Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Page 7

  “Oi! Do you want something to eat?” the man in the shed’s doorway called to the one guarding the large boat.

  “Nah! I’m all right!” the boat guard called back.

  “Well, we got some extra if you want any!” The man then disappeared back into the shed, having completely missed seeing Freya.

  Although she might have been able to sneak aboard one of the larger boats and steal its gas tank as well, she decided not to press her luck. Once the final tank was gently loaded into her boat, she was ready to go, now with an extra passenger.

  Together, the two women eased the boat off the sand and into the ocean. They didn’t dare try to climb into it right away. Instead, they each took a side and swam out with the boat. Freya was exhausted, but she didn’t quit. She swam and swam until she decided that they were far enough away from shore.

  Swimming around the front of the boat, she found the girl was floundering. She hadn’t said anything, but she looked half drowned, constantly getting salt water in her mouth which she promptly spit out again. Freya gestured to her that it was okay to climb aboard. The girl barely had any strength left to get up, but Freya couldn’t help her; she had to swim back to the other side and hold onto the edge to counterbalance the weight. Once the girl was in, managing to keep remarkably quiet as she rolled to the floor, Freya hauled herself up. When she had made her plans, she hadn’t counted on how much her bony body would tilt the boat, and if it hadn’t been for the girl balancing the other side, she might have flipped the thing.

  Once they were in, Freya still didn’t stop. She loaded the oars into their oarlocks and began rowing. She rowed on her own, watching the shore slowly get farther away, while the girl sat in the bow, resting and looking out to sea. Eventually, the girl slid in next to Freya and took over one of the oars.

  “I’m Teal,” the girl whispered, even though the beach was a distant, glowing speck, and Jamaica was a dark hump on the horizon.

  Freya just gave her a side-glance and kept rowing.

  “I heard one of the women once say that your name is Freya?”

  Freya nodded.

  The girl, Teal, didn’t say anything else after that.

  After a long while, when Freya’s arms were about to give up on her and Teal’s already had, Freya shifted to the back of the boat to start the motor. She checked the gas can, which was nearly full, pulled the choke out, and yanked on the rip cord. It took a handful of pulls, but the small motor eventually sputtered to life.

  As Freya sat back with her hand on the throttle, she was unconcerned about getting lost. Many sleepless nights had taught her to recognize stars, and the direction of the smoke lay burned in her memory. As long as the sea remained calm and she had stolen enough gas, they would get there.

  ***

  Teal was asleep in the front of the boat while Freya drove. She was half-asleep herself, but couldn’t rest just yet. Not until she got to where she wanted to go.

  If only her brother were with her. She missed him. He had been so carefree, and was always quick with a joke. He had a bright smile.

  A foreign noise disturbed Freya. She sat up straighter and began looking around. It was a buzzing, and it wasn’t the little boat’s engine. Scanning the dark waters, her eyes searched for the source of the sound. Teal woke up as she released the throttle and shut down the engine.

  “What is it?” the girl mumbled as she rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

  Freya pressed a finger to her lips, urging Teal to be quiet. Teal saw the look in her eyes, her own growing large in the darkness. She began to search the waters as well. Freya couldn’t find where the buzzing was coming from, but she thought she spotted light toward the horizon, in the direction the smoke had been. It wasn’t sunlight either, which was still a couple of hours off.

  “There,” Teal whispered, pointing across the water in the opposite direction.

  A dark shape was speeding along the waves. It was a boat that was much faster and more powerful than the one that Freya had stolen. It was a boat that Freya knew: Sher’s boat.

  There was nowhere to hide on the sea. Freya wanted to scream, but wouldn’t even if she could. How did they know which way she had gone? Had someone else seen the smoke too, and knew she would head toward it?

  The boat had turned and was now coming straight toward them. There was nothing to do but fight. Freya prepared her sling.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” Teal said to her, her voice full of fear.

  Freya tossed her the makeshift knife. It was all they had.

