Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Page 9

  The woman remained silent. She was clearly paying attention to them, but was also taking in her surroundings.

  “Are you a pirate as they say?” Captain Bronislav asked next.

  To this, the woman shook her head.

  “Then why won’t you tell us your name?” Bronislav continued.

  Again, the woman’s only response was to look at him. Her eyes were cold.

  “Can you not speak because those men choked you?” Karsten realized.

  The woman bobbed her head in a way that was neither yes nor no, and made a show of rolling her eyes. She was trying to communicate an answer that was complicated.

  “You can’t speak but not because those men strangled you.” Misha figured it out before anyone else.

  Bronislav gave him a look that suggested he should be keeping his mouth shut. If it were up to Captain Bronislav, Misha probably would have been tossed back into the water.

  “We’ll get you something to write with then,” Karsten continued, ignoring the silent interaction between Misha and the other captain. “We’ll have to test you for infection though, before we untie you.”

  The woman nodded.

  “I’ll go find a doctor who can bring a test kit here,” Misha volunteered.

  “Thank you,” Karsten nodded for him to go and do just that.

  Granted Misha was curious about the woman, he was glad nevertheless to leave the area. The air was virtually humming with intensity between her and the two captains, especially Captain Bronislav. Ducking back inside the Diana, he set out to find Robin. She was probably still very emotional and likely still upset, but he thought the opportunity to focus on work—especially when the ‘patient’ had no connection to her—would help. Besides, the other doctors were probably still busy with everything else that was going on, including the two men who had shown up.

  When he didn’t find her out on the fourth deck where he had left her, or in the medical centre, Misha headed for the theatre on the off chance that she was visiting Quin. Quincy Beharry had been the lead singer for the famous rock band Gathers Moss before the Day happened. He and Robin had survived the ordeal together, but all his bandmates had been lost in the process. Now, he was listed as Robin’s guardian—she had been only sixteen on the Day—and worked with an artist and a b-list actor to organize entertainment aboard the ship. Every two weeks people were borrowed from their usual duties to help put on different bi-weekly shows, which usually consisted of singing, dancing, instrument playing, or acting out a play. So far, Misha had been lucky enough to avoid recruitment.

  Entering the large theatre by its ground floor entrance, Misha scanned the seats for Robin. Up on stage, a piece of plywood with a forest painted on it, was being repainted as a brick wall, while their resident actor sat on the far side giving tips to a young teenager. It looked like the next show was going to be a play of some sort.

  Robin didn’t appear to be in any of the seats, but when a ball came rolling out from behind stage, with Rifle chasing after it, Misha knew she was there. Climbing up onto the stage, he found her sitting on a box off to one side, just beyond the curtains. She wasn’t crying anymore, and didn’t look as upset as she had previously. Rifle was about to give her the ball, but upon seeing Misha, he brought the ball to him instead.

  “Misha, you’re off early,” Robin commented as he approached her. As he got closer, he could see more of the area behind the stage where Quin was putting together a cheap car prop, his black fedora pushed up and balancing precariously on the back of his head.

  “We had some strangers show up in a small boat. Two men and a woman,” Misha filled her in. “The men are claiming the woman is a pirate, but I don’t believe them. Out of all the pirates we’ve seen, only a very small number have been women, and none of them were wearing dresses.”

  Quin had stopped working and walked over to stand beside Robin.

  “We separated the men from the woman, who’s clearly been beaten up. She claims she can’t speak, although we don’t know why. If you’re up to it, we need someone to do a blood draw, and maybe look over her injuries.”

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Quin told Robin, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” Robin smiled up at him, “I should keep working. Besides, it sounds important and I don’t want to pull anyone away who could be helping Rose.”

  “If it overwhelms you, you come back here, okay?” Quin told her, as Robin got to her feet.

  “Of course. I expect to see that car done by the time I’m here next.”

  “She’s so demanding,” Quin commented to Misha.

