The Survivors: Book One (34 page)

Arrrooooooo!

Samantha’s eyes flew open and she froze, listening intently. After a minute, she told herself to relax, that she had more pressing problems than wolves or coyotes outside.

The pain in her leg was agony, and her hands and feet were so cold she couldn’t feel anything in them but pain. It was dark and drafty in the cabin, the flames long gone, and she forced herself to scoot over to the fireplace.

Sam clenched her teeth at every jar of her leg against the hard floor, knowing she needed heat, but all she could really think about was how much she wanted to shoot up. It was the same craving making her almost drool when she woke in the darkness with only the flaring misery to comfort her, so she made herself wait. She would not come out of the War an addict.

It was frigid in the hunting lodge, but the woman was thankful that the front glass windows had survived the cold wave with only small cracks. The thick line of birch and evergreens in front of the cabin had taken the brunt.
And the birds,
she thought, shuddering.

Sam hadn’t realized the birds were there until she watched them freeze. The larks were huddled on an upper branch for warmth, and it had been awful, seeing their eyes as it happened. She could still just make out the faint yellow hue of their snow-covered bodies. It was like seeing her own fate, had the windows not held.

It was growing warmer now, enough that she could even go to the outhouse, and while she was glad the freeze had let up, there was still plenty of nasty weather she would have to travel through. The feeling of wrongness invading this place said it wasn’t safe here anymore. She needed to get moving again.

Adapting to the thick, groggy feeling of the morphine upon waking each day, she slowly stacked some of her dwindling supply of wood into the charred pit. Finished, her eyes surveyed the dark corner, glad to see the crackers were gone. She had noticed the animal cage in the SUV’s backseat as she’d come up the driveway to the hunting lodge, but it hadn’t registered and she’d mistaken the ferret for a mouse in her fear of doing self-surgery. Its brown and white fur had hung sadly from its narrow frame, and she’d been feeding it whenever she ate, leaving water out. If it would come to her, maybe she would have a companion.

Shivering now, Samantha squirted the lighter fluid gently and struck a match, having to use three before it finally roared to life, singing her fingertips. Vaguely thinking she had never looked or smelled worse in her life, Sam pulled the blanket tighter around her thin shoulders, huddling as close to the heat as she could.

Needing to know what her wound looked like, she gently pried back the bandage over her leg, trying not to disturb the newly forming scabs. It was still ugly, but clearly improving and she could even put a little weight on it now. Her shaking hands replaced the mostly clean material, thinking it had hurt more than…

Arrrooooooo!

Samantha turned her head and froze at the sight of red, malevolent eyes glaring through the front window. She stared at those eyes for a long moment, reading, evaluating her situation. It had been three days; blizzard cold, the snow was falling heavily even now, and the wolves were still out there…stalking her.

Sscccraatch... ssscchh.

Paws digging at the small gap under the front door got her moving, but her gaze stayed on the window, where more hungry eyes had appeared. She was in trouble, and once again there would be no rescue but the one she provided.

Sam squared her shoulders, feeling the helpless anger that always rose when she thought of the old world now. Fine, if they wanted a war with humans, she would give them a taste of what they were in for.

2

The first thing the Storm Tracker did was give herself a light dose of liquid gold and use the bedpan, glad her leg felt stronger. She would need that.

She dressed as fast as she could, knowing the layered shirts would help protect her from bites and scratches; the sweatpants going over the jeans for the same reason. After tying her dirty blonde braid back, she strapped the gun around her hips, wishing it had more than just two bullets in it.

Samantha chose to make her stand in the corner, to the left of the stone fireplace, and was crying hard tears by the time she had tumbled the cumbersome wooden desk onto its side, pulling it in like a wall.

After stowing all her things behind it, she filled a half dozen syringes with morphine, leaving the caps off, and added them to the knives already in the wide pockets of her trench coat. They made a comforting clink. When the wolves came, it would be through the windows already weakened by the first, strong wave of the blizzard, and it would get cold in here fast.

“Sure could use a solid,” Sam muttered hoarsely, very aware that this was probably where her luck would run out. “If I’ve got any credit, I’d like to use it now, please.”

Taking a little more of the morphine she feared she would crave forever, Sam shook her head, recapping the needle with shaking fingers. She had already survived worse. Wolves, no matter how determined, were nothing compared to Melvin and Henry, both drunk and wanting sex.

Scratch…Paw...Sniff.

Sam counted two shadows under the door, four pairs of eyes at the window. Six animals, and probably a few others hanging back, waiting.
But not for much longer,
she thought, almost able to feel their hunger, their hatred, as they watched her movements through the frosted glass. The storm had piled up at least a foot of thick snow, giving the wolves a step-up to see her better, and she glared back as she put the torches near the fire, not sure why she’d made them.
The fire poles were a last resort
, she thought, turning to look at her would-be killers. As if on cue, the newest battle for survival began.

Smaaaaash!

The front glass shattered, a huge black wolf landing on its side as sharp pieces of glass flew across the floor, and snow, dark and dirty, flew through the jagged hole.

Snarling at her before it gained its feet, the wolf padded her way with red eyes promising death.

Crack! ...Thud...Ccrrssshhh!

The second window failed, snow and wolves streaming through the gaping opening.

Hungry fangs bared, their claws digging into the floor, Sam watched them with her heart in her throat, waiting for them to get close enough for her meager weapons to be effective.

Craasshhh!

A third window exploded under the weight of a large white wolf. It didn’t slow as it hit the wooden floor, using it to jump again, fangs bared in anticipation.

