Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct) (39 page)

“Inside!  Inside!” she commanded, moving them all back to the door.

Once through, she slammed it shut, and locked it three times: a push lock in the knob, a deadbolt above it, and a chain above that.

“Everyone who touched that thing, get to the bathroom.  Start washing, and strip out of your shirts, we’ll find you others.”  There weren’t many clothes, but Lauren didn’t like the idea of the kids wearing things the zombie had touched.  The children obeyed and many headed for the bathroom where the tub was kept full of water in case of emergencies.  Lauren thought this counted.

She ran to the adjacent room, stripped the beds, and with the older kids’ help, dragged the mattresses and box springs into their room.  They leaned them up against the door to the outside, the door to the adjacent room, and the window.  They then dragged their own beds around to hold them firmly in place.

The kids who had saved Lauren washed up quickly, dumping their clothes in the tub to soak.  Many of them now wore oversized shirts that hung to their knees.  Lauren gathered all children at the back of the room, taking the space closest to the door herself.  The children had saved her, but she still needed to protect them.  The horror wasn’t over yet.

If they were really quiet, maybe, just maybe, they would see morning.

16:

Misha Jovovich – Day 15

Misha Jovovich lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.  Twenty-four hours had passed since Riley had left and already he missed her leadership.  Shawn didn’t know how to organize them, so all day
, everyone had just done their own thing.  Mathias and Joshua had already gotten into an argument.  Misha wasn’t around to hear what it was about, but Abby mentioned it to him later.  She had said that if Alec hadn’t intervened, they might have come to blows.

Misha wondered how Abby was doing tonight.  Since Shawn had taken hi
s bed, Tobias was sleeping where Riley used to, which meant sharing a queen-sized bed with Abby.  At least Misha didn’t have to sleep in the recliner anymore; he got the whole couch to himself.  On the floor next to him, Rifle scratched at the floor, chasing something in his sleep.  Milly was asleep in front of the door to the antechamber again, and Shoes was curled up on the recliner.  Misha worried about Shoes.  Every day he ate a little less, and it was hard to get him up for anything other than a pee.  Alec had been lifting him up onto the recliner each night so that the old dog had a comfortable place to sleep.  Riley would be calling in today.  She hadn’t seen the point in wasting batteries by calling yesterday, but today, between twelve and one, she would be giving them an update.  If she was with her sister already, maybe Cameron could pass along some advice about what Misha should do for Shoes.  Riley had said she was a veterinarian, so surely she should have some idea about what might be wrong.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Misha’s thoughts wandered back to the time before the Day
, over two weeks ago.  He had been painting houses then, and working nights at McDonalds.  He wondered if he would have survived, had he been at either of those jobs instead of at home, taking a day off.  Probably not.  It seemed so trivial now, those jobs, that school.  That life.  He used to be concerned about having enough money for the buy-in at a kegger, whereas now, he worried about where his next meal was coming from, and who would die next.  He hoped it wasn’t Shoes.  Misha loved all the dogs and didn’t want any of them to die.  He didn’t want any of the people to die either, but at least they would understand what was happening.  Dogs probably didn’t understand their own mortality.

Now Misha was getting depressed.  He sat up on the couch, causing Milly to raise her head.  The fire was nothing but embers, but he could see, because he had left open the cover for the portal window in the kitchen.  The sun was rising, providing enough light to illuminate both the kitchen and the living room.  Misha figured he had seen more sunrises over the past two weeks than all the rest in his life combined.  He swung his feet to the side and placed them on the hardwood floor.  Milly got up and trotted over to him, her head raised and cocked to the side in a curious manner.  Although Misha wasn’t a fan of Shawn’s, he had already formed a strong attachment to Milly.  Just as Shoes and Rifle had different personalities, Milly had one all to herself.  She was shy, but friendly, curious about things, but took precautions when investigating them, probably due to her handicap.  She was calmer than Rifle, but more playful than Shoes.

“Do you want to go outside?” Misha whispered to her ghostly white form.

Her head cocked to the other side.