  Misha just shrugged, which caused Quin to laugh for whatever reason. It was obvious the rocker’s faculties weren’t all there, probably burned away from drug use, but he was always sober now and did his job with pride.

  Robin and Misha headed back up an aisle between the seats, Rifle trailing behind them. The dog still held the ball in his mouth, looking from one to the other, hoping one of them might take the ball and throw it for him.

  “What’s the play this time?” Misha asked as they made their way through the ship.

  “Grease.”

  “Again? Haven’t they done that one already?”

  “Not in over four years.”

  “Wait, weren’t you in it the first time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not in it again are you?”

  “No. Whole new cast.”

  “Good. Your singing was atrocious.”

  Robin smacked his arm but laughed. Her face fell sombre again a short time afterward, probably remembering that Jon had been in the play with her, but Misha hoped that laughing meant she was doing better already. Mourning periods were always extremely heavy since the Day, but they tended to end quickly, as life needed to continue. Those who wallowed in despair too long almost never came back from it.

  After a quick stop at the medical centre so that Robin could grab some supplies, they exited onto the tender boat. The woman was still sitting with her arms tied behind her back, the two captains across from her. They had probably asked her more yes or no questions while Misha was gone, but he had no idea the kinds of things they would have asked.

  “Captain Karsten, Captain Bronislav,” Robin acknowledged the two men with a nod which they returned. She then turned to the woman. “I’m going to take a sample of your blood, all right?”

  The woman nodded her consent. Robin rolled up the woman’s sleeve and drew a small bit of blood. Being very careful not to have any contact with it, she made a slide and viewed the blood under a little hand-held microscope.

  “She’s not infected.” Robin was trying to be professional, but Misha picked up on the relief in her voice.

  “You can untie her then,” Karsten told her.

  Robin undid the knot, releasing the tight strip of leather that had bound the woman’s wrists. The woman winced as she rubbed them, but then held out her hand, wanting the strip of leather. Seeing no harm in it, Robin handed it to her.

  “Do you speak sign language?” Robin asked, gesturing with her hands. She had taught herself to sign many years ago, as a way to communicate without her blind father knowing.

  The woman shook her head.

  “Hmm. Oh, I have just the thing.” Robin reached into one of the deep pockets of her cargo pants and pulled out a small notebook and pen. “Here, you can write your answers.”

  The woman gratefully took the items and made quick use of them. The first thing she wrote for them was that her name was Freya. The second thing she wrote was that they couldn’t trust Sher and Bob.

  “Why don’t you write out your story while Robin checks you over for injury?” Bronislav suggested.

  Freya started writing furiously while Robin started her cursory examination. Misha had no idea what she found, but there were a few observations that he made on his own. Like the condition of her feet. On the Day, when Misha had escaped the city, he hadn’t had any sh
oes. By nightfall, his feet felt and looked like hamburger meat. Looking at Freya’s feet, at all the old scars there, it was obvious she hadn’t worn any shoes for a lot longer than that. She also flinched a lot, not liking to be touched, but dealing with it, and although she kept writing, she would pause regularly to check on everyone’s position. Whoever this woman really was, Misha had already formed two thoughts about her: something bad had happened to her, and she was a fighter.

  When Robin was done, she walked over to the two captains and gave them her report. She spoke quickly, not letting Freya hear what she said, which meant that Misha also couldn’t hear what she said.

  Freya tapped the end of her pen on the metal bench seat to draw everyone’s attention back to her. She held out her notebook to indicate that she had finished writing. The captains took the book from her, taking turns reading the several pages she had filled. Once finished, the two rose from their seats, and walked to the back of the tender boat where they could speak in private.

  “What do you think about her?” Misha whispered, once Robin was standing at his side again.

  “I think someone has done something awful to her. Likely those men she came here with. Have you noticed that she eyes the door to the Diana a lot?”

  “I have. It could also be that she’s interested in the ship.”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s afraid of the men in the medical centre. I’d bet my day’s meals on it.” She spoke as a woman who would know.

