Survival Instinct (Book 2): Adaptive Instinct

by Kristal Stittle

  “Ah, a Marble Keystone mercenary.” A faint smile touched Hank’s lips. “Not real military. Most of them are ex-military, ex-police force, and ex-security. They’re close to being their own army. If Keystone were a country, they would be.”

  “I take it you had run-ins with them before?”

  Hank nodded.

  Orson could easily imagine why Hank would have run in to them. He used to work on the police force as a recordings analyst, and sometimes, detectives would bring him to crime scenes or let him sit in on interrogations. He picked up on things they didn’t. Mercenaries sounded like the kind of guys who would occasionally cause trouble and have to deal with the Leighton police force.

  They continued to sit in silence for a while. The other six prisoners came in and changed into their clothes. None of them knew what was going on and just sat at the round visitors’ tables, which were bolted to the floor along with the little benches around them. They reminded Orson of tables at a fast-food restaurant. He got tired of sitting around and went to the barred windows instead. He had never noticed that these windows pointed toward the prison entrance.

  Both sets of doors leading through the surrounding stonewalls, to the outside world, were wide open. A line of large, white trucks Orson had never seen before were streaming in and out in a staggered pattern, so that one was always passing through the gates. The trucks were in two sections, with the front end looking like a Hummer, and the back end reminding Orson of armoured transport vehicles. They looked like something he might have designed, had he not been in prison. In between, was an accordion section and the back end appeared to be steered separately from the front. On the roof of the trucks was the same Keystone insignia as the mercenary’s. As the trucks pulled up, they would stop and an efficient group of men would offload a bunch of crates from them. The prisoners Orson had seen in Ward A were then loaded into the back, and then the trucks would leave.

  “What’s happening?” Hank appeared at Orson’s side, startling him. The blind man moved very silently.

  Orson described the trucks and the loading process.

  “The plot thickens,” Hank muttered. “Just provides more questions than answers.”

  The day went on and on. The prisoners in the visitors’ centre wandered about, sometimes looking out the windows, sometimes doing nothing but sitting at the tables. A few finally brought out what little board games there were and started playing. They were meant for children who came to visit and most of the pieces were missing, but they provided some entertainment for the long hours. Orson learned from watching that these prisoners were all calm. They occasionally asked the assistant warden something, but never demanded anything. They were manageable. Perhaps that was why they were picked over everyone else. Although picked for what?

  After several hours, more prisoners than usual were looking out of the windows at the same time. Orson went over to check it out with Hank in tow.

  “There are people,” Orson commentated for Hank. “Most of the white trucks are gone, but two of them just came in and are offloading people.”

  “What kind of people? Returning prisoners?”

  “No, normal people. Average citizens. It’s hard to say for sure from up here, but they look scared.”

  “Could you all please take a seat?” the mercenary, who had yet to speak, suddenly barked. “It’s time to tell you what’s happening.”

  All the prisoners complied and found seats close together. Even the assistant warden looked curious about what was going to be said.

  The mercenary told them a story that, at first, sounded fictitious. He told them about a virus that had escaped the Keystone laboratories and was now rampaging across Leighton. Literally rampaging, as it turned people into mindless machines bent on nothing but violence. When he used the word zombie, a few people laughed. Orson smiled, but it fell when he looked at Hank. Hank seemed to be taking this completely seriously. He was very good at telling when people were lying or pulling his leg, by their voice alone, and Hank didn’t seem to think this man was lying.

  The mercenary went on to tell them about how they were trying to save as many people as they could, but they needed safe places in which to bring them. This prison was one of them. The other prisoners were being moved to South Leighton Correctional, which was going to be very over-populated for the duration of the outbreak. The prisoners currently in the visitors’ centre had been deemed close enough to the end of their sentence, as well as having behaved well enough, that they were being integrated back into society. All the prisoners but Hank looked to the assistant warden to see if this was true. A simple nod of his head said that it was. Early parole due to zombie outbreak? Orson was pretty sure that was something none of the prisoners had ever dreamed would happen.

  The rest of the day continued with a new energy in the air. The windows were looked out of more frequently. A second mercenary came to the room to deliver them food, water, and cots for sleeping. He also brought the contents of their cells, so Orson could continue reading to Hank when he wasn’t watching the world through barred glass. Outside, more trucks continued to roll in at random times. Through the windows, they could hear shots being fired. A few zombies were apparently wandering within range.

  Once, while Orson was watching, the back door of a truck was opened and a man launched himself out and attacked the nearest person. He was swiftly shot in the head, as was the person he had attacked. A mercenary went into the back of the truck and several more shots were fired, presumably into whoever was left in there. When asked about it, their mercenary guard told them that had happened because of the infection. Someone must have turned inside the truck, and very likely infected the others. The man who was attacked must have been bitten. They shot him before the infection could spread from him to anyone else. Due to the nature of the virus, headshots were the only ‘cure.’

  As nightfall came, a doctor arrived and took samples of their blood, including the assistant warden’s. Two prisoners and the assistant warden were taken away after that. Orson guessed they didn’t pass the blood test and taken somewhere to be ‘cured.’

