Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Read online

  “Tobias!” Robin was screaming.

  The man swung with the rope for a moment before letting go. He wasn’t nearly as close to the deck as Brunt had been. His lanky body was thrown sideways into the netting that encircled the upper half of the basketball court. The mesh folded around him, as the weak posts groaned and bent with the force.

  Robin and Brunt ran to him, while Jon and Brewster continued to watch everybody’s backs for threats. Freya looked up at the helicopter and saw it was circling overhead.

  “He’s okay!” Robin called out.

  Freya glanced over and saw Robin and Brunt helping Tobias out of the netting that was tangled around him. Once he was freed and standing on his own two feet, the helicopter left the scene.

  “Told you I have bad luck with heights,” Tobias grumbled while he worked out the sore spots. He may not have had any major injuries, but Freya would bet he had a lot of bruises, a few over-extended muscles, and probably some friction burns.

  “Right, we should get going. We have a whole ship to cross,” Brunt took charge.

  Freya had a thought and quickly wrote it down, holding it out to Brunt for him to read.

  They know we’ve boarded. Sher’s men may board too.

  Brunt nodded. “That’s a good point, and all the more reason to move quickly. Come on.”

  They left the basketball court with Brunt in the lead. Jon and Robin followed along behind him, while Brewster and Freya brought up the rear behind Tobias. Freya wasn’t too keen on Brewster. So far, he had done nothing against her, but his large frame reminded Freya too much of men like Bob. She was going to keep an eye on him just as much as everything else around her.

  From the basketball courts, the group entered the pool area. Lounge chairs were scattered everywhere. A few were piled up along the side of the ship, others looked like they had been in use not long ago, while still more sat crooked or inexplicably on their sides. The only light came from the flares high overhead, and bulbs that were on inside the pools, beneath the water line. The combination lead to strange, moving shadows. The group came to a stop just inside the pool area, watching and waiting for anything that might come out of those shadows. Something did.

  A zombie—formerly male by the looks of it, but now, mostly the gender neutral of rot—came shuffling around a pillar. It didn’t spot them right away, but the moment it did, the thing changed its course to come straight at them. Freya had heard someone once say that zombies reacted to the living like moths to flames. She didn’t see it that way. Moths were erratic, fluttering, and even spastic. There was speed to them that most zombies could never possess. Not only that, but some moths circled the flame for some time, flitting about it before finally getting too close and ending up with singed wings or death. Zombies had no such inhibitions. Freya thought that they were more like magnets. They took a straight route to their target, even when there was something else in the way, and the closer they got, the stronger the attraction became. This zombie was no exception, as it stumbled into the lounge chairs. The racket the thing caused drew more zombies out of hiding, all of them converging on the group.

  “Stick to your melee weapons as much as possible,” Brunt told everyone, his voice stirring up the zombies even more. “Save your ammo.”

  Freya hefted the blade in her hand, testing its weight. It had been a long time since she had to kill zombies, but she figured this would be easy. A zombie was a lot easier to kill than a living man was.

  Jon drew his long sword. With his free hand, he briefly grasped Robin’s, squeezing it firmly. The sight managed to find and hit Freya’s heart. She didn’t know such relationships could still exist in this world. Once Jon let go, he stepped forward and easily removed the head of the first zombie that came near.

  Things happened rapidly after that. All of the zombies in the pool area, which was a surprising number given how many were moving to the front of the ship, came at the group. Everyone naturally clustered together along one wall, moving forward slowly, as the blades flashed in the strange light. Only Brewster wasn’t using a blade. He stood in the centre of the group with his crossbow, thinning out the larger collections of zombies before they reached their targets. Freya enjoyed the attack. To every zombie she killed, she mentally attached the face of a man back in Jamaica. This one was Henry, and that one was Simeon. Here was Deshane, and there was Martel. Freya only wished Sher could be here right now.