  “Rifle, go say hello.” Misha patted the dog’s side; he had been sitting quietly beside Misha the entire time, understanding that something important was going on. “Be gentle.” The interaction between the shepherd and the woman might tell Misha something about her.

  Rifle trotted up to Freya and sniffed at her from a few feet away, his nostrils wiggling while the ball was still clamped between his jaws. Freya tucked her feet up onto the bench. She didn’t look afraid of Rifle, but she was wary of the dog.

  “Come here, Rifle.” Misha patted his leg. Rifle responded instantly, returning to his side.

  The captains finished their talk and carried the notebook over to Misha. Whatever they were about to say, it must have been important, because Bronislav’s dislike for Misha had left his eyes.

  “You’re to bring this to Lieutenant Boyle,” Karsten told him in a low voice. “Get him to read everything that the woman has written. Tell him that we have no reason not to believe her. Everything we’ve seen so far backs up her story.”

  Misha nodded and ran off to perform his duty. In spite of the fact that he was curious and wanted to read the notebook, he didn’t. He went straight to the medical centre where Boyle was watching over the examinations of the two men. Sher had a pleasant smile on his face and was attempting to make small talk with a disinterested doctor. After Misha passed on the message to Boyle, he waited around to see what would happen. By the time Boyle finished reading the notebook, Robin had joined him again.

  “Go wait in the hall, you two,” Boyle told them.

  They were quick to obey.

  Minutes later, several guards entered the medical centre. Not long after that, Sher and Bob were being escorted back out to their little aluminium boat. Misha followed behind the group, and watched from the upper deck, as the woman had already been led elsewhere.

  “You’ll regret this,” Sher was saying as the guards watched him and Bob get back into their boat. “You’re making a grave mistake listening to that woman.”

  “Just go back to where you came from,” Boyle told him, shutting the tender boat’s door. “We’ll deal with her.”

  “Oh, I’ll go. And then I’ll come back, and there won’t be just the two of us.” Sher’s threat was cold, while his eyes glinted with malice. “You chose the wrong woman to listen to. That viper will be your end. We’ll be back. We won’t forget this.”

  Bob started the little boat’s engine. As they drove away, Sher kept his dark eyes on them, and his posture rigid.

  A chill ran down Misha’s spine. He didn’t know why, but he believed Sher. He was afraid of the man.

  6

  Hope’s At School

  “Hope, that shirt is too big for you. Why don’t you let one of the older kids have it?”

  “No!” Hope had found only one pretty shirt in the pile that Ms. Lauren had let her look through. She didn’t care if they said it was too big, she wanted it. It was a splotchy pink that her teacher had called tie-dyed.

  Ms. Lauren sighed. Hope made sure not to change her angry expression, understanding on some level that the adult would either give up soon, or force her to give the shirt to a bigger kid and make her have a timeout.

  “All right,” Ms. Lauren threw her hands up, “you win this one, kid. Although if you keep talking to your elders like that, I’ll have to put you in timeout for a week.”

  Hope held the shirt even tighter, not completely trusting Ms. Lauren to let her keep it, until the teacher turned to help the other kids going through the pile.

  “It’s an okay shirt, I guess,” Dakota commented.

  Hope looked over at the ten-year-old, with her oversized cowboy hat balanced on the back of her head. She had told Hope that a superhero had given her the hat, but Hope didn’t believe her. Superheroes weren’t real, or else they would have stopped the monsters the adults talked about. Hope wasn’t old enough yet to learn much about the monsters, only that they were dangerous and you had to stay away from them.

  “You can’t have it either,” Hope told Dakota, reaffirming her grip on the shirt.

  “I don’t need any new clothes,” the older girl shrugged, “and I guess you look good in pink. Although if you ask me, purple is more your colour.”

  “Purple?”

  “Yeah. Like that shirt there.” Dakota pointed to a shirt sitting on the edge of the pile.

