Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Page 25

  That was understandable. The smaller medical centre used to be a dentist office and a spa. It was still a dentistry—whenever the one dentist on board was on duty—and was also used for general check-ups and examinations. A lot of stuffy noses went through there.

  “Do you have a girlfriend, Misha?” Jon asked, seemingly out of the blue.

  Misha just shook his head.

  “Any one of interest?”

  He continued to shake his head. Since the Day, Misha had found himself not really looking at girls. At least not like that. Sure, he still thought most of them were pleasing to look at, and he had the same kinds of dreams about them as he did in college, but he couldn’t see himself in a relationship. Not yet at least. He couldn’t imagine having to take care of anyone else, or having to worry about her whenever stuff like this happened. Just watching out for Rifle could be stressful enough, and after what happened to Alec… No, he didn’t see a relationship anywhere in his near future.

  Jon had run out of things to talk about, at least for the moment. The two of them sat there in companionable silence, each with his own thoughts.

  Rifle lifted his head and looked down the hall, his ears pricked. He was very focused on something, but when Misha looked down the hall, he couldn’t see anything. Just as he was about to open his mouth and say something, the fire alarm began to blare. Its sound pierced through Misha, startling him up onto his feet. His heart was immediately racing.

  When the siren cut off, it was replaced by a voice over the PA. “Attention Diana! Attention Diana! We are under attack! I repeat, we are under attack! Everyone report to your stations at once! This is not a drill! We are under attack!”

  Despite his foreknowledge and the fact that he had done this before, all thought was suddenly gone from Misha’s mind. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do, or where he was supposed to go.

  “Come on, Misha!” Jon called out as he ripped open the storage closet door.

  Shaking his head once, Misha turned to the closet. Inside, it was full of mattresses, heavy blankets, and wood.

  “What do we start with?” Jon wondered. He had never done this task before.

  “The mattresses. Come on.” Misha grabbed the side of one and yanked it off the pile. “Rifle, stay close to me.”

  Rifle didn’t need to be told twice, or even the once. He was as close to Misha’s legs as he could be, without actually touching them and getting in the way.

  Jon grabbed the other end of the mattress and lifted. He and Misha carried it out to the outer hallways, toward one of the rooms on Misha’s list.

  “Be careful of the animals,” Misha told Jon. “We do the rooms with the small animals first, giving the larger ones a bit of time to calm down before we go in there. They’ll be agitated, and can be dangerous.”

  “What’s in the first room?”

  “Ducks, so we shouldn’t have to worry too much.”

  They approached the room and Misha let go with one hand to reach over the half-door and undo the latch. Once it was open, Rifle scooted into the room ahead of them, and the boys carried in the mattress.

  “Watch your step,” Misha warned Jon.

  Scattered all over the floor was straw and duck shit. There was also a plastic kiddie pool full of water in the middle of the room, a kind of hutch made out of nightstands and blankets in a corner, and a large slab of wood bolted into the floor. Rifle was keeping the families of ducks inside the hutch and out of the way. Every now and again one of the ducks would quack at him, but Rifle didn’t move from his guard position.

  “Prop it up.” Misha and Jon manoeuvred the mattress so that it sat on the floor and leaned up against the porthole window, which already had a covering of chicken wire bolted into the frame. “Come on, next one.”

  There were a total of five rooms on Misha’s list to take care of. They grabbed a second mattress and headed for the next one. This room contained chickens. It was very similar to the duck room, except it didn’t have a kiddie pool, and contained more nightstand-hutches and chicken shit. Rifle had a harder time keeping the chickens in their hutches, as there were more of them to guard, but every time one of them thought about straying, the German Shepherd was there to keep it inside.

  The third room they carried a mattress into was full of nervous sheep.

  “Easy, Rifle. Be gentle,” Misha reminded him. They didn’t want to overexcite the sheep.

  It was harder to move around in that room, as the sheep were always standing in the way, but the mattress was placed over the window in the end.