  As the boat came closer, Freya stood tall, no longer worrying about being seen. It was obvious they had already been spotted, and she wasn’t going to let them take her easily. She did hide the loaded sling behind her, however.

  As the powerboat drew close, it slowed down. It was being driven by Bob, and Sher stood tall next to him, his white teeth shining in the darkness.

  “Here you are!” he called chipperly, as if he wasn’t planning on wringing her neck.

  Managing to avoid telegraphing her intent, Freya suddenly brought the sling around and let loose the stone within it. The rock whipped across the gap between the two boats, striking Sher above the eye. He went down with a startled squawk.

  The larger boat turned and drifted, broadside, into them, nearly knocking Freya over. She grabbed another rock as a third man from the back of the other boat leapt aboard the tiny aluminium. There was no time to load the sling, so Freya simply threw the stone instead. The man ducked, thereby being struck only on a raised arm. Ducking was what killed him. He hadn’t seen Teal in the front of the boat, and she viciously slashed him with the knife. She cut deep, his guts nearly spilling out. The pain caused him to jolt back, tipping him overboard and into the ocean.

  Bob grabbed Teal by her hair, lifting the girl, screaming, into the air. He tossed her into the back of the powerboat as if she were nothing more than a kitten. There was a sick thump, and Freya lost sight of her. When Bob moved into the front of her boat, it rocked dangerously back and forth. The large man didn’t bother with words, he just growled. She had managed to load the sling again, but the projectile just bounced harmlessly off him. With two quick and surprisingly balanced strides, he reached Freya. There was nothing she could do as his meaty hands wrapped around her throat.

  Freya couldn’t breathe. Her air was cut off as Bob, his face full of rage, squeezed the life out of her. She refused to go out like this and kept fighting. She kicked and scratched at him, but Bob took less notice than he would of a fly.

  “Stop her!” the croaking voice of Sher came from the other boat.

  Bob suddenly dropped Freya into a gasping, weak heap, as he headed back to the other boat. Through spotty vision, Freya could see that Teal was at the boat’s engines, tearing them apart and throwing the pieces into the water, including the extra gas tanks they had loaded up for the long journey. Her face and hands were bloody, and she looked like a demonic creature. She was frenzied as she grabbed the last gas can and threw it overboard. Sher, still dazed, could only watch.

  Bob stopped her with ease. Coming up behind her, he grabbed her shoulder with one hand, and her head with the other. There was a very audible snap as her neck broke, and then her limp body was tossed into the sea.

  Distracted by what was going on with Bob and Teal, Freya didn’t notice that Sher had boarded her boat. Not until he punched her in the side of the face that was. Having knocked her over onto her belly, Sher grabbed her arms and pulled them painfully behind her back. She felt her own sling being used to bind her wrists together.

  Sher collapsed backward onto the seat behind him. His eyebrow was bleeding where Freya had struck him with the stone.

  “What’s the damage?” he asked Bob.

  “Mortal. This thing ain’t going nowhere.” Bob kicked the side of the boat.

  Sher looked at the gas tanks in the boat Freya had stolen, checking to see how much was left. “I don’t think we can get back in this thing.” He then looked up at Fre
ya. “Where were you going, huh?”

  Sher looked out across the water, while Bob climbed back into the smaller boat. He checked on their third companion who was floating alongside. “He’s dead, boss. Sharks will come soon if they’re not already here.”

  “Leave him to them. Is that where you were going?” Sher turned to face Freya, pointing toward the faint light on the horizon. “Is there something there? I bet there is.”

  “What’s the plan, boss?”

  “We’re going to find out what pretty little Freya thought was so important she’d kill for it.” Sher grabbed her and dragged her away from the motor, then threw her down near the front bench. “We can decide her punishment afterward, when my head doesn’t hurt so much. You’re driving.”

  “Sure thing.” Bob started the engine with one powerful pull on the cord.

  Freya lay curled up, trying to slip her hands free, while Sher loomed nearby.

