Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct

by Stittle, Kristal

  “Oh.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Can you wait until tomorrow morning? It’ll give us all time to make sure we’re properly packed up, and for people to say goodbye. Some might even change their minds about travelling with you.”

  Evans didn’t need to mull it over. “Sure, we can wait.” It would give him more time to make sure they were well supplied and packed up, and he did prefer leaving places in the morning, so that they would have the most light. Besides, after that shield job he was feeling pretty tired.

  “Great, I’ll let the others know.” Paul ran off.

  “So you’re going back to the place you came from, huh?” Frannie commented. “This must be some kind of record for you, shortest time between visits to one place.”

  Evans shrugged. “Might be.” He was almost positive it would be.

  “I know you don’t like it here, so I don’t expect you to visit much, but maybe you could try sending a letter sometime?”

  Evans laughed. “Not sure the postal service is running.”

  “Not in the traditional sense, but we’ve had visitors carrying letters before. A lot more make it to their destinations than you’d think. I have a pretty good correspondence going on with the leaders of a few other communities.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s good to keep in touch.”

  “Maybe I’ll write a letter then.” Evans doubted he would. He wasn’t the letter writing sort.

  “So, back to supplying your trip. Do those camels need anything?”

  Evans redirected the question to Dev, who had been following quietly a few steps behind. During Dev’s reply, Evans mentally composed his goodbye to Winnie, who would be upset if he just disappeared on her. He hated goodbyes. He also wondered what the hell he was going to tell Gerald. The kid wasn’t exactly the most stable individual. Evans thought through various places where he could tie him up for a few hours to prevent him from following the party. But as Gerald had said, Evans would have to catch him first.

  30: Dakota

  11 Days After the Bombing

  Three nights had passed on the submarine. Dakota had gotten used to the sounds it made, as well as the motions. She still turned green every time they surfaced, but she was proud of herself for never having thrown up. Bronislav thought she was just being foolishly stubborn.

  By the time they rose to the surface that morning, Dakota could follow along with Bronislav’s orders, knowing which ones were directed at whom. It would take a lot more lessons for her to learn why certain orders were given, but the captain had promised that he would continue her training after they went home. He was going to set aside at least one day a week to give her personal lessons, and perhaps more once everything was settled.

  Before they even reached the surface, Dakota knew they would finally be heading home. She could feel that the water, although still rough, was calmer than it had been, and Bronislav’s orders were different from the other times they had surfaced. No one turned green, and the engines began pushing them home.

  A hollow bong echoed through the sub.

  “What was that?” Dakota wondered.

  “We hit something. There’s a lot of debris in the water.” Bronislav ordered the hatch opened and some men to go out on deck. They were given poles to push what debris they could out of the way, and shouted when there was something they would have to go around. The engines were slowed so that they wouldn’t strike anything too hard.

  Dakota listened carefully to the shouts coming down from the men above, especially when they identified some of the debris. She feared that they would come across a shipping container, but it seemed to be pieces of old boats, houses, and trees that kept scraping along their sides. These were all things that could be smashed and broken, unlike the containers.

  Bronislav took a look for himself a few times, peering through the periscope.

  “What’s it look like?” Dakota asked.

  “The water level is still high,” he informed her. “It doesn’t help that the tide is in. I can see empty spaces where a few houses once stood, and those still standing have been heavily damaged.”

  “Can you see home?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know when I do.” He didn’t watch the whole time, but checked periodically. Dakota wanted to take a peek herself, but she wasn’t going to without Bronislav’s permission.

  It took a lot longer getting home than it did going out to sea. Dakota kept bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was eager to get back on land, and to see Cameron. She missed Brunt, and Hope, and a bunch of others. While she hadn’t gotten claustrophobic like a few of the other shadows had, she was looking forward to the open air and having the sky above her. Even just having the hatch open was nice.

  “I can see Animal Island,” Bronislav reported.

  “And?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  Dakota quickly took his place at the periscope. It took her a few seconds to register what she was looking at. Animal Island was tiny. When Bronislav had reported high water levels, she hadn’t expected this.

  “The shack’s gone,” she noted.

  “I’m surprised it hadn’t washed away before this.”

  “The chicken coops and fences and things are all gone too.”

  “We can rebuild it all, and better this time.” Bronislav placed his hand on her shoulder, and Dakota knew to step back to her out-of-the-way corner.

  “We’re seeing pieces of Bitch Bridge!” someone from up above shouted down the hatch. “Should we try to grab them?”

  Bronislav ordered them not to risk their safety for them. They could gather the pieces later, when they were actually ready to repair the bridge.

  “How much stuff do you think we’ll need to fix?” Dakota asked.

  Bronislav didn’t answer.

  Dakota scratched absently at her arms. If they could see Animal Island, surely they could see the container yard by now? Dakota knew that, based on the direction Bronislav was pointing the periscope, he was looking right at it. His silence made her dig her fingernails into her elbows.

  “Take a look,” he finally said, his expression betraying nothing as he stepped away.