  The fourth room had goats in it, and went nearly as smoothly. One of the goats butted the back of Jon’s legs, but it wasn’t a hard head-butt.

  “We have to be extra careful with this last room,” Misha told Jon as they approached it.

  “What’s in this one?”

  “A bull.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Depending on his mood, it is.”

  Misha actually hesitated outside the door. This one was a full door, but the peephole had been reversed so Misha could look inside. He could only see the bull’s tail swishing back and forth in the main section of the room.

  “Rifle’s going to go in first, and we’re going to give him a second to determine the bull’s temperament.”

  “You’re the boss.” Jon stepped closer to the wall as a man dragged a mattress past, heading for another room.

  “Rifle?”

  Rifle looked up at Misha.

  “This is a bull. I hope you remember that word. Bulls are big, and they can be tough. Try not to get hurt.”

  Rifle just continued looking up at him, waiting for a command. Heaving a sigh, Misha undid the latches and opened the door. A loud snort came from the room beyond. Rifle didn’t pause, he walked straight into the room. Misha lingered at the doorway, watching carefully.

  As Rifle approached the bull, he did pause for a moment. The dog then circled wide around the back of the bull. There was another snort, and Misha listened to the clattering of hooves as the bull turned to face Rifle. The tail disappeared as the bull completely hid behind the bathroom. Rifle’s whole body was tense as he faced the bull. Misha watched for a few breathless seconds, frightened for his best friend.

  Rifle suddenly relaxed and began wagging his tail. Misha relaxed at the same time.

  “Seems the bull is fairly calm. Still, I’m going to have to halter him to the wall. Give me a few seconds to start this, and then drag the mattress in.”

  Jon nodded.

  Misha stepped into the room and walked down the short hall. He deliberately made some noise as he walked so that his appearance wouldn’t startle the bull. Although Rifle surely knew that Misha was coming, he didn’t once look at him. The dog’s eyes were completely fixed upon the bull. As Misha reached the end of the hall, the bull turned its head toward him. Misha froze, but the bull just snorted and pretty much ignored him. Misha breathed a sigh of relief.

  The bull wasn’t terribly large. He was a bit skinny, which was actually good because it meant they could walk him through the halls. Any bigger and the bull would be too large to exercise, and they’d have to put him down and turn him into beef. The bull also had no horns, or at least not very large ones; they had been carefully shaved down into hard nubs by the veterinarians. Despite these deficiencies, people had still been hurt by this bull and others. When they got their ire up, the bulls could still deliver a bone cracking head-butt or sharp kick. It was always best to proceed with caution, even when a fire alarm hadn’t blared several minutes ago.

  Misha stepped slowly past the bull, picking up the end of a rope that was attached to the wall. He proceeded to move just as slowly toward the bull’s head.

  Jon entered the room, dragging the mattress behind him. Just before Misha could grab the bull’s halter, its head swung to the side to look at the newcomer. Misha completely froze, his hand hovering part way toward the bull, open in a grabbing position. Jon also froze, unsure about wh
at to do.

  Rifle yipped in a friendly way, drawing the bull’s attention back to him. The bull’s head swung close enough that Misha was able to attach the rope to his halter. While Jon propped the mattress up on his own, Misha grabbed another rope from the opposite wall and attached it to the other side of the bull’s halter. The second rope would be in the way when they had to bring in more equipment, but it was better to have the bull secure.

  Gunfire rattled off the hull. The bull startled, dancing in place, shifting as far left and right as the ropes allowed him. Misha quickly dashed out of the way of the beast’s bulk.

  “Okay. Hardest part is done,” Misha sighed. “On to the next job.”

  Jon was distracted by the gunfire and stared at the outer wall.

  “Jon,” Misha tapped his arm, “come on.”

  Jon startled briefly, but then followed Misha carefully past the bull. Rifle came once they had reached the door.

  “What’s next?” Jon asked.

  “Now, we take the wooden panels and brace them against the backs of the mattresses with the beams.”