Hearing Misha’s voice, Rifle grunted and stirred.  Milly bent down and sniffed him a few times, then looked back up at Misha.  She always looked at things as if it was the first time she saw them and was trying to figure them out.

Misha rose from the couch and headed for the door.  “Come on, girl.”  He patted his side.  Milly trotted over to him.  When he opened the door to the antechamber, Rifle raised his head, suddenly alert.  Seeing Misha and Milly by the door, he scrambled up to his feet and hurried over.  Misha looked at Shoes, who had opened his eyes at the disturbance, but otherwise hadn’t moved.  He walked back over to the basset hound and picked him up.  Shoes grunted in disapproval.

“Come on, lazy bones.  We’re going to get you moving today.”  He carried Shoes into the antechamber, the bigger dogs following behind him.

After he got his boots on and grabbed a rifle, he and all the dogs went outside onto the deck.  When Shoes was placed on the wood, he huffed about being forced outside.  He was just like an old man.

“Quiet you,” Misha told the grumpy hound.  “You need exercise and you’re going to get it even if I have to build a treadmill to force you to run.”

He went over to the crank and began lowering the stairs.  Rifle danced excitedly at the top of them, while Milly inspected the deck all the way around the cabin.  Shoes sat down by the door.  When the stairs were lowered, Rifle trotted down and began his inspection of the woods.  Thankfully, he never went very deeply into them on his own, otherwise the traps they had set for other animals could seriously harm him.  As Milly made her way back to the stairs, Misha went over and picked up Shoes.  He carried the floppy dog down the stairs and placed him on the dirt.

“There.  Now, even if you don’t want to come with Rifle and Milly and me, you’ll have to at least climb the stairs for some exercise.”

Shoes made a disgruntled sounding noise, but began sniffing at the ground.

Misha grabbed an axe from under the porch and headed toward the trail the others had begun to blaze through the woods.  Mathias had started creating a jogging trail, something he could use to keep in shape, and others could use to
get
in shape, but it was also useful for checking distant traps and fields.  It wasn’t as if any of them weren’t fit, but they certainly weren’t as well built as Mathias, Shawn, and Abby.  Abby was a certified health nut, and the other two were that way from training.  Joshua, Tobias, Danny, and Misha, could all use some work however.  Alec had his own special exercise regime.  Although Misha wasn’t big on the whole jogging thing, forging a trail seemed like something good to do.  Besides, it would be nice to have a dedicated trail for walking the dogs, safe from traps.  It would also be handy for hunting game farther out from the cabin.

He finally reached the current end of the trail.  As Misha headed into the trees, ripping up ferns and breaking off dead branches, the dogs followed him.  Rifle crashed heedlessly through the brush all around, while Milly kept just a short distance ahead.  She was picking a relatively straight path so far and made good decisions about where the trail should go.  Behind him, Misha could hear Shoes snuffling along.  The old dog was finally up and doing something.

For hours, Misha worked in the woods.  He skipped breakfast, not feeling particularly hungry despite all the work he was doing.  He was enjoying his time in the forest alone.  There was always someone in sight back at the cabin.  Granted, Misha didn’t mind the safety that provided, but he needed some time by himself again.  The others might worry when he didn’t show up for breakfast, but he figured they wouldn’t be too concerned because he had all the dogs with him.  They were much better company in Misha’s opinion, mostly because they couldn’t voice their own opinions.  A few times he had to call Rifle to him because the dog wandered too closely to an area where there were known traps, but otherwise the work was stress-free.  Nobody told him what to do or how to do it, he got to break and rip up stuff, and he didn’t have to worry about bears because Rifle was making more than enough noise to ward them off.  And for the first time in just over two weeks, Misha wasn’t worried about zombies.  He had finally become comfortable with the woods, the cabin, and the distance between them and the city.  There was nothing and no one out there but them.  No zombies for miles around.  The feeling of having that weight lifted from his shoulders was glorious.

Hack and slash.  Hack and slash.  Misha kept pressing on into the woods.  All the debris that he ended up with, he used to line the trail.  It would help mark the path until enough feet had trodden upon it to make it more permanent.  He listened to the dogs, the bird song, the running squirrels, and the wind in the trees.  It was soothing, relaxing even.  Sweat poured off his thin frame, but he barely registered it.  He could always take a dip in the lake later.

