Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  The last of the attackers were being hustled away from the wall and taken to the containers where they would be held for the duration of their stay. All the carts that had been hoisted over were left sitting where they had been placed, able to wait until later to be dealt with. The last of the exterior ladders were being tucked away, and the openings in the upper level were being sealed off. Karsten and Boyle couldn’t be seen anywhere.

  “Maybe I can help,” Jon offered.

  “I want to be able to get somewhere high,” Tommy turned to him. “Not anywhere near the wall, but somewhere where I can see above it.”

  “Why? Won’t that risk the zombies being able to see you?” Jon frowned, disliking the idea as much as Misha did.

  Tommy shook his head. “I probably won’t need it, but just as a precaution. I need a spot where I can see beyond the zombie horde without seeing the horde itself.”

  “We’ll wait until you need such a spot,” Misha told the redhead.

  Tommy shrugged. “Where can we go to sit this out? I’d rather not be outside if I don’t have to be.”

  “We’ll go to the community centre,” Jon suggested. “Come on, it’s this way.”

  “I’m going back to my container,” Misha told him. “Tell Danny I’ll come by and see him after this is over.”

  “Will do.”

  As Jon led the foreign trio away, Misha heard him telling Mark that Danny was the same Danny who had been his foster brother. The whole situation was strange to Misha, and he found himself hoping he never ended up in a similar one. He was a very different person than he had been before the Day and wouldn’t know what to say to someone who knew the old him.

  Checking the wall one last time, Misha found it virtually abandoned. A few guards were sitting against it, unafraid—or trying to look unafraid—of the approaching sound, but no one was on top. As he returned to his container, he found the alleyways around it even emptier than they had been earlier. People who had had their doors open previously, suddenly decided they didn’t want to hear quite that well and had closed them.

  As Misha ducked into his own container, the dogs all stood up, and then lay back down when he closed the doors behind him. He not only latched his doors shut, but he placed the several wooden beams he had in their brackets. Once that was done, he moved to the back of his container and proceeded to check the ladder that let him reach the emergency hatch. The dogs looked on curiously as he climbed up and popped it open. Misha didn’t care about the growing noise of the zombies: he wanted to make sure he had a way out ready to go.

  Sitting on his bed beside Rifle, Misha let the other dogs pile around him. He wished that they were all there, that he had had time to go and retrieve the ones who had been left at the community centre. They would be safe there, with lots of company to keep them calm, but Misha wished he could physically see them, to know for himself that they were okay.

  As the minutes ticked by, the monotonous moan got ever louder. As it built up and built up, Misha wondered if they had needed to take so many precautions to keep quiet. He would never suggest otherwise, but at the same time, it seemed that the zombies wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the sounds they were making. It reached a peak point and Misha imagined all the rotting flesh pressed up against the wall and wedged within the container maze. They would break upon it like a tide, forced to the sides where they would either fall into the river, the bay, or manage to loop around upon themselves. It shouldn’t take too long, especially once the splashing of the first few drew the others.

  Once they were gone, there was going to be a massive cleanup to do. There were bound to be stragglers to deal with, but also undead debris. With a group that size, there would be bits of skin, hair, bowels, clothing, and who knows what else falling off them, not to mention what would have gotten scraped off as they passed between containers. It would be a gross job, but Misha would rather do that than just sit there like he was. Maybe another big storm would come along and wash all the gunk away.

  Several minutes had dragged by and the sound hadn’t abated. Misha hadn’t heard any splashing, but that was understandable, as the zombies were making so much noise he was unlikely to hear it. Still, a dread inched its way up his spine. Based on the rate in which the sound grew, he had a rough estimate of how fast the zombies had been moving. By now, a fair number of them should have dropped off, decreasing the overall noise.

  Misha kissed each of his dogs on their heads before standing up. He made a stay gesture with his hands, and then turned away from their watchful eyes. Moving slowly so as not to make any noise, Misha climbed up the ladder to the open emergency hatch, and slithered out on his belly. Even standing on the top of his container, there was no way he could be seen by anything over the wall, but he persisted in lying on his belly just in case. The volume of sound only got louder outside his box.

  Crawling along the container, he looked around the area. A few people were poking their noses out of either their doors or hatches, their expressions worried. Misha hadn’t been the only one to expect the zombies to be leaving by now. Wiggling over to the front of his container, he lowered himself over the edge and dropped to his feet. It wouldn’t be easy to get back inside, but he figured he could borrow a ladder from somewhere.

  Walking as fast as he could while remaining silent, Misha made his way toward the community centre. He wanted to check in with Boyle, ask him his thoughts on the matter. He’d probably also see a doctor while he was there; the stress was tightening his already-pained throat.

  When he reached the centre, he spotted movement off to one side. Over near the toilets, Mark was pacing nervously back and forth. The sight made Misha feel worse than he already did, and he beelined for Jon’s apparently old friend. Mark stopped pacing once he noticed Misha and stood still. He seemed to be hoping that Misha was just going to one of the toilets, but his shoulders slumped as he realized that this was not the case.

