Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 Read online

  “Could ya use it, if ya had to? Without shootin’ me or yourself in the process?” She nodded again, fairly confident in her abilities. She had only gone the one time, but Jaron had said she was pretty good at her aim. There really wasn’t much to it. You point at what you want to hit, pull the trigger, and boom.

  “I think so, yes. Though, like I said, I’ve only practiced with it the one time…” She trailed off uncertainly.

  “Never mind that, we’ll practice with it tomorrow. Two most important rules to remember: One, never point a gun at somethin’ unless you are meanin’ to kill it, and two, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re gonna pull it. Got it?” Amiel swallowed hard but nodded.

  “Ammo’s become a hard commodity to come by, so we’ll practice only a little.” She nodded in understanding, controlling a tremor that ran her spine as he came to stand in front of her with the gun. “Now, y’all right handed or left?”

  “Right handed.” He nodded in approval before handing her the holstered gun.

  “Got a belt on ya?” Amiel nodded, lifting the edge of her t-shirt just enough to show the leather belt around her waist. “Good enough. Wrap this holster round your right thigh, and your belt goes through this top loop here.” Amiel stared at the holster as if it were a viper. He grunted and rolled his eyes. “It ain’t gonna bite ya, honey, unless ya pull the trigger.” Embarrassed she’d made herself look like a complete wimp again, she carefully took the gun and set it in her lap. He starred at her until she realized he wanted her to put it on now.

  “Right now? But, aren’t we going to sleep soon?” He nodded, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

  “I want ya to start carryin’ this with ya at all times. Ya never know when them Rabes might make it o’er the wall, and you’d best be prepared if they do or ya’ll are gonna end up Rabid meat.” When her eyes widened, he sighed heavily and crouched down in front of her.

  “Sorry for scarin’ ya, honey, but it’s the hard truth of the world now days. That’s one reason I brought ya out here. Ya need to know what you’re gettin’ yourself into with this plan of yours. We need to know if y’all got the mettle to do it.” Tandy had the bad habit of being right far too often. If she couldn’t handle putting a gun on and wearing it, how would she ever handle a bike, much less riding across the Vasts? How would she protect herself? By yelling at the Rabes to leave her alone? She clenched her jaw resolutely and stood, fumbling slightly as she tried to figure out the different ties and belts. He checked it after she had it strapped on, to ensure it was situated right. Pleased with her work, he stood back.

  “Want ya to get use to the feel of it on ya. If ya’ll gotta use it while we’re ridin’, it’ll be easier for ya to grab it wearin’ it this way. It’s semi-automatic, and there’s a cartridge already chambered. Y’all just aim and pull the trigger. You’ve got 11 cartridges before ya gotta reload; one chambered, the rest in the mag. So use ‘em wisely. Got it?” She nodded again, trying to absorb everything he just said.

  “Y’all had any self-defense training?” She shook her head, embarrassed. Most of the kids were required to take a self-defense class in school, but Malinda had sneered at the idea. No daughter of hers would ever have to worry about being near danger long enough to use self-defense. She invoked Amiel’s ‘heart condition’ as a means to keep her from taking the class. At the time Amiel had been almost grateful, being too uncomfortable in her own skin to put herself in the path of ridicule from her peers. She had no doubt she would have looked like an awkward three legged pig trying to do any of those moves. Now, however, Amiel felt embarrassed for her sheer lack of ability. She flushed as Tandy blew out a heavy breath and shook his head.

  “Well, we’ll concentrate on your ridin’ and shootin’ and hope that covers enough.” She nodded, appreciative of his not commenting on the stupidity of her not knowing a thing about protecting herself.

  “One more thing. Get in the habit of wearin’ your jacket constantly, too.”

  “Constantly? What exactly does constantly mean here.” He laughed at her ridiculous reply.

  “It means if ya ain’t takin’ a shower, keep it on. Granted, there will be times that y’all are safe enough you can take it off, but I wouldn’t take any amount of safety for granted. Out here, travelin’ between cities, walkin’ on the streets or even anywhere outside of your apartment? Those are the places ya gotta make sure ya keep it on. This jacket will keep ya safer from infection than a t-shirt or regular jacket. I can’t tell ya how many times my jacket’s saved my life. Get used to it bein’ a second skin.”