  It didn’t take long for them to cross the pool area. Not all the zombies were dead, the slowest and farthest away were still stumbling around in an attempt to get to them, while several had fallen into the pools. Brunt kept the group moving forward, leaving the idiotic dead things behind. Freya and Brewster could easily defend their rear from them if need be.

  They had no problems on the stairs, and got down the single flight with ease. Brunt checked out the hallway ahead, then directed everyone into the elevator corridor.

  “There’s a few zombies in the hallway,” he whispered just loud enough for them to hear him over all the other noises. “It looks like the door to the bridge is open, and they’re all shuffling through it.”

  This angered Freya. If the zombies were on the bridge, then where was Sher? There was no way he would have let the zombies get him.

  “What’s the plan?” Jon asked, his voice equally quiet.

  “You’ll go in first with your sword. Brewster will follow right behind you, crossbow ready. Next will be Robin and Tobias. You two keep a gap ahead of you in case the guys need to retreat. Freya and I will guard the rear. Jon, you’re going to keep your distance from the zombies and follow them in. If you think it’s possible to take them out, by all means do it, but if the situation is bad, get us to fall back to this position, got it?”

  Jon nodded curtly.

  “I smell smoke,” Robin whispered to the group.

  Brunt nodded. “A bit of the hallway carpet back that way seems to be on fire.” He gestured with his thumb in the direction he meant. “It’s not bad, but we don’t want to hang around long enough for it to become a problem.”

  No one had any other questions or concerns.

  Jon led the way back to the hall. As Freya followed Tobias, she looked back at the fire. Brunt was right when he said it wasn’t bad, but it wouldn’t take very long before it was. The source of the fire was obvious, as a flare continued to sputter in the middle of the blooming flames. Looking forward again, Freya watched as Jon very slowly and very quietly approached the back of a zombie. He made no move to take it down, but kept his sword in a tight and ready grip. The group kept pace with the zombies making their way into the captain’s bridge. Freya frequently checked behind her, as did Brunt, but there was nothing there.

  Once the last zombie entered the bridge, Freya felt an urge to rush in behind it. She didn’t care if it alerted the zombies to their presence. She wanted to know what had happened to Sher. She refused to believe he was dead until she saw him with her own eyes. In one hand, she bore the machete, and in the other, her sling was weighted down with the largest ball bearing she could find. Slowly, the group inched forward, closer and closer to the bridge.

  Jon entered the bridge first, followed by Brewster. When they didn’t come back out, the rest of them went in. Freya took in the scene quickly. The zombies were still shuffling forward, toward a broken section of window. They didn’t stop upon reaching it, but walked right through and then fell out of sight. On the floor near the window lay a frying pan, while a flare gun lay even closer. An actual flare was burning brightly on the control console. She was aware of the smell of burnt plastic mixing in with all the other odours in this place. There was no one living in the room.

  Once the last zombie dropped out, everyone except Freya relaxed. Jon checked that the other door was locked, while Brewster and Tobias walked up to the control console. Freya went straight to the broken window and looked out. A lot of zombies had fallen on the balconies below, but a few managed to hit an arcing support beam and get all the way
down to the deck. Those on the balconies got up if they could, then struggled until they managed to get over the railing, only to fall down to the next balcony. At the bottom, several had become trapped within a walled-in area with cage doors. The zombies that still functioned were pressed up against the barred doors, trying to get through them so they could invade the Diana. Freya knew that if enough of them ended up down there, they’d start climbing over each other. None of them was Sher as far as Freya could tell.

  Looking up at the Diana, Freya thought that the smoke was even worse than when they had passed by it in the helicopter. It might have just been the new angle at which she was viewing it, but she didn’t think so. Something was burning and they were having trouble controlling it.

  “Fuck!” Tobias yelled, drawing Freya’s attention to him.

  “What’s wrong?” Brunt asked, from where he was guarding the door they had come in through.

  “The controls are fucked,” Tobias threw his hands in the air and walked away from them.

  “We can’t turn off, or reverse the engines,” Brewster explained. “This flare has fried everything.”

