Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Page 28

  A chorus of groaning and moaning informed Hanna that they were at least reacting to the whistle. She lay on the floor and waited. From her position, Hanna could see the area between the staircases on a few other decks, as well as her own. On the other decks, zombies were reacting too, but most of them didn’t seem to know where to go. The whistle blast had been too short for them to pinpoint its location, and so they shambled back and forth, looking irritated. Some zombies on her own deck either had been able to locate the source of the sound, or were at least reacting to the noises the other zombies were making. She watched as they came out of the far hallway, and crossed from starboard to port.

  After several minutes, when the trickle of zombies from the other side of the ship stopped, Hanna knew her plan must have worked to some degree. The zombies must have gone after the flare, or else the elevator nook would have filled, and her hiding spot on the balcony found.

  Hanna reloaded the flare gun, just in case, and crept out of her spot. The area was clear, so she moved to the hallway. A bright light was stuttering from where she had shot the flare, but it could barely be seen for all the corpses in the way. They weren’t as far down the hall as Hanna would have liked, but it was good enough. She thought she saw the children from the staircase as she turned away from the mob, but couldn’t be sure and wasn’t going to hang around to find out.

  It was only seconds later that Hanna found herself in front of the door to the bridge. With the hand holding the flare gun, she tried the handle. It was locked. Of course it was locked, why did Hanna think it wouldn’t be? She began to feel distraught. She had nothing to pick a lock with, and even if she had, she didn’t know how to pick a lock. Build a bomb, sure she could do that, but get through a locked door without one? Not a chance. The zombies would become disinterested in the flare at any moment now. What was she going to do?

  Hanna tucked the flare gun into the belt of her life jacket and knocked.

  “Hello?” she called through the door. There was no turning back now. If this didn’t work, she was zombie chow. Her heart raced in her chest, while her stomach fluttered, threatening to eject the food she had so recently eaten.

  “Hello in there? Please help me. I have been waiting ever so long for help to come. Please let me in.” Hanna’s voice sounded false to her own ears, but she had to continue. “Please. I am not bitten, you can check. I am desperate, I will do anything if you will just let me in. Hurry, they are coming back.” The fear rising in her voice wasn’t false. Hanna didn’t dare look over her shoulder, but she knew the zombies were coming. “Let me in. Please, for the love of God, let me in. Open the-”

  Hanna cut herself off as she heard the lock snap open, and pulled out the flare gun. The door opened, and Hanna fired.

  A man screamed as the flare was propelled directly into his face, ricocheting off it and flying further into the bridge. Hanna threw herself through the door, and then quickly closed it behind her. For a split second, she was able to see just how close the zombies had been to her. Any longer and she’d be dead.

  Wheeling around, Hanna held her frying pan aloft. She had time to register two things. The first was that the man she had hit with the flare gun lay on the floor, holding his head and rolling in agony. The second was a massive man’s hands reaching for her.

  Hanna swung her frying pan, but the big man paid no more attention to the strike on his shoulder than he would a fly. He grabbed Hanna, lifted her off her feet, and threw her deeper into the bridge. Hanna hit the floor hard, the flare gun flying out of her hand and skidding away. She managed to hold onto the frying pan.

  Getting up, her head spinning, Hanna saw the man coming toward her. He held up a meaty fist, cocked back and ready to break Hanna’s nose. As it came flying toward her, Hanna held up her frying pan. The man’s fist struck the edge of it, glancing off the lip, and then following through to smash its middle. Most of the blow’s energy had been diffused by the frying pan, but it was still enough for the pan to be knocked back into Hanna’s forehead.

  This was a dumb idea, Hanna thought as stars exploded behind her eyes. Why did you think you could kill these men? Why did you want to try?

  At some point, the flare had exploded. Hanna’s world was filled with a bright red light that stung her eyes. Before she could locate the flare’s position, the big man was throwing her again. This time she made it all the way to the front of the bridge, where she bounced off the reinforced glass. Somewhere along the way, her frying pan had slipped out of her hand, but she didn’t know where. Everything was spinning in the red.

