Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct

by Stittle, Kristal

  “Some of these will definitely need a saw, or at least a bigger axe,” Elijah commented, and Dakota agreed.

  “Do you want to get some lunch?” Dakota asked after they had worked themselves into a sweat. She had no idea what time it was, but was feeling hungry.

  “That sounds like a great idea. Maybe afterward we can find that saw.”

  Dakota liked that he had said we.

  In the community centre, the walls dripped with moisture, but someone had gone around and righted everything, as well as dried off all the seats. Watery but hot stew was being served and Dakota took as much as she was allowed. The table where she sat had some puddles here and there along its surface, but she didn’t mind. Her gloves and sleeves were already damp from working with the wet wood.

  “Did they move the medical beds to the upper containers?” Dakota asked Elijah when she noted their absence.

  “Yeah, I think so. I wasn’t really involved with that.”

  If asked, Dakota would have sworn that Elijah was embarrassed by that fact. She didn’t think anything embarrassed him; she thought she owned that entire domain when it came to their interactions.

  “Dakota!”

  She suddenly found herself sitting up much straighter at the sound of Bronislav’s voice.

  “Yes, sir?” she turned in her seat to face him as he strode over.

  “I have a job for you,” he told her, then looked over at Elijah. “What’s your name again?”

  “Elijah, sir.”

  “Elijah, you can help too.”

  “What’s the job?” Dakota asked.

  “I’m sending the kids who have been trained over the wall. I want the debris between the containers cleared away so that our people can reach us when they get home. Once that’s done, I’ll likely have you start checking the contents of the containers that are accessible. You don’t need to empty them out, just record what kind of items they hold, and immediately report on any food that might still be even remotely edible.”

  “That sounds like a job that’s going to take more than just the afternoon,” Dakota noted.

  “Then you’ll take several days to do it. Go report to the wall. I’ve already sent a number of candidates to gather there.”

  Dakota lifted the bowl to her lips and slurped down the remaining dregs of her stew. She had thought she was going to have to train a lot longer before being given a task on the other side of the wall. But in emergency situations things changed, and this was an emergency. Still, it worried her. Bronislav must be really concerned about the food situation. As she returned her bowl to the wash-up pile, she realized that maybe the stew wasn’t watery because it had been poorly made and in a hurry as she first assumed. Bronislav would never admit to her, a fifteen-year-old, just how badly off they really were, but she could see the signs for herself once she looked.

  Moving back toward the wall, Dakota walked faster. She was suddenly so worried for the container yard, for herself even, that she didn’t even think about the fact that Elijah was walking with her.

  ***

  A single ladder was lowered on the far side of the wall. If they needed to retreat, they would have to climb single file. Not a comforting thought. At least Freya was watching over them from the wall. There was no one else on guard duty, no one but her, while the crisis was being dealt with. As Dakota crossed the empty patch toward the container maze, she looked back over her shoulder. Freya stood silhouetted against the grey sky, standing on top of the second row of containers so that she could see farther. In her hand was a golf club, which she could bang against a container like a warning bell if she spotted danger. Everyone was on alert for that sound.

  There were seven of them heading out into the containers, and at eighteen, Elijah was the oldest of them. Three of the teenagers Dakota had learned to sling with were part of the group, and the last two were a sixteen and seventeen-year-old who Dakota knew only in passing. She had been given a rough map of the container maze and led the way alongside Elijah. Behind them, the others surrounded a plastic wagon full of the gear they might need: axes, saws, shovels, and rope. Later, they would bring cans of spray paint to label the containers they had checked as well as a ladder to reach the higher ones, but Dakota didn’t think they would get to that before nightfall, no matter how much she wished they would.

  They moved slowly between the containers, worried about running into a stray zombie, or even a small herd that may have washed up. Then they started using the square-headed shovels to scoop debris out of the way.

  “I don’t know why we have to do this,” Maui complained about shovelling. “People can just walk over it.”