  It was hard to look directly at Tobias and Brewster, who were standing close to the bright red light of the flare. Both of them were shading their eyes with their hands. Freya held up her hand to block the source of the light, and that’s when she saw it. Behind the men was another door. It was a simple door, clearly not the same as those that led back out into the hallways. She didn’t think anyone had bothered to check it, probably already aware there was nothing related to their mission beyond it.

  Freya knew—she knew—that Sher was behind that door. Whatever that room was, Sher was in there, waiting for them to leave. The grip Freya had on her weapons tensed, but she gave no other sign that would betray her thinking.

  “Is there anything else we can do?” Robin asked.

  “I can think of two things, but I don’t know if either of them would work.” Brewster was shaking his head, still looking at the dead controls. “I’d imagine there’s an emergency shutdown somewhere around the engines themselves, but I have no idea where such a thing would be located.”

  Brunt sighed. “I knew we should have found someone on engine maintenance to come with us. What’s your other idea?”

  “Well, if we can’t find an off switch, we could always try dropping the anchors. I don’t know if the Diana’s engines are still running after that collision, but if they are, they might be strong enough to pull away from this ship if we stop it with the anchors.”

  Brunt nodded. “We’ll go to the engine room first and see what we can there, then check out the anchors.”

  Before they could do anything further, the crack of an explosion filled the air. Everyone ran to the windows, but Freya knew what it was before she had even turned around.

  The ship with sails. Freya had seen it from the helicopter, and again when she looked toward the Diana from where she stood. The collision had slowed them down enough to allow it to catch up. The old wooden thing had lined itself up with the Diana, and fired the one cannon Sher’s men had managed to get working. Freya had once heard Sher bragging about it. They had only the one cannon, but his team had worked at it until they had become experts. Every man aboard that ship had been specially trained to sail it, purely for the cannon. Wherever they had aimed, they had probably hit their target. Freya suspected it was one of the doors on the lowest deck that had just been pulverized, especially when a swarm of small boats headed for the area. It looked like the sailing ship was now moving farther forward along the Diana, perhaps to fire at the next door.

  Everyone on the bridge stood in silent horror, taking in what had just happened. As they did, Freya looked over her shoulder, watching the door to make sure Sher didn’t try to sneak up on them or sneak out.

  “They’re boarding the Diana.” Robin spoke barely loudly enough to be heard.

  “Come on!” Brunt clapped his hands together loudly, snapping everyone out of their daze. “The faster we get this done, the faster we can get back to the Diana and help them.”

  The group moved with a renewed purpose. They gathered behind Brunt and followed him to the door they had come in by. Freya made sure to stay at the back of the group. Once all the others had passed through the door, she closed it and locked them out. It took them only seconds to notice.

  “Freya!” Jon screamed through the door. “Freya, open up!”

  Freya wasn’t going to listen to him.

  “Come on, Freya!” This time it was Brunt shouting. “We need you!”

  Freya knew they didn’t. She stood with her back against the door feeling the thumps of their fists against the other side.

  “Freya, what’s wrong?” Robin was gentler than the others were. “Why did you lock yourself in there?”

  Oh, how she wished she could speak! Freya just wanted to tell them to go on without her, to leave her alone, but she couldn’t. Maybe she could write it and toss the note out, but that wouldn’t get across the emotion she wished to display. No, let them figure it out on their own.

  After a few more attempts at coaxing her out, they stopped trying. Freya waited another minute before leaving the door. She was alone with Sher now. Her blood was pumping hard in her ears, and behind her eyes. Soon, there would be death, and she wasn’t entirely sure whose it would be.

  ***

  Freya stood facing the wooden door. She waited with her machete up and her sling swinging a slow pendulum. After several minutes, she decided that Sher wasn’t going to come out on his own. Maybe he was waiting for his men outside to radio him when they saw the Diana’s group leaving the ship. Or maybe he knew Freya was still on the bridge; it was easily possible that he had heard the others banging on the door. Whatever the reason, Freya would have to go to him.