Sam moved fast, jerking needles from her pocket, slamming two syringes into the white wolf’s furry chest as it came down on her. Grunting, she pushed the double dose in, cringing away from the heavy, reeking weight.

A second wolf had lunged with its leader, and was hit with the Alpha’s convulsing body, knocking them both into the corner of the desk. The heavy marble slid against Sam’s good leg, shoving her back and away from their snaps.

Pictures crashing to the floor behind her, Sam ignored the stabs of pain, looking up quickly to see a lanky wolf flying through the air, two others about to launch.

She fired the last two bullets in her gun, only one of the shots connecting, and then the third animal was flying toward her, snapping viciously…

Sam leaned into the wolf’s lunge, knife from her pocket impaling, ripping upward.

Iiiipe!

She let the bloody blade fall as she grabbed the Taser she’d found refill packs for, shocking the wolf she’d missed with the gun. She hit in the muzzle as it went for her injured limb. The wolf fell, whining loudly.

She kicked the animal that had recovered from hitting the desk’s sharp corner with her good leg, blood trickling from its ear.

Iiippe! Iippe!

Her boot crunching against its ribs, the shocked wolf yelped horribly. Then all of the animals were fleeing, retreating before the injured prey that had taken out half of their pack.

Sam turned in time to see the remaining three wolves jump through the snowy window, disappearing into the cold drifts of slush with their tails tucked between their legs. Bloody paw prints marked their path of retreat, drops and sprays of scarlet scattered over the floor. Their howls of mourning as they vanished into the storm were haunting.

Samantha lowered her arms, struggling not to puke at the blood on her hands, but when the white wolf at her feet twitched, the double dose of morphine not killing it, she did, plunging her last knife deep into the Alpha’s thick chest.

Scratch…

Sam swung around, her shoulders relaxing when she saw the ferret’s dark, beady eyes. Not thinking it odd to see the pet despite all the noise, she didn’t notice the restless twitch of its tail, nor the fact that it was charging her until it was too close for her to do anything but stomp.

She hit it with her injured leg as it lunged for her ankle, saliva dripping from its sharp, little fangs, then its head was crunching under her boot, guts and blood squeezing out as stabbing pain shot up her leg.

Furious, Sam ground the ferret into the bloody floor, taking bitter satisfaction in every snap, crack, and dark splatter. “Slam you too!”

Tears in her eyes, Sam moved to wash and gather her things. It wasn’t safe here. She would go now, ready or not. It truly was survival of the fittest, and those who didn’t listen to the warnings and prepare for nature’s worst would die.

Chapter Eighteen

12/21/2012

The Pacific Ocean

1

“Let me go!

The dark-haired females struggled against each other, but they went mostly unnoticed in the mayhem that had taken control of the enormous cruise ship.

“Keep going! We have to get below!” Kendle dodged the arms of a group of crewmen who were running down the crowded deck, grabbing wildly at unsuspecting women, and shoved the younger girl out of their reach. Everything was out of control now.

“Stop!”

Kendle shoved the girl again as she came forward, one mesmerized eye on the horribly fascinating tidal wave eating up the ocean as it raced towards the boat, and one terrified eye on the much younger and bloodier sister in front of her.

“We gotta help dad!” Dawn screamed, skin on fire.

Kendle shook her head, noises buzzing together unpleasantly as they stumbled along the debris-covered deck. They were being jostled by other panicked holiday passengers, many of them also bleeding, having to stop and vomit. Tears blurred her vision and the actress wiped a hand across her face, not surprised to see a red smear.

“Move!”

“Fall back!”

Dawn took a swing at her famous, survivalist sister for the first time in her life, missing, and Kendle’s thin control over her own emotions snapped. Her terror (the first she’d felt in many years) flew out uncensored as the roar of the ocean grew louder, the screams more frantic. “He’s dead, Dawn! You saw his eyes explode!”

The girl screamed again, this time in horrified denial, and Kendle shoved her harder, sending the rebellious teenager tumbling down the dark stairwell. Ready to mix it up to keep her alive, Kendle quickly followed, wishing for her camera crew - she hated to be without backup - and she yanked the dazed girl up by her arm.

“Hang on to this rail. Supposed to be unsinkable but if it flips, we’ll just have to hope…”

“Flips?”

Kendle locked her arms around the suddenly gutless teenager and the banister, the already-damaged wooden planks under their bare feet groaning in protest as the ocean under them swelled, roared.

“Hang ooonnn...!”

The seven story wall of water slammed into the side of the Carnival Cruise Liner like it wasn’t even there. Not just flipping it, but rolling it repeatedly like dead wood as it thundered past. The 80-foot wave then continued across the open ocean to engulf the small island state of Hawaii.

February, 2013

“Go away. Please, God. Make it go away.”

The young woman swallowed a groan as the shark fin rose out of the water and ran along the side of the faded speedboat. It had been stalking the drifting boat for the last few days, almost certainly drawn by the blood in her urine, and today it had begun nudging her floating home until only her screams drove it back.

The Great White was big. Twenty feet long at least, and it acted as if it hadn’t seen a boat before. Kendle was sure just the simple shot of a flare would get rid of it, but she had no flares, no gun, no knife, no gas, and no radio. She was adrift on a dead stranger's boat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean - the sole survivor of a passenger manifest that had numbered over a thousand.

The shark was circling the boat again, and the red-skinned woman braced herself to follow through with the plan she'd made. Fight back or die had served her in the past and it would now as well.