  “Do you think someone there can help you?” he leaned in close and hissed. “Trust me on this one, no one can help you. You’re mine. I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me. Do you understand that? If we find people over there, I swear I will murder every last one of them for tempting you away.”

  5

  Misha’s In Mourning

  Misha wiped at his face, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. He hated crying. Having tears running down his face made him angry, and he already had a lot to be angry about.

  His best friend was dead. Again. And he was essentially homeless. Again.

  Back when the Day happened, Misha had been forced to drive a broken hockey stick through the zombified eye of his best friend and roommate, then had to flee the house to which he never returned. Last night, his best friend and roommate for the past six years, Alec, had been disintegrated by a bomb, which took out their room in the process. Then, as now, the only things Misha had left in the world were the clothes he wore—a wetsuit in this case—and Rifle.

  Although that wasn’t completely true. He had friends now. All his friends from before the Day were gone, but those he considered as part of his group were still there.

  Rifle grunted in his sleep and twitched his paws. Misha shifted forward and patted his side, calming his dreams. It was uncomfortably hot sitting in one of the lifeboats hanging off the side of the Diana, but it was the only place where Misha knew he could get some privacy. He couldn’t stay there for long, but right now, he needed to.

  “What do you think, bratishka?” Misha asked the sleeping dog. “Who do you think would want to bomb the Diana? To hurt so many people?”

  Rifle’s only response was to awaken partially, sleepily opening his eyes.

  Alec hadn’t been the only one killed. The fire had claimed a few more, mostly due to smoke inhalation, and others were injured. Still, the bomb had been in Misha’s room. Was it just bad luck, or had he or Alec been targeted? Misha couldn’t think of anyone who disliked either of them enough to want to kill them. And to use a bomb no less. If Misha had decided to change out of his wetsuit before dinner, he would have been killed, too.

  “Who would want us dead?”

  Rifle flattened his ears, sensing either Misha’s distress or frustration. Maybe both.

  “Do you think I should go to work today, Rifle? They said I can take the day off, but I don’t know. Of course, I don’t know what to do with you all day if I’m in the water.”

  Fresh tears sprang to Misha’s eyes. Rifle scooted closer to him and began licking his face.

  “Ugh!” Misha playfully pushed the big dog’s head away. He then wrapped his arms around his neck and affectionately rubbed his ears. “We should find something to do other than just sit around. I’m sure you’ll have to poop soon enough.”

  Scrambling over the seats, Misha made his way to the lifeboat’s hatch. With its hard shell on top, each lifeboat formed a kind of elongated pod that could apparently hold a hundred and fifty people. Misha could only imagine how uncomfortable cramming that many people in there would be. Luckily, if they ever needed to evacuate, the twenty-six lifeboats and two tender boats, could hold more than enough. Not to mention the hundreds of quick-deploy life rafts that were also stashed on board.

  Once out of the boat, Misha made sure Rifle didn’t stumble or hurt himself as he exited, then gave the dog’s shoulders a good rubbing. The first thing Misha decided to do was to take Rifle to the fertilizer storage. It was the grossest, smelliest part of the ship, but it was the best place for pets, like dogs, to do their business. Weaving through the throng of people along the promenade, Misha made his way toward the back of the ship. Heading down a fancy spiral staircase to the third deck, he entered what used to be the ship’s ice rink. Already the smell reached him, and there was still another set of doors to pass through. Rifle became fidgety as always. He didn’t like the smell either, but he knew this was the only place he was allowed to relieve himself.

  Just past the first doors was a hallway leading port and starboard. Straight-ahead was what used to be a sort of glassed-in media room. The media folks had long since abandoned it for the much smaller room out by the stairs, and it was only used for storage now. Still, Misha could see through the glass walls, past the dead control panels, and into the ice rink area itself. The rink was now a large pile of dirt and dung.