  “You’re worried.” Misha didn’t ask, he accused in a low whisper.

  Mark didn’t respond and Misha began to wonder if he had even heard him, but the man would have seen his lips move, would’ve made some sort of gesture for him to repeat himself.

  “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Misha demanded to know.

  Mark glanced around the area. Making sure no one could possibly overhear them? Or looking for a way out of this confrontation? Either way, there was nothing.

  “I don’t know,” Mark finally admitted.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Exactly that. I don’t know what’s going on out there. They should be leaving by now. I’ve never seen the comet horde act this way before.”

  Misha thought about how long this man and his group had been following the zombies outside the wall. He realized how dire that meant their situation was.

  “Do you need that high spot you mentioned earlier?” Misha asked.

  “It could help, yeah.”

  “All right. We’re going to tell my leaders first, then I’ll find you that spot.” Misha led him back to the community centre, his eyes drifting toward the wall standing in the distance. On the other side, death seemed to be waiting for them.

  21

  Dean’s Stopped

  The dead all moved at the same pace, forced together by the narrow aisles between the containers. If Dean could think about it, he’d realize he was barely moving on his own, but being pushed along by those behind him. He was holding onto a memory as he inched through the metal maze. He remembered hearing gunfire. It had been faint, distant, but he had heard it. Gunfire meant humans, meant hosts to pass on the infection. Dean had succeeded in personally infecting a few humans, but none of them turned out like him. They were smarter than the average shuffler, able to be taught tasks and usually in more control of their bodies, but he had never found anything as intelligent as him. He wasn’t exactly lonely—he could no longer feel such emotions—but on occasion he desired something more than the rot around him. Ano
ther being like him would make hunting easier, would make controlling the others easier. But there was nothing else in the world like Dean.

  When the maze ended, Dean was no longer being pushed along as the zombies spread out through the open area. Across the way was a barrier of shipping containers, without any gaps between them. There were no humans. There was no sign of anything living.

  Dean continued to move toward the barrier, the other zombies still packed fairly tightly around him. They always wanted to be close to the most living thing in the area, which almost always was him.

  There was something about the containers ahead. Dean couldn’t get very close before the zombies ahead of him formed a clump he couldn’t press into. He stopped against their backs, his dead, goggled eyes scanning over top of them.

  These weren’t just containers, this was a wall.

  A wall, why was a wall important? Dean couldn’t remember. There was something about this being a wall that he should be able to figure out.

  As he stood and stared, the other zombies filled the area, stopping with him. They were waiting for him to move, their collective wheezing groans never changing. The horde was eerily still, zombies who’d normally be tempted to roam unable to do so as they were penned in by the others.

  Dean studied the wall, trying to remember what it meant.

  22

  Abby’s Anxious

  Abby sat in the waiting room with Cameron, Brunt, Dakota, Peter, and Hope. Lauren wanted to stay as well, but it had been decided that at least one of them should be working.

  “I’m thirsty; where’s the nearest tap?” Cameron asked, getting to her feet.

  “There should be one in the room across the hall,” Abby told her. There were others in some examination and recovery rooms, but Abby didn’t know if those rooms were in use

  “Want to show me?” Cameron glanced at Hope and Dakota. It was clear to Abby that she wanted to say something, but not in front of the girls.

  “Sure, I could probably use a drink myself.” Abby stood and the two of them went into the medical lab across the way. Abby could count the number of times she had been in there on one hand with fingers to spare, because every time it made her shudder. Any sort of laboratory equipment had that effect on her now, knowing it was a place like this that had made the contagion.

  “I didn’t want to worry Riley by telling her, but I think you should know. I’m sure everyone here will learn soon enough.”

  Cameron’s words rang ominously in Abby’s ears. Whatever she was about to say, couldn’t be good.

  “There are some people heading to the container yard, supposedly to attack it.”

  “What?”

  “Shaidi and Larson returned last night. Apparently, they were attacked while out scavenging, and Danny, Bryce, and Lenny were all captured. The group is now heading to the yard, and it shouldn’t be too much longer before they get there.”

  “What about Jon? Is he all right?” Abby knew that Jon had been out scavenging; he always made sure to send word over the radio about when he’d be out.

  “Apparently, he stayed behind to track the group’s movements, to keep an eye on things in case they change.”

  Abby located the nearest stool and sat down, her mind digesting everything. “We should go. We should round up some volunteers and go help them.”

  Cameron shook her head. “They have things under control. If they need us, they’ll radio for us.”

  Abby finally registered the tension in Cameron’s body. Seeing it in Riley over the past few days had made her think of it as the default setting, but Cameron was quite different from her sister.

  “Come here,” Abby stood up again, opening her arms.

  In a very un-Riley way, Cameron stepped forward and allowed herself to be hugged, embracing Abby in return. The woman’s home was being attacked, and here she was, unable to help because she had to make sure her sister was okay. It couldn’t have been an easy decision to make.

  “It’ll all work out,” Abby attempted to soothe her, stroking Cameron’s short hair.

