Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  “I’m ready,” Evans told the paddlers. One of them was Tommy, who was crossing to make sure there would be no trouble with his two friends.

  The boats glided smoothly over the water, against the current that was pushing them toward the large bay. The paddlers kept them mainly steady and on course. The river was wide and it took them several minutes to reach the far shore. Once there, Evans stumbled back out of the canoe and watched as two men carried Gerald to shore and dumped him upon the rocks. With his wrists bound behind him, he folded over his bag of supplies when it was placed in his lap. Even though the kid’s eyes were hidden, Evans could see that he was frightened.

  Tommy met with his two friends, and the three of them exchanged words: mostly about the super smart zombie. Apparently, the two of them had been scanning the corpse pile outside the walls from a distance, but they had yet to find a sign confirming the thing was fully dead or whether it was still moving around somewhere. They had also been searching the surrounding area, wondering if maybe it had run away, but no signs had been found to indicate that either. They seemed to take this as good news, believing that if the zombie was still moving, they would know about it by now. Evans decided they knew more about the thing than he did and also took it to be good news.

  Once Moe was up and on solid ground, Evans saddled him by himself, letting the container people get back into their boats. There were no long, heartfelt goodbyes here, just a few silent head nods in Evans’ direction. That was the way Evans preferred it.

  “On your feet, Gerald,” Evans commanded the teenager once the boats were on their way.

  “Who are you?” Gerald asked nervously as Evans led him toward the horse, carrying the kid’s pack.

  “My name is Evans. I’m the one who was sitting next to you during the trial, the one with the sword.”

  “The one who said you’d seen people like me before,” he responded rather bitterly.

  “I know of a whole camp of people like you.” Evans climbed up on the big, old draft horse and pulled Gerald up with him. The kid was skinny enough that Evans could sit him on top of their packs, which he had lashed behind the saddle. “Hold on here,” he advised the kid.

  “People like me?” Gerald wondered, pressing his knees into Evans’ sides in an attempt to stay balanced as the horse started moving. It wasn’t easy to hold on with his hands behind his back, but Evans didn’t want the kid free to remove his blindfold yet.

  “People who don’t believe the zombies are really dead, that something can be done to save them, that there’s still something human down inside.”

  Based on the way Gerald shivered, Evans knew he had hit the nail on the head.

  “Stick with me, do as you’re told, and I’ll take you to this camp. They’ll take you in without much trouble.”

  “Were you exiled as well?” Gerald changed topics.

  “Yes,” Evans lied, figuring it would help the kid trust him more. “I was more behaved about it than you were. I admitted my guilt for the sake of my party, and in exchange, I got to keep my horse and not be blindfolded like you are.”

  “Can you take my blindfold off? And unbind my hands so that I can sit better? I’m afraid I’m going to fall.”

  “I promised I’d keep you blindfolded and bound until we stop for the first night.”

  “Can’t you free me now? They won’t know.”

  “I keep my word, kid, which includes taking you to that camp I mentioned if you behave. Right now, behaving means keeping your mouth shut.”

  Evans guessed the kid was looking sullen right about now, but he did as he was told and ceased speaking. As they rode, Gerald wiggled around a fair amount, trying to find a comfortable way of sitting. In the end, he slumped against Evans’ back, his legs tucked up with his knees pressed uncomfortably into Evans’ sides. That was fine; with the sun setting, Evans didn’t plan on riding for much longer anyway. Tomorrow, with the kid’s arms free, they should be able to come up with a better arrangement for the two of them.

  It was dark before Evans picked a place that they could stop for the night. It was some old factory, but Evans didn’t take them any farther than the front office. Once he guided Gerald inside and got him standing in a corner, he carefully led in Moe. The front windows were all broken, but Evans was fine with that. The broken glass still littered the floor beneath them, along with a drift of brittle leaves. Anything trying to get in would make enough noise to wake him.

  “All right, I’m freeing your wrists now,” Evans told Gerald as he carefully unknotted the rope. He could have cut through it much faster, but it was good rope for which there were plenty of uses.

  Once his hands were free, Gerald rubbed his wrists, which were red and raw. He then pulled the blindfold up and off his head.

  “There are no windows,” he commented.

  Evans quickly explained about the glass and leaves. “Here’s your pack. You’re on your own for food right now; we’re not sharing until I know you better.”

  “If I’m not allowed to talk, how will you get to know me?”

  “Ever hear the saying ‘actions speak louder than words’? I find that to be true. Now eat up and get some rest, we’re starting out early tomorrow.”

  Gerald set up his sleeping kit in one corner of the room, while Evans kept near Moe. The horse was already asleep, possibly still getting over the tranquillizer he had been given during the zombie attack. Evans’ exhaustion hit him all at once the moment he laid down. He was asleep in seconds.

