“Hey, whoever’s down there, can you help out?” a whispered voice called down from the wall. Apparently, Misha had been spotted. “We got a horse here.”
A horse? In the middle of the night? Misha looked to Bullet at his side. The dog wasn’t growling or whining, just curiously cocking his head at the wall. Looking back, Misha could just make out Rifle, still plodding toward them. He also did not appear alarmed.
A flashlight clicked on and shone in Misha’s face. “Misha? You gonna help or what?”
“Yeah, yeah, just stop blinding me.” Misha had raised his arms, attempting to shield his face and preserve his night vision, but it was already blown. After the light was removed, he had to hold his arms out like a blind man, searching for the nearest ladder. By the time he found it, he was able to see well enough to climb. When he reached the top, he heard Rifle huff and flop over, taking a break until it was time to go back asleep.
On top of the wall, Misha could make out a cluster of people gathered around an opening. It appeared to be most of the wall guard, which had Misha nervous. In this darkness, they needed to be especially aware. He nearly tripped over the feet of someone sitting in shadow, his or her back pressed up against the second level of the wall.
“Here, I made a torch,” someone whispered. After a few sparks from a lighter, the torch went up bright and fiery and was slotted into a nearby bracket.
Misha immediately looked outward, hoping the light didn’t draw the attention of something dangerous out there. He then looked down at the feet he nearly tripped over and saw that it was two people. Shaidi and Larson were side by side, panting slightly between drinking some guards’ water and eating late night meals. Concerned, Misha went to the opening in the wall and looked over. Some of the wall guards were down there, giving food and water to a pair of exhausted and sweaty horses, but there was nothing and no one else.
“Where’s Danny? Where are the others?” Misha asked the two who had returned alone.
“We’re waiting for Karsten and Boyle, they should be on their way. Let them eat, its been over a day since they last had food,” a guard answered for them. “Help us with the horses.”
Misha agreed to help, but his mind was racing through all the worst-case scenarios, which got pretty terrible. The guards had already erected the crane that Harry built, his mechanical engineer knowledge invaluable, and now lowered the horse harness over the side. The first horse danced a bit, none of the horses being fond of the crane, but it was too tired to struggle for long. With the horse strapped up came the hard part and explained why so many guards had gathered. Although the pulley system built into the crane lessened the overall weight, it still took several men hauling to raise the horse. Misha waited at the top, the pullers having climbed down inside the wall. He worked the brake so that if people slipped, the horse wouldn’t suffer a fall. Once the horse reached the height of the opening, Misha guided it through, whispering comforting words. The head of the crane swung until the horse was past the wall. They then worked in reverse, a more difficult job to control and required more focus from Misha with the brake, until the horse was on solid ground again. Releasing it from the harness, everyone prepared to do it again with the second horse.
When both horses were finally safe, they were led away to their pseudo-stables. It was then that Boyle and Karsten appeared. They were sweaty and tired, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out that both had helped with the lifting of the horses. Shortly after they mounted the wall, Shaidi and Larson stood up on shaky legs and the torch was snuffed out. The guards, although desperate to know what was going on, were ordered back to their posts. Misha had the freedom to follow the others back down off the wall where they could talk more safely on the ground.
“Tell us,” Karsten said, not bothering to ask the questions everyone wanted to ask. Misha hadn’t been the only one roped in by the guards: two others who couldn’t sleep for whatever reason also stood around.
“Bryce, Lenny, and Danny have been kidnapped,” Shaidi said, her voice harsh with exhaustion.
Misha’s blood turned to ice and his knees felt weak. When Bullet leaned against him, he was nearly pushed over.
“We were attacked last night,” Larson picked up the story. “Don’t really know by who. Me, Shaidi, and Jon managed to get out of there with two of the horses.”
“Where’s Jon now?” Boyle asked.
“There was no way all three of us could ride the horses back, not as fast as we wanted to move and not bareback,” Shaidi said, shaking her head.
Misha hadn’t noticed the horses’ lack of saddles and reins until she mentioned it.
“Jon stayed to follow the group that grabbed the others. We stuck around, hiding, until we found out they had found our map and were heading here,” Shaidi told them. “The moment we knew, Jon volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on them while we got here as fast as we could to warn everyone.”
“Are the others still alive?” Boyle asked the question that was trapped in Misha’s throat.
“They were when we left.” Larson looked down at his feet, clearly ashamed about abandoning his brother and the others. “We didn’t see much of them; it was too dangerous to get close, but they were alive.”
“How long until they get here? How many of them are there?” Karsten had gone cold and calculating, becoming the submarine captain he had once been.
“They should arrive sometime tomorrow. Or today. You know, after the sun’s up,” Larson fumbled. “I can’t say I counted, but there seemed to be a lot of them.”
“I’d put them at around four dozen, although that’s a rough estimate, and they weren’t all combatants,” Shaidi added. “I saw some kids with them.”
