Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) (2 page)

“Hey, Misha. I heard yesterday that you were looking for me?” Cameron sidled up next to him in line as he waited for his morning ration.

“Yeah, I heard you were over at Animal Island.” There were two islands not far from the shipping yard where they had taken to keeping the food-producing animals. “Anything we should be worried about over there?”

“No, just checking in. What did you want to see me about?”

“I think Trigger might be pregnant. She’s getting a bulge around that area.”

“Oh boy. I’ll check her out as soon as I have time.” Cameron was the one fully trained veterinarian who had decided to live in the container yard. There was another vet permanently stationed on Animal Island while the others remained in the Black Box. On occasion, she also helped doctor people alongside her twin sister Riley, but she was often too busy with things like monitoring her students.

“I don’t know which boy did the deed.”

“For her sake, I hope it wasn’t Guard. Those could grow to be some big puppies.”

“I know a few people around here who wouldn’t mind some more big dogs walking around.”

Misha and Cameron finally reached the front of the line where they picked up their breakfasts. Their plates were full; breakfast was the only meal that wasn’t frugally rationed.

“So I hear you had Dakota up on the wall delivering breakfast to the lookouts,” Misha mentioned as he followed Cameron to a table. Rifle had been lying near the line and now got up to join them by their seats. He was one of the few dogs allowed inside the warehouse.

“She came and bothered you, did she?”

“I wouldn’t say bothered. She mentioned something about shadowing people?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time she followed around more people than just me. I don’t think she’s all that interested in becoming a vet or a doctor, so she needs to start learning what everyone else does.”

“Talking about Dakota?” Riley asked as Misha and Cameron joined her table.

“Yeah,” Cameron nodded.

“I am not looking forward to when Hope reaches that rebellious age. She’s already done enough of it growing up.” Riley’s eyes shifted over to the table where her daughter sat with her friends. “By the way, I’m going to visit the Black Box today.”

“This is sudden,” Cameron frowned. “What brought this on?”

“I’ve been thinking of visiting for a while. We’re getting a backlog of patients that need their blood samples tested, or need scans that we can’t do here. I thought I’d gather up the patients who have to go, take the samples that need taking, and head over there.”

“All right. Hope going with you?”

“She’s still undecided. I think she’s waiting to find out what her friends are up to first. If she ends up staying here, would you mind watching her for the night? I probably won’t be able to get back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Where’s Brunt?” Misha had noticed an absence from their table.

“On the wall. He’s got the morning shift for a little while.”

“Your second anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” Riley enquired.

“Next week. I think it’s why he’s doing some morning shifts. I don’t know what he’s planning though.”

“Well, if it’s after I’m back, I can watch Dakota for you.” Riley smiled but there was a subtle pain in her eyes. It had been five years since her husband, Mathias, the father of her child and a man who had saved a lot of people, had died. She still felt that loss. Misha had seen it happen and still had nightmares about it. When their previous home, the cruise ship named Diana, had sunk, Mathias ended up in the water with an injured leg. Nobody really knew how long he had been swimming, bringing along three children and a three-legged husky, before Misha’s life raft came across them. After the children were scooped out of the water—one of whom was Mathias’ daughter—and the dog was being hoisted up, a shark swam up behind Mathias and took him away. Misha had seen the dark shape, the tip of the fin just barely slicing through the surface of the water, but there was no time to react. Even if he hadn’t been holding the husky, there was nothing he could have done. Mathias was pulled beneath the waves and that was it. Thank God that Hope had been safely inside the life raft and hadn’t had to see.

“That would be great, thanks,” Cameron told her sister.

“Have you checked the board for your assignment yet?” Riley asked Misha, changing the subject.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll be out emptying another shipping container today.”

“’Kay. Whose crew?”

“I think Boyle’s, although you may want to double check that.”

Misha nodded that he would. “Have you checked the zombie report yet?” That word came so easily now. It used to be strange, almost laughable, but it had become a part of their daily lives. The walking corpses had taken so much, leaving behind a new world devoid of the previous one’s luxuries. Medicine had basically been reduced to what they could grow, new clothes were either made of self-cured leather or dusty scraps the moths hadn’t yet eaten found in shops and homes, electrical power was savoured and used sparingly, while gas had all but disappeared—no one was refining it anymore.