  Hope eyed Dakota, wondering if she was trying to trick her. She didn’t think she was. Dakota was one of the nicer older kids. Hope liked her, and didn’t want her to move to the big-kid class next year.

  Walking over to the pile, Hope looked at the purple shirt without touching it. It wasn’t a bad shirt, but it just wasn’t as pretty as the pink one. The purple shirt had a rainbow on the front, but the image was all cracked and peeling. Hope looked up and saw Becky eyeing the purple shirt. Before Becky could even think about taking it, Hope yanked it free of the pile and held it aloft.

  “Ms. Lauren, I’m also taking this shirt!” she cried.

  Her teacher looked over from the far side of the pile and nodded. “Indoor voice, please. And okay, that one should fit you better than the pink one.”

  “I’m still keeping the pink one,” Hope told her, but Ms. Lauren wasn’t listening anymore as she helped a boy do up the buttons on a new shirt he had put on.

  With her two new shirts, Hope walked over to her seat in the corner, where she shared a table with Peter and Adam.

  “I got new shirts!” she told them triumphantly, waving one in front of each of them. “And you didn’t!”

  “I got some before coming to school,” Peter spoke quietly, and was ignored by the others.

  “That’s only because all your stuff got wrecked,” Adam responded to Hope and stuck his tongue out at her.

  Hope stuck out her own tongue back at him. Adam thought he was so much smarter, but he wasn’t even a whole year older than Hope, even though he was six right now while she was still five. Just because he was the first kid born on the Diana, he thought he was special. Hope thought he was just as dumb as all the other boys. Except for Peter. Peter was her best friend, so he wasn’t dumb. Well, most of the time he wasn’t dumb.

  Once the class had settled down, Ms. Lauren handed out the day’s lessons. Hope and Adam got math handouts, which didn’t please Hope one bit. Adam was better at math than she was. Glancing over at Peter’s paper, Hope saw that he had an English lesson. Because Peter was going to be seven next week, he got different lessons.

  “Peter,” Hope whispered t
o him.

  He looked up from his paper at her.

  “If you help me with my math, I’ll help you with your English.” Hope was good at English lessons.

  “Okay.”

  “That’s cheating,” Adam hissed at them both.

  “Uh un,” Hope shook her head, “we’re not doing tests, so it’s not cheating. Ms. Lauren says we should always ask when we need help.”

  “She means that we should ask her.” Adam was pouting.

  “She didn’t say that. You’re just mad because I asked Peter before you did.”

  “I’m not mad,” Adam said, although the way he balled up his fist suggested otherwise.

  They fell silent as Ms. Lauren began talking at the front of the class. She was teaching the eight-year-olds something about countries. Once Ms. Lauren was well into her lesson and unlikely to notice them, Hope and Peter helped each other with their work, which basically consisted of doing it for one another.

  Later, during morning recess, Hope saw Ms. Abby enter the room, with Claire behind her. Claire looked really upset, and when Ms. Lauren saw them, she hurried over. Wondering what was going on, Hope drifted closer from where she was playing near the climbing equipment.

  The adults were speaking in a hushed whisper that Hope couldn’t quite hear, but they were talking very fast. Claire stood silently, her hands clasped tightly together while she watched the kids in the room. She spotted Hope looking at them, so Hope stopped trying to move closer.

  Suddenly, Ms. Abby walked farther into the room. She headed straight for Peter, who stopped chasing Becky in their game of dragon once he saw her.

  “Peter, we have to go.” Ms. Abby held up her hands and helped Peter down off the slide, ending the game of dragon before he could catch anyone.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, but she didn’t answer.

  “Class,” Ms. Abby spoke loudly to all the kids, “Ms. Lauren and I have to step away for a little while. Ms. Ellen is going to keep an eye on you all until I get back.”

  All the kids started whispering to one another, wondering what was going on. Ms. Ellen taught only the big kids class. She soon appeared in the doorway, and Ms. Abby and Ms. Lauren left, taking Peter and Claire with them.