  They grabbed a large wood panel and two beams, and brought them to the bull’s room. Misha explained that the bull was fairly calm right now, so it was best to board up his room as quickly as possible, before something else happened to agitate him. The wood panel was pressed tightly against the back of the mattress, and then the two beams were angled between it and the board that had been bolted into the floor. In the bull’s room, the board in the floor had gouges and chunks taken out of it by the bull’s hooves, but it was still strong.

  “Once we do this in the last four rooms, we’re done.”

  Both Misha and Jon were sweating. None of this stuff was light, and they were running around with it in one of the hottest areas of the Diana. There were no complaints though. Misha didn’t even complain when one of the goats butted him so hard it knocked him to the floor. He just got up and helped Jon wedge the second beam in place, while Rifle bullied the goat into a corner.

  “So that’s it?” Jon asked as they finished up in the duck room. In there, the mattress had fallen over and they found a fresh bullet hole in it and a matching one in the glass.

  “That’s it.”

  “So we’re going up to the helipad now?”

  “If that’s what you still want to do.” Misha didn’t particularly like the idea of going up there, but he had already agreed to it.

  “Yeah. Come on.” This time Jon led the way.

  As Misha followed behind him with Rifle, nimbly dodging out of the way of other people, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something was telling him that the worst was yet to come.

  ***

  Misha thought he saw Mathias outside one of the doors when he and Jon reached the fourth deck, but then Jon led him to the door on the other side of the ship. Outside, the defenders were all huddled down against the floor, keeping out of sight of the boats in the water below.

  A bullet whined past, ricocheting off something. Misha flinched, hunching closer to the floor. Rifle pressed himself tighter against Misha’s legs. It was impossible to tell how close the shot was, but any sort of close was too close. They were going to be killed out here.

  Jon seemed to ignore the bullet. He hunched slightly over and stuck to the wall, leading Misha, and by extension Rifle, toward the front of the ship. The stairs up to the helipad were for the most part enclosed, and Jon sprang up the steps two at a time. Misha moved slower, preferring the partial protection of the staircase as opposed to the open area ahead of them. He wished he had stayed down below with the animals.

  The helipad area was large, but only two teams moved about on and around it: half of Jon’s off-shipper team, and the flight team. The off-shippers were dashing around the edges, tracking the boats below, while the flight team was doing something with the helicopters. A single bright flood light illuminated the centre where the flight team was working, while an orange flare lit up the side Jon and Misha had come up, and a red flare bathed the far side in a light that was a bit too much like blood for Misha’s tastes.

  “Jon!” someone Misha couldn’t see called out from nearby.

  “Brunt!” Jon replied, moving partly across the space to meet up with the man.

  Misha followed hesitantly behind Jon. Now that he was here, he didn’t know why he was, not really. Jon had begged him to come, afraid that someone might assault him on the way. Given what had happened when he was in the Dragon’s Den, this was understandable, but no one had assaulted Jon on the way up here. In fact, no one had even given him a second glance. They either didn’t realize he was supposed to be locked up, or they didn’t care. Misha didn’t know what he was supposed to do now.

  “Glad you could make it.” The man named Brunt slapped Jon’s shoulder.

  Jon only grinned in response.

  “Who’s your friend?” Brunt looked over at Misha. “Sorry, I don’t know your name. Seen you around, but never been introduced. I’m Brunt.” He held out his hand.

  Misha briefly shook it. “Misha, and this is Rifle.”

  “Rifle.” Brunt held his hand out to the German Shepherd to let him sniff it.

  Instead, Rifle sat down and placed his paw in Brunt’s hand.

  “Ha!” Brunt cried out, shaking it as briefly as he had shaken Misha’s hand. “He’s a smart one.”

  “He is.”

  “Come to help?” Brunt directed this question to both Jon and Misha.

  “Yup. What can I do?” Jon asked.

  “Well, we’ve only got one rifle up here, not including this furry one, so shooting is pretty much out of the question. Rose was always our best shooter.” Brunt shook his head sadly.