  Once it had been decided that the Diana was going to become a long term home for a lot of survivors, a few large helicopters had begun ferrying supplies to the ship, including a lot of fresh dirt. Over time they had collected enough dirt to fill the pools, and all the pots and planters, but they were always worried about rainwater washing away more than they could replace. To prevent this, they brought on even more dirt and filled the ice rink with it. The pile was a hill, rising higher than the seats surrounding it, and even flooding over the lowest row. The ship’s ballast had to be carefully calibrated with its addition, which was one of the reasons the rink, with its low, central location, was chosen for the job.

  Walking through the second set of doors, Misha shuddered and gagged from the rank odour that washed over him. The dirt pile was full of worms, which broke down the animal faeces, and dead, useless plant matter that was added to it. Misha usually wore a mask, or at least had a shirt to pull up over his nose, but his wet suit was too form fitting to do that. All he could do was clamp his whole hand over the lower half of his face. It didn’t help much. The smell of rot was so strong, his eyes watered.

  “Hi, Misha!” a man standing next to the pile waved. He was easy to spot in his bright yellow, rubber suit, and filter mask. The man had been born lacking both a sense of smell and taste, making him the perfect candidate to take care of what was commonly referred to as shit mountain. His job was to turn the dirt regularly, and distribute the poop and plant matter evenly.

  Misha only waved back in response, not wanting to move his mouth. He was trying to hold his breath as much as possible. Waving Rifle forward, he waited at the top of the seats, and watched as the large German Shepherd made his way down. Once Rifle reached the edge of the pile, he shifted to one side so that the seats hid him. Alec had once told Misha that Rifle could be oddly shy about pooping, and even as a puppy, he would go in the bushes or behind trees. Most of the time, if he was being watched, Rifle would refuse to look at the person, and his expression was similar to shame. The moment he finished, Rifle dashed backed up the steps, his ears flat against his skull. Misha took no time in getting back out to the spiral staircase, where he took a deep breath of the drastically fresher air.

  Since he was already there, Misha went to one side where the small media room was buzzing with activity. There weren’t many people who worked on the media team, but Tobias was one of them. On the other side of the glass wall, the crew of three was busy, carefully writing the news on sheets of paper that would be posted around the Diana in public areas. The fourth media worker was probably off hanging up the flyers that had been completed. With what had happened last night, a lot of people were waiting for those updates.<
br />
  Taking a break to stretch, Tobias saw Misha standing outside. He waved, quickly saying something to the other two, and then stepped out of the room.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Misha shrugged. “I was just in the area and thought I’d stop to see what you were doing. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “No bother at all.”

  “I don’t suppose you know much about what happened last night, do you?”

  Tobias shook his head, his shaggy hair flopping across his brow. “Sorry. We know who’s died and who’s been injured, but outside of them, the only thing we have to report is that it was a bomb, and the best people are looking into it.”

  “Okay.” Misha looked down at his feet. He hadn’t expected any more information than that, and he wasn’t sure what he would have done with it if there had been more.

  “Come with me.” Tobias stepped around him and crossed the space containing the spiral stairs. On the other side was an open shop that had sold professionally taken photos of the vacationers on the cruise. It hadn’t changed much. Now, instead of selling photos, it merely displayed them. It was full of pictures that people like Tobias had taken after the Day, as well as a few that people had donated from before then. Anne, Tobias’s girlfriend, stood behind a desk where she made sure no one stole the pictures. She smiled as the two entered, but kept quiet. Tobias led them toward one of the alcoves along the back wall.

  Misha scanned the photos there, not sure what he was looking for. Just as he started to realize that groups of the pictures contained the same people, he spotted Alec. There were a dozen, maybe more, pictures of him. Most were from around the cruise ship over the years, but two were from Riley’s family cabin. In the center of them was a battered picture of a woman holding a German Shepherd puppy.

  “He didn’t tell me he had donated this picture,” Misha commented, pointing out the battered one. It was a picture of Alec’s long dead sister on the day she brought Rifle home.