Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) (25 page)

“Volunteers, meet me outside when you’re ready.” Evans shrugged out of his pack, placing it on a cart. He then started untying the prisoners from their horses.

Evans, Ki-nam, and Arman were the first ones out, each of them holding the end of a prisoner’s rope. Gags had been bound tightly around their mouths so that they couldn’t scream and give away positions, but the blindfolds had been left off. They waited several minutes, and then Evans was surprised when a lot more volunteers than he had expected joined them. Either several people had been convinced during a late night talk, or a bunch would rather be where the action was than waiting for word. More likely it was a combination of both.

“Everyone ready?” Evans asked once it appeared that no one else would be joining them. He was answered by a lot of solemn nodding.

“Remember why we’re here. These people killed our friends,” Arman spoke, shaking Lenny’s rope in the process. He got a few grunts and quiet, yet encouraging, vocalizations in response. No one would outright cheer or war cry, not without knowing exactly where the container yard camp was.

“Split into three groups, each of which will be following either myself, Arman, or Ki-nam,” Evans ordered. As a shuffling of positions took place, he watched the worried faces peering out of the warehouse. Young Annabelle was one of them, the black and white cat dangling absurdly from her arms. She would probably get scratched up soon if she kept holding it like that.

Once the volunteers had formed their groups, Evans nodded to the other leaders. They weren’t going to separate much, never more than a container aisle over from one another, but it was safer than being all clumped up.

“Just remember, the prisoners are our bargaining chips,” Evans whispered to them, holding his gaze longer on Arman.

Arman grunted, but they both nodded. Now they were ready. Evans led his group into the nearest aisle.

The container yard was a maze, with several right angle turns, but thankfully no blind alleys. They quickly learned that the three groups would have to share a path from time to time, and so would have to take turns, keeping a safe distance between them. Evans’ eyes darted everywhere: around corners, to the tops of containers, to exposed container doors. There were far too many places for someone to hide in this warren, and he kept his shotgun poised and ready to fire at any of them. They came across a single zombie, his ragged clothing and loose skin having somehow become caught on a container latch. Evans let the man behind him take it out, a quick and quiet knife through the eye socket. It was the only thing that moved in this place besides them. Beside him, Danny began to tense and Evans knew he was getting close.

They rounded a bend. Evans saw the large open space between the containers on either side of him, and the ones straight ahead. He had just enough time to realize that those containers were definitely a man-made wall, before the shot came. In a single moment, there was the whine of a bullet passing nearby, a muzzle flash from the wall, and a spray of blood from Danny’s shoulder. The crack of the rifle came less than a second later.

“Get down!” Evans screamed as Danny fell to the pavement.

Grabbing his bound prisoner, Evans ducked into cover with him, ending up behind a different container from everyone else: a sort of island where he couldn’t get back to the aisle that led away without first crossing within sight of the camp. Evans ignored his predicament, and inspected Danny’s injury. He had been hit high in the shoulder, the bullet having torn a chunk out of his trapezius. It was so close to a head shot that Evans had to believe that had been the intention. Did they know it was their own man? Unlikely, but it still meant they were shooting to kill.

“I need a med kit!” Evans shouted, removing Danny’s gag and pressing it to the wound.

One came clattering over on a scooter board. Evans looked over his shoulder and saw Elijah giving him a thumbs up from a place of safety. Apparently, he not only decided to bring the board from the gym, but had correctly assumed it might be useful during their raid. Evans nodded his thanks and set to work patching up Danny, who writhed in shocked pain beneath his hands.

Arman’s group had begun to return fire. Lenny cowered on the ground beside them, tied to Arman’s belt. As more and more shots rang out, Evans knew that Danny was right. It had been a mistake to come here, but it was too late to turn back now.

Misha was woken by a low whine next to him. It had been steadily increasing in frequency over the span of months: Rifle needing to go out in the middle of the night.

“Okay,
bratishka
,” Misha mumbled as he sat up on the mattress. Rifle was wiggling next to him, trying to get up, while still whining deep in his throat. Without any light to see by, Misha was still able to get his arms around the dog and place him upright on the container floor. In the darkness, the other dogs shifted, some of them annoyed by the disturbance while others looked forward to a late-night trip outside the container.

Stepping carefully, Misha made his way past the dogs who had gotten up and were standing in the way to the container door. He slid the simple inner latch aside, not having bothered with the bigger, more secure one, and pushed open one of the doors. A stream of fur burst forth from his container as the dogs exited. Misha waited patiently for Rifle to make his way over, and then walked slowly out with him.

