Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4)

by Kristal Stittle

  “I recognize these signatures, but not you.” James didn’t hand the paper back; instead, he rolled it back up and stuck it in his rear pocket. “Why isn’t Karsten’s name on here?”

  “My name is Evans. There’s a lot I have to tell you; it’d be easier if everyone were together. Is Jamal still here? And I heard there were two women with you, Rose and… Canary, if I remember correctly.”

  “Who’s he?” Doyle pointed to the young rider.

  “Gerald. He’s part of the long story. You don’t have to take me to your camp, but I’d like to talk somewhere a little less open.”

  “Doyle, go get Canary and Rose; we’ll talk by the fire pit,” James decided. “Jamal will have to wait to hear this; he’s not in the area at the moment.”

  Not liking the idea of leaving James alone, Doyle did anyway. At least it wasn’t boring anymore.

  ***

  Evans was right when he said the story was a long one. It involved him attacking the container yard, an unbelievable number of zombies, trials, and explosives, as well as the death of Karsten.

  “The Black Box is nuclear?” Canary asked as if she hadn’t understood the word.

  At the same moment, Rose said more angrily, “We’ve been livin’ with enough live explosives to bury us at any moment?”

  James ignored them both, although he looked equally surprised by the revelation of the explosives, and he wasn’t easily surprised. “You have this detonator with you?”

  “I do.”

  “And it’s up to us to get back on Black Box land and set it off.”

  Evans nodded. “We’re to do it tomorrow. I’ve been told the container yard will distract the guards, although they hadn’t worked out the specifics of it yet.”

  “Great, so the plan isn’t even complete,” Rose complained.

  “No, it’s complete; what I meant is that they hadn’t yet figured out if their method of distraction was even possible.”

  “And what about Gerald here? Is he part of the plan?” James asked about the exile next. The young man was sitting somewhat apart from their group.

  “No, he’ll stay here with my horse.”

  “Aren’t you risking him running off with the horse?” Doyle pointed out.

  “I am,” Evans agreed. “But if he does, he’ll never find the camp that I know will take him in. Even if he does find the exact one I’m thinking of, they’ll be very suspicious of him and possibly refuse him entry. They know me, and if I say he’ll fit in with them, then they’ll take him in. Isn’t that right, Gerald?”

  “Sure. Whatever you say,” he mumbled sullenly.

  “Then we have to decide who gets to carry the detonator,” James moved onto the next discussion. “Whoever it is, the rest of us have to protect him or her with our lives.”

  “I think it should be Canary,” Doyle immediately suggested. “She’s fast and quiet.”

  James shook his head. “Not with that leg. Sorry, Canary, but if you come on this mission, those stitches are bound to rip out. Painfully, I might add.”

  “If? I wasn’t aware there was a chance I’d be staying here. No, I’m coming with you guys, stitches be damned.” At least her hand was better.

  “Rose, you’re probably our best bet carrying the detonator. You’re the smallest of us, the hardest target to hit.”

  “I’m not too fast with my prosthetic on,” she pointed out.

  “Which is why you won’t be wearing it.”

  “So let me get this straight: I get to run in there holdin’ the detonator, leavin’ me without any weapons to defend myself with?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t she just put it in her pocket?” Doyle mentioned.

  “No, I want it in her hand,” James told them. “I don’t want to risk it being dropped without notice. And if Rose does go down, I want it to be easy for someone else to pick up.”

  “Sounds fun, I’m in,” Rose spoke in a serious tone.

  “I suspect this isn’t really a volunteer mission, but I’m in as well,” Doyle sighed.

  James turned to Evans. “You’ve already done a lot for a community you don’t intend to stay with.”

  “And I planned from the start to do this as well.”

  “I just want to confirm again, that it was Crichton who decided to do this?” Doyle asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  Doyle shook his head. He was thinking of the children he had seen with that group. While spying on them, he had seen the way the kids were being trained, taught to kill and deceive men just as much as they were taught to kill zombies. Still, they were children, and the plan didn’t sit right with him when it came to them.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a way we can get the distraction to occur at a certain time, is there?” Canary wondered. Doyle suspected she was having the same thoughts, as the children were always outside at the same time of day.

  Evans shook his head. “There’s no way to communicate with them. I don’t even have an exact time when they’re supposed to show up. We’re to sit tight until they get here, then move whenever you guys think it’s best.”

  James nodded. “The plan is settled. We head out early tomorrow in order to be in place when the time comes. Bring only weapons and ammo, with a bit of food that can fit in your pockets; something you can eat quietly if you find yourself getting hungry. Everything else we’ll leave a fair distance away, somewhere between where we plan to breach and where we’re to meet the sub.”

  Everyone agreed, even Doyle despite his twisting guts.

  “Hey, did you bring food with you?” Rose turned to Evans.

  “Of course, why?”

  “Any of it meat? Even salted stuff.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rose grinned.

  ***

  That night the cave was extra crowded with the two additional people. Doyle barely slept, the gentle slope never making itself as well-known as then, unlike Jamal who slept like a baby after hearing a stripped-down version of what was going on. Every time Doyle did manage to nod off, he dreamt of children screaming and crying in the dark.

