Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct

by Kristal Stittle

  Tobias cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to keep it. You were closer to him than any of us, seeing as you shared a room. I thought that since everything is gone…”

  “No,” Misha shook his head, “keep it here.”

  “If you see any other photos you like, just tell me and you can have them.”

  “I’m not much of a picture keeper, but thanks.” Misha looked over all the other photos again. “Are these all the people who died?”

  “Yeah. Anne thought it would be nice to have a sort of memorial wall, since we haven’t lost a group this large in a long time.”

  They were arranged nicely, in circle patterns, with an older photo in the middle whenever possible. Misha focused on one where the center photo was a family shot. The mother was the one in all the surrounding pictures, but no one else from the family photo showed up. They must have all died before reaching the Diana. So many people were dead.

  Living on the Diana was sometimes numbing. There were times when Misha forgot about the outside world. He forgot about the people trying to survive back on land, most likely struggling for basic necessities. His world was the boat, and the waters around her. Sometimes an island was in sight, but he never went there, and the only zombies were those under the sea. Then something small would happen, something like these photos, and it would all come rushing back to him. Things weren’t well with the world.

  “Are you okay?” Tobias asked, maybe noticing some expression on Misha’s face, or maybe he was just asking as a matter of course.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I should be going though.”

  “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know we’re all here, right?”

  “Of course,” Misha frowned at him, slightly annoyed by the question.

  “Okay. Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

  “Probably.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you then.” With that, Tobias crossed the space to chat with Anne before going back to work.

  Instead of walking away from the pictures right away, Misha pulled one down from the wall and knelt before Rifle.

  “Do you know who this is, bratishka? Can you recognize photos?”

  Rifle sniffed at the photo, and then looked at Misha, unsure of what he was supposed to do with the object.

  “It’s okay, boy.” He patted Rifle’s head and returned the picture. “I wonder though if you realize what’s happened. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Now that Rifle had relieved himself, Misha figured he should probably go and check with his maintenance crew, to make sure they truly didn’t need him underwater. Although the explosion and fire had been contained to the decks higher up, all the maintenance teams were very concerned about what the shockwave might have done to the structural integrity in other places, especially those below the waterline.

  While crossing the ship again, Misha passed by a group of sailors from the Russian submarine, including Captain Bronislav. They were having a heated discussion about something in Russian, but the moment they spotted Misha, they fell silent. As far as Misha knew, he was the only person outside the former submarine’s crew who could understand Russian. They seemed to detest him for it, although he couldn’t fathom why. Most likely it was because they were hiding something, but what could they be hiding for nearly six years? Misha didn’t bother acknowledging them as he walked past. Once he had learned what happened to Russia from them—nothing good—he chose to avoid the crew whenever possible.

  Next, he came across Hanna. She was sitting alone and weeping. Misha stopped, not sure what he should do. He knew that she and Alec had a bit of a flirtatious thing going on. Just when he decided to move on, Rifle left his side to go see Hanna, forcing him to go over to her as well.

  The dog’s snuffling at her arms caused her to raise her head, quickly wiping the tears out of her eyes and off her face.

  “Hello, Rifle.” She smiled briefly as she pet him.

  “Are you okay?” Misha asked, even though she clearly wasn’t. Not completely.

  “I’m sorry, I’m a mess.” Hanna got to her feet, attempting to straighten herself out.

  “It’s fine. What are you doing out here? Most people prefer to grieve in their rooms.”

  Hanna gave him a funny look, as if he had caught her doing something wrong. Or maybe he had said something wrong.

  “It came over me out here is all,” she mumbled, returning to straightening out her clothes which were already straightened.

  “It happens. Umm, there’s a memorial for those who were killed in the photo display area, if you want to go look at the pictures there.”

  Hanna suddenly drew in a shuddering breath, a fresh set of tears blazing trails halfway down her face before she thought to brush them away. Misha didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t even deal well with his own grief, let alone someone else’s.

  “I think I’ll go look. Thank you, Misha.” With her head down, Hanna turned and headed for the photo viewing area.

  Misha waited a moment, unsure why, and then continued on his own path, Rifle at his side once more.

  “Why did you have to draw me into that?” he whispered to the dog.

  Rifle looked up at him briefly, acknowledging that he had been spoken to, but obviously having no answer to give.

  Finally getting down to the first deck, Misha was once again distracted from his journey to the maintenance office. First, Robin ran past him, completely distraught. She was gone before he could ask what was happening, but it was obviously caused by something going on in the medical centre. Not wanting to get in the way, he stood off to one side, trying to peer through the door. All he could see was a group of people attempting to subdue a scrawny man who Misha didn’t recognize. They were tying his wrists behind his back and strapping a mask over his mouth and nose. The man must be infected, as that was the usual procedure. Misha realized the off-shippers must have returned from the foreign cruise ship and brought the man with them, not knowing that he was infected.

  Misha’s vision was blocked as Mathias stepped out of the medical centre, leading Jon who was bound the same way as the unknown man.