  The next day droned on like the first, with the only difference being the work they could see done outside. Large metal plates were being welded to the tops of the walls. The two door system was re-employed, because a lot of zombies had surrounded the place and were trying to get in with the trucks.

  Late in the afternoon, there was some excitement when a small explosion occurred on the other side of the prison. Hank said it smelled like a fire, but Orson couldn’t smell anything. There was a lot of yelling and confusion, but their mercenary guard never flinched. He was good at his job. Minutes after the small explosion, the helicopter that had landed on the roof the other day took off again. They didn’t ever hear it return.

  Days passed with nothing changing but the number of people inside and the number of zombies outside. It had been a whole week and Orson had run out of books to read to Hank. Soon the boredom was going to kick in, and Orson got creative when he was bored. It was the kind of creative that other people didn’t appreciate. They were saved though. A man walked in and announced that today was the day. Today they were going to be let out of the visitors’ centre and be able to mingle with the other survivors. They were warned though: one screw-up and there would be no problem putting a bullet in their brain. The visitors’ centre was to remain their sleeping quarters, but more people might be moved in. The prison wasn’t overly large—South Correctional was bigger although less secure—and they needed the space.

  As soon as the mercenaries left, leaving the doors to the rest of the prison wide open, Orson headed for them. He made a beeline straight for Ward A, the biggest and nearest ward, not caring if Hank was trying to follow him or not. As Orson entered the room, he took in the sight of all the people in their various states. He was no longer separated from them by thick glass and heavy metal bars. He could reach out and touch someone if he liked.

  Orson King had finally r
e-entered society, and the society was one he thought he was going to like. He was going to like it a lot.

  5:

  Robin Paige – Days 1-7

  Robin Paige had been on the bus when Leighton had shut down the transit system on day one. She had been heading for the train station, but wasn’t in a hurry. Judging by most of the other passengers’, that made her rare. Even rarer was that she was a sixteen-year-old. The other passengers her age complained non-stop. Robin was curious about why the bus needed to stop, but the driver clearly didn’t know anything. He had said that anyone who wanted to, was welcome to wait on the bus, so Robin had; she didn’t want to waste any money by taking a cab or having to board another bus later on. Besides, she had everything she needed in her backpack. When a light-skinned, black, elderly woman had questioned her about why she wasn’t getting off the bus, she answered her honestly, which seemed to amuse the woman.

  Robin had listened to her iPod for a while, but turned it off after a few songs. She didn’t want to kill the battery before she got on the train. Her plan had been to take the bus to the train station and get on a train to Toronto where she would meet up with her brother, Kyle. Kyle had been gone for a year now, off at University. He had lived in residence the first year, and found a job. Now, he was renting a three-bedroom apartment with a roommate. He had left the third room open for Robin. Although their father had been thrown in jail less than a month after Kyle left, the home situation hadn’t improved much. Their mother was an alcoholic, and despite the beatings, she was depressed that her husband was gone. She hated Robin for reporting him and would scream and wreck her things. It was unexpected. Robin hadn’t realized how much of her father’s poisonous ways had managed to seep into her mother. Robin had told Kyle everything, and when it came time for him to decide whether he wanted to come home, continue living in residence, or find an apartment, he chose the apartment route. Robin was proud of her older brother. He had always been timid, probably because their father raged at him more, but a year at University really did him some good. He was coming out of his shell. Robin had already lined up some job interviews for the coming weeks and found a high school near Kyle’s apartment that she was going to check out. They didn’t need to worry about any parental signatures that might be needed for the transfer; Robin had learned years ago how to forge both her parents’ signatures.

  She was a plain-looking girl: long brown hair in a ponytail with bangs, brown eyes, slightly less makeup than others her age, red plaid skirt to mid-thighs, grey T-shirt, and sneakers. It was rare for anyone to give her a second glance, and she was forgotten about quickly. Robin knew this, and instead of being upset about it like some girls, she used it to her advantage. When she lied about her parents or what she was up to, nobody questioned it.

  Robin took a book out of her bag and began to read. Due to her father’s blindness, Robin had been taught how to read Braille as well as regular text. Her father would read to her when she was a child, so she had many children’s books written in Braille. She found she liked reading with her fingers; it allowed her to gaze out of the window at the same time.

  The radio squawked, startling both Robin and the bus driver, who had been doing some crossword puzzles. The bus driver picked up the handset and spoke into it, hailing whomever it was that had made the squawking. No one replied. He tried several frequencies and managed to get a few other bus drivers, but they were all just as confused about the situation. Apparently, there was something screwing with the radios. One driver said he had heard that they were all supposed to return to the depot, and so that was what he was doing.

  “I think I’m going to head to the bus depot too,” the driver told Robin. “Unless you want to come downtown, I suggest you get off.”

  “Is the bus depot near the downtown train station?” Robin asked. She had been heading for the one in the suburbs because it was closer, but the downtown station would work equally well.

  “Sure is,” the bus driver informed her. “It’s the junction where the GO trains, the subway trains, and the busses all meet.”