“The report is the same as yesterday: no sign,” Cameron told him.

“We haven’t seen any in a while. It has me worried,” Riley admitted. “Whenever there’s nothing for a few days, they always end up appearing in a bunch.”

“The walls are strong,” Cameron said offhand.

“It’s the people outside the walls I’m worried about.”

Danny, Mathias’s younger brother, was one of those outside. He and a few others had gone scavenging. It used to be a simple job where they would be out and back within the day, but now they had to go farther and farther. They camped out there, mapping the land, marking locations where there were things useful to the group that they couldn’t bring back with them. They had been gone for over a week now.

Misha had finished his meal and lowered his plate to the floor, letting Rifle gobble up the scraps. His tongue squeaked across the surface of the china as he licked up every bit. When Cameron and Riley were done eating, they held their plates down in the same manner.

“Well, we best get to work then,” Cameron sighed as she stood up. “I’ll try to find time to examine Trigger.”

“Thanks. Come on, Rifle.” Misha carried everyone’s plates and utensils to the dirty dishes deposit with Rifle following at his heels. The German Shepherd kept out a constant eye for dropped bits of food, or people holding out their plates for him. After breakfast was cleared away, some of the dogs would be let in to give the floor a thorough once over.

Beside the dish deposit, the warehouse wall was covered in a series of whiteboards and chalkboards. On them were written everyone’s name along with what they were expected to be doing that day. Although the structure here wasn’t as formal or rigid as it had been on the Diana, people were still expected to pull their weight. It also helped to know where someone was at any given time. Even Danny’s name was on a board, simply listed as ‘out.’

Outside the warehouse, Misha and Rifle were rejoined by Bullet who had been waiting patiently. They would walk Rifle back to their home, and then go find Boyle in the usual meeting place. Misha wondered what dogs he should bring over the wall with him this time.

“All right, everyone ready?” Boyle asked the small, assembled group. They stood before a shipping container out in the section of yard they didn’t use. In a moment, Boyle was going to open it up and they were going to go through the contents. The containers occasionally held surprises and not all of them good.

Misha nodded along with the others.

Boyle grabbed the handles, popping them up and then pulling open both doors at the same time. A sour smell washed out of the container, followed by a buzz of flies.

“Rotten bananas,” Boyle announced, the first to identify the contents.

Rotted food was always the worst. It had been so long that there was nothing left but a mushy paste and a vast colony of flies that had built up in the dark. Everyone pulled up their masks. Misha wondered if one of the other three teams had found anything better.

“Let’s get to work,” Boyle waved everyone forward.

Misha stepped into the container alongside Harry, the Australian engineer who had designed their method for moving containers. Just because he was intelligent and innovative didn’t mean he was spared doing grunt work along with everyone else. They set up step stools facing the pile.

“The wood from the boxes still looks pretty good,” Harry commented as he grabbed one end, his voice muffled by his mask. Misha took hold of the other end and they lifted the box down. Two more workers took the box from them and brought it outside. There, the wood, the mush, and anything else there might be, like fruit netting, would be separated as best they could manage. Mush would be placed in deep, plastic wheelbarrows whereas the wood would be stacked on flat movers. Both wheeled conveyances would be pushed over to the wall once full, and there they would be lifted up with a pulley system to where their final fate would be decided. Mush was often put into plastic buckets that got delivered to the farms as fertilizer, whereas wood had a variety of uses. Even if the wood was crappy and rotten, it would just be added to the firewood pile.

Misha and Harry worked at a sedate pace, allowing time for the others to do their jobs without being overly rushed. Misha’s gloves soon stank, and he was glad for the full-face mask. He didn’t have any filters for it, but it still helped to reduce the smell, especially with its overpowering scent of rubber.

A tiny, distant cry made its way into the container, drifting over from one of the other teams.

“White, go find out what that was about,” Boyle ordered one of their lookouts while separating mush from wood.

Misha and Harry continued to do their job, waiting patiently for the news from the other team. A cheer like that was always a good thing.

When White returned, he was panting from the run.