  The big man came for her again. Hanna’s body wasn’t reacting properly, she couldn’t get ready. The big man’s hands came toward her in the shape of claws. He was going to strangle her.

  Hanna managed to get control at the last moment. She whipped her head sideways and sank her teeth into his wrist. The man howled with pain. Hanna grabbed his arm and continued to bite down while he tried to shake her off. He shook her as though she were a small dog attacking him.

  Eventually, the man grabbed her hood, yanked it down, and then grabbed her hair. Hanna’s hair was nearly ripped out by the roots, but still she tried to hang on. She wasn’t successful, and ended up being thrown to the floor.

  Before she could push herself up, the big man was on her back. He wrapped a massive arm around her throat and pulled up, cutting off her air. Hanna struggled, but she couldn’t get any strength to her arms, and her back was painfully arched.

  She could see out the window though. As the edges of her vision began to go black, she saw the Diana. She saw the Diana very clearly. Very closely. In fact, she could pick out the defenders back there running away in terror.

  The prow of the foreign cruise ship slammed into the stern of the Diana. There was a horrible squall of screeching metal, and suddenly Hanna could breathe again. The man had been thrown forward during the collision, and off Hanna, who gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air. Her throat was painfully swollen, and the world was spinning even worse now.

  Pulling her legs under her, Hanna attempted to get to her feet. She was unsteady, but she got up. Before she could make a run for it, the hands had her again. Hanna screamed hoarsely as she was pulled backward into a tight embrace. A bear hug like no other.

  The big man was leaning against the glass, holding Hanna tightly to him. He probably wanted to strangle her again, but Hanna wasn’t going to give him the chance. She screamed and kicked wildly, making sure he had to use every ounce of his formidable strength just to hold onto her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “No, don’t!” the big man behind her suddenly cried out, his arms slackening slightly.

  Hanna opened her eyes just in time to see the muzzle flash.

  Ich wünschte ich hatte nie das U-Boot gesehen, was the only thought she had time for.

  The man she had hit with the flare gun was standing behind the control console with a pistol in his hand pointed at Hanna. He unloaded the clip, every bullet striking Hanna’s torso.

  Hanna had no way of telling how many times she was shot. After the first bullet struck, everything was pain. All she could feel and think about was pain.

  The bullets had passed through Hanna into the man behind her, and then out through the reinforced—although not bullet-proof—glass. The combined weight of Hanna and the big man who held her was no match for the weakened window. It cracked behind them, and they fell.

  Hanna was dead before they hit the balcony railing below them, bounced off it, and then slid down a curved support brace all the way to the deck with the helipad.

  ***

  It took at least ten minutes for Hanna to turn. The big man who had held her was broken in every way, but his body had protected her on the way down. Specifically, it had protected her brain.

  Hanna rose from where she lay in a pool of quickly congealing blood, getting unsteadily to her feet. Stumbling around, she didn’t register much. All her dead brain really picked up o
n was the stream of other corpses walking past her, and that she should follow them. She joined the horde headed for the helipad, which was imbedded into the Diana. From there, she and the other dead things could get onto that ship of the living.

  As Hanna shuffled along with the crowd, she didn’t notice the fact that the smart zombie shuffled along beside her with one very badly broken leg, hindering his formerly quick movements. They would find the living together.

  17

  Jon’s Gotta Help

  “Misha!”

  Jon didn’t know who screamed louder, he or Danny. All he knew was that Misha had gone over the railing, and now, he and Danny were running for the spot where it had happened. The ship had shuddered, badly, but there was no time to think about that now. In the back of Jon’s mind, he wondered if this was what it was like for the people aboard the Diana when the bomb had gone off.

  Rifle reached the railing first, and then Danny a second after that. Jon was next to them in a heartbeat. Together they looked over the side, not expecting to see anything. If Misha had survived the fall, which was possible, he’d already be a quarter of the way along the hull, and most likely trapped underwater. It was a surprise for everyone when that wasn’t the case.

