Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) (29 page)

With every passing moment, the sun got lower in the sky and the shadows deepened. Doyle was grateful for that. The roof had been a searing inferno despite the cloud cover, driving him and the others to seek out whatever shade they could find. James had brought a tarp with him, which he had strung up from an air conditioning unit on the roof for the girls to lie beneath. He joined Doyle in the soft shadows cast by the ledge surrounding the roof. They had all been lying up there, unmoving so as to produce as little noise as possible. With the edge of the tarp pinned to the ground between them, Doyle couldn’t see the women and wondered how they were fairing. At least he wasn’t completely bored, what with the books they had taken. Doyle found the best way to pass the time was to read a chapter, then listen to the zombies below for ten minutes before starting the next one.

Based on the sounds of things, a lot of the zombies had moved off, but not enough yet for them to risk an escape. Several still bumped around in the bookstore below, crashing into shelves and each other. Shoes and bare feet dragging over the pavement let them track the ones moving outside, with a dozen or so getting stuck in a loop, following one another around the building. It was impossible to tell where all of the stationary ones were. A couple wheezed and moaned as they pawed at the walls, but there were always more who were silent. Doyle was content waiting for James to voice a plan.

When the sun had finally gone, making it impossible to keep reading, Doyle thought about sleep. It wasn’t exactly comfortable on the roof, but he had slept in worse conditions. Between the Day and getting to the Diana, he had been on the move a lot, sleeping in whatever safe space he could find. He distinctly remembered the sixth night being the hardest: the first night he had spent alone, away from Gathers Moss and their tour bus. His intention had been to gather information, find a safer place to hide, and get some food in the process. None of that had worked out the way he planned. Instead, he spent the night crammed in a janitor’s locker in some building, unable to lie down or completely stand up, his limbs crunched at awkward angles. A trio of zombies had shuffled about just outside, cutting him off from his fire axe that he had foolishly put down for a moment. He had spent hours in that locker, drifting in and out of consciousness, all of his limbs going numb and tingly. When at last some distant noise had drawn the zombies away, he almost hadn’t been able to escape: his body no longer worked correctly. All his muscles and joints screamed when he finally found himself free, lying on the hard floor in a completely different pose. He hadn’t been able to move without agony for several minutes. The next night was better, when he slept in an industrial-sized laundry hamper full of towels. It was the day after that when he met Canary and her group, and chose to stay with them. Eventually, Doyle convinced the group to go looking for the band, or what was left of it, but Gathers Moss were gone by the time he returned. It wasn’t until later that he found Quin again by accident, along with Robin and April, the rest of the band dead or gone insane.

Moving very slowly so as to create the minimum amount of sound, Doyle rolled from his side onto his back. With nightfall, the clouds overhead were invisible, just an all-encompassing expanse of black. He hoped it wouldn’t rain again while they were up here. Although the rain would give them some cover with the sound drowning out their movements, he and James would be forced to get under the tarp with the girls. They’d still get soaked, and it would be crowded under there. He hoped it rained somewhere nearby; a huge thunderstorm that distracted and lured the zombies away, but not here. Doyle didn’t want any rain here.

Closing his eyes didn’t seem to have any effect on the amount of darkness; Doyle was essentially blind either way. Casting his mind elsewhere, to some happy, warm, bright, and comfortable place, he attempted to sleep.

It had been a rough night for everyone. Doyle had woken up frequently, always worried that death was imminent. Once the sun had started to re-emerge, the clouds now broken up into large puffy amorphous shapes, it had helped, because he could see a bit into the grey when opening his eyes. As the sun continued to climb, however, it got to be unhelpful. The bright light made it more difficult to fall back asleep once awake, his circadian rhythm attached to the fire ball’s position in the sky.

Glancing over at James, Doyle could see that he was awake, lying on his back, his eyes open and staring at nothing. All of Doyle’s bones hurt from lying on the stiff surface of the roof all night. He wanted to get up and stretch, but wasn’t about to attempt that without James’ go ahead. As he continued lying there, the cobwebs of sleep completely leaving his mind, Doyle realized that today would be worse than yesterday. Without the constant cloud cover, the sun would be even hotter. Already, they were on the wrong side of the roof for shade, and if they were still there at noon, there would be no shade to speak of outside of whatever they could produce with the tarp.

Carefully stretching out an arm, Doyle tapped James on the shoulder, letting the other man know that he was awake.

What’s today’s plan?
Doyle signed. His signing had always been slow and a little clunky, but this morning it was especially bad, with him having to remain lying down, and trying to angle certain gestures to make them easier for James to see.