“Kids?” In the dark, Boyle’s expression couldn’t really be seen, but his voice conveyed his confusion. “I’ve never heard of a group with kids surprise attacking another group, especially one that would take hostages and then head to their main camp.”
“They also had old folks,” Larson mentioned.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Shaidi shrugged. “We certainly don’t know their motives, just that it happened. Is happening. We need to prepare for them.”
“Okay. You two should get some sleep for now; we’ll get the rest of the details in the morning,” Boyle excused them, although they continued to hang around. “Karsten? I think we better get planning.”
Karsten grunted his agreement.
“Should we warn everyone?” Misha asked, the first opportunity he had to speak since learning of what happened.
“Not right now,” Karsten shook his head. “I believe Larson when he says they won’t get here until after sun up, and if they’ve stopped for the night, which is likely with kids and elderly, they might not even be here until the afternoon. Still, we’ll be prepared by morning. We’ll inform the morning guard before they start their shift, and then everyone else as they get up. We need to bolster the numbers of people we have up there. Cancel any jobs outside the wall and any unnecessary ones within.”
“I agree. Let’s go check our numbers,” Boyle led Karsten away, the two putting their heads together to plan, their conversation falling into a whisper that got harder to hear the farther away they got.
Shaidi and Larson drifted off together, trudging back to their containers, while the other two who had been listening in disappeared into the shadows.
“Rifle?” Misha whispered, wondering where his dog had gone.
He heard a wheeze as Rifle got on his feet and plodded out from the shadow alongside the wall. Bullet was with him, looking up at Misha like he could explain what was going on.
“Come on, boys, we’re going to need some sleep if we’re going to deal with this tomorrow.”
Together, they made their slow journey back to their container. Not all the other dogs had returned by the time they went inside, but that was okay. They would be fine outside, but Misha left one of the doors open anyway. He didn’t think it was going to rai
n before morning, and he wanted the added sunlight to wake him. That is, if he could even fall back to sleep.
***
When the morning came, Misha found himself sitting on a stool in the opening at the front of his container. People glanced at him as they got up and headed for breakfast or the toilets; they weren’t used to seeing him there, not at this time of day. Misha paid them no attention; they would learn soon enough what was going on as they were handed their half-rationed breakfasts. With an expected siege, food was being conserved more than ever as Boyle and Karsten prepared for everything, including being cut off from the Black Box. Misha waited for his assignment, glad that Karsten had picked up a fresh load of food just the other day.
The dogs had picked up on his stress and were confused about the break in routine. They wandered in circles in front of the container, clearly wondering why they hadn’t gone on a run that morning. Even Rifle was up, standing on stiff legs beside Misha, his ears up and listening for danger. Misha didn’t think he had slept much either. After going back to bed, his bratishka had made a lot more noise than usual, grunting and sighing and shifting positions on the mattress. Rifle always knew when something was up.
“Hey, Misha!”
Misha turned and spotted Brunt walking toward him. He raised his hand in a half wave to acknowledge him, and Brunt jogged the rest of the way over.
“You know about what happened?”
“Yeah. You here to give me an assignment?”
“Actually, I’m not. Cameron asked me to let you know we’re going to the Black Box with Dakota.”
Misha frowned. It wasn’t like them to leave at a time like this.
“Apparently, they have an injured animal over there and want Cameron to consult. It’s why Freya came over here, to get her.” Brunt wasn’t lying, but he seemed to be relaying information he didn’t quite believe.
“Why are you and Dakota going, then?”
Brunt shrugged. “Cameron asked us to come. Dakota wants to see her friends, so that’s fine. I wanted to stay, but she was really insistent.”
That would explain why Brunt thought he had been lied to. Cameron wouldn’t insist he come, not with an impending attack, unless she had a good reason. Her reason was apparently something she didn’t want to reveal until they were away from anyone to whom Brunt could spill the beans. Misha briefly wondered if she was pregnant and going to the Black Box to confirm it. It was the best outcome he could come up with off the top of his head and decided to believe that was the reason, even if she was a bit old for a baby now.
“All right, I guess I’ll see you guys when you get back then.” At least he wouldn’t have to worry about their safety during the impending attack.
“Yup.”
Neither of them mentioned the fact that Misha could very well be killed before they got back depending on what happened. After a moment of standing there without being able to think of anything else to say, Brunt left. Misha checked the barrel of his rifle again, even though he had thoroughly cleaned it the moment there was enough light. Unable to wait any longer, Misha got up and headed to the community building, hoping they had an assignment for him this time. When he had gone to get his breakfast earlier, Boyle and Karsten were still hammering out the details, including where to put various people. All nine of Misha’s dogs came with him.