  After a minute, Cameron let go and stepped back. Her eyes were moist, but with a quick swipe of the back of her hand, they were dry again.

  “I suppose I should get tested,” Cameron commented, looking around the space they were in.

  “That can wait until later, once this is all over and done with.”

  Cameron nodded in agreement. “Well, we should get back. The operation isn’t supposed to take very long, and the others will wonder where we are.”

  “Does Dakota know? About the impending attack?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure,” Cameron shrugged. “I didn’t tell her, but it was pretty obvious that something was going on by the time we left, and she may have overheard someone talking.”

  Together, the two women returned to the medical centre’s waiting room. Abby looked over at the three kids, who were huddled together against the wall away from the adults, whispering conspiratorially to each other. Hope kept glancing at the door to the operating room, waiting for it to open. Dakota didn’t seem too concerned, trying to keep a conversation going, while Peter, who took some coaxing to sit here with his friends, sat quietly listening as he usually did. All they needed was for Becky and Adam to join them and the set would be complete. Again, Abby wondered if she should move to the container yard so that Peter could be with his friends.

  The door finally opened as Josh exited the operating room. As he walked toward Cameron, Abby, and Brunt, Hope shot to her feet and hurried over, eager to get the news first hand.

  “The operation went well,” Josh told them, getting a collective sigh of relief in response. “She’s not awake yet, but you can go see her in a minute. I should warn you, though, you might see some tubes sticking out of her.”

  “Tubes?” Abby’s brows pinched together.

  “After an operation like this, excess fluids can build up, so there are tubes to drain it. It might look gross, but don’t worry about it.”

  “Can I go see her now?” Hope asked, tugging on Josh’s hand.

  “Just give doctors Robin, Haily, and Lewis a bit more time to clean up.”

  Abby imagined the bloody rags and tools being gathered in a bucket to be washed and disinfected later. She wondered what would happen to Riley’s tissues. They had a sort of graveyard in remembrance of people who had died since arriving at the Black Box, but there were no bodies in it. Everyone was buried under a crop field to help fertilize soil, their decay drawing in needed worms and other such insects. Would the tissues they had removed from Riley end up the same way? Or would it be decided to do something less respectful with them, like use them as fish bait or mix them into the pig feed as protein? Abby decided she really didn’t want to know. She missed the wastefulness of the world before the Day.

  Josh disappeared back into the operating room, saying he’d come get them the moment they were allowed in. Abby sat back down with Cameron, but Hope didn’t move. She waited impatiently near the door, her fingers fidgeting with one another. Watching her, Abby realized she had been fidgeting with the cross hanging from the fine chain around her neck. It had become a habit whenever she was worried or relieved, as if it somehow communicated her thoughts to God, both the prayers and the thanks. Glancing over at Cameron, Abby saw that she still looked nervous despite the news that everything had gone well and guessed it was because of what they had talked about.

  When Josh finally did return, Hope didn’t wait for him to say anything; she simply pushed past him to get into the room, nearly bowling over Robin who had been behind him.

  “You can go in, although she’s still asleep,” Josh told the others.

  There was a bit of bumping as Abby, Cameron, Brunt, Peter, and Dakota tried to enter the room, while Robin, Haily, and Lewis attempted to exit. Josh stayed put, ready to answer any questions Riley’s visitors might have.

  By the time Abby got to Riley’s bedside, Hope had already situated herself on a metal stoo
l next to her mom, her body stiff, not knowing what to do.

  “You can take her hand,” Josh told her, the girl immediately reacting to his words.

  Abby found it difficult to look directly at her friend. Riley was mostly covered by a blanket, but the bandages still showed and the tubes poking out from between them were mildly disturbing.

  “She looks so much smaller,” Cameron whispered, as if her voice might wake up her sister. Brunt wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  Abby mentally agreed with her. Sure, Riley was physically smaller, her breasts having been removed, but it wasn’t just that. Still hooked up to IVs and unconscious, she appeared frail, a lot more delicate than Abby ever imagined she could look.

  “Will she be staying in this room, or will she be moved?” Brunt asked Josh, his arm slowly sliding away from Cameron as she found another stool to perch upon across from her niece.

  “We’re going to keep her in here for a few hours, provided we don’t need it for an emergency surgery, but we’ll eventually move her to the more comfortable recovery room. Hopefully, she won’t have to stay there long before she can start walking around and sleeping where she wants.”

  Although Hope and Cameron settled in to wait for Riley to wake up, Abby couldn’t stand around that long. Now that she knew her friend had made it through the worst, she found she was eager to get back to work on something.

  “Do you guys have a place to stay overnight?” Abby directed her question to Brunt.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’d offer, but Riley and Hope have already claimed our spaces.” Not that Riley needed one anymore, not at the moment at least.

  “I didn’t expect anyone to have enough room for all three of us, so we brought sleeping bags and mats.”

  “Well, if you don’t find any better accommodations, then my floor is open.”

  “Can I sleep on the floor in Peter’s room?” Dakota immediately asked.