  “Christ,” Misha muttered, realizing that Jon must be infected as well. Misha liked Jon. He didn’t know him very well, but what he did know made him a good guy. It was hard not to like a guy whose actions were almost always driven by a desire to help other people.

  “Out of the way, Misha,” Mathias ordered, having gone into his cold-soldier personality. It was not a good personality, but it allowed him to detach himself and get things done.

  “What option did he choose?” Misha asked Mathias, knowing that Jon couldn’t answer, given the way the mask was secured. Everyone who was infected got one of three options: exile to the nearest landmass, death before change by either your own hand or another’s, or death after change, which resulted in being locked up.

  “Death after change,” Mathias told him. “Now give us some distance please.”

  Misha wasn’t really in the way, but infected people were handled very seriously, and no one was supposed to be within reach if they could help it. He stepped further aside and watched as Mathias led Jon toward their holding cell. It was hard to believe. Jon didn’t seem like the kind of guy to come back to the Diana if he knew he was infected, but then, maybe he didn’t know. Still, to choose option three? Almost no one chose option three. Staying on board like that put a lot of people at risk, not to mention the added grief that came from seeing a loved one turned into a zombie. Misha had always decided he’d take a bullet before changing if he were infected, which was what most people chose. Not only was the idea of being a zombie awful, but having to go through the sickness and fever that came first did not sound ideal. Those who weren’t ready to face death, almost always chose exile. It had been a long time since someone had chosen to stay on board in confinement.

  The stranger was carried out of the medical centre next. He was unconscious and heavily
strapped down to a plastic medical board. Based on what Misha had seen, the man was too frantic to have made a choice. They would put him in the holding cell with Jon until he had calmed down enough to make a decision.

  Remembering Robin running past him, Misha went to find her. Even though Misha had so recently proven his inadequacy at handling grief, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to do something stupid or drastic. Robin was more of a cat person than a dog person, but she treated all animals with love, which immediately put her in Misha’s good books. He found her on the fourth deck, outside, leaning on the rail and looking out over the ocean.

  “Robin?” He stepped up beside her.

  Robin was taking slow, deep breaths. “He was acting so normally. Like nothing was wrong.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know he was infected.” Misha quickly picked up the thread of her thoughts.

  Robin made a kind of strangled noise that Misha couldn’t quite understand.

  “What was that?”

  “April didn’t know either,” she managed to get out.

  It took Misha a moment, but then he remembered that April was the original owner of Jon’s sword. She had gotten infected by zombie saliva during a rainstorm, and it had taken her awhile to realize that she was sick.

  “That sword is fucking cursed!” Robin screamed at the sea. “And I gave it to him!”

  “Hey now, it’s not your fault, and the sword had nothing to do with it. Jon’s been carrying that thing around for years, and I’ll bet you it has saved his life dozens of times.”

  Robin ran her hands through her hair, tugging at it slightly, messing up the neat bun she had it in. Her emotions were fighting within her body, making her feel like she was going to be torn apart. Misha knew because he had felt that himself, and he knew there was nothing he could do to help her.

  “Hey, I was thinking about working today, but I can’t let Rifle wander around on his own. Do you think you could watch him for me?”

  Robin looked at Misha, surprised by his request and the sudden change of topic. “Yeah. Sure, I guess.”

  “He’s already pooped, so I don’t think you’ll need to take him to shit mountain.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I can look after him for you.” It seemed the request had calmed her down. Or at least, distracted her temporarily.

  “Maybe you could take him to see Splatter.” Splatter was Robin’s cat, who got along surprisingly well with the big dog.

  Robin nodded. Based on her expression, her emotions were slowly building back up again.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later then. Rifle, stay.” Misha slipped away before she started crying. He wasn’t sure he had stopped her from doing something stupid—he didn’t even know if those kinds of thoughts crossed her mind—but he might have. He couldn’t see her shirking her duty to take care of Rifle now that she had agreed to it, no matter what the reason. Even if it had been spur of the moment, Misha thought the idea of leaving Rifle with her was one of his better thoughts. The German Shepherd’s silent presence always seemed to have a positive effect on people.

  Determined to get to the maintenance office, Misha went back downstairs. Today seemed to be a day of endless grief, and as he walked, Misha sensed that it was far from over.

  ***

  In the water, Misha stared at the section of the Diana’s hull in front of him. He wasn’t thinking about it at all, just staring at the expanse, his mind lost elsewhere.

  “Misha,” the voice of Holmes, his dive master, buzzed in his ear.

  Misha snapped out of his thoughts and looked around. Holmes was floating nearby with Misha’s dive partner, Sarah, but the rest of the group had moved on to the next section. Both sets of eyes had looks of concern in them.

  “I don’t think you’re okay, Misha,” Holmes told him, “exit the water.”

  Only the dive master had a mask that allowed him to speak while underwater, so Misha couldn’t argue against him. Even if he could, he wasn’t sure he would. He hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to things since he had joined the dive. Not only could he miss an important stress fracture on the Diana’s bulkhead, but if a zombie floated up from the deep… He didn’t want to think about any more death.