  “Help!” Misha screamed up at them. “Help!”

  He was hanging upside down in mid-air. Whether it was on purpose or not, the spear gun strapped to Misha’s leg had gone off. The barbed spear had passed through one of the few links of the anchor chain that weren’t hidden within the ship and had somehow become wedged, leaving Misha hanging by the connecting wire. Jon knew the underwater crew had the wires attached as a way of retrieving their spears, but now the practice had saved Misha’s life. That, and the once in a lifetime, million-to-one-odds shot.

  “That spear won’t be able to hold forever.” Danny’s comment fell only on Rifle’s ears, as Jon was already running off to find rope.

  It was a miracle that the spear was even holding at all. Most of the time, straight spears were used, and the ones that were barbed didn’t have very big spurs. Those little points of metal were probably the only things keeping the spear from slipping out of the chain links. Time was of the essence, as the saying goes.

  Jon flew down the steps, jumping over the last six and thumping onto the deck. He didn’t register that the gunfire had momentarily ceased, but he did see that all the planters and solar panels had been removed. Those he noticed because a few were stacked on top of the storage box that he needed to get into.

  Screaming in frustration, Jon began trying to move the heavy stuff by himself. It wasn’t long before others were helping him.

  “Jon, what’s wrong? Is it Danny?” Mathias asked from somewhere nearby.

  “No. Misha,” was all he replied. As soon as the box was clear, he ripped open the lid. The rope he needed was blessedly right on top and coiled nicely. He grabbed it and ran off without as much as a thanks.

  Leaping up the stairs two at a time, Jon felt certain that he was too late, that he had taken too long, and Misha had fallen. When the sound of Rifle whining reached his ears, he felt even more certain of that fact.

  Thumping into the railing alongside Danny, he peered over, assuming the worst, but Misha was still there. He wasn’t moving, and Jon’s first thought was that he had been shot, but then Jon put himself in Misha’s position and realized that he wouldn’t move either. Uncoiling the rope, he lowered it over the side.

  “Get the others,” Jon told Danny.

  The task didn’t take Danny long. The others were all hovering nearby, wondering what had happened. Jon stayed focused on the rope. As soon as it lowered to where Misha could grab it, the young Russian clutched the rope to his chest like… well, like a man grabbing a lifeline.

  “Tie it around your waist!” Jon shouted to him, lowering the rope some more to give him slack.

  Misha didn’t tie it around his waist but around his chest, just under the armpits. When he was done, he gave Jon a thumbs up.

  Jon turned to see everyone standing behind him, including the flight team. Even Mathias was painfully making his way to the top of the steps, something clearly wrong with his leg.

  “Everyone take hold of the rope.” Jon passed the end along and they all formed a single line. Before everyone had grabbed hold of the rope, it suddenly pulled in the opposite direction. Jon’s hands were slightly rope-burned before he and the others could secure a tight hold.

  “I’m okay!” Misha’s voice drifted up from over the side of the ship. “The spear gave way!”

  Those who didn’t already have a hand on the rope were quick to find one. Mathias had made it up the stairs and was limping along the railing toward them.

  “Pull!” Jon screamed. “Pull!”

  Like slaves on a rowing ship, they pulled in rhythm. Rifle danced around next to Jon, alternately looking down at Misha and at what Jon was doing. Once the dog noticed there was slack hanging off the end of the line, he ran to it and picked it up in his teeth. He no doubt intended to help with the pulling.

  Mathias reached them, but with his leg injured, he’d be no help pulling. He stood next to the railing and looked over it, watching Misha’s ascent for them.