  “But, it’s so heavy and hot. How can you stand it?” she argued halfheartedly. She would rather not be infected, and anything that prevented it happening sounded like a great idea. However she didn’t want to die of heat stroke, either.

  “There’s a tubing system sewn throughout the inner lining.” He reached over, flipping open a small flap along the hem that she hadn’t noticed before. Inside there were two small tubes. “That’s part of the weight of the jacket, too. Your bike’s equipped with a coolant system. When you’re ridin’ on it, ya hook these in and it will constantly siphon cold water throughout the tubing, and back out, keepin’ ya cool durin’ your trip. There’s also hand packs that you can take with ya when ya ain’t on the bike.” He retrieved one from the freezer, showing her how to set it up. Instantly a cool sensation raced up her back, across her shoulders, around her sides, down her arms. “It don’t stay cool as long, but ya’ll can exchange it with a spare that you’ll keep in your freezer, a couple times a day. The carry pack hooks onto your belt. It’s small, no bigger than a cell phone. Also, the liner of your jacket is made of smart fabric. It’s rigged to correspond with the monitors on your bike. There’s a button inside the cuff of each wrist. It monitors your heart rate, body temp, etc. It’ll help ya keep track of what’s goin’ on in your body, and you’ll know long before ya die of heat stroke that ya need to take a break and recoup.” He gripped her shoulders gently, forcing her to look in his eyes.

  “It may get hot and stuffy in there sometimes, but it’s a heck of a lot better than the alternative. It ain’t worth the risk.” She nodded, zipping the jacket back up. Pleased with her response, he tossed a blanket and pillow her way and turned toward the back of the shop with a set of his own. The dogs trotted to follow him, but he made a gesture that sat them rooted to the floor by the couches.

  “Wait, where are you going?” she asked nervously. He was standing before a door in the shadows she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Sleepin’ in the office,” he grunted, pointing at the darkened doorway he’d just unlocked.

  “Oh.” She glanced at the other couch, suddenly feeling lonely and very afraid of the dark garage around her.

  “Wouldn’t be real proper of me to sleep out here. Don’t worry, the boys’ll keep ya safe.” He nodded at the dogs, before clearing his throat and heading into the office. The door snicked shut followed by a loud click that seemed to echo around in her head for long moments as she stared at it in growing fear. It wasn’t long before the sounds of his snores filtered out from beneath the door. Just like that he was fast asleep and here she stood, exhaustion and a small amount of shock keeping her rooted. She was all alone, with nothing but a pair of annoyed looking dogs and her thoughts. It had been a long month, with so much of her life changing swiftly. And now the future stretched out so far ahead of her, with nothing to hold onto as she explored it.

  Sinking onto the couch, she tried to rest, but the weight of the gun on her leg, and the weight of life on her shoulders kept her awake. That, and the awful sounds of the Rabid’s continued barbequing of themselves outside. Eyes finally resting on her duffle, she remembered Jaron’s journal. Climbing to her feet, she dug through the clothes until she found it. Amiel skipped through pages one at a time, getting a feel for what Jaron had been writing about. Detailed reading would have to wait until she was safely to her new home and could fully enjoy it. The first few s
ections she read he talked about his early days at boot camp, the friends he met, the training he did. She smiled as he mentioned a few of the friends that she had met at his funeral, all the fun they had together and the pranks they played on others. His writing turned a bit darker as he entered the realm of real one on one fighting with the Rabes. One entry in particular caught her gaze. The writing was shaky and penned darkly, as though Jaron had been pressing with a lot of force as he wrote.

  “March 2034…” she mused quietly, realizing this entry was about three years ago. Amiel tried to think of what she had been doing at that time in her life, tried to match a landmark in life to this important entry. She couldn’t come up with a thing. It was all a big jumble of balls and other nonsense. Focusing back on the book before her, she read each word with growing suspense, the words sucking her in until she felt she could see the very scenes playing out before her own eyes.