  The morning hadn’t even arrived before James was rousing everyone. It took a while to get back to the Black Box and he intended to be there early, even if it meant they ended up waiting all day. In this instance, it was infinitely better to be early instead of late.

  Doyle ate, emptied his bladder, and packed up his gear. Even Evans was bringing his pack along, despite his plans to not go to the sub afterward. Only the horse and the kid’s pack were staying at the camp with Gerald.

  “If I’m not back by noon tomorrow, feel free to assume I’ve been captured or killed,” Evans spoke to Gerald in the shadows near the horse. “It may be I’ve just been injured and your former people are taking care of me, but it’s up to you what you think. If you decide I’m dead, I suggest you follow this coast. Go around those zombies up that way, but then stick to following the water until you’re sure you’re far away from the Black Box. I’ll most likely be back before nightfall like last time, but in case there’s a snag, I recommend you wait until noon tomorrow. Do you understand?”

  Doyle couldn’t see Gerald but suspected he nodded.

  “I want you to say it,” Evans insisted.

  “Wait until tomorrow at noon before I consider taking your horse.”

  “Good kid.”

  The walk to the Black Box was slow and meandering. They followed the trail for a bit, but then went off course. There was a specific spot along the fences, near the river, around which they were circling toward; a place where everyone was agreed that the guard posted there would be easily distracted. He would definitely head toward the diversion that the container yard had in mind. Passing between several large buildings at the edge of the forest, they stopped off in one to stash their supplies. They separated them in case a wayward scavenger came poking around. Everyone knew where everyone else’s stuff was, in case only one of them made it back out.

  “That’s a lot of bo
oks,” Evans commented when he learned what was contributing to the majority of the weight they carried.

  “Do you want one?” Doyle offered.

  Evans shook his head. “I’m not what you would call a reader.”

  As they left the packs behind, Doyle realized that those books, with whatever was already at the container yard, was all the books they’d have left. Their library was going to be buried along with the enemy.

  The position along the fence that they had chosen was next to a field of long, yellow grass. Doyle hated crawling along his belly over the dirt, but it kept them hidden. It also helped that they were able to tear up a bunch of grass along the fringes, dirt and all, and put it on their backs as camouflage. Cut in large chunks, the dirt and grass made a sort of heavy blanket. They all moved slowly in the light of the rising sun, trying to disturb the grass as little as possible. Luckily, there was a bit of a breeze that morning, so the grass was swaying anyway. Doyle crawled with his axe ahead of him, freshly sharpened by the whetstone Evans had let him borrow.

  When they were close enough, James reached out and gently touched Doyle’s hand. Doyle then reached to his other side and touched Canary’s, even though he could barely see her through the leafy blades. He noticed that her hair was nearly the same colour as the grass.

  They waited a long time.

  From Doyle’s position—which he came to realize was in another part of the same field in which the boy had been found—he could see through a gap in the crap that was piled up along the bottom of the fence whenever the breeze blew the grass just the right way. He watched the feet of the guard go by through the gap, knowing that if he raised his head a bit, he’d be able to see the man’s face. He didn’t raise his head though; he wasn’t going to risk disturbing the dirt and grass Rose had laid across him.

  When the children came out for their usual outdoor lessons, briefly glimpsed through the fence gap and over the recently planted crops, Doyle tensed. He hoped and wished that now would be the time that the people from the container yard would begin their distraction. But nothing happened, followed by more and more nothing.

  The children would be going back inside soon. Doyle’s muscles were rock hard, praying that now was when they would show up. That now was when they had to show up. But they didn’t.

  “I have to pee,” a tiny voice called back to the others. It was so near, so close to the fence! Doyle spotted small feet heading toward him. He remembered the way the kids practically begged for attention from the woman he assumed was their leader whenever she made an appearance. Doyle thought he could use that. He could whisper some lie to the kid, say he was carrying out an exercise, make him keep the rest of the kids outside, tell him that he would be rewarded with affection.

  It seemed James knew exactly what he was about to do, because the moment Doyle opened his mouth, the man’s hand clamped down hard across it. From the grass next to him, James’ eyes burned into his, made all the more fierce-looking by the dark dirt that covered and shadowed his face. James kept his hand there until the young boy finished peeing and ran off to rejoin the others.

  The children went back inside.

  38

  Danny’s Exhausted

  Danny couldn’t remember ever being so tired. His wounded shoulder always ached, but there was so much to do, every day, whether it was corpse removal, rat killing, or helping with the construction project, that he pushed on through the pain. He constantly felt pulled in multiple directions as one person after another called to him, needing another able body to help out. He wasn’t the only one. Everyone capable was dashing about, trying to get everything done as quickly as possible, trying to get everything back to normal. At night, Danny barely felt his bed before he was asleep, only to be woken up again what felt like minutes later despite the drastic change in light. At least that kept him from dreaming.