“Where are we walking tonight, old man?” Misha asked in a whisper.

The night was cloudy and dark with only a few reflective surfaces visible, and only those not in shadow. Misha walked slowly between the containers more from memory than from any sort of vision. Rifle chuffed beside him.

When he chuffed again, Misha looked down at him. It wasn’t unusual for Rifle to give some sort of reply to his questions, but an unprompted sound usually meant something. The sound of dog nails on concrete came clicking up behind them, but Rifle was focused forward, his ears not even twitching backward to listen to who was coming behind them. Misha glanced over his shoulder and spotted Bullet, his patches of paler fur easier to make out than Rifle’s in the darkness. Bullet caught up to them and started to keep pace just behind Misha, also focused forward. Whatever Rifle had caught the scent of, Bullet seemed to have noticed it too. Concerned about what it meant, Misha headed for the wall in the direction they were pointing, reluctantly leaving Rifle behind.

Even in the dark, he spotted movement on the wall, and once he got close enough, he made out whispered voices, but not their words. Misha’s heart leapt into his throat. Freya had shown up the other day, claiming a need to check on their storm damage personally. They were fine, as they usually were; just a few things that hadn’t been properly bolted down needed to be fished out of the river, while other items had sunk to the bottom. If they ever found another scuba tank, Misha and a few others were capable of retrieving that stuff. Something else had happened during Freya’s visit, however. Boyle and Karsten had taken her aside for a private conversation, and her face was exceptionally stern afterward. Misha thought he knew what might be happening, as it had happened before with other people. Evidence had been found of a fairly severe crime, but there were no suspects. Anyone from the container yard could be the perpetrator, and so someone from the Black Box was brought over to help investigate. Misha was sure he would have heard something if someone had turned up murdered, so what sort of crime could it have been? Was this activity on the wall a part of it? Were vital supplies being stolen and handed off to someone on the other side?

“Hey, whoever’s down there, can you help out?” a whispered voice called down from the wall. Apparently, Misha had been spotted. “We got a horse here.”

A horse? In the middle of the night? Misha looked to Bullet at his side. The dog wasn’t growling or whining, just curiously cocking his head at the wall. Looking back, Misha could just make out Rifle, still plodding toward them. He also did not appear alarmed.

A flashlight clicked on and shone in Misha’s face. “Misha? You gonna help or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, just stop blinding me.” Misha had raised his arms, attempting to shield his face and preserve his night vision, but it was already blown. After the light was removed, he had to hold his arms out like a blind man, searching for the nearest ladder. By the time he found it, he was able to see well enough to climb. When he reached the top, he heard Rifle huff and flop over, taking a break until it was time to go back asleep.

On top of the wall, Misha could make out a cluster of people gathered around an opening. It appeared to be most of the wall guard, which had Misha nervous. In this darkness, they needed to be especially aware. He nearly tripped over the feet of someone sitting in shadow, his or her back pressed up against the second level of the wall.

“Here, I made a torch,” someone whispered. After a few sparks from a lighter, the torch went up bright and fiery and was slotted into a nearby bracket.

Misha immediately looked outward, hoping the light didn’t draw the attention of something dangerous out there. He then looked down at the feet he nearly tripped over and saw that it was two people. Shaidi and Larson were side by side, panting slightly between drinking some guards’ water and eating late night meals. Concerned, Misha went to the opening in the wall and looked over. Some of the wall guards were down there, giving food and water to a pair of exhausted and sweaty horses, but there was nothing and no one else.

“Where’s Danny? Where are the others?” Misha asked the two who had returned alone.

“We’re waiting for Karsten and Boyle, they should be on their way. Let them eat, its been over a day since they last had food,” a guard answered for them. “Help us with the horses.”

Misha agreed to help, but his mind was racing through all the worst-case scenarios, which got pretty terrible. The guards had already erected the crane that Harry built, his mechanical engineer knowledge invaluable, and now lowered the horse harness over the side. The first horse danced a bit, none of the horses being fond of the crane, but it was too tired to struggle for long. With the horse strapped up came the hard part and explained why so many guards had gathered. Although the pulley system built into the crane lessened the overall weight, it still took several men hauling to raise the horse. Misha waited at the top, the pullers having climbed down inside the wall. He worked the brake so that if people slipped, the horse wouldn’t suffer a fall. Once the horse reached the height of the opening, Misha guided it through, whispering comforting words. The head of the crane swung until the horse was past the wall. They then worked in reverse, a more difficult job to control and required more focus from Misha with the brake, until the horse was on solid ground again. Releasing it from the harness, everyone prepared to do it again with the second horse.

