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

It turned out that the new field was going to be next to the barge dock, alongside the river. On their way there, they had passed other fields, all of them being carefully tended. They were irrigated when dry, monitored for pests, defended from birds, and picked when ready. Every field was labelled and sectioned off with string wrapped around posts. Signs designated what was planted where and when. They tried to time the plantings so that they always had something ready to be harvested. It wasn’t always easy, and insects were a menace. With an extremely limited and ever-shrinking supply of pesticides, they used them only if an infestation got really bad.

“This field looks terrible,” Lauren commented on the one to which Winchester had led them. Several people were gathered on the cement that made up most of the barge dock, waiting for the go ahead to start on the field. They all looked to have the same opinion as Lauren.

“Some of the fields we use today didn’t look much different before we decided to plant them,” Winchester reminded her. “At least there aren’t any trees we have to cut down here.”

“Pretty sure there’s more rocks though.”

The trio joined the rest of the group, who handed them work gloves from a box. Only people who constantly used work gloves owned their own, and therefore had a matching set. The rest were always so disorganized that one was lucky to get a pair that fit. Abby pulled out a set that looked the same; however, the left glove was bigger than the right.

“All right everyone, I think we got all the volunteers we’re gonna get,” Rose called out to the crowd. “I’m assumin’ you all know what to do; if not, ask whoever’s next to you for help. Get to work.”

Everyone headed out to the field. Only Rose, the organizer of this task, stayed at the end of the field, not because she felt she was above the work, but because she couldn’t do manual labour the way everyone else could. Her left arm ended just below the elbow, and, so far, no one had been able to find a prosthetic hand that fit her. She had jury-rigged some things for herself in order to do certain tasks, but nothing had yet proved useful for fieldwork. She couldn’t wield tools or grasp rocks as well as someone with two hands, and her self-made implements couldn’t stand up to the stress. Instead, she found other ways to help. As well as moving people around when it looked like someone needed help, she would at regular times strap a large water barrel to her back and walk around to give everyone a drink. There were a few younger kids who were also tasked with that job, but they pulled and pushed a wagon of water barrels across the uneven terrain.

Abby was sweating in no time. Later, horses would help plough the fields, but that couldn’t be done until all the large rocks and tree stumps were removed. Winchester and Lauren worked together to get them out of the ground, while Abby pushed the wheelbarrow of debris to the far end of the field for dumping. Although there were plenty of people nearby, Abby was nervous every time she went to the edge of the field. There was a fence there, one that she was reinforcing with the debris, and it led all the way to the water’s edge, but still she worried. Fences had fallen in the past. Instead of worrying, she tried to focus on the salt-water river that Riley would be paddling up, but that didn’t stop her eyes from being dragged outward.

“What’s going to be planted in this field?” Lauren was asking Winchester when Abby returned to their side with the wheelbarrow. They were sweating just as much as she was, but Lauren seemed to be enjoying herself despite her initial hesitation to volunteer. She liked being outside and wasn’t as afraid of it as Abby was.

“We’re going to plant another corn, squash, and beans combination, as that seems to be working really well in several other fields,” Winchester panted, straining against a particularly stubborn rock that didn’t want to let go of the ground.

“I’m glad Una is with us and told us about that.” Lauren worked a shovel around the rock, loosening the soil.

“She’s been a real help. We’re lucky she stayed with us instead of leaving with that tribe who came through here a couple of years ago.” With a grunt of effort, Winchester used all his weight to pull on the rock. When it finally decided to move, it slid up and rolled onto the ground, nearly crushing his feet.

“Worms!” Lauren called out, dropping down next to the hole that had been created.

Abby grabbed a satchel hanging off the wheelbarrow, and unzipped the top as she knelt down beside her spouse. Inside the hole were several large, fat worms trying to escape. Winchester decided to take a breather, so Lauren reached into the hole and grabbed every wiggly nightcrawler that she could, stuffing them into the satchel that Abby held open and ready.

“You found worms?” Rose jogged over, narrowly avoiding being pulled over by the weight of the water barrel that sloshed on her back.

Lauren had just secured the last of them, a few having escaped into the dirt. Abby zipped up the satchel and held it out to Rose.

“Great!” Rose stuffed it into a sack hanging off her belt. “I’ll empty this and brin’ it back in case you find any more.”

She turned to leave, but Winchester stopped her. “Water first,” he gasped.

“Get that rock into that wheelbarrow and I’ll see what I can do,” Rose teased.

Winchester shook his head but did as she ordered, hoisting the rock up like an extremely heavy baby and then dropping it into the metal receptacle with a mighty clang.

“Your reward.” Rose handed him a plastic cup that she kept strapped to the other side of her belt. While he held it, she filled it using a nozzle on the end of a hose that was attached to the bottom of the water barrel.

After Winchester had his drink, the cup was refilled again for Lauren and a final time for Abby.

“Right, so you all know what to do if you find worms and don’t have a pouch or anythin’ to put ’em in?” Rose questioned as she resecured the cup.

“Use a glove,” all three responded, each raising a hand.

“Fantastic.” Rose then turned and walked off, accompanied by the sloshing of water. She would dump the worms into a large box on wheels that sat by the barge dock, and later they would either be put to work making fertilizer, or given to the fishermen as bait.

“Break’s over.” Winchester stretched his muscles and moved to the next rock.

Abby kept up with the wheelbarrow until it was full again. She walked back to the far edge of the field, watching her footing, and then dumped the load.

“Help.”

Abby’s head shot up, quickly scanning the field. Everyone else was acting normally. The call had been so faint, she could have imagined it.

