Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct)

by Stittle, Kristal

  Quin was quick. He lowered his shoulder and grabbed Zach around the waist. With a yell, Quin rose up, throwing Zach over his shoulder like a wrestler. Quin said later that he didn’t know how close to the edge of the parking garage he was. River believed him. When Quin threw Zach, Zach landed on the cement edge and his momentum pulled him over.

  Zach grabbed hold of the ledge. Quin and River ran over to help him up, but when they got close, when Zach saw them, he let go with both hands; it looked like Zach thought he could grab at them if he did. Instead, he fell all seven storeys to the sidewalk below.

  River didn’t really want to look over the edge, but he did. Zach was a splat below. It looked like one of his arms was still twitching. Someone else was down there, and he looked up at Quin and River. River quickly pulled away from the edge, pulling Quin with him. They hurried back to the bus, gathering up Doyle and Greg as they went. Doyle could finally breathe normally again. He sounded really raspy though. Greg had gotten back on his feet and looked stupid. He had no idea what was going on.

  Once they were back in the bus, River, Quin, and Doyle shut the door and all the windows. Doyle didn’t ask what was going on; he must have seen something in their faces.

  Nothing and no one showed up that day, but they had been scared. Everything seemed ten times more serious now. They were even afraid of each other. If Zach could snap like that, who’s to say another one of them couldn’t?

  ***

  It had been three nights since Zach went over the edge, and six since they’d been in the trailer. The day before, River had dared to leave the bus for a moment. He had to pee again, and the bathroom was worse than ever. After he went, he glanced over the edge of the parking garage. Zach was still down there. It looked like he had shifted slightly to the right and that his arm was still twitching, but River chalked it up to withdrawal symptoms. That same day, Doyle had made a decision. He was going to go out and look for someplace they could move to, somewhere with more food, as they were running dangerously low. It had been twenty-four hours and he hadn’t come back yet. River wouldn’t have minded if the jack-off hadn’t taken the fucking axe with him. He left River, Quin, and Greg virtually defenceless.

  River Webster groaned from where he was lying on the couch.

  “What?” Quin asked from the table nook. He had his black fedora, his favourite hat, upside down on the table. He was tossing cards into it.

  “I’m bored,” River told him, which was pointless, as they were all bored.

  “What’s your point?” Quin grumbled. He was going to hit some real bad withdrawal soon. River hoped his friend had been cutting back over the years; it would lessen the blow. Blow sounded nice right about now.

  “Just saying,” River sighed.

  From the back of the bus, Greg farted loudly. The man was totally wasted again. He had always been a drunk, but a happy drunk. This was beyond drunk, and he wasn’t happy. He let himself go. Quin and River had basically confined Greg to the back of the bus, where he sat in his own filth. The wound on his arm wasn’t that bad—the back of the axe had grazed it when Doyle tried to defend him—and they had cleaned it and wrapped it up with bandages from the first aid kit. From time to time, one of them would check on Greg, but generally, the occasional body noise he made was enough to let them know he was still alive.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” This time Quin sighed.

  “What am I thinking?” River got up and moved to sit across from Quin.

  “You’re thinking about getting off of this bus.” Quin dumped the cards out of his hat. He placed the hat on his head and started shuffling the deck. The hat still looked good on him. Quin always managed to look dapper in his black suit vests, grey, partially unbuttoned shirts, heavy necklaces, and black dress pants. He was certainly the classiest of the group. Greg was the least so, in his jeans and plaid shirts. River was more out there. He would put on anything that fit, and some things that didn’t.

  “What do you think about it?” River said in response to Quin. Quin was right, he was thinking of getting off the bus.

  “I think we’ll need to eventually, but I really don’t want to.” Quin finished shuffling and started dealing out cards between them.

  “If I knew where to go, I would go.” River picked up his hand of cards, knowing they were playing this odd game they had made up on the road a few years ago. His cards sucked.

  “I know where I would go.” Quin picked up a card. A subtle change to the position of his eyebrow meant it was a good one.

  “And where’s that?” River picked up a card and it was crap. He hated this game most days. It was a game of luck, and he had used up all of his years ago.

  “The hospital.” Quin took his turn. The next card he got wasn’t as good.

  “Why there?” River was thinking maybe because of Greg’s arm. Quin and Greg once had a “minor” falling out that nearly caused the destruction of the band. They patched things up, but you couldn’t quite call them friends anymore.

  “They’ll have drugs,” Quin answered simply. “Even better, they’ll have those drugs that can dry you out in like a day.”

  Quin was thinking better than River was. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “I’m scared though, River.” Quin put his hand facedown on the table and looked River in the eyes. “I’m so fucking scared.”

  “Me too.” River nodded. “What we could do, is take the booze from Greg and finish it off ourselves.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea? Don’t you think we should have our wits about us out there?”

  “Quin, when have we ever had our wits about us? I mean, just look at us.”

  Quin did. “You have a point. All right then. Let’s get good and trashed.”