  With long, graceful, and silent steps, Freya walked up to the door and flattened herself against the wall beside it. She closed her eyes for a moment as a memory of Sheraton flashed through her mind. When he was six years old, and she was ten, she had taught him how to ride a bike. One day, when he had gone riding on his own, he had come back with scraped knees and had made Freya promise to always go bike riding with him after that.

  At least he never touched me, not the way he let others, Freya thought, burying thoughts of Sheraton under thoughts of Sher. He never did that.

  Reaching forward, Freya gripped the doorknob with the hand that held her sling. Slowly, she turned it until the latch cleared the jamb, and then threw the door inward. As the door opened, she was quick to withdraw and hide her arm along with the rest of her body up against the wall.

  Nothing happened. Sher hadn’t been standing behind the door, waiting for it to open as she had thought he might be. Or he was smart enough to realize that no one was within the doorway, and was waiting.

  Not once did Freya think that he might not be in there. She knew it like she knew her own name. The only question was what was he doing? There was only one way to find out.

  Freya quickly rounded the doorjamb, machete up. Sher had been waiting for her. Her eyes flashed, taking in the scene in less than a second. Sher was standing in front of her and something was wrong with his face. It was hard to tell in the weird flare light, but one of his eyes was definitely swollen shut, and not from Freya’s earlier rock throw. The other one had a wild, dangerous look in it. Sher was standing with his arms above his head, shaking under the weight of what appeared to be a microwave, or maybe a toaster-oven. Whatever it was, he brought it down hard toward Freya.

  She reacted fast, bringing up the machete. The appliance hit the blade instead of her face, careening to one side and twisting the machete out of her hand. Sher reached for her, but Freya danced speedily back onto the bridge, abandoning the bladed weapon. Sher picked it up as he stalked past it, his one eye focused intently on Freya. She spun her sling in fast, tight circles, and then let the ball bearing fly. The metal ball struck his inner arm sharply, like the sting of a massive insect. With an
involuntary yelp of pain, he dropped the machete.

  Screaming with rage, Sher ran at Freya, his hands held up like talons meant for her neck. There was no time to load the sling again. Just before Sher reached her, Freya lashed out with her leg, her foot connecting with his crotch. Although it looked like Sher forgot all about Freya in a cloud of pain, it didn’t stop his momentum. He crashed into her, falling on top of her as they struck the control panel. Sharp pain shot through Freya as she struck the metal instruments, some of them shocking her with the electricity that still ran through their broken parts.

  Sher recovered from his pain before Freya could recover from hers. His hands found her neck and he began to squeeze. Freya struggled and lashed out at him, her nails scraping along every piece of flesh they touched, but he kept his head tilted back, his sensitive eyes out of reach. This was just like it had been on the boat. Freya fought for her life, but Sher had the advantage of size, and even more so, of gravity. Spots began to appear before her vision.

  Freya had the heinous thought that she wasn’t going to make it this time. This time, there was no one to draw him off.

  Sher didn’t say anything as he looked down at her. Nothing needed to be said. That one eye and those bared teeth said it all. Freya was going to die here.

  “Hey, fuck face!”

  Sher turned his head, his angry growls suddenly turning into another bellow of pain. He stumbled back from Freya, letting her drop to the ground. Just as before, Freya was immobilized as she lay gasping for breath. A crossbow bolt was sticking out of the meat of Sher’s thigh. Sher grabbed the machete off the floor and charged at Freya’s saviour, who could only be Brewster.

  Freya did everything she could to rise. Last time, her saviour, Teal, had been killed. She wasn’t going to let that happen again. She wasn’t going to let this play out a second time. As she fought her body to get up, she spotted something under the control console. It was a flare shell, unexpended. Freya grabbed it, then paddled her arms and legs, moving in any way she could to where she had seen the flare gun. Scooping it up, she loaded the flare with trembling, traitorous hands. Her breathing was still rough, but she was beginning to get back control of that. Her head pounded.