  For a week they worked, those not capable staying on Animal Island, the bridge constantly being monitored, guarded, and hooked and unhooked as people went back and forth to see their families. Danny didn’t have time to visit his nieces, Hope and Dakota, who had been moved over there the first night after the submarine had appeared. He barely had time to see his sisters-in-law, Riley and Cameron, who were busy with their own tasks. His expanded family was also running all over the place, helping out where they could. Sometimes he’d be working beside them, like helping Misha kill rats, or Abby carry a corpse, but most of the time he had no idea where anyone was.

  On the last day before the mission, he found himself outside the wall, guarding people who were moving corpses to a second body burn that had been started out there. By the time they were done, they were going to be out of wood and out of the charcoal they used in their barbecues. All the bodies from within the wall had finally been thrown on the pyre; now they just needed to be monitored and turned like logs to make sure everything got burned to ash. The ashes themselves were then being shovelled into the river where the toilets were perched. Some people were hopeful they might increase the fish population, but no one seemed to know for certain. Although ash had a lot of uses, no one wanted to use the stuff leftover from such a horrible pyre.

  Danny patrolled the path that had been cleared a couple of feet away from the wall, at the base of the zombie pileup. With his dented metal baseball bat in hand, he scanned the distance for roaming zombies and the ground for scurrying rats. They had lost a large number of people to rat bites already; some suspected more than they lost during the zombie attack, but Danny had never heard the numbers. He was sweltering in his heavy boots and the thick, tough leather that had been strapped on over his pants, but feet and legs were always the first points of attack for the rodents. Some would jump for the face, but unless they had an elevated position, they always fell short. Thick gloves also covered Danny’s hands and arms up to his elbows so that if one did land on him, he could rip the thing off.

  Along his walk, he made one stop. On one of the distant containers, the ones they hadn’t yet searched through for supplies, someone had hung what was left of the zombie corpse known as Dean. Danny suspected Mark and his crew were behind it, having spent a few days searching for the thing. Hunks of meat dangled inside bits of body armour and duct tape, all of it burnt and peppered with shrapnel from roughly a dozen grenades. Even as Danny watched, another piece of something slid free and plopped on the dead below that were still waiting to be burned. Danny was glad that the thing had been hung there; it gave him a place to direct his anger whenever he wasn’t so tired or busy that it numbed him. He still carried the sling Freya had taught him to use, and more than once he launched a rock in the corpse’s direction but never succeeded in hitting it; it was too far away.

  His eyes then wandered past the hanging body and looked at the containers themselves. The sides of the ones on the bottom of the stacks were all slimed with fluids and pieces that had been rubbed off the zombies when they walked past. They were disgusting to look at, as disgusting as everything else was this past week. At least inside the walls some people had taken to filling buckets with salt water and rinsing off what they could. Out here, they needed another big storm. Danny kept walking, not liking to dwell too long on what the future might hold or what they needed, because they needed too much.

  When noon came around, Danny went to the community centre to get his ration of food. They had reduced the amount everyone was allowed, because without the Black Box, they no longer had vegetables or grain coming in, and no one was out scavenging or hunting. Normally, Danny’s stomach would feel hollow most of the day with reduced rations, but he was somewhat glad for them now. Eating anything was a chore, every bite having to be forced down into a stomach that would rather vomit than digest. Danny understood he needed to eat all he was given, especially with all the work that was being done, but he found the task unpleasant.

  “Danny! Over here!” Mark called out when he spotted him looking for a seat.

  Danny walked over and joined the bench along the wall that h
is group and a few others had claimed, several of them squeezing together to make room. The community centre was always crowded these days with people cooking, eating, the injured on their cots, the cats on rat patrol. There were even people who weren’t injured spending their nights in the community centre; those whose homes weren’t safe from rats because of openings in their containers that needed repair and those who were too tired to cross Bitch Bridge. Danny himself had once spent a night in there after letting someone else use his bed, settling in next to Nessie who continued to knit or write in her notebook whenever she was awake.

  “What have you been up to this morning?” Mark asked, wedged tightly next to his girlfriend or wife or whatever their relationship was defined as.

  “Watching for rats and zombies outside the wall,” Danny answered. “You?”

  “Fire duty.” That would explain the smoky smell. “Have you seen Jon?”

  “He’s probably down at the waterfront helping with the construction project.” That seemed to be where Jon always was these days. Ever since the zombie attack, he had worked himself into a fervour, barely stopping to eat or take a piss. Claire often had to bring food to him as he wouldn’t realize how long he had been working, how long it had been since he last ate.

  “That kid’s got problems,” rumbled the black man from Mark’s crew known only as Boss.

  “He’s just working through some stuff,” Danny said defensively. “We all are. A lot’s happened.” And was still happening, what with the crazy plan to make sure the Black Box attackers didn’t come here. “I’m going back to work,” Danny told them, finishing the last of his meal in a hurry. As he got up, he heard Suzanne say something, but didn’t catch the words or who it was directed to.

  Back outside, it didn’t take long for Danny to get roped into another task, this time helping to haul salt water to clean around sites that needed repairing.