges that weren’t far from their destination. One supported a road, the other a rail line. Because of the cart, they had to cross the road bridge. Burnt out vehicles were dotted about and needed to be avoided, yet Misha spent half the time twisted around, watching the end of the bridge behind them.
“Think we’re being followed?” Angela asked him as she walked alongside the cart.
“I don’t know. Just making sure.”
“Could be one of those bastards that attacked us. They might have travelled that far and are now following us back.”
“You would know what they’re capable of better than I would.” Misha thought that they seemed like the kind of people who would have attacked already, and not spooked them like this.
“I hope there’s still a few kicking around. I’d love the chance to personally kill one of the bastards.”
Misha wondered if that was true, or just a show of bravado. He didn’t know Angela very well and couldn’t be certain.
At the far end of the bridge, they entered a wooded area. Misha took one last look back the way they had come. Had that been movement that he’d seen across the way? Or just a trick of the mind? It could have just as easily been a leaf or an old piece of trash catching the breeze. Misha faced forward once more and gripped the reins even tighter. He didn’t like feeling this way, but he couldn’t get his brain to stop. It was like being afraid of his own fear.
It didn’t help matters when Harry began to periodically turn on the Geiger counter. They walked in a somewhat tighter group, accompanied by the sound of a crackling tick. Every time the ticks increased, no matter how minutely and only ever for a second or two, the little hairs on Misha’s arms stood up. While there had been no confirmation of a radiation leak, he found that he was becoming increasingly itchy as they neared the Black Box. At least this time he knew it was just his body reacting to his worries, and it gave him something to fret about that wasn’t a ghost on their tail.
Before the border of the Black Box community came into sight, Crichton had them stop between some buildings.
“Angela, I want you to stay here with the cart and horses,” Crichton told her.
“What? No. I need to see what’s left!”
“And you will. But I don’t want to risk the horses. I need Harry and Misha with me, and I’m not sure I totally trust Ki-Nam not to leave without us.” Crichton turned to the man in question. “No offence.”
Ki-Nam gave a sort of shrug and nod, a gesture that suggested he understood and wasn’t offended in the slightest.
“As soon as we know it’s safe, I’ll come get you.”
“This better not be because I’m a woman,” Angela growled.
“You know that it’s not.”
Misha reluctantly climbed down off the driver’s bench so that Angela could take his place.
“Do you want me to leave any of the dogs with you?” he asked.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She was still sour about being left behind, but was allowing it to happen.
Misha gathered his dog pack to him, clustering them around the four people who would be continuing onward. Harry’s Geiger counter was constantly on now. Misha was glad that the dogs didn’t know what it was, and therefore could concentrate on listening for other sounds. All Misha could really hear was the ticking. His heart was beating a faster rhythm than the counter as they moved out.
They went slowly, wary of what they might find. It worked out for Rifle, who kept close to Misha’s side. Where the other dogs tended to sniff about, he kept his head up and ears alert. Bullet attempted to imitate him, but he was more easily distracted, especially when it seemed that another dog had found a good scent.
When the fence first came into view, everything appeared normal. Harry handed the Geiger counter over to Crichton, freeing up his hands so that he could have an arrow at the ready. Misha wished his gun had some bullets in it, that it was more useful than a club. Maybe he should hold it in his hands? At least make it look like he was capable of shooting someone?
When they reached the fence, they were able to see the surface of the earth above the area where the Black Box had once been. The fields in which their crops had grown were in total turmoil. Chunks of concrete and rebar had pierced the surface. Dirt and stones had been completely turned over, burying the greenery beneath them.
“Let’s take a closer look.” Crichton guided them along the fence toward the nearest opening. It wasn’t the usual spot people had used to pass through the fence, but new holes had formed when the ground beneath some fence posts had given way. They trod cautiously over the debris, unsure of where there might still be sinkholes.
Crichton led them along the edge of the territory to start with, since the ground tended to be safest there, even untouched in various spots. As they studied the devastation in worse areas, Misha thought about how lucky the team had been that had set off the bombs. They could have easily been sucked downward, or buried by falling debris.
The Geiger counter continued to click at safe levels, and so far, no one had seen any signs of a living hostile.
“The crops that survived have been picked over,” Harry pointed out.
“Probably by the survivors who were already above ground,” Crichton theorized. “If I were them, I would have taken what I could carry and gotten the hell out of this place.”
“Then l
et’s hope they’re like you.”
The dogs were curious about what had happened here. They stepped carefully, noses to the ground. Powder snapped up an unsuspecting rat, so the team kept an extra eye out for them, but the dogs weren’t acting like there were many in the area.
When the four humans decided to pick their way to the centre of where the Black Box’s many spider web levels had overlapped the most, they didn’t get far. A vast, sunken pit had taken over the site, which had then filled with water to form a new, small lake.
Crichton touched the water and tasted his fingers. “Salt water.”
“Must be from the river,” Harry pointed toward the barge dock that remained intact. “The internal water filtration system must have blown, allowing the river to flow down into any voids left behind.” Before moving to the container yard, Harry had studied all the Black Box systems, putting his engineer’s mind to good use as he taught people how they worked, just in case one should break down.
“It doesn’t leave much for us to look at,” Crichton commented.
“Yes, but it will help contain the nuclear material buried underneath all this slag.” Harry had been taking readings continuously, and found they were perfectly safe.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say that this place has been cleared out of the attacking force. Misha, go get Angela and the cart. Let’s see if we can save any of these plants to bring home with us.”
Although it had been proven safe, Misha was glad to be leaving the new lake. The thought of those waters possibly touching nuclear material made him view it as poisoned, despite the fact that it didn’t work that way. Only the water next to the nuclear source would be dangerous, and that was considerably farther down.
Misha instructed most of his dogs to stay behind, in case more rats poked their noses out. The churned-up soil and twisted debris piles on the surface would make good burrows for the dangerous critters. Misha took only Rifle, Bullet, and Trigger to go get Angela and the horses.
After getting back outside the fence, Misha stopped for a moment to check on Trigger. She still felt quite pregnant, but, so far, hadn’t started searching for nesting to suggest she’d be giving birth soon. She also appeared to be all right despite all the travelling. There were no injuries that Misha could see, and she wasn’t walking in a way that suggested she was in much discomfort. Rifle, on the other hand, had already tired from their exploration of the Black Box.
Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct Page 20