  Dakota nearly banged her face into the periscope in her hurry to look through it. For a second her heart sank, as she thought she was looking at floating containers, but then it leapt back up when she realized the effect was caused by the water level being high enough to cover the rocky shore. The waves splashed up across the pavement and puddles were everywhere, but the containers were where they were supposed to be, at least the ones she could see. Even better, people were walking among them, with a few watching the submarine go past.

  “They’re okay!” Dakota couldn’t stop herself from shouting.

  She wanted to wave, but was able to resist, knowing that she couldn’t be seen. Instead she turned to Bronislav with a big smile on her face. Other people on the bridge were now grinning, but Bronislav’s face remained still.

  “What’s wrong?” Dakota glanced through the periscope again, but when she saw nothing different, she turned back to Bronislav.

  “We know that some people are okay. Not everyone,” Bronislav answered her, dampening the mood. “While it’s a good sign to see that the storm was survivable, we have no idea what the conditions are like. That row of containers hasn’t moved, but we can’t see the ones beyond it. We don’t know if our remaining supplies have survived. Living through the storm is one thing. Continuing to live after it is another.”

  Dakota absorbed this, turning the words over in her mind. She was no longer ecstatic, but she found she was still very happy. They could have come home to a lot worse.

  The U-shaped dock was underwater, but they found they could tie up alongside the cement wall beyond it just fine. Some men would have to stay on board, ready to move the submarine as the water level dropped, but most were ready to get off and find out what the damage was. When Dakota climbed to the top of the conning to
wer and out of the hatch, she noticed one thing that was missing right away: they had parked where the toilets once stood. Some of the submariners helped her cross from the submarine to solid ground, where she continued to feel the rolling waves beneath her. She had felt this effect before, after spending years on the Diana. She had sea legs.

  “Dakota!” Cameron was running toward her, a bright smile on her face.

  “Cameron!” Dakota would have run to meet her had the woman not closed the distance so fast. She was swept up in a hug so hard that it knocked the hat off her head. “How are you? Are you okay? What was it like in the submarine?”

  “I’m good, I’m okay. And the submarine was fine. I got queazy a few times when we rose to check out how rough the water was at the surface, but other than that, it was mostly just smelly.”

  Cameron let go to look her over and then gave her another hug. Dakota hugged her back, feeling overwhelmed and grateful to have found someone who cared that much for her. On the Diana, her caretaker never would have been so concerned. She barely would have given Dakota a second thought.

  “Here’s your hat, kiddo.”

  Dakota was released and turned to find that Brunt had picked up her hat for her. He gave her a brief, one-armed hug, and then plunked her hat down on her head.

  “How are you guys? How’s everything here? I noticed we lost our toilets.”

  “And Bitch Bridge, but you probably saw that too,” Cameron said. “Everything else is still standing. The empty containers we hadn’t finished modifying got moved around, but none got pulled out into deep water. We’re still checking inside people’s homes. Just about all of them leaked, so there’s a lot of water damage to deal with.”

  “Did anyone die?” Dakota knew that if she didn’t ask directly, she wouldn’t be given an answer.

  “A few,” Brunt told her when Cameron kept her lips pursed. “Most of us retreated to the upper containers on the wall, but some stayed below.”

  “How did they die?”

  “You don’t need to know,” Cameron insisted.

  There was a brief stare down between her and Dakota, but Brunt broke the silence.

  “A few drowned in their containers,” he explained, much to Cameron’s obvious annoyance. “From what I’ve seen and heard, it was mostly elderly people who didn’t have anything to climb up on. The others we assume also drowned but can’t be sure. They haven’t turned up.”

  “Washed away, I guess.” Dakota wondered if any of them were people she knew. If any were kids, then it was likely. “Any zombies?”

  “We have to be really careful opening the containers.” This time it was Cameron speaking up. “Those who died inside them have already turned. Luckily, no zombies were washed in here, or at least none were left behind when the water receded.”

  “Well, I’m ready to help. What can I do?” Dakota offered.

  “There may be no zombies, but there’s still a lot of debris lying around. The kids are gathering it up if you want to help them.”

  “On it. You two get back to what you were doing.” Before Dakota could run off, Cameron gave her another hug.

  “I’m just glad you’re all right,” she told her.

  “I’m glad you’re okay too,” Dakota said back. “But we really should be helping.”

  “Of course. Go on.”

  Dakota ran off toward a bramble of branches piled up along the base of the wall. There were scraps of mostly unidentifiable detritus everywhere. Soggy, mushy paper was plastered against the sides of the containers, shreds of plastic bags gathered in the corners, and leaves and mud turned the pavement into a splotchy carpet. All of it would have to be picked up and moved somewhere else. Dakota wondered if any of it was hiding a rat, and was glad when she saw Robin’s cat, Splatter, sitting halfway down a row, cleaning his paws. Animals wandered everywhere; they had been moved from Animal Island. Pigs rooted about in the litter, while cows stood in a clump, looking dull and bored. There were no chickens anywhere, so Dakota guessed that they had been corralled into one location, kept safe from Splatter and the other cats who might be tempted to have a go at them. While a few dogs trotted about here and there, sniffing at everything, Dakota didn’t see any of Misha’s. She wondered where the away teams had hidden from the storm.

