Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) (40 page)

After signing to her his plan, she nodded curtly and held out her hand for his grenade. She appeared to be as comfortable with them as Karsten was. Misha wondered if she’d ever used a grenade before. He knew nothing about her life before the Day, and very little of the years before she showed up at the Diana. From what he did know, he had no interest in learning more. He liked Freya and had no wish to know more about the pain she must have suffered.

Slipping into the water, his clothes still soggy from his last dip, he felt the usual moment of tension grip his chest. He had always loved the water, always loved swimming, but ever since a shark had dragged Mathias away from him, things had been different. Now, he was constantly on the alert for the silent creatures beneath, never entering the water if he bore any injury that might bleed. It was even more dangerous in the dark, although no one had ever encountered a shark this close to shore. They rarely encountered sharks at all, except for the occasional fisherman who might catch a small one. Still, Misha thought of the sharks as he waded in deeper.

Off to his right, the end of the wall let him know where the shore suddenly dropped off into deeper water. The last pair of containers rested at the edge of the lip, kept from sliding off by several metal bars that an underwater scuba team had driven into the rocks. At its deepest, the water reached two-thirds of the way up the containers. A small chunk of netting hung down so that a swimmer could climb up. The drop off was a fortunate feature of the rocky shore. Any zombies who wandered in over there were likely to sink off the edge and never be seen again. Animal Island was surrounded by the same steep drop, meaning they didn’t have to worry much about a corpse wandering up out of the water. There was nothing they could do about swimmers though. A zombie with enough sense to swim could easily get around the wall, although normally they’d be put down by a wall guard before getting that far. Tonight, there were no wall guards and a seemingly endless number of the dead were out there. When he had approached the wall earlier, Misha could hear a few of the zombies stumbling in the shallows, but none had gone deep. Something, apparently this Dean thing, was keeping them from wandering too far. All it would take was one swimmer striking out on his own, rounding the end of the last containers, and spotting the humans on the other side. Unless by some miracle the thing’s throat had been ripped out, it would alert all the others and a flood of flesh would be upon them.

As he moved through the shallows, testing the rocks with his feet, Misha kept a close eye on the edge of the containers and kept an ear cocked toward the wall. When he slid under, he did so as smoothly and silently as he could, slipping straight down until he was completely under. Only then would he flip over, taking care not to break the surface, and grab at the rocks below. Whenever he felt what might be a good one, he stuffed it in his pockets, where he’d carry it until he left the water. On the rocky shore stood several baskets on some large, flat slabs where everyone deposited their stones after finding as many as they could carry.

Closer to the wall than he had dared to search before, Misha found a good cache of stones. Submerging several times in order to gather them all, he filled the pockets of his pants, including the back ones. Were it not shallow enough at that point for him to stand, he would have had difficulty treading water by the time he was done. Weighed down, he began slogging his way to shore, moving at an angle away from the wall and being careful not to splash much. Unfortunately, someone else wasn’t so careful.

Misha couldn’t tell who it was due to the darkness and distance, but someone else had entered the water. Maybe this person had seen how many stones Misha had been able to find and thought to do the same. Whatever the reason, the individual burst out of the water farther down the shore, and scrambled toward the dryer rocks in great splashes. Based on the compact frame, Misha guessed it was Karsten who met this person at the water’s edge, quickly pinning the flailing limbs to cease any further disturbance.

All went still as no one dared to move. Even the kayakers and canoeists had stopped paddling, having witnessed what happened at the shoreline. Slowly, they began to lose what ground they had made as the floating bridge dragged them backward. Misha stood stock-still, frozen in place, partly in and partly out of the water. The stones in his pockets seemed to become heavier, trying to drag him back down beneath the surface. Although some small piece of him seemed to think this might be a good idea, to go where everything was silent and dark, he couldn’t bring himself to move even if the rest of his mind agreed. His body was locked.