The centre was crowded, and no one complained when the dogs came inside. All the tables and chairs had been pushed back and piled up around the walls, while extra cots and mattresses were found and laid out in the space. The centre was becoming a makeshift infirmary, preparing for the worst. Upon the largest, continuous blackboard surface, a diagram of the container yard had been drawn in several shades of chalk and carefully labelled. On a nearby whiteboard, the labels corresponded to people’s names: those who would be in charge of each area. Misha was glad to see he wasn’t one of them. He could take orders, but not give them.
Weaving through the crowd of people who awaited their assignments, a few holding their food without eating it, Misha spotted Larson. He knew him pretty well. The boy used to have a Golden Retriever that had passed away from old age a couple of years ago, as had many dogs from before the Day. The way he had treated his dog had caused Misha to like him, but he also got to know him through Bryce and Becky, the boy’s cousins turned siblings. Misha had once saved Becky from drowning shortly before boarding the Diana, and had then checked on them fairly regularly when they had adopted old Shoes, the Basset Hound, from him.
“Misha, I’m so sorry about Danny,” Larson spoke the moment he saw Misha was close enough to hear him.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you would have done more if you could, even if your brother wasn’t among the captured. Do you have an assignment yet?”
Larson shook his head, and so they waited together. The dogs threaded through the crowd, looking for scraps and head scratches, but they never went too far, always circling back to Misha. Rifle and Bullet never left his side, the old dog sitting and leaning against Misha’s leg. A few times, someone came over to ask Larson what he knew about the people who were coming, and he answered as best he could despite being obviously uncomfortable.
“All right, everyone, settle down!” Boyle’s voice called out over the heads of the crowd as he stood up on a table. “I’m assuming everyone here is aware of what’s happening?”
No one said they didn’t while a majority nodded solemnly.
“Good. Now, as you know, we didn’t have time to reconnect the bridge to Animal Island after the storm. This means no one can go there for safety. This centre is the safest place, and I hope anyone too young or too old to fight on the walls will stay inside. As for the rest of you, form two orderly lines at either door, where you will be given an assignment.”
The crowd shuffled as they obeyed. Larson and Misha stood in the same line together, the one that headed to the door where Boyle was.
“Do you see Freya anywhere?” Misha asked, scanning the crowd for her face.
“I didn’t even know she was here,” Larson admitted. “Why?”
“It’s nothing, never mind.”
The line shuffled along as the assignments were doled out. Parents who were given orders that didn’t allow them to stay with their kids, stepped to one side just outside the door, giving their children last minute instructions and hugs. The older kids all had knives and slingshots, and were prepared to defend their younger siblings if it was called for. Misha suspected that with the size of the invading force, they’d be okay, but neither Larson nor Shaidi had gotten a good look at their supplies, and couldn’t say whether or not they had any heavy artillery. One well-aimed RPG could easily blast a hole through their wall and kill dozens.
“Misha, will your dogs take orders from other people?” Boyle asked when he reached the front of the line.
“Not really,” Misha shrugged. “Not all of them even listen to me that well.”
“But they’ll be following you out there?”
“Most likely. They know something’s going on, so they’ll stick close.”
“I’m putting you on the wall.”
Misha felt his muscles tighten, although the dangerous assignment wasn’t unexpected. He was a really good shot after all.
“Would you mind leaving a dog or two in the centre? They might help keep the kids calm and can sniff over anyone who comes in injured, just in case.”
“Yeah, I’ll pick a few to stay.” Misha understood the part about the kids, but a sniff check? They were people attacked by people, not zombies, so why would they need the dogs to sniff for possible infection? Did it have something to do with Freya being there?
There was no time for questions though, as Boyle gave him his specific location and Larson stepped up to receive his assignment next. As Misha located some nearby rope to tie up the dogs who were staying until the doors could be closed, he heard Larson complain. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept despite his exhausting journey here. Boyle wanted him to find a p
lace to lie down, to keep him in reserve for the nightshift if things lasted that long. Misha knew Larson stood no chance of winning the argument, that he would be left out of the battle’s beginning.
Misha picked three of his dogs to stay at the centre. He chose the Retriever/Lab mix, Trigger, because she was pregnant, Barrel, the stumpy Doberman because the kids liked him, and Stock, the ugly Pit Bull-possibly-Bull Dog-possibly-Pug mixture. Stock was not a pretty dog, whatever he was, but he also looked fierce, which might bring some comfort to those inside the centre. Barrel looked up at Misha with dejected eyes as he was tied up to one of the centre’s support posts.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” Misha told him. “I’d love to stay in here with you.”
With the three dogs secure, he checked the diagram to see who would be in charge of his area. It was White, who usually worked as a lookout when outside the wall. Misha was a bit surprised that Boyle hadn’t chosen one of the other team leaders, but then maybe they were needed to help out elsewhere. Anyone who’d be going up on the wall didn’t need much instruction.
Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) Page 24