When both horses were finally safe, they were led away to their pseudo-stables. It was then that Boyle and Karsten appeared. They were sweaty and tired, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out that both had helped with the lifting of the horses. Shortly after they mounted the wall, Shaidi and Larson stood up on shaky legs and the torch was snuffed out. The guards, although desperate to know what was going on, were ordered back to their posts. Misha had the freedom to follow the others back down off the wall where they could talk more safely on the ground.

“Tell us,” Karsten said, not bothering to ask the questions everyone wanted to ask. Misha hadn’t been the only one roped in by the guards: two others who couldn’t sleep for whatever reason also stood around.

“Bryce, Lenny, and Danny have been kidnapped,” Shaidi said, her voice harsh with exhaustion.

Misha’s blood turned to ice and his knees felt weak. When Bullet leaned against him, he was nearly pushed over.

“We were attacked last night,” Larson picked up the story. “Don’t really know by who. Me, Shaidi, and Jon managed to get out of there with two of the horses.”

“Where’s Jon now?” Boyle asked.

“There was no way all three of us could ride the horses back, not as fast as we wanted to move and not bareback,” Shaidi said, shaking her head.

Misha hadn’t noticed the horses’ lack of saddles and reins until she mentioned it.

“Jon stayed to follow the group that grabbed the others. We stuck around, hiding, until we found out they had found our map and were heading here,” Shaidi told them. “The moment we knew, Jon volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on them while we got here as fast as we could to warn everyone.”

“Are the others still alive?” Boyle asked the question that was trapped in Misha’s throat.

“They were when we left.” Larson looked down at his feet, clearly ashamed about abandoning his brother and the others. “We didn’t see much of them; it was too dangerous to get close, but they were alive.”

“How long until they get here? How many of them are there?” Karsten had gone cold and calculating, becoming the submarine captain he had once been.

“They should arrive sometime tomorrow. Or today. You know, after the sun’s up,” Larson fumbled. “I can’t say I counted, but there seemed to be a lot of them.”

“I’d put them at around four dozen, although that’s a rough estimate, and they weren’t all combatants,” Shaidi added. “I saw some kids with them.”

“Kids?” In the dark, Boyle’s expression couldn’t really be seen, but his voice conveyed his confusion. “I’ve never heard of a group with kids surprise attacking another group, especially one that would take hostages and then head to their main camp.”

“They also had old folks,” Larson mentioned.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Shaidi shrugged. “We certainly don’t know their motives, just that it happened.
Is
happening. We need to prepare for them.”

“Okay. You two should get some sleep for now; we’ll get the rest of the details in the morning,” Boyle excused them, although they continued to hang around. “Karsten? I think we better get planning.”

Karsten grunted his agreement.

“Should we warn everyone?” Misha asked, the first opportunity he had to speak since learning of what happened.

“Not right now,” Karsten shook his head. “I believe Larson when he says they won’t get here until after sun up, and if they’ve stopped for the night, which is likely with kids and elderly, they might not even be here until the afternoon. Still, we’ll be prepared by morning. We’ll inform the morning guard before they start their shift, and then everyone else as they get up. We need to bolster the numbers of people we have up there. Cancel any jobs outside the wall and any unnecessary ones within.”

“I agree. Let’s go check our numbers,” Boyle led Karsten away, the two putting their heads together to plan, their conversation falling into a whisper that got harder to hear the farther away they got.

Shaidi and Larson drifted off together, trudging back to their containers, while the other two who had been listening in disappeared into the shadows.

“Rifle?” Misha whispered, wondering where his dog had gone.

He heard a wheeze as Rifle got on his feet and plodded out from the shadow alongside the wall. Bullet was with him, looking up at Misha like he could explain what was going on.

“Come on, boys, we’re going to need some sleep if we’re going to deal with this tomorrow.”

Together, they made their slow journey back to their container. Not all the other dogs had returned by the time they went inside, but that was okay. They would be fine outside, but Misha left one of the doors open anyway. He didn’t think it was going to rain before morning, and he wanted the added sunlight to wake him. That is, if he could even fall back to sleep.