“Help,” she heard again, noting a hoarse tone to it. Because she had been listening for it, she was more able to pinpoint the source. With the hair standing up on the back of her neck, Abby turned to look beyond the fence. There, stumbling across the uneven terrain, was a small human.

Abby turned to find help, but instead spotted someone running to the fence with a rifle. The man raised his gun, intending to fire.

“Stop!” Abby yelled at him.

The man paused, confused.

“He spoke! He can’t be a zombie, he spoke!” Abby yelled to everyone who was within hearing range. Her words caused several individuals to come running to the fence, Winchester and Lauren included.

They all stared silently out at the boy—if he was indeed male—watching him painstakingly approach them.

“Help,” he called again, his voice so quiet and stressed that no one would have heard him if they hadn’t been listening so intently. The child then tripped and fell.

“Get me over this fence!” Abby turned and demanded of Winchester.

He didn’t hesitate to make a stirrup of his hands.

“I’ll get a boat to bring him around. Get him to the water!” Lauren called out as she took off across the field like a flash, risking a twisted ankle.

“He could be infected!” a worried bystander called to Abby as she scrambled over the top of the fence. “He could change soon!”

“Hush,” a woman next to the bystander barked. “It’s just a kid, we’ll take our chances.”

Abby hit the ground on the far side of the fence, acutely aware that she had just exited her safe zone. Her blood sang through her veins and her muscles froze, fear locking her in place.

She startled at a heavy thump next to her. It was James Brenner: he had been working in the next field over and had immediately run to the commotion.

“I figured if you have to carry him, you could use some help,” he told Abby.

Abby nodded, and the two of them made their way across the scrabbly earth where long, looping grass threatened to trip them. They advanced slowly, James holding his rifle at the ready, watching for any movement in the grass. Legless zombies were a big threat anywhere the ground couldn’t properly be seen. Abby kept her focus on where the boy had fallen. Her pistol remained holstered on the back of her belt, but her hands remained aware and ready to grab it or the knife alongside her right leg. She was very grateful to have James with her, finding it slightly amusing that she and others had reason to mistrust him upon their initial meeting eleven years ago. He had become one of the most trustworthy and reliable people that Abby knew.

“There he is,” Abby whispered once she could see the boy. His body was sprawled across the ground.

“Is he moving?” James asked, his eyes continuing to sweep the ground around him.

“A little.” The boy’s limbs were moving a bit: nothing to confirm he was still alive.

Abby approached with caution, kneeling down beside the fallen form’s legs, away from his head in case it was too late. A groan from the child caused her to freeze momentarily, but then she reached forward and felt the boy’s wrist.

“He still has a pulse,” she sighed with relief after taking off one of her work gloves to check. She quickly put it back on.

“Hold this.” James held the rifle out to Abby. She accepted it and locked her hands around the grip and barrel, her awkward gloved finger resting against the trigger guard.

Pulling his own work gloves out of a pocket, James tugged them on as he knelt down beside the boy. Abby swept the area with the gun, even glancing back toward the farm fields. Quite the crowd had gathered at the fences, their work momentarily put on hold. James scooped up the boy, carrying him bridal fashion but with the child’s face turned away from his body.

“Let’s get him to the river.” James turned toward that edge of the land. He walked carefully across the rough terrain, with Abby close at his side vigilantly sweeping her rifle.

Other than a few near tumbles, they reached the water without incident. A large canoe was already waiting for them, bobbing on the surface; its occupants held it to the relatively steep and rocky shore. James had to slow down even more to cross to the boat, carefully watching his every step. It would be all too easy to slip on the rocks and break a leg. Upon reaching the canoe, Abby put the rifle down inside, then helped James lower the boy to the bottom of the boat.

“Still breathing?” the man at the rear of the canoe asked as they pushed off.

Abby knelt along the bottom by the boy’s head, while James took up a paddle by his feet. She pulled off her glove again and once more looked for a pulse, this time in his neck. Her other hand held the back of the boy’s neck as a precaution.

“There’s still a pulse,” she announced as the canoe swiftly made its way back to the barge dock. “It’s pretty weak though.”

“The doctors will know what to do,” the woman paddling at the prow said with confidence.

Abby wondered why Lauren wasn’t in the boat, but they had reached the dock and she’d find out soon enough. The dock was a wall of cement, much too high to get up from the canoe. A smaller, wooden dock had been put together below it, which was where they tied up and got out. Already a stretcher had been lowered down the side using ropes and pulleys, and it was swiftly retracted up the moment the boy was placed on it. Abby hurried down to the end of the wobbly wooden dock where she climbed the rope ladder.

Lauren was sitting on the ground nearby, out of breath.

“I got a doctor,” she panted as Abby came over to her. “I figured the kid might need one.”

“Good call.” Abby sat down beside her, draping an arm over her wife’s shoulders. They watched as Dr. Edward Owen gave the boy a quick blood test, and then had him moved from the pulley stretcher, to one that could be carried into the Black Box.

“You think he’ll be all right?” Lauren wondered between breaths.

Abby shrugged. “I want to know how he got out there, and why he was alone.”

The two stretcher-bearers ran past, Dr. Edward keeping up alongside them.

“I’m sure we’ll find out when he wakes up and is communicative,” Lauren assured her, her arm finding its way around Abby’s waist.

Abby’s eyes wandered out to where he was found; she was not as sure as Lauren. There were members of their group who still refused to talk about what had happened to them, while kids were prone to forgetting it.

“Break time’s over,” Winchester appeared behind them, dropping hands on both their shoulders and causing the women to startle.

“Can’t we get five more minutes? Did you see how much running I just did?” Lauren complained, but got to her feet, then turned and helped Abby up.