  Approaching the heap of dead and dying wood, Dakota started by breaking off the small branches that she could snap with her hands. By scraping her boots along the pavement, she made a relatively clear spot in the mud and leaves and piled the broken sticks there. They would make good kindling once dried out, and after the huge pile of bodies they had had to burn, they needed to refill their fuel stores. Without gloves, Dakota’s hands eventually began to hurt, and she was going to need an axe or something once she got to breaking down the larger branches. She paused in her task to go look for what she needed.

  Heading toward her home container, Dakota distracted herself from thinking about the fact that it had likely flooded by studying the debris and the people cleaning it up. A bunch of kids had a wheelbarrow and were scooping up the muck by hand and dumping it in. Dakota stopped momentarily to check that they were all wearing gloves, and moved on when she saw that they were. With the bits of housing mixed in, there were bound to be nails and screws and glass about, not to mention insulation. Dakota didn’t have any experience with insulation herself, but Brunt had told her never to touch anything that looked like it with her bare skin. There was definitely some insulation mixed into the crap.

  When Dakota spotted a stop sign with the post still attached, she picked it up and peeled the leaves off the metal bar. The very bottom of it had bent and twisted to the point of breaking off. Placing the flat edge of the top of the sign against the ground, Dakota pushed it ahead of her like a snow shovel, clearing the slop ahead of her as she walked. It didn’t work great, because a lot of leaves and a thin, watery layer of mud often remained, but it pushed the larger stuff out of the way, creating an easier walking path. Might be good for messengers to have a path to run down. Maybe she should tell someone to work on that, or abandon the branches and start doing it herself.

  Dakota’s container had been checked already, as evidenced by the doors standing wide open. All the containers in the area had their doors open, because it was the best way to let everyone know that they had been cleared. After putting down her stop sign, Dakota stepped inside. The floor was a puddle and everything lower than the bottom bunk was drenched, including the ends of her blankets that hung over the side. She had expected worse and was happy to find that her mattress remained dry. The place smelled of damp metal. Luckily, Dakota’s gloves were stored on a shelf above the water line. She put them on, trying not to look around at the damage. They needed to clean up space outside before they could start drying anything out in the sun; the sun that was still hiding behind clouds and not being very helpful.

  “Hey, you’re back.”

  Dakota was startled as she stepped back outside. “Elijah! You’re okay.” She immediately felt stupid for feeling so happy to see him.

  “Not for the storm’s lack of trying,” he joked. “How was it on the submarine? I heard you were on it.”

  “Cramped, and smelly, and constantly moving. Not too bad. How was it here?”

  “Same, minus the movement. I was in one of those containers up on the wall with something like twenty other people and a pile of tires.”

  “I like the smell of tires.” Dakota mentally slapped herself. I like the smell of tires? She wanted to go back inside and crawl under the blankets.

  “What are you up to right now?” Elijah asked, ignoring her tire comment, for better or worse.

  “I was breaking up some branches, but needed to grab some gloves. I gotta go find a hatchet or a saw or something as well.”

  “I know someone with a hatchet who’s not using it. I can ask him to let you borrow it if you want.”

  “You’re not too busy?”

  “Naw, I just finished helping to push a container back in pla
ce.”

  “One of the empty containers?”

  “No, one of these,” he gestured to the homes around them. “None came out of line, but the line didn’t stay completely straight.”

  Dakota looked at the homes but it was hard to see if they were lined up when all the doors were opened to differing degrees. She thought of the big chains attached to the rebar at the ends of the rows, and was awed that the water had still moved them.

  “Where are those branches you were breaking down?” Elijah asked. “I’ll bring the hatchet to you once I find the man who has it.”

  “Over there, against the wall,” Dakota pointed in the direction. She was a little bummed that she wouldn’t be going with Elijah to get the hatchet, but that would be a waste of time when she could be doing her job. Bronislav had trusted her to shadow him on the submarine, and she couldn’t let him down by slacking off now.

  “Great, I should find you in a few minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  As soon as Elijah was headed off in the opposite direction, Dakota rolled her eyes at herself. Every encounter with Elijah always left her feeling like a silly, stupid girl. She wondered who she could talk to about it. Not Cameron, for sure. And Hope wouldn’t know anything. She needed someone older, with experience. Maybe Robin? She didn’t know Robin all that well, but Dakota knew that she and Jon had dated on and off a bunch of times when they lived on the Diana. Maybe she would have some good advice.

  The stop sign scraped along the ground as Dakota walked and thought. When she reached the branches, she set to work breaking them apart once more. It was easier with her gloves on. Just as she was getting to the point where she could no longer use just her hands, feet, and knees, and was thinking that Elijah had forgotten about her, he showed up with the hatchet.

  “Sorry, I got shanghaied into helping move an aluminium boat to the water. Still floats.”

  Dakota said it was fine, and then, with a fluttering in her stomach, accepted his follow up offer to help. They didn’t talk much while they worked. Dakota held the branches still and Elijah swung the hatchet at them.