  “Perfect. Then I don’t mind heading downtown at all if you don’t mind taking me.”

  “All right then.” The portly driver started up his bus.

  Robin shifted seats to be in the one closest to the driver. From there, she could watch out the front of the bus, and the driver could easily pass along any information he might hear. She took a granola bar out of her bag and began to eat it. Food had been another thing she didn’t want to waste money on during her trip, and so she had packed several sandwiches, a few granola bars, and some Pop-Tarts. She also packed a bottle of Gatorade, a can of pop, and a bottle of water. The rest of her bag contained her three favourite books, her laptop, her iPod, some of her favourite clothes, her cosmetic bag, and her pillow; it was a very stuffed bag. She hoped that she’d be able to go back to the house one day and get more of her things.

  “Didn’t go to the concert today?” the driver eventually asked, making small talk.

  “Which concert?” Robin couldn’t remember one happening today.

  “The big one being put on in Keystone Park. Lots of kids your age have been riding the bus down there today.”

  “No, I’m going to see my brother in Toronto.” Robin thought it best to leave out the part where she was basically running away from home.

  “By yourself? Is he meeting you at the other end?”

  “Yeah, and I know to stay near large groups while travelling. I’ve done it before.” That was a lie. Robin had never been to Toronto, she had never even been out of Leighton. However, she had once spent the night sleeping in the park because she was afraid to go home.

  “Maybe you should call him and tell him about the delay.”

  “I actually wasn’t sure if I’d be leaving today or tomorrow. The plan was to call my brother once I’m on the train, and again when I’m close to the city. The delay doesn’t affect us.”

  “Well, you be careful. Especially with whatever this emergency is about. It’s possible the trains are stopped too.”

  “I will be. And I don’t mind waiting in the train station. They have a bookstore there, right?”

  “Sure do.”

  Robin didn’t plan on buying any books, but she could probably find a quiet corner within the store to read one of them.

  It didn’t take long for those plans to go down the drain. The driver had taken the highway to get into the city, but as soon as he drove off the exit ramp, they saw all the chaos. Wrecked cars, panicked people, and law enforcement completely powerless. The bus driver made his way as deeply into the city as he could, but eventually they came upon a snarl of vehicles that was impassable, and he was forced to pull over.

  Both Robin and the bus driver sat in silence, unsure of what to do. Stay on the bus, or get to one of the buildings? In the end, they both stayed on the bus. They stayed on the bus the entire night, listening to horrible sounds outside, and hiding below the window line.

  ***

  The next day, day two, Robin had woken up bright and early, feeling stiff and sore. Although she had her pillow, it did nothing to soften the dirty, hard floor beneath her back and hips. She hadn’t wanted to put her pillow on the floor, so she had placed her jacket down beneath it, but that meant the rest of her had even less to lie on. It also smelled down there. Although the jacket had kept her pillow clean, the bus smell still surrounded her face. It was especially potent under the seats. It smelled of dirt, feet, oil, diesel, and metal. She hadn’t slept well, and the smell wasn’t entirely to blame. The sounds were far worse.

  All night long, screams echoed throughout the city. Some close, some so far away they could be mistaken for the imagination. Gunshots, too. They were less frequent, and at first, Robin had mistaken them for fireworks. Once she realized that no one would be shooting off fireworks at a time like this, she understood what the sounds truly were. Sometimes Things would hit the side of the bus. That’s what Robin had taken to calling them, T
hings. Watching out the windows using the bus’s rear-view mirrors and her compact, Robin had come to her own conclusions about what was happening. There were attackers, and those being attacked; she figured out that much. Why the separation had occurred, she had no idea, but she acknowledged its presence. She also learned that when someone was killed by an attacker, they got back up and became an attacker. The word zombie never came to mind, but if it had, Robin would have no problem using it. Instead, she had Things; capital T to go with Terror which was what she felt all night.

  Now she was aching and sore and her clothes smelled funny. She didn’t want to move though. She liked her place under the seats despite the lack of comfort. She wanted security and the seats gave her a false sense of it. She knew it was false though, and that’s what got her to start worming her way out.

  The back of the bus, the part behind the rear doors, was raised up on a separate level from the rest of the bus. It was under the seats up there that Robin had slept. It seemed safer up there. No one was tall enough to see in through its high windows, and she could see the rest of the bus interior. Robin sat on the floor between the seats and stretched. The bus driver, who she had learned, was named Phil, was lying in a space near the front. His rotund form couldn’t quite fit under the seats, so he had folded up the front ones. Those seats were normally folded up only when a passenger in a wheelchair got on, but they had provided a good-sized space for Phil to stretch out in. He was still asleep, snoring lightly.

  Robin crawled up onto the seats in the rear of the bus and spied out of the windows. Nothing moved out there except for some trash caught by a breeze. The sun was low in the sky, and when Robin looked at her watch, she was surprised at how early it was. She couldn’t see any Things moving between the stalled vehicles, street litter, and skyscrapers. Part of her hoped that meant it was over; that whatever had happened yesterday had come to an end. Another part of her, a more primitive part, knew better.