  “I got him!” Mathias called out as he clasped hands with Misha. While the others continued to hold the line, Jon let go and leaned over the railing. Misha had one hand firmly gripping Mathias’s while the other had a white-knuckle grip on the railing’s lower bar. When Jon reached down, that grip quickly switched from the bar to his arm, immediately cutting off his blood flow. Jon and Mathias pulled on Misha’s arms while the others continued to haul on the rope. Once he was over the railing, Misha collapsed in a heap on the deck. Rifle ran to him, and at once, began covering his face in wet, doggy kisses. Misha didn’t push him off, but instead, wrapped his arms around Rifle’s neck.

  Mathias eased himself to the deck, tired and sweating profusely. Jon and Danny sat down nearby, while Brunt coiled the rope, and the flight team went back to work. Brewster walked off to check the other side of the ship.

  “What happened to your leg?” Danny asked his brother.

  “Got shot. What happened to Misha?”

  “Fell over the edge,” Danny told him.

  “You all right, Misha?” Jon asked him. “You are one lucky son of a bitch that spear went where it did.”

  Rifle finally stopped smothering him in kisses, allowing Misha to prop himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, but my hip hurts like a suka.”

  Jon could only imagine. It would be similar to a short drop with a sudden stop, involving one’s leg instead of their neck.

  “Let me see.” Jon shuffled over next him and felt along the outside of his hipbone and thigh. “I’m no medic, but it feels to me that your leg managed to stay attached to your hip.”

  “Hooray,” Misha sighed with no joy.

  “Do you know what happened?” Danny asked Mathias. “What caused the whole ship to shake like that?”

  “The other cruise ship, the one Sher’s in command of, rammed into the back of us.”

  “What?” Jon quickly turned his attention from Misha to Mathias.

  “Yeah, some guys fleeing from the back end told us. They rammed us hard, and punctured us good.”

  “Are we sinking?” Misha asked him.

  Suddenly, bullets were punching into the hull and pinging off the railings again. Danny and Jon each grabbed one of Mathias’s arms and quickly hauled him away from the edge. Misha moved even farther back, holding onto Rifle’s harness so that the German Shepherd could assist him.

  “I don’t know,” Mathias said in answer to Misha’s question. “We don’t know what happened, but I don’t think it was intentional.”

  “Why don’t you think it was intentional?” Jon asked.

  “Because of the way the other boats disappeared. They were falling back to see what had happened. They’re back again though, so I guess Sher ordered them to resume the assault.”

  “Danny!” the flight cr
ew’s captain bellowed. “We need your help!”

  Danny got up and ran off to assist.

  “I lost the rifle,” Misha suddenly said. He sounded very sad about it.

  “It’s okay.” Jon put his hand on his shoulder.

  “No, it’s not. We don’t have that many rifles, and we could have used the ammo in it.” Misha shrugged his hand off.

  “Hey,” Mathias forced Misha to look at him by using a harsh and nearly angry voice. “It’s a hundred times better to have you than the rifle.”

  Misha rolled his eyes. “Not really. I would have been just one more casualty among many.”

  “Fuck you!” Mathias actually shouted at him, startling Jon. “Quit your whining.”

  Misha stayed silent, not betraying whether his thoughts on the matter had changed or not. A lot of emotion was flying around, along with the bullets.

  Brunt walked up to Jon and handed back the rope. At the same moment, the radio on his belt crackled. Jon watched as Brunt lifted it up and pressed his ear against it. He suddenly turned and walked away from Jon, Misha, and Mathias, as if he didn’t want them to hear what was going on. Jon was immediately concerned. Was it bad news about the collision?

  When Brunt was done talking, he waved Brewster to him. They held a whispered conversation between the two of them, with Brewster pointing at Jon at one point. Brunt looked at Jon over his shoulder, assessing him. Although he really wanted to know what was going on, Jon waited patiently.

  “I should get back to my team,” Mathias spoke.

  “It’s too dangerous to hold onto the railing with those boats going by,” Misha told him. “I’ll help you get there.”

  Misha stood up, favouring his leg, and helped Mathias stand, who favoured his own.

  “Be careful,” Jon said to them both, half-distracted by whatever Brunt and Brewster were discussing.