He didn’t notice when Rifle stopped scampering around and rushed to his side, or when Milly stopped blazing the trail; he was too busy tearing at a particularly stubborn bush.  It wasn’t until Shoes starting woofing that he looked up.  Shoes was lying ahead of him, near Milly, letting out low, hollow sounding barks.  Milly was looking back at him with her ears flattened to her skull, while Rifle stood nervously at his side.  Misha remembered what he had been told about Shoes.  The old basset hound had once been a cadaver dog, and lying down and woofing was his signal.  He also apparently would do that when there was a zombie nearby.  Misha dropped the axe and unslung the rifle from his back.  He gripped it tightly in both hands, nervously looking in the same direction as Shoes.

“Stay,” he whispered to all the dogs.

Slowly he stepped in the direction Shoes was facing.  Despite his command, the dogs came with him, but they stayed behind him and stuck closely together.  Misha made his way toward a ridge.  As he got closer, sounds came from the other side of it.  One sound was that of a chain being dragged across the ground, another, the thrashing footfalls of something trapped.  The third wasn’t as constant, but was the most terrifying: a low and eerie groan.

As the ridge got closer and closer, the dogs dropped back farther and farther.  Eventually, they stopped altogether.  Rifle whined as Misha pressed on.  He got to the top of the ridge and discovered an almost sheer drop on the other side.  At the bottom of the drop was a zombie.  It was a man wearing hiker’s attire with a loaded pack on his back.  His ankle was caught in a bear trap, the chain of which dragged across the ground behind him as he thrashed in circles.  If it weren’t for the bear trap, Misha could have mistaken him for a non-infected, but only a zombie could take that much pain and be completely oblivious to it.  It didn’t even seem to know what was trapping it, and the hiker just kept heading in different directions as if he expected to suddenly become free.

Misha raised his rifle and pointed it at the zombie.  After a moment, he lowered it again.  Moving quickly, he headed back to the path he had been carving, the dogs grateful to be moving away.  He had only gone back to get the axe, however, and once it was in his hands and the rifle was back on his back, he turned around.  Why waste good bullets?  Misha hurried back up the ridge, the dogs looking on in confusion.  They followed him though, all the way to the top this time.  Rifle snarled and lowered his head into a menacing stance.  The zombie looked up and spotted them, then tried to climb the rise unsuccessfully.  Misha wasn’t going to risk stumbling down into its awaiting jaws, so he went sideways, looking for an easier grade to get down.  Milly ran ahead and found him one.

Once Misha was on the same ground level as the zombie hiker, he headed back toward him, gripping the axe tightly with both hands.  The dogs stopped a distance away, barking and growling in fear.  They also whined with worry for Misha.  As Misha got closer, he didn’t hesitate.  He didn’t stop to think for even a second, because to pause could be to die.  With all the force he could summon, Misha slammed the blade of the axe into the hiker’s skull.  The sharp implement cleaved through the forehead and buried itself in the man’s brain.  He collapsed to the ground, properly dead.  Just to make sure, Misha took a few more whacks at it, leaving a nasty chasm.  All the dogs came closer, still wary but no longer barking.  Rifle charged the body, giving it a good bite on the leg.  He calmed somewhat when it didn’t react.  Misha didn’t have to worry about Rifle getting infected, but he shooed the dog away anyway.  When Misha had first been told that the virus could be transferred to some animals, he was concerned for Rifle.  The German shepherd had been carrying around a bloodied glove earlier.  Mathias had assured them though that the only way a dog could become infected was through a direct injection of the virus itself, or another dog; it couldn’t be picked up from other things, like people.  Shoes approached the body next.  He sniffed at it,
and then performed his signal.

“I know, Shoes.”  Misha reached down and patted the squat dog.  Shoes got up and followed Misha to the other dogs,
which all calmed down upon his return.  “Come on guys and gal, let’s go tell the others.”