  ***

  For two days, Evans rode with Gerald, making their way around the top of the big bay and then back down. They conversed little. Evans spoke to Gerald only when necessary, and Gerald only occasionally asked about the camp to which Evans was taking him once this was over. Of course, Gerald thought they were heading to the camp directly, and Evans thought it best that he believe that. It might make him freak out once he learned they weren’t, but it kept him from orienting himself and running away at the first opportunity. Thankfully, the kid hadn’t been outside the container yard’s walls since he had arrived there and didn’t know this area.

  The days were filled with light foraging, the occasional bashing in or cutting off of a zombie’s skull, and riding, always riding. Evans’ ass and thighs were sore from the saddle and he found himself looking forward to their stops more and more. After saddling up after breakfast, they rode until lunch, at which point they would take the time to forage in whatever buildings were closest. Most of them had been picked to the bone, however, so their only real finds were when they came across wild vegetables, fruits, or mushrooms that had grown since the last people had been through. Evans silently thanked the man he once met who had taught him all about mushrooms, specifically which ones wouldn’t kill him when eaten. After lunch, it was the saddle again until nightfall, when they would stop again, eat dinner, and sleep.

  On the third morning, Evans woke up with painfully cramped legs. He decided that once this was over and he was actually taking Gerald to the camp he knew about, he’d plan for a lot more stopping and even some walking. Moe would probably like that. Although he was a big beast of a horse and was handling the weight of both people and their packs well enough, his old bones couldn’t keep it up forever.

  Evans got up wincing and picked some food from his pack. After returning all his gear to the large bag, he decided to walk around while he ate, checking for anything useful nearby. He hoped the walking would loosen his muscles somewhat. Gerald was still asleep. They had spent the night in the upstairs of a skinny townhouse. Gerald had decided to risk the mouldy, dusty mattress on the one bed, but Evans had brought up couch cushions to put down under his sleeping mat. Downstairs, the place had taken on a new odour since the previous night: a large pile of rather fresh horse shit steamed on the kitchen tiles. Leaving the saddle where he had placed it the night before, Evans picked up Moe’s lead and brought him out back where the beast could graze on the overgrown grass and weeds. Investigating the shed, he f
ound nothing but a busted lock and useless junk. Like everywhere else, someone had been there before him. He guessed it was people from the container yard when they still held the Black Box. Before they got their boat system up and running, it probably wasn’t uncommon for groups to walk from place to place, gathering supplies as they went.

  “Evans?” Gerald’s wavering voice drew him back out of the shed. The relief on Gerald’s face let Evans know just how hard it was going to be to do what he had to do later today. “I thought you had left.”

  “Did you not see the saddle where I left it?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And my pack still upstairs?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Trust me, kid, if I’m going to leave you, I’m not going to leave all my supplies and something as valuable as a horse behind. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Only a little bit.”

  “Eat some more then while I saddle up Moe, and then bring the packs down.”

  Gerald disappeared back inside.

  When Evans brought the saddle to Moe, the horse seemed to have a look in his eyes that matched how the man felt. The beast was just as tired of the thing as Evans was.

  “At least you’re not pulling a heavily laden cart anymore,” Evans reminded the horse as he flipped the saddle over its back. “And hey, there haven’t been that many zombies; they were probably all drawn to one camp or the other with all the commotion lately.” It was probably the container yard due to the prolonged ‘commotion.’ Whatever the exact reason for their absence, Evans was grateful for it.

  When Gerald returned, they strapped the packs behind the saddle together, then climbed up into their usual seating arrangement. With his arms free, Gerald could hold onto Evans’ shoulders and no longer needed to dig his knees painfully into Evans’ ribcage; he had learned to balance. With his legs protesting against the usual seat, Evans squeezed his heels into Moe’s flanks to start him forward.

  They reached the bridge cluttered with old ruined vehicles earlier than Evans expected, which meant they were ahead of schedule. That was fine; Evans would much rather be early than late. While they were crossing, he looked over at the railroad bridge that he had been advised was not good for horses and briefly thought about abandoning his duty. He wouldn’t do that though; he wouldn’t break his oath after the grief he had caused. On the other side, only trees and bushes crowded the edges of the road, but Evans had been assured there would be some sort of rest stop structure ahead. Moe continued to plod forward, following the soft, weedy shoulder that was better for his feet, while Evans continued to scan their surroundings.

  “What are you looking for? Did you see something?” Gerald whispered, noticing Evans’ more alert status. “Are there zombies in these woods?”

  “There are zombies everywhere,” Evans informed him. “That’s what I’m looking for.” He pointed ahead as the rest stop came into view around the bend. It wasn’t much: just a tiny gas station with two pumps. Someone had spray painted the word dry on the pavement in front of them, the letters faded and cracked with age.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Gerald wondered as Evans walked them close and dismounted.

  “There’s something we need to do.” Evans loosely tied Moe’s reins to a pump, next to where a patch of grass and weeds had sprouted up through the pavement.