James held up a finger; Doyle didn’t need to know sign language to know he was asking for a minute. Very slowly, and with a considerable amount of muscle control and strength, James sat up. He peered over the edge of the roof, carefully leaning to look down the length of the wall. Doyle could still hear the zombies trapped in a shuffling circle, so he knew they hadn’t all wandered off in the night. Focusing so much on James, Doyle nearly startled when a hand briefly gripped his ankle; only his intense desire to keep still and silent held him in place. Looking toward his feet, he saw that Canary had crawled over on her hands and bare feet. He gently tapped James to get his attention.

Can I help?
Canary signed, sitting back on her haunches to free her hands.

I’m trying to figure out how many are out there
, James signed back.

Canary nodded and then headed out across the roof. It was eerie how silent she was, making only the occasional sounds: skin lifting off tar paper, or a light ruffling of clothing, which was easily swallowed by the scuffling from below. She made her way around the roof, peering over all the edges, then worked her way to each skylight to look inside the bookstore. Satisfied that she had seen enough, Canary made her way back to them, moving a bit like a spider, which was kind of unnerving. When she got close, Doyle could see that she was sweating and trying not to pant: her method of silent motion was taxing her body. With a fluttering of her hands, she gave her report. James seemed satisfied with the numbers.

“All right, there’s no need to be completely silent anymore,” James whispered, his voice dry with disuse. “Let’s go gather around Rose.”

Under the tarp, Rose was sitting up and waiting for them.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. One of us will distract the zombies, lure them all to that corner of the building,” James pointed. “Once they’ve gathered there, we sneak off the opposite corner and book it.”

“I should lure them,” Canary volunteered. “I’m the quietest and should be able to cross the roof without drawing them back around afterward.”

After her recent display, no one argued. Besides, she had seen the zombies and might be able to tell if one hadn’t yet shown up.

“Let’s gather with the packs in the corner. Canary, give us a thumbs up when we’re good to go. Remember, not too loud. We don’t want to draw in the dead that have already wandered off.”

Canary nodded and headed for the corner. While the others took down the tarp quietly and made sure all the packs were secure, she took out her screwdriver and began tapping the metal end on the edge of the roof. It didn’t take long for the zombies to start getting riled up and making their way toward her, especially when she began whispering down at them, proving she was a living human and not just some wind-blown object.

Doyle peered over the edge, watching the last of the zombies make their way around the building. Despite the fact that the bookstore was only one storey high, the ground seemed very far below. It wasn’t the height that bothered Doyle; it was knowing how easily he could land wrong and break his ankle.

When Canary gave a thumbs up, James didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up onto the ledge, then hopped off the other side, hitting the ground and rolling with practised ease. Once he made sure that none of the zombies were coming to him, he waved for the packs to be passed down. One by one, Doyle dropped their bags over the side, where James caught each one and placed it out of the way. The weight of the books constantly threatened to knock him over with their impact. Then Rose was helped over the side. Doyle lowered her as much as he could with James half catching her to make sure she landed gently on her feet.

Turning back to Canary, Doyle waved her over. He wasn’t going to leave the roof until he was sure everyone else had. Canary picked her way across the roof, not using the creepy yet silent method she had employed earlier. The zombies were groaning loudly enough now that they swallowed up most of the sound. Doyle lowered Canary over the side of the roof the same way as Rose, being careful with her bandaged hand. Although the stealthy blonde could probably get down easily on her own, she still wasn’t wearing shoes, so it was better not to take the risk. Once she was down, Rose handed over her boots.

It was Doyle’s turn next. With no one to lower him, he had to use the same method as James. As his feet hit the ground, he let his legs collapse beneath him. He didn’t roll nearly as neatly as James had, he couldn’t just spring back up onto his feet afterward, but when he came to a stop in an awkward sprawl he found his legs hadn’t been busted up. Scrambling up onto his feet, he quickly joined the others who had just slung on their packs. Taking his from James, Doyle shrugged into it as they ran, not caring where they went for the moment, so long as it was away from the bookstore.

Doyle had to suppress the urge to laugh, his body sore yet delighted to be running. He was reminded of a time when he was a teenager. Some friends had convinced him to join them as they broke into the high school one summer night. They didn’t really do anything, just walked around the dark halls and made a bit of a mess, but a security guard had shown up and nearly caught them. Using a clever trick not that dissimilar from the one used against the zombies, Doyle and his friends had managed to escape, all of them laughing like loons as they fled across the football field.

After they had run a few blocks, James had them slow down and then head into the nearest building: a former fast food joint. They hid inside for a while, sitting behind the counter and watching for any zombies that may have been following them. Satisfied that nothing was going to come staggering in behind the little group, they decided to have breakfast on the dusty floor.

“If we start heading back now, we should get home fairly early tomorrow,” Doyle mentioned to make conversation.

“Good, ’cause we’re runnin’ low on food,” Rose pointed out. They were all eating and drinking less, trying to stretch out what they had.

“This trip certainly went sideways,” Canary commented.