  Nodding his agreement, Misha gestured to the pair that he would swim back to the surface on his own. Normally, Sarah would accompany him, but they let him go on his own this time. It just went to show how worried they were about the vessel. A cruise ship like this was normally dry-docked every five years for routine inspection and repair. It had been seven years since the Diana last exited the water. Despite the fact that she was being looked over a lot more often, inspecting things underwater was different. And there were certain mechanical bits they couldn’t look at without taking things apart, and certain things couldn’t be taken apart in the sea.

  As he headed for the surface, Misha heard a peculiar buzzing under the water. It sounded like a tender boat moving, but no one would have started one up without sending word to all the divers. Stopping his ascent just in case, Misha focused on the sound. It was much higher pitched than the tender boat motors, which had Misha thinking it was a much smaller engine. Looking around, he spotted the hull of a tiny boat cutting through the water toward the Diana. It wasn’t any boat that Misha recognized.

  His first thought was pirates, except they usually came in swarms, not alone like this. As the boat slowed down and made its way to the docked tender boat that the divers had used to get into the water, Misha swam toward it, breaching the surface far enough away to go unnoticed, but close enough to know what was happening.

  The boat was a small aluminium, which was strange to see so far out at sea. In it were two black men and a black woman. The woman was badly beaten and bound, and one of the men was a huge mound of muscle; neither of these things instilled good feelings. On the tender boat, a man on the ship’s defence crew blocked their way aboard, while another on the upper level pointed his rifle down at them. Someone else was surely getting one of the five ship leaders, perhaps even all of them.

  “Please, let us on board,” the small man asked of the guard.

  “You have to wait until someone from command arrives,” the guard replied. “You can talk to him.”

  The man looked like he wanted to say more, but stayed quiet, perhaps realizing that the stern-faced guard wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said.

  After nearly ten minutes had passed, in which the smaller man became more and more anxious, Lieutenant Boyle, the leader of all civilian classes, arrived with the two submarine captains, Karsten and Bronislav. It was unusual for both of the sub captains to be on board the Diana at the same time, but after the explosion last night, it was essential.

  “I’m Lieutenant Boyle, how can I help you?” he asked the people in the small boat.

  “We were attacked by pirates,” the smaller man told him, gesturing to a fresh injury above his eye. “We caught this one while fleeing,” he waved at the woman, “but the rest took over everything. All our people are being held captive.”

  Boyle looked at the woman, who was shaking her head. The smaller man noticed.

  “Liar! She refuses to speak. Maybe she can’t because my companion strangled her a little too much while subduing her, but I assure you she was with the pirates.”

  “What is it you want?” Boyle asked.

  The man seemed taken aback, as if he thought Boyle should already know. “Some shelter for now. We’ve been travelling for a very long time, searching for anyone. We’d also like some help if you could spare it. My friend and I want to drive the pirates out of our home and save our people.”

  “What are your names?”

  “I am Sher. My friend here is Bob, and I do not know the pirate’s name.”

  From where Misha was watching, he knew Lieutenant Boyle had seen him, but the woman also appeared to have noticed him. She was the only one on the little boat completely taking in her surroundings.

  “We can take you aboard for some ti
me, but you’d have to be examined and stay in quarantine for a few days. As for helping you with the pirates, there’s nothing we can do for you.”

  The man, Sher, was crestfallen.

  “We’re a community here, and we take care of our own. We don’t go off and fight battles that don’t affect us.”

  Suddenly, the woman shot to her feet and leapt over the side of the small boat, nearly tipping it over.

  “Stop her!” Sher shouted, wheeling around.

  “Calm down,” Boyle told him, “there’s no harm she can cause in the water, other than to herself.” He looked up at Misha then.

  Taking the hint, Misha started swimming toward the woman. She was actually trying to swim to Misha already, but with her arms bound behind her back, she was having a tough time of it.

  “It’s all right, I got you.” Misha grabbed the woman, using his flippers to keep both of them afloat. She struggled for a brief moment, but quickly relaxed, letting Misha do most of the work.

  “Why don’t you come aboard so we can examine you?” Boyle told the two men.

  “Yeah. Okay,” Sher replied, but he was looking at Misha and the woman with an unreadable expression on his face.

  “We’ll have to check you for weapons, you understand?”

  A smile creased Sher’s face just before he turned back to Boyle. “Of course.” Taking Boyle’s hand, he stepped up onto the higher tender boat. The man with him, Bob, climbed up on his own. That man looked like he couldn’t be disarmed without surgery.

  Once they had disappeared into the Diana, Misha swam toward the tender boat. The little aluminium was in the way, and so a guard helped Misha lift the woman up into it. While she sat on one of the bench seats, Misha struggled to pull himself into the boat without flipping it, his underwater gear hindering him. When he finally did get up, he freed himself from the tank, headgear, and flippers.

  The two submarine captains had remained behind, and sat with Misha and the woman once they got up into the tender boat.

  “What’s your name?” Captain Karsten of the German submarine asked her.