Had the cadence of the groaning beyond the wall changed? Had they heard the splashing and learned that living things were nearly within their reach? Or was Misha’s accelerated mind just making that up? Had they mistaken the sound for a fish, or maybe not even heard it over their own cacophony? It almost seemed reasonable to Misha that they could hear his heartbeat. The vital organ within his chest was struggling against its confines, the blood rushing through the veins in his ears audible despite the dead, a sound like ocean waves.

Freya was the first to move. She took one careful step toward Misha and the wall, then paused. After a few seconds, she took another, and then another, bending over to place the two grenades she carried in a nook between two rocks. The mute woman moved with perfect stealth all the way to the container wall and stood beside it, her ear cocked up toward the upper edge. She waited another several seconds, Misha’s eyes locked upon her, ignoring what anyone else might be doing behind him. Not satisfied with what she heard, Freya followed the container wall into the water, slowly passing the gaps created by the tilted containers, gaps that had been filled with rocks, concrete, and any other heavy debris the humans could get their hands on. Once she got deep enough, Freya started to swim, her body gliding smoothly through the water. Misha had to resist literally biting his tongue when she reached the netting and started climbing up. He didn’t know what she expected to see as she disappeared over the upper edge; he could only hope that the zombies wouldn’t see her.

A tense minute slid by, during which Misha couldn’t bring himself to breathe. His heart was hammering harder than ever, adrenaline pouring through his limbs to the point where he had to resist shaking. A quiet portion of his mind wondered if he was going to pass out. Twice before in his life he had: the first when a 747 he was in attempted a water landing, and the second when he had learned the city of Moscow—capital of his first country and home to some of his relatives—had been nuked in an attempt to stem the zombie virus’s flood through Russia. If he passed out now, the stones in his pockets would surely drag him under and there was a chance that he would drown. It was this thought that got him to take in a fresh breath, although it was a manual operation and he couldn’t take in a second.

Finally, Freya appeared once more. Lying flat on top of the container, she shot her arm into the air, her hand silhouetted against the star-filled sky in the position of a thumbs up. Misha immediately shot his own arm up, repeating the gesture for anyone who couldn’t see Freya as well as he could. His lungs began working on their own again, as the muscles in his body loosened. He sank low in the water, exerting just enough effort to keep his head above the surface. Glancing over at the others, he saw they were equally relieved, several continuing to pass along the thumbs up while they all slumped over. Karsten was the first to move, dragging whoever it was that started this whole thing out of the ocean. The people in the kayaks and canoes moved next, hoping to regain the ground they had lost.

Having stopped watching Freya, Misha startled slightly when he heard movement in the water near him. She had quietly swum over to his bobbing head, an exaggerated expression of concern on her face asking if he was okay. Stiffening his legs, he stood back up to his full height, moving slowly so as to reduce splashing, and gave her a nod. She nodded back, then smoothly slipped beneath the surface, probably having felt a good stone with her foot.

Misha slogged back to shore, partly crawling across the rocks. He headed straight to the big flat rock holding the baskets where he emptied his pockets, relieved to be significantly lighter. It seemed everyone was gathering at the baskets, so he chose to stay there as well, letting the adrenaline work its way out of his body by repeatedly wringing his soaked clothing and putting back on the boots he had left beside the baskets.

When Lenny arrived, even in the low light it was easy to see that his dark skin was deeply flushed. Add to that his wet clothes, and it was obvious who had caused the commotion.

It’s okay
, Shaidi was signing to him.
After the Diana, most people would panic if something large brushed their leg
.

So that’s why he had gone splashing toward shore. Misha wondered if he would have done the same. More accustomed to the ocean than others, he was used to the occasional brush with seaweed, fish, or various bits of detritus, but if he felt something he thought was a shark? He didn’t know how he would react. Maybe he would have fled to shore in the same way, and as such, found he couldn’t be angry with Lenny. Besides, it seemed he was beating himself up enough about it, Shaidi’s words having zero effect on his shame-filled face.