  “Because some of them have carts,” Dakota told him. “We need to make sure that the carts can get through when they get home, especially because they’re the ones most likely to have food with them.” She was being a little more snappy than she meant to be, but that was the fear coming out of her. She was both afraid about the food situation and of what they might come across outside. Those people who had washed away? No one had yet looked for them beyond the wall. They might easily come across the corpse of a friend, or worse, the zombie version of them.

  They slowly worked their way through the maze, scraping a path through the mush, hauling away the larger items, and cutting through branches. The route Dakota originally chose for them to follow had to be scrapped when they found that a container on the second level—presumably an empty one—had fallen at a crooked angle, blocking the way through. Everyone took turns being the lookout, both at the rear of the group and at the front, while the other five worked. Dakota assumed that the others felt the same way she did whenever she got to be a lookout: relief. While more stressful in terms of responsibility, it was a much easier job to do physically. Sometimes one of them would grumble about the work, but no one gave up. They all understood the trust that had been conferred upon their shoulders, that they were being given a chance to prove themselves, especially the fifteen-year-olds.

  As they neared the end of the day and the end of the maze, Josephine ordered them to stop with a terse whisper.

  “I think I hear something coming,” she told everyone.

  They quickly gathered in a group behind Elijah, the only one of them carrying a rifle. Dakota put a stone in her sling, glad that Freya had made them take a few of the potential projectiles. She may not have great aim when it came to slinging, but it could also be used like a bludgeon if anything came close.

  Muscles tense, they listened to the mush of feet travelling over debris that hadn’t yet been cleared and the scrape of pavement underneath. Dakota’s mouth was dry. She had killed her first zombie only a few days ago, and that was in a safe, relatively controlled environment. Nor was it someone she knew, which this could very well be. Her hand tightened around the sling.

  A dog walked around the corner ahead.

  “Barrel!” Dakota practically cried with relief. It was one of Misha’s dogs. His stubby little tail wagged as he trotted over to Dakota. Right behind him came Crichton, Harry, and Angela with Spring. The terrier dog saw Barrel getting affection and ran over to receive the same.

  “What are you kids doing out here?” Crichton asked as he and the others approached.

  “We’re clearing a path for you and everyone else who returns, sir,” Dakota told him, standing upright as the dogs went to receive pats and scratches from the other teenagers.

  “Who told you to do that?”

  “Bronislav.”

  “Aren’t you too young to be outside the wall?”

  “He’s been training us since you left.”

  Crichton’s expression didn’t change, but Dakota was certain he was going to have some words with Bronislav about this.

  Dakota grew concerned when she didn’t see more people and dogs round the corner. “Where’s Misha?”

  “And Ki-Nam,” Elijah added.

  “After the storm, we ran into a large pack of zombies,” Crichton spoke more to Elijah than to Dak
ota. “Misha took off with the cart, as I ordered. The rest of us escaped, but we somehow got separated from Ki-Nam.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harry added, placing a hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

  “He’s dead?” Elijah frowned, trying to process.

  “We can’t say for certain, but it didn’t look good.”

  “But you didn’t see it. It’s possible he’s alive,” Elijah insisted.

  “It is possible, yes,” Harry reluctantly agreed.

  “But then where’s Misha? And his other dogs? You have Spring and Barrel with you, but what about the others?” Dakota demanded to know.

  “There was no time to set up a meeting point,” Crichton told her. “He has to find his own way back. His dogs ran off to follow him, although I can’t say whether they found him or not. These two came and found us eventually. What about here? Were there many casualties? Do you know?”

  “Not many,” Elijah informed him. “Bronislav and Boyle would know.”

  “Boyle’s already back? Well, why don’t you accompany us back home?” Crichton recommended.

  “No, sir,” Dakota immediately refused. “We were given a job to clear the route, and I intend to finish. When Misha returns with the cart, we want it to be easy for him to get to the wall. Besides, some of the pathways are completely blocked, and seeing a cleaned up area will let everyone know which way to go.”