  ***

  River stumbled out of the bus, closely followed by Quin who was supporting Greg on his shoulder. After looking around, River went back to them and got under Greg’s other arm. He had his favourite guitar slung onto his back; he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. Together, the drunks and the one super drunk, made their unsteady way toward the stairwell.

  Quin stopped them just before they reached it.

  “Are ya shure we wantta go that way?” he slurred.

  “Yah.” River couldn’t think of how else to leave.

  “I’s think we shud go down the car ramp.” Quin started to pull them all toward the ramp they had driven up in the bus.

  Neither River nor Greg complained. Ramps sounded much easier than stairs.

  They went around and around the circular ramps. To River, it seemed like they were going to wind around forever. He was surprised every time they reached the next level down. The car park went on for fucking forever.

  What if Zach was still down there on the street? What if he was mad at them? River decided not to think about that. That was a weird thing to think about. It was hard enough to concentrate on where his feet were going.

  When they reached the street, they stopped. River had no fucking clue where they were. He didn’t recognize anything. Leighton had changed so much since he was young, and the wrecks of cars and broken store windows didn’t help.

  Quin started pulling them in one direction. River assumed he knew where he was going.

  They saw only one other person on the empty streets. He was old and withered, and he shambled even slower than the drunken trio did. He shambled toward them though, with his arms stretched out and eyes wide. It was as if he recognized their famous faces and wanted to touch them. They didn’t stop. Although they saw no one else, they heard them. Sounds came from buildings and down alleys, from under cars even. They ignored all of these.

  After walking for several blocks, River realized that Quin was as lost as he was.

  “What do we do, Quin?” River looked at street signs he could barely read.

  “I don’t know. Go inside somewhere I guess.” Quin took off his hat and fanned his face. It was hot out in the sun, and going inside sounded nice.


  They picked a department store with a large smashed-out window. They climbed in through the window, being careful of the broken glass. River and Quin turned to help Greg through, having left him standing in the street, and wound up watching as Greg shuffled to the side and entered the building through a door. The doors weren’t locked. Quin and River giggled at their stupidity and how, super drunk, Greg had more wits than the two of them together.

  The store was dark, but they managed to find escalators in the middle of it, which they began to climb.

  River thought it was super trippy. He was so used to riding moving escalators, that walking up a stopped one was weird. He found it weird even when he wasn’t drunk as a skunk, so it was extra weird now.

  They got up to the second floor and paused. Quin started to head up the next set, pointing to a sign, which said the third floor sold furniture. There should be couches up there, maybe even a bed. A big bed sounded so awesome. River tagged after Quin, and Greg began following them on his own. He was managing to walk unaided now.

  At the top of the escalator, a couch had been dragged across to barricade the top.

  “The fuck?” Quin mumbled as he tried to push the couch, but then just climbed over it.

  River climbed over after him, and then dragged Greg across. The three of them took a break, sitting on the comfy, over-stuffed couch for a moment. The only light was coming through windows high up in the wall. They were small and cast an odd glow. River thought he might be asleep, but a dream wouldn’t last this long. Maybe he was in a coma. That seemed likely. He had slipped into a coma from the drugs. However, he hadn’t done any drugs until after the bad stuff started happening. Maybe he just couldn’t remember doing the drugs that put him into the coma. There were a lot of other things throughout his life that he had forgotten.

  Quin and River stood at the same time. It was time to find the beds. Greg needed help getting up.

  Gathers Moss shambled down the aisles toward where they assumed the beds would be.

  “ZOMBIES!” a girl’s high-pitched voice screamed, scaring the fucking shit out of the old band.

  River turned and saw a black girl, no older than sixteen, holding a massive shotgun pointed in their direction. She had been at the concert; River recognized the look: the band T-shirt, the heavy make-up, now running and smeared, and the excess of jewellery. She was as dirty and unkempt as they were, which was surprising, because Gathers Moss was unkempt even before their long stay in the bus.

  Before River could make this girl’s day by introducing himself, the shotgun went off with a roar.

  3:

  Lauren Sanford – Day 1

  Lauren Sanford was attending a conference during the outbreak. She worked as a makeup artist for the leading lady of a hit TV show, and attended the conference to learn about new makeup products and techniques. There were also a few panels on special effects makeup that she found fascinating. For the show, she often had to apply touches of dirt and/or blood, but these panels were prosthetic effects. She watched specialists make things like exposed bone, swollen black eyes, alien skin, and one man even made an eye hanging from its socket. Gross stuff, but really cool too. The show she worked on did things like that, but she worked exclusively with the main actress and never got to do the really messy stuff.

  Because the seminars often had people already done up with complex makeup effects, as did the people selling makeup products in the halls between the conference rooms, it took longer than it should have for people to figure out what was happening. A man stepped out of the bathroom; Lauren saw him but kept walking, thinking it was nothing. He had pale skin and bright eyes, as well as blood smeared all over his mouth and down the front of his suit. Lauren actually thought the effect was rather mediocre compared to what the others were showing off; she could have easily done it herself. As she stepped into another conference room, she heard a scream behind her. Probably just a bad actress trying to make a few bucks by pretending the effects were real. The man in makeup seemed like a better actor, the way he had stared at Lauren.