Doyle tried to hide his embarrassment, his shame. It was his fault they were all out here, and it was for such a stupid reason, too. He wished he had never thought of coming out here, that they had all just stayed in the Black Box.

“I’m having fun,” James grinned. “I nearly shit my pants a few times, but it’s good to get the heart going and to remind ourselves why we need our fences.”

Doyle wondered if James had noticed his reaction and was saying that to make him feel better, or whether he was being honest. It was impossible to tell with him.

“Anyone actually know where we are right now?” Rose asked. “Which way is home?”

“I know how to get home from the bookstore, so where are we in relation to that?” Doyle asked, looking at James. He figured James would know.

James shrugged. “I didn’t pay attention to direction out there. I know we’re about five blocks away.”

Canary stood up and looked over the counter out the windows. “I can’t say with complete accuracy from here, but based on the shadows I think we went north.”

“That’s pretty much the complete opposite direction we need to go,” Doyle sighed.

“I suggest we swing east a bit to avoid the zombies at the bookstore, and then pick our way back south again. What do you think?” James turned to Doyle.

“West would actually be better.”

“Then we’ll swing west first.”

“Fine with me,” Rose shrugged.

Canary sat back down.

“How’s your hand?” Doyle asked her, gesturing to the wound she had gotten scrambling up through the skylight.

“It stings a lot, but I think it’s all right.” She lifted her hand to look at the bandage wrapped around it. “It didn’t take very long to stop bleeding, but when I checked earlier, it was still a very angry-looking red.”

“You should get it checked out by a doctor when we get back,” James recommended, “just to make sure it hasn’t gotten infected or something.”

Canary nodded. “That’s the plan.”

The four of them sat quietly with their thoughts as they finished their meal.

“Well, we should get going,” James finally spoke about a minute after the last of them had stopped eating.

Doyle was still feeling stiff as he got up, his joints complaining. He wished for a heat wrap of some kind, or even a long hot bath he’d never get. Based on the way the others were moving, they hoped for the same thing.

James took the lead, guiding them along shop fronts until they reached a street that would take them west. Doyle brought up the rear, checking behind them at least every minute to make sure nothing was following them.

Their pace was slower than it had been previously. Not only were they sore, but they knew a pile of zombies had been in the area recently, and they may not have gotten far.

When they returned to a residential area, it was mutually agreed that they would travel through backyards, taking the time to climb over fences. No one felt particularly safe out in the openness of the streets.

“Did you hear that?” Canary whispered as they approached yet another fence.

James paused with his hands along the top, as he was just about to hoist himself up and peer over.

“I don’t hear anything. Did it come from the other side of the fence?” Doyle asked.

Canary shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

James let go of the next fence and walked along it until he spotted a hole in the wood. Pressing his eye to it, he looked into the next yard.

“I don’t see anything,” he pronounced after watching for half a minute.

“What did it sound like?” Rose asked Canary.

“I’m not sure. By the time I noticed it, it stopped.”

“An unknown sound that could have come from anywhere? There’s no point hanging out for that, let’s keep moving.” James grabbed the top of the fence again and pulled himself up. “Looks clear.” He slipped over the top to the other side.

Doyle quickly tested for rotten or loose boards, and when none were found, he made a stirrup out of his hands to help Rose. With his help, she scrambled up and over into the next yard. Canary continued to hesitate.

“Canary? Come on. If we get out of here, we don’t need to worry about what that sound was.” Doyle hauled himself up the fence. His arms were going to be really tired when they were done.

Canary looked around one more time, and then followed after him.

The next yard was a weed-eaten mess. Something about it made Doyle think it wasn’t taken care of even before the Day. There were no toys, no barbecue, the porch was small and slumped, and nothing suggested a garden had ever grown there. He was delighted to see a hole already made in the far fence, a board having come loose and sitting cockeyed.

A very loud groan filled the air.

Doyle spun around, pulling his axe off his back and holding it aloft. His eyes darted frantically about the yard, searching for the zombie. The others had the same reaction, but there was nothing. They were alone in the weeds.

“I think that came from the house,” Canary commented.

“A zombie can’t groan that loudly,” James pointed out. “It had to be—”

He didn’t get to finish whatever he had been going to say. A loud pop filled the air, reminding Doyle of his days as a firefighter. When it was immediately followed by a massive creak, he knew what was going to happen a split second before it did; not nearly enough time to warn anyone. The house whose backyard they were in must have suffered extensive water damage or rot, possibly even termites, and the earlier storm had been the final straw. With a lot of snapping, cracking, and a great whoosh, the back half of the house collapsed.

Debris flew through the air: splinters and nails and bits of plaster, amid a great cloud of dust billowing out across the lawn. Doyle quickly raised his arms over his head in the most basic attempt to protect himself as he dropped to the ground. It was over in seconds. Doyle coughed, choking on the dust as he attempted to clear it from his eyes.