“They found a first-aid shipment, medicine that never made it to Africa,” he reported with a smile on his face.

A small cheer went up from their team. Medicine was always a great find, especially if it came with supplies such as needles and proper bandages that hadn’t been used and washed several times over. Their elation was quickly cut off.

“Herd!” a shout drifted over the container yard. It was quickly picked up by the other lookouts, who began scrambling down from their perches.

Misha and Harry returned the box they were moving and swiftly evacuated the container with the others. Boyle relocked the container with the step stools still inside, as Misha ripped off his face mask. Pulling off a glove, he stuck two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Bullet appeared at his side in an instant. A moment later, as everyone was running back toward the wall, Spring tore out from between the large metal boxes, immediately keeping pace.

“Barrel!” Misha called out as he ran with the others. “Barrel!” His eyes darted everywhere, looking for the awkward dog but not landing upon him. He reached the wall and paused beside the ladder: all of the teams were scrabbling up one of three emergency rope ladders which had been hastily lowered.

“Misha, come on,” Boyle said, patting him on the shoulder. He then grabbed Spring and handed the smaller dog to the next person going up, who carried her easily to the top of the wall.

Misha tried whistling again. “Come on, Barrel.” He hated the idea of leaving a dog behind, but he knew he would have to if it came to that. Zombies started appearing between the containers. They were rotted like the bananas, only more dried out. This herd looked like an old one, with mummified husks staggering along on scrawny limbs, bones poking through thin flesh while lips were peeled back or gone, revealing grimy, broken teeth. Half-blind eyes bulged from lidless sockets. It was a good sign: they were less dangerous. The fresh, juicy ones were more deadly, especially the smarter ones, the ones who could still run and climb.

“Give me Bullet,” Boyle ordered. “You can be the last one up, but you can’t carry two dogs if Barrel does come.”

Before Misha could even give his consent, Boyle was hauling Bullet up the ladder, carrying him over one shoulder. Misha continued to wait, watching the dead get closer, watching them reach the open span between the wall and the unmoved containers.

The last of the people reached the ladders. The rope ladders were pulled up behind the final person, and Misha climbed onto the lowest rung of the metal one. He paused though; he couldn’t help it. He whistled again.

“Misha!” Boyle barked at him from the top of the wall.

As Misha took another step up, resigned to leaving Barrel behind, he heard a sharp bark. Looking back, he saw the dog burst between the legs of a few zombies, knocking them over in the process. He loped awkwardly toward Misha, his tongue hanging out.

“Come on, boy!” Misha encouraged him. “Come on, Barrel!”

Above him came the sound of a cocking rifle. A few zombies were getting close to Misha, and Boyle was preparing to take them down.

Misha dropped back to the pavement as the Doberman mix reached him. Before the dog had even stopped moving, Misha was hoisting him up onto his shoulder. Turning sharply on his heel, he returned to the ladder and scrambled up. Arms wrapped around him and the dog as he reached the top, pulling him out of the way so that more hands could grab the ladder and haul it onto the wall as well.

Once he was let go, Barrel stumbled away. He looked over the far side and whined, wanting to be put back down on the ground where Spring and Bullet had already been lowered.

“You and your stinking dogs.” Boyle helped Misha to his feet.

Misha just laughed, unable to control it. The joy of surviving an encounter generally had that effect. Together, they looked out into the yard, watching the diseased corpses come toward them.

“At least they’re helping us move a cart,” Harry commented, pointing toward one of the alleyways. Several zombies kept bumping into their flat cart of wood, slowly pushing it toward them as it scraped along the side of a container.

“How many do you think there are this time? Think we’ll be able to get back to work before the end of the day?” a woman from another team wondered.

Boyle just shrugged. They would do what they always did when this happened: several people would stay on top of the wall, drawing them in from the yard, making noise if need be, and then taking them out with long, pointed objects. Sometimes it would take a few days, but other times the herd was small enough to take out in a couple of hours.

Misha turned away from the yard. He picked up Barrel again and climbed down with him. Bullet immediately gave them a sniff check.

“Looks like we have some time off,” Misha told the dogs. “Who wants to throw a ball?”

He was answered by a trio of wagging tails.