  “We’ve named them Raiders. They are Infected just like the others, but that’s where the similarities end. These ones are smarter, stronger, faster even. Rabes kill mindlessly, without purpose. Animals, Cleans, each other, they don’t care. If it’s in front of them, it’s dead. Plain and simple. Raiders are more calculated in what it takes to kill. They hunt their prey. And once they get it, they take far more pleasure in causing its slow, agonizing death. Brutal like sharks, with the demented curiosity of cats.

  Yesterday they took Johnsen. He was new and young, only 18. It was like they could sense he was the weakest of our group. They attacked relentlessly, to the point we didn’t even notice when a few of them had herded Johnsen out of formation. We managed enough space from the attack to set up an energy field, the only safety you can get in the Vast. When the field was up, and we could finally breathe…that was when we heard the screams and realized we’d left a man behind. I had left a man behind.

  Have you ever felt the crippling sensation of watching someone die, someone you were responsible for, and there’s nothing you can do about it? Wanting to save them, but you can’t even try because it will get everyone else killed? I wanted to go back for him, would have sacrificed my own life if it meant I could save that kid. But there were too many of them. We were completely surrounded. They were pressed so close to the e-field it singed their hair, and the scent filled the air alongside Johnsen’s screams. There was no way for me to get to him. If I took down the e-field long enough for me to get through, they would get in. And so I made the call.

  We stood pressed together like sardines, surrounded by Rabes and Raiders alike. And all we could do was listen. He screamed and screamed. He screamed my name. He screamed for God. He screamed for death. He begged for me to save him, to kill him, anything to end his suffering. It lasted four hours. May have lasted longer if the sun hadn’t started rising high enough that the freaks couldn’t stand it anymore. I have never hated myself more than in those four never ending hours.

  The screams turned into skin crawling moans as the Infected started to leave. I held onto the hope that when they left we could get to Johnsen, that maybe it wasn’t too late. And then one of them walked up to me, what used to be a blonde curvaceous bombshell of a girl. It was covered in what I can only assume was Johnsen’s blood. It stood so close to the e-field that the blood began to pop and sizzle on its skin. It stared into my eyes, an understanding of common hatred shared between us. And then it smiled. A bone chilling smile, teeth covered in bits and pieces of blood and guts. A smile forever burned into my mind, the image that I see every time I close my eyes. A smile on a face so gorgeous it should be on a magazine cover, yet horrific enough to make any grown man cry like a baby. Because that smile lit a light in those clear blue eyes, the light of intelligence, of understanding.

  This Raider before me knew exactly what it had been doing for the last four hours straight. And not only did it understand what it had been doing, it enjoyed it, it craved it, and it couldn’t wait to do it again. That is the true, horrifying depth of the remaining members of the human race’s situation. We face a creature evolved beyond humanity, beyond any sense of conscience or compassion. A creature satisfied only with blood, death, and suffering. A creature without the trace of a soul, and the smile of the damned.

  That evil smile turned into a scream as it tipped its head back and let out a howl. And just like that, they turned as one and chased after the few remaining shadows. I stood, frozen, watching them leave. Greysen shook me until I snapped out of it, told me to pull it together. He was right. Everyone around me was in that same state of shock and despair. Their minds had shut down, unable to handle any more of the situation at hand. They needed me to lead them home, someone to tell them what to do, in a time that the fragility of humanity could take no more. I shouted out orders, gave them something to focus on, and slowly they began to pull down the energy field. It was good the Rabids had left when they did. We only had ten minutes of usable power left on the portable e-field, before it would have failed and we would all have met the same fate as Johnsen.

  His moans were barely audible now, sounding more like a dying animal than a human being. I walked toward him numbly as I stared down at what was left. I won’t describe what I found. Not because I can’t remember the details. No, every horrific detail will be etched into my mind until my dying day. I can’t write it, won’t write it, because nothing so soul wrenching should ever be put to paper. He stared up at me with the one eye that still worked, begging me to end it. So I did.

  The whole ride back to the barracks, I stared at my hands, oblivious to their shaking and uselessness. I would later have to use those hands to write home to Johnsen’s family. I’d have to explain to his parents that I had watched their baby-faced son be tortured, ripped to shreds right in front of me. And I had done nothing to stop it. But in that moment, staring down at my pathetic hands, I could only see the condemnation for me in Johnsen’s dying eyes. And that damned chilling Raider smile. That one expression had made me doubt for the very first time in my life. It made me doubt whether humanity, Cleans, had a chance of survival. It gave me a glimpse into hell’s depths, and I knew. There is no hope for Cleans.”