  “All right, finish your work then.” Crichton nodded to all of them, and proceeded to use their path. The dogs were quick to follow after him, as was Angela. Harry lingered for a minute.

  “Can you tell me if Elizabeth and Adam are all right?” he asked Dakota about his wife and adopted son.

  “I haven’t seen them, but no one told me that they weren’t okay,” she responded. “I think Cameron would have mentioned it if something had happened.”

  “Thank you.” He then followed the other adults.

  “Who are Elizabeth and Adam, and why would you have been told if something had happened?” Elijah asked as they set back to work.

  “Adam’s a friend of mine. Sort of. He’s kind of a booger, but he’s a friend of my friend. Elizabeth is his mom.”

  “Okay,” Elijah nodded.

  “Hey, I’m sure your friend Ki-Nam is okay,” Dakota told him. “He probably found Misha and is helping to bring the cart back.”

  “That’s a nice thought.” But clearly Elijah wasn’t certain he could believe it.

  Dakota left him alone, wondering if he thought she was naïve for hoping for the best. She told herself that Misha was fine, that most of his other dogs would have come back if something had happened to him. This was their home after all. And like Harry said, no one had actually seen what happened to Ki-Nam; who’s to say he didn’t escape? He could literally show up at any moment, having fallen only a couple of minutes behind the others.

  Dakota and her crew continued to clear away the debris. They were almost done. The end of the maze was in sight down the corridor on which they were working.

  “I’m going to go roll this tire out there,” Dakota informed the others, gesturing to the end of the maze with her head.

  “Be careful,” Mike warned her.

  “I’ll keep an eye out, don’t worry.” She rolled the tire down the way, and looked all around her as she reached the end. No zombies and no people were anywhere in sight. She did notice some footprints in some mud not far away, though. Maybe they belonged to Crichton? He might have gone to check a different route into the maze only to discover that it was blocked, or maybe Ki-Nam had returned and gone that way. Dakota walked over to the opening, wondering if another container could have fallen over. As she neared the entrance, the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t say why, but she suddenly knew that these footprints didn’t belong to anyone she knew. She stopped just before the corner and thought about it. If it had been Crichton, or Harry, or Angela, why weren’t there footprints coming back out? And if Ki-Nam had been that close behind them, he would have seen the others and called out at some point.

  Dakota turned, intending to go back for help. It was then that a pair of arms whipped around the corner, one clamping across Dakota’s face, the other around her chest. She had no time to scream before her mouth was covered, and she was yanked backward so quickly that her hat flew off her head. Her nostrils flared as she breathed rapidly through her nose, filling her lungs with a rotten scent. She imagined a zombie about to chop down on the back of her head, but instead the point of a knife pricked the underside of her chin.

  “Don’t go squirming now,” foul breath accompanied the whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t want to cut that pretty skin of yours.”

  Dakota stayed perfectly still, petrified. No one knew she was over here. No one had taught her what to do if grabbed from behind and held at knifepoint. Her jaw hurt from the pressure of the hand clamped around it. The back of her head was being pressed into the man’s upper chest.

  “Dakota?” Elijah called out, looking for her.

  Dakota wanted to scream, to tell him to go get help, but she couldn’t move. The man shifted around, holding her like a shield, keeping her body between him and the end of the row of containers in case Elijah showed up. And Elijah did, drawn by her hat, which sat on the ground.

  “Put her down,” Elijah commanded, raising his rifle.

  The man took a step back between the containers instead, dragging Dakota after him.

  “I said, put her down!”

  Another step back.

  Dakota’s eyes widened. A zombie was coming up behind Elijah, moving silently as all his focus lay on her. She couldn’t make a sound, she was barely taking in enough air to breathe. She couldn’t warn him.