  The seminar Lauren walked into was about the eyes. It showcased different combinations of makeup and contact lenses to bring out the eyes more, or dull them back. The speakers talked about how the eyes were the most important part of a character, and simple changes in key areas could change them from looking like a hero to looking like a villain. Or from looking like a Virgin Mary to looking like a skanky, strung-out slut. Lauren knew most of this already; she liked to think eyes were her speciality, but occasionally she learned something she hadn’t thought of. Nothing said she couldn’t take refresher courses every now and again.

  Lauren and everyone else who took that seminar were badly surprised when they left it.

  Outside the room, it looked like several people had suddenly decided to wear the bloody makeup; even people Lauren remembered seeing as sellers, who had worn only light, accentuating makeup. A cold chill ran across her skin and up her spine. The brief pause that was caused saved her life.

  Lauren was at the head of the pack, but when she paused, a man stepped ahead her. He, therefore, reached the group of bloody people ahead of Lauren. Three of them turned and fell upon the man. They clawed, bit, and tore at his flesh, causing him to scream at a higher pitch than most men would allow themselves. Lauren stopped instantly, not computing what she saw. Others kept walking toward the groups of bloody people, many of whom were still walking toward the seminar attendees. Lauren thought later that the people around her must have thought the man was another actor. When the second person, a woman this time, was preyed upon, Lauren turned and ran back into the conference room. She suddenly saw all the blood, not as makeup effects, but as real blood coming from real injuries and real people.

  A conference coordinator tried to stop Lauren from entering the hall again; he still didn’t realize what was going on. Lauren blurted out something about forgetting her purse and bullied her way past those still leaving the hall.

  Once she was inside the space, with its many chairs and large screens at the front, she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes darted frantically around the room. In the corner, she spotted an exit sign above a door. The presenters were being ushered through that door by another coordinator. Lauren ran toward them.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the exit for seminar attendees is over there,” the coordinator told her, as she got close.

  “There’s something going on outside.” Lauren gestured wildly to the main doors. She realized that she could probably just stay inside the hall and be safe. She just had to inform this man, and he would radio people to get it under control. “There’s some sort of attack.”

  The coordinator looked like he didn’t believe her at first. He looked at her, and then looked toward the main doors. Lauren looked as well. More people, including another coordinator, had come through the doors. One of them was badly hurt and slung between two attendees. Once they were all in, three men slammed the doors shut and leaned up against them, trying to keep others from getting in.

  “We need something to block the doors,” the coordinator who had just entered shouted and looked across the room. “Pete! Is there something we can block the doors with?”

  Pete, the coordinator near Lauren, stood with his mouth hanging open.

  Lauren sighed and ran to the platform where the presenters had done their thing. Three tables had been erected on it. Once she started trying to move one, several other people rushed over to help her. Another woman noticed some microphone stands in the corner and dragged them over. With their heavy bases, they would be good for butting up against the doors. The stands plus the tables made a good enough barricade for the men to step safely away. The doors wouldn’t hold forever, though, as the people outside them hammered and screamed.

  The injured man had been put into a seat while the doors were being blocked, but he was now picked up again. The frightened group of makeup artists hurried toward the second exit, while the two coordinators spoke rapidly into th
eir radios. The second exit led into a concrete hallway. It looked like it connected all the major conference rooms. Lauren took out her cell phone, but it wasn’t getting a signal. The way the others were looking at their phones and holding them toward the ceiling, suggested they weren’t getting a signal either.

  After heading down a narrow flight of stairs, they reached a door that led outside. Everybody started arguing at this point. No one was sure where to go, or what to do. Some wanted to stay put and wait for the authorities, others wanted to go home, and another group knew that the injured man needed to get to the hospital. They weren’t that far from Leighton General, just a few blocks. A woman standing higher up on the stairs whistled loudly. This directed everyone’s attention to her. She told them they were all idiots. If people wanted to stay put, they were welcome to do so. If people wanted to go home, she wished them luck and told them to stick together as long as they could. For those who wanted to go to the hospital, she would be going with them, and they would be leaving right now. Every second for the injured man mattered.

  Lauren was part of a silent fourth group who had no idea what to do. This woman exuded confidence and leadership, however, so Lauren decided to follow her. Many of the undecided people came to the same decision.

  They left the conference centre and began heading down the streets. Lauren tried her cell phone several times once she was out of the building. A few times, she lost a signal, but most of the time her cell had full bars. That didn’t seem to make a difference. Every number she tried to call kept giving her a busy signal, even 911. No one else had any better luck.

  As they travelled the streets, Lauren saw many things she wished she hadn’t. One of the worst was a man pinned between two cars. His hips were completely crushed between the front bumper of an Aztec SUV and the rear bumper of some sort of BMW. One of their party stepped toward him to see if she could help in some way. Once the woman was close enough, the pinned man grabbed her hair and pulled. He nearly ripped her scalp off. Another woman, the one who had become their leader, had a pocketknife and had to cut off the other woman’s hair to free her. After that, nobody stopped for any other injured.