  Gerald hesitated getting off the horse, but he didn’t have much choice when Evans started to untie the packs from underneath him. Knowing he would follow, Evans headed into the tiny station. The racks had long since been cleared off, and a few knocked over. The place was picked as clean as Evans knew it would be; even most of the wooden boards that made up some wall shelves were absent. He headed behind the counter and placed both packs on the floor, slipping something out of the side pocket of his own.

  “Come over here,” Evans told Gerald.

  The kid hesitated again, but then walked over behind the counter.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Gerald held out his hands. Evans quickly slipped the rope around his wrists and tightened.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you stay put.” While the kid was still disoriented by what was happening, Evans kicked his legs out from under him. On the floor there was a brief scuffle as Gerald attempted to wiggle away, but Evans easily overpowered him. He dragged Gerald to a secure-looking strut in the middle of the checkout counter and tied the kid’s wrists to it.

  “Why are you doing this?” Gerald wailed.

  “Keep quiet if you don’t want the zombies to come. There’s something I need to do alone and I don’t want you disappearing on me.”

  “There’s no need to tie me up. I’ll be good; I’ll stay here.”

  “Gerald, one of the first things I learned about you is that you lie, especially under stress. I don’t trust you.”

  “How do I know you’re coming back? That you’re not just leaving me here?”

  “I’m leaving both the packs.” Evans gestured to where they sat on the floor. If Gerald really tried, he could probably reach them with his feet, but it would badly hurt his wrists so Evans guessed he’d only attempt it as a last resort. Patting down Gerald, he removed the trench knife the kid had on him and placed it with the packs.

  “What if zombies come? I’m defenceless.”

  “If you stay quiet, they have no reason to come. There’s no easy way for them to shuffle right in here, and they can’t possibly see you from outside, so don’t make a sound and they’ll go right past.”

  “What if there are scavengers?”

  “Would you bother with this place?”

  “If I were desperate.”

  “If they’re desperate, you won’t be able to do anything anyway. If someone like that does come, and they do find you, just let them take the packs without a fight. Say nothing unless spoken to, and don’t lie.”

  “But…what if they’re cannibals? Or slavers?”

  “Something you should know about me, Gerald, is that I’ve travelled a lot. During all that time, I’ve hardly ever run into any cannibals, and the ones I have, have all been up north during winter when food is scarce.” A memory tried to worm its way into the front of Evans’ mind, but he quickly suppressed it. After a particularly bad northern winter, he now only travelled up there during the warmer seasons, and even then, not often. He didn’t have anything encouraging to say when it came to possible slavers.

  “What happens if you don’t come back?”

  “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

  “But what happens if you’re not?”

  “That would mean we’re both in some serious shit, wouldn’t it? Now stay here, and stay quiet.”

  Gerald opened his mouth to say something else, to protest some more, but Evans clapped a hand over his mouth to silence it. He didn’t bother to repeat himself, just kept his hand in place, staring into Gerald’s eyes until the kid nodded.

  Without another word, Evans got up and went back outside, carrying his sword and his shotgun with him. He wished he had some shells for the shotgun, that it wasn’t just a tool for idle threats. Moe snorted as he was untied and remounted. This time, instead of letting the horse plod along at the pace it preferred, Evans kicked it into a brisk trot. He wanted to get this part over and done with as soon as possible.

  Once he had headed into the trees, Evans was forced to slow down again. He let Moe decide the best route between the trunks and branches, using the sun to make sure they were going the right way. A few times, Evans had to keep Moe from walking over some dangerous-looking rocks or deadfalls, but for the most part, the horse knew what it was doing. On the other side of the strip of forest, they came across several warehouses or what looked like factories, and Evans knew he was close. He knew he was extremely close when a crack rang out and the pavement in the intersection up ahead puffed from the impact of a bullet.

  “We can hear your horse
!” a gruff voice called out after Evans had reined Moe to a stop.

  “Where are you?” Evans called back, pretending he didn’t know that to take a right at the intersection would have him facing down the street and looking at the fence the former Black Box residents had set up.

  “How many are you?” the voice called back instead of answering.

  “One, plus the horse!”

  “Dismount and come around the corner slowly!”

  Evans didn’t dismount, but he urged Moe forward, walking them into view. He scanned the area, taking in the fence of many materials, as well as eyeballing the nearby rooftops and windows, even glancing backward just in case.

  “I said to dismount!” the gruff voice shouted angrily. It came from a man standing behind the fence.

  “Yeah, that’s not happening.” Evans walked Moe a little closer.

  “Stop!” the man’s rifle raised and pointed directly at Evans, so he stopped.

  “I mean you no harm,” he told the man at the fence.

  “Sure you don’t,” he sneered. “Park! Come take a look at this guy! Tell me if he’s one of them!”

  The first man was joined by a second who looked Evans up and down. “Nah, he ain’t one of them. I’d remember a big guy like that for sure. Where do you come from, stranger?”

  “All over. I’m with a party of roamers.”

  “And where’s the rest o’ this party o’ yours?” the man named Park asked.