  Elijah spun at the last moment, maybe sensing something, or maybe understanding that there was a reason why Dakota was looking past him. But the zombie wasn’t a zombie. Instead of opening its jaws and lunging, it raised a rifle of its own and bashed the butt of it into Elijah’s head. His legs gave out and he collapsed into a heap.

  “Two for the price of one,” the man whispered in her ear. “What do you think? Can we get the other five? Let’s find out.”

  V: Wind and Water

  Shannon ran down the path, even though her mom hated it when she did that. Her mom always imagined Shannon slipping one day and tumbling off the cliff. It had happened to others, but not for a very long time. Ever since, they had made a rule that restricted all drug and alcohol use to a single cave, which they then weren’t allowed to leave until they were sober, the number of falls had dramatically decreased. Besides, Shannon wasn’t afraid of falling. The river was deep here, and she was certain she could swim to one of the shore points before reaching the rapids. People could survive the fall, and this was the kind of situation that required running.

  “There are people,” she panted as she reached the central cave, which was more like a large divot taken out of the cliffside. “There are people coming.”

  “Coming here?” Horace shot to his feet.

  “They’re following the unseen path.”

  “Who is it?” Chuck asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize any of them.”

  “Then how can they be following the unseen path?” Horace frowned.

  “That’s what makes it so exciting!” Shannon loved it when visitors came, especially when they brought new people. But new people on their own? That was unheard of.

  “Did they see you?” Chuck wondered.

  “No, I spotted them well in advance from the stone tree. They haven’t yet come out of the hills.”

  “We should go meet them,” Horace decided. “Better to greet them in the field than down here.”

  “I want to come,” Shannon immediately volunteered.

  “No, you wait here and tell the others when they return from fishing.”

  “But I saw them first,” Shannon pouted.

  “And you have chores you’ve been avoiding all morning. Don’t think your mother di
dn’t tell me.”

  Shannon groaned but knew she couldn’t fight this one. She helped Horace to his feet and watched as he and Chuck went up the path. As soon as they disappeared over the lip, she darted through a tunnel that took her down lower on the cliffs. She popped out of the dark again near the bridge.

  “I need to cross,” she told Verne, who was currently working this side.

  “Your mom was looking for you,” he told her as he lowered his half of the wood and rope bridge. On the far side, Paris spotted the movement and began to lower the other half.

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “I know. I was at the stone tree, watching for herds. Saw people instead.”

  “People?”

  “Yeah, three of them, following the unseen path. All strangers.” Before Verne could ask any more, Shannon zipped across the bridge. She used to be scared of the way it bounced in the middle where the two pieces met, but after years of crossing it nearly every day, she now trusted it.

  On the far side, she threw Paris a quick hello and ran off into the warren of tunnels and cliffside paths that would bring her to her home. She and her mom lived in a bubble-shaped scoop that had a tiny hole down low, forming a little window to the outside. Mom said that a long time ago, water had created their bubble, swirling around and around until the window was formed, and the water could escape. Shannon didn’t know if that was right, but she believed her mom. She had seen what water could do to rocks. Wind too, which had helped carve the paths and caves so many years ago that it was hard to comprehend.

  Shannon got to work on her chores right away. She swept the curved floor, so that all the dust and sand gathered at the bottom of the bowl shape. There she left it; they were letting the sand slowly form a flat spot for them. Next, she peeled off the duvet covers, sheets, and pillowcases so that they could be washed. She ran with them through the warren until she emerged at the nearest shore point. News was already spreading about new people coming. Shannon picked her way across the rocks, finding an empty spot among the washers. Farther up the river, she could see the fishing platforms making their slow way back, drifting from catch point to catch point along the sheer walls. Rocky paddled back and forth between them in a kayak, making sure no one missed a point. The fishing platforms would never survive the rapids and weren’t easy to manoeuvre. They had lost a couple when the current had caught them. While Shannon hurriedly scrubbed at the bedclothes, she watched Rocky working his powerful arms. They were going to get married some day, Shannon was certain of it. She just had to wait until she was eighteen.