  “She’ll be all right.” Jon’s voice wavered slightly, unsure of his words.

  “Mostly, we’re counting boats,” Brunt continued. “We’re trying to determine just how many there are out there.”

  “Wouldn’t that make more sense from the back of the ship?” Misha couldn’t help but comment.

  “Yeah, they’re doing the most counting as far as I know.” Brunt shrugged. “Our more important job has been to warn the flight crew when it looks like one of the boats is about to fire upon us.”

  “How can I help?” Jon asked.

  “Brewster’s been covering the left, and Shaidi’s been covering the right. If you want, you can go up onto the nose.”

  “You got it.” Jon took off toward the steps that would take him up to the helipad, where the forward-most point of the ship was.

  “You here to help?” Brunt asked Misha.

  “Not really.” Misha looked down at his feet, heat spreading across his face. “I was just accompanying Jon up here in case he ran into trouble on the way.”

  “That’s fine. You should ask the flight crew if they need any help. You’re on the maintenance team, right?”

  Misha was confused until Brunt pointed at his wetsuit.

  “I’m on the underwater team. I don’t know much, if anything, about helicopters,” Misha admitted.

  “That’s fine. They might just need an extra set of hands to hold things. Now if you’ll excuse me, I better go get the newest counts from Brewster and Shaidi.” Brunt jogged off to where a very large man was leaning over a railing.

  Misha continued to stand where he was, unsure about what to do. He didn’t really want to be up here, but he didn’t want to head back down to the fourth deck either. That just seemed like asking for a bullet. When he spotted Danny, he decided he might as well try to be useful.

  “Danny!” Misha trotted up to where the younger Cole was bolting some pieces together.

  “Misha!” Danny raised a hand in greeting, and then went back to working the wrench.

  “What are you doing?” Misha asked as he reached him.

  Rifle went straight up to Danny, sniffing his shoulders. Danny gave his head a quick rub with a greasy hand.

  “Well, we can’t completely build the bubble copter, there’s not enou
gh space, but it’s in a lot of pieces right now. We’re trying to put it back together as much as possible, so that if we need to, the Cougar can take off and we can quickly assemble the smaller one on the platform.” Danny spoke in a distracted voice, searching for a certain part or tool. “Could you hand me that piece behind your right foot?”

  Misha pointed to what he thought Danny was referring to.

  “No, the other one. Next to that.

  Misha pointed at another piece.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Why’s the little helicopter in so many pieces?” Misha asked as he handed Danny the whatever-it-was. He had no idea what any of the parts were for.

  “We had taken it apart for a thorough cleaning. Didn’t expect to be attacked by… They’re not really pirates, are they? What should we call them? An army?”

  Misha just shrugged. He didn’t know what to call them. They were enough like pirates for him to feel comfortable calling them that, even if they weren’t.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Misha asked.

  “Sure. You can fetch me stuff.”

  “I won’t know the names of things. I barely know the names of most tools.”

  Danny chuckled despite the sounds of gunfire from the water. “That’s okay. I’m still learning most of their proper names myself. I’ll point to what I need, or try to describe it in a simple way.”

  “Okay.”

  Misha liked helping Danny. It kept him busy, and it kept him out of harm’s way. Every now and again Jon or one of the other off-shippers would call out, warning them that a boat looked like it was about to fire. Everyone would lay flat until it passed. Sometimes the boat did fire, and sometimes it didn’t. Even when it did, there was nothing above them for bullets to ricochet off, and in the middle of the area, where Misha was with Danny, a ricochet off a railing was unlikely. Most of the shots went way over their heads, as the attackers were aiming at the bridge several decks above them.

  Sadly, Misha didn’t get to help Danny for very long.

  Shaidi’s scream caused just about everyone to drop what they were doing, the only exception being two men on the flight team, who were holding up a large panel of glass for which the bubble chopper was named. Rifle had been sniffing around the tools and parts and staying away from the edges, but now he placed himself in front of Misha, his hackles raised and a low growl in his throat as he tried to frighten off the unseen threat.