  Amiel slammed the book shut, tossing it into her duffle like it was a rattle snake. She stared at it for a long moment, heart racing, fear suffocating her. This is what she faced in the days before her? This is what she was blindly running toward? She swallowed hard, body shaking as one horrifying scenario after another raced through her mind. She saw herself in poor Johnsen’s place, the sheer debilitating horror and pain he must have endured. Amiel hadn’t known the human body could even endure such things. Squeezing her eyes shut, knuckles pressed to each side of her temple, she fought to erase the images produced by Jaron’s words. Now more than ever, she wondered at her sanity for making this trip. Had her eyes once been naïve to the true dangers of the vast, that single journal entry had erased that as surely as the wind wiped clean a footprint in the sand. Now she was aware of what the Vast had to offer her. Was she still stupid enough to dare it? How had Jaron handled it all? Amiel was sure she would have gone mad, turned tail and deserted the first chance she got.

  Glancing at the journal that lay haphazardly flopped into the duffle, she summoned the image of her brother’s face. No, he hadn’t escaped unscathed. He’d given her a smile and his love same as always, but his eyes had been haunted. Just as his journal intimated, he had carried the guilt of deaths and terror he faced daily onward in his life. Had death possibly been a relief to him? Shutting that thought off quickly, Amiel more carefully placed the journal in the bag, zipping it as she made a mental note to only read his journal during daylight hours. The dark lighting of the shop suddenly seemed more oppressive and menacing. Amiel crouched for a long time on the couch, eyes nervously darting from shadow to shadow. How would she ever sleep now?

  Eventually her eyes landed on the dark form of Harley’s experimental car. Grabbing the blanket and pillow, Amiel skittered swiftly toward it hoping the doors weren’t locked. Popping open the back doo
r, she sighed in relief, grateful that it was not only unlocked, but that the doors didn’t scream in protest. She was sure it would have given her a heart attack if they had. Sliding into the car, she shut the door as quietly as possible and pressed the buttons down to lock each one. Sitting inside, she struggled within herself, trying to find some balance. Could she do what would be required of her, if it meant gaining her freedom? Was her freedom worth the new hauntings she would carry in her own eyes? A thought occurred to her then.

  How did one become as strong as her brother? Was it a genetic predisposition, or something that had to be earned? Jaron had always been strong and larger than life in her eyes. He had always been her protector, her guide and solid foundation. Had he always felt that way, strong and steady? Or was it something that had shown from the outside, while he struggled within? Amiel found herself resolving that yes, Jaron had always carried that inner strength. But he had also faced many struggles and hardships, then been forced to overcome those in order to be a strength to those around him. First with Amiel, and then with the men and women who followed him into the maw of death each day, knowing they may never return.

  So genetics perhaps played a part, but a healthy dose of strength of spirit was also needed. Jaron had definitely had that. Under these assumptions, was it possible that Amiel could gain these attributes herself? What was that quote that she had read in a book once? ‘Bravery is not the absence of fear, but the strength of will to overcome despite it’. Something like that. With a soul-heavy sigh, Amiel plopped the duffle on the seat as a makeshift pillow and lay down with a new resolution. Each day that followed would test her, temper her mettle. And maybe, just maybe she’d survive and be a little closer to someone Jaron would be proud of. One day at a time.

  Snuggling down into the leather seats, she instantly felt more at ease. Something about the strength of the car surrounding her, cocooning her, gave her a sense of protection. Her mind reasoned the thick metal of the car could keep her safe against Rabid attacks, and the darkened windows would help keep her from their immediate sight. The relative sound proofing also shielded her ears, and sanity, from the hair raising screams that occasionally still filtered through the air. The leather smell of the seats comforted her most. Her own coat and chaps smelled of leather too of course, but somehow this smelled differently, the smell of the seats comforting her in a way her clothing didn’t. They held a musky scent that was unlike any that she’d smelled before. Pressing her face against the seats, she inhaled slowly, deeply, letting it lull her into deep slumber.