Freya was the last to arrive, depositing the stones she had gathered into one of the baskets. Boyle signed to her, asking if it looked like they had enough to train with. She nodded, then handed Misha his grenade, which he had completely forgotten about. Gripping it in one hand, he grabbed the handle of the nearest basket with the other. Katrina gripped the opposite handle, and together they hauled the heavy basket up off the rock and began shuffling awkwardly with it back toward the dock. There were more people than basket handles, so halfway there, everyone carrying switched with those who weren’t.

Upon reaching the dock’s end, they found Nessie sitting on the box of remaining grenades, working out the best way to attach one to an arrow. Freya told everyone to take a short break while she went through the stones, picking out the ones that wouldn’t work. Misha chose to sit on the end of the dock, his legs dangling over the water. The moment he was down, exhaustion swept over him, dragging his chin down to his chest and his eyelashes together. He hadn’t slept well the night before, what with the impending attack, and the day had been full of high-energy tasks. The adrenaline was over half of what was keeping him upright, and its departure left more exhaustion in its wake.

A slight tug on the back of his shirt caused Misha’s eyes to fly open, and his head to twist around. Danny was standing there.

“You looked like you were about to fall in,” he whispered, moving around to sit down beside Misha. “You all right?”

“Just tired,” Misha admitted. He was also scared, but there was no point in admitting that as well. Everyone was scared.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny nodded.

“You think you’re going to be okay to do this with that arm of yours?” Misha asked, mostly to keep talking. It was something to focus on, something to keep his eyes open.

“Don’t know. Swinging should be fine, like Freya said, but it’s loading I’m worried about. I’ll need to use my bad arm to help with that, and I’m not sure I trust it to hold out in the situation we’ll be in.” Danny shuddered as though cold, despite the warm night.

“How’s Bryce doing?” Misha changed topics. “I’m assuming not bad considering he’s part of this ridiculous endeavour.”

Danny turned to look at his scavenging teammate. “He seems stiff, but I’m sure he’ll be fine slinging. I’m more worried about his swollen eyes affecting his aim. If his perception of distance is off, he might end up damaging the wall, or worse, the grenade could bounce back toward us.”

“Bryce is smart. If he doesn’t think he can do it, he’ll give his grenades to someone else.”

“This plan is insane.”

“I know, but then sometimes the best plans are.” Misha was thinking about the Day, when he had first met Danny and the others. They had formed an insane plan in order to escape a prison, one that had Misha throwing a firebomb and running for his life. He had been running with Mathias and Tobias then, while Alec provided sniper cover. All of them were dead now, none having survived the Diana.

While Misha sank ever deeper into his memories of that time, Freya finished her sorting. Danny once again startled him back into the present, but this time it was by simply moving to get up.

The stones had been organized into several piles, clearly depending on how similar they were to the grenades. Nessie had moved off of the grenades’ box, so the potential slingers could return the ones they had been carrying. Misha was amazed he had forgotten he was holding his while sitting at the water’s edge; however, the indentations in his palm suggested he had been holding on very tightly.

Freya delayed returning hers to the box. Holding up her sling and grenade, she showed everyone the best way to load it. By hooking the lever so that it was on the outside of the leather strip, they could pull the pin after loading and save some time. Considering they had only seconds, Misha was relieved none of them would have to be wasted getting the grenade into position in the sling. Freya mimed pulling the pin to make sure everyone understood.

Lining them up at the edge of the dock, Freya handed out a stone to everyone. She was starting with the pile that was least like the grenades, presumably teaching them how to sling properly before teaching them how to sling the small explosives. After a few demonstrations—her stones arcing as high as they would need to in order to clear the wall and plopping so far out into the water that they could barely be heard—she moved down the line and got each person to sling their first stone. No one was anywhere nearly as good as Freya, but some weren’t bad considering it was their first time. Misha’s first attempt had no height to it, the stone whizzing low out of the sling, managing to skip twice on the wide river’s surface before breaking the water tension and disappearing below.