Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct)

by Stittle, Kristal

  Around and around the great ramp they went, travelling up the Forever Tunnel. Bryce and Larson held hands again, and Bryce let Becky play with his fingers on the other one. She had calmed completely in the car, and was even starting to fall asleep again. Bryce felt suddenly very tired himself. He was up later than he should be, and all the excitement and fear had worn him down. He refused to fall asleep though. The look on his mom’s face in the rear-view mirror told him it wasn’t over, and that he shouldn’t sleep. Not yet.

  They came to the top of the turn, and the car’s headlights illuminated the heavy doors. Bryce’s mom turned off the car and jumped out.

  “Get out boys. Get your things.”

  Bryce obeyed, quickly unbuckling Becky and then himself.

  “We aren’t taking the car?” Bryce wondered as he pulled his backpack on again.

  “No, they can track the car,” Bryce’s mom explained as she put Becky back into the papoose carrier. Becky woke up again and made some very displeased noises, but then clutched her mother and fell silent.

  They went to a glowing panel in the wall next to the great metal barrier, and Bryce’s mom punched in several numbers. She typed them in so fast that Bryce didn’t get a chance to see what they were. The metal rumbled sideways, letting in a fresh breeze of cool night air.

  “Stay very close to me,” Bryce’s mom commanded the boys in a hushed voice. So hushed, it almost couldn’t be heard over the door’s movement. “And stay very quiet.”

  Both Bryce and Larson nodded. Larson held Maggie’s leash very tightly with one hand and Bryce’s hand with the other. Outside, it was raining. Bryce’s mom quickly spun him around to get at his backpack. She pulled out several brightly coloured ponchos and threw one over each of them, making sure to cover their backpacks, and in her case, Becky; there was even one for Maggie that attached to her collar. Bryce’s mom turned and hurried out the door with the boys quickly following behind. They barely had time to pull on their hoods before they were in the rain. Unexpectedly, they turned off into the woods instead of following the road.

  The forest. Just like that, they were in the forest. They were in the forest, and it was raining, and it was nighttime. And there were monsters.

  10:

  Robin Paige – Day 14

  Robin Paige awoke with a start. The screaming from her nightmare followed her into the real world, and it took her a moment to get oriented. Her first instinct was to grab the shotgun lying next to her and look quickly around the fort. April, River, and Quin, were all asleep. Although Quin tossed and turned, the screaming wasn’t coming from any of them. That left only Greg.

  Robin rose quickly, wanting to get to him before he woke the others. She left their bed frame fort, keeping the kittens penned inside, and jogged across the department store. They had made the decision some time ago to keep Greg away from the group. Nobody liked being around him except maybe River, and even he shied away much of the time.

  In a corner closed off by sheets, Greg lay on his own mattress. His face was pale and sweaty with fever. The bed sheets they had wrapped around him were grimy and tangled. They tried to clean him up at least once a day, but his filth was repulsive. It was day fourteen, one week since April had shot him in the leg. He was still holding on, but he wasn’t doing well.

  “Shh,” Robin knelt beside the drummer. “Shh, it’s all right now. I’m here. Shh.”

  “Hurts,” was all Greg could get out. His face was a disgusting mixture of sweat, snot, and tears.

  “I know. I know.” Robin slowly began to untangle him. She looked at his arm wound first, which River said had come from an axe. It had been doing okay, and was only gnarly-looking because of the scabbing and scarring. She didn’t want to look at his leg, but she knew she must.

  When the sheet was drawn back, what little food was in her stomach rose up into her mouth. She quickly clamped a hand over it, swallowing the bile back down. Puking now wouldn’t do anybody any good.

  “Hurts,” Greg whined again.

  The wounds from the birdshot had gotten infected, Robin knew that, but what she hadn’t expected was that the leg had begun to decay. They couldn’t get the bleeding stopped, not properly, and so they left a tourniquet on for too long, and too often. They also hadn’t thought to clean the wounds with rubbing alcohol until it was too late. His entire left leg below the mid-thigh was cold, grey, dead. Now, they kept the tourniquet on to try to keep the infection from spreading, but it was too late for that as well. Ugly black veins had spread all the way up to his hip. It was only a matter of time now before Greg passed. If only he could go gracefully, and more importantly, silently. Despite the first-aid kits and the administrations that Robin was learning on the fly, Greg was going to die.

  Robin looked to the kits now to see how much medication was left. Not a lot. Even with the rationing, they were burning through it much too fast. Not only because of Greg’s injury, but also because of Quin. The man was a heavy drug user and was currently going through withdrawal. He was dealing with his own suffering, which they were trying to alleviate with what medications they had. Painkillers were the best for him, but right now, they were also the best for Greg. Robin recovered his leg and looked at a watch they left nearby. It kept a timer running from when he last got dosed.

  “I can’t give you anymore right now, Greg,” Robin told him, straightening out his pillows.

  “Please.” His eyes shimmered with fresh tears.

  “Just one more hour. Not even, fifty-three minutes actually. You can hold out that long.”

  “Agony.” He gritted his teeth, and the tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “I’m sorry.” Robin took his hand in her own. His other hand clutched and tugged at the sheets. His skin nearly burned at the touch, his fever was so high.

  Robin had gotten as used to this as she was going to get. A few times, especially near the beginning, she had to run off to cry by herself. Now, she could sit by Greg for quite awhile. His moans and cries of pain didn’t affect her the way they once had. Robin understood that this meant a part of her was dying with Greg, but that was okay. It needed to go anyhow. A new world was upon them, and the less weakness, the better. Just a few days ago, she had shot and killed her first zombie while on a scavenging mission. It had been a man in cowboy boots, with eyes so blue they almost hurt to look at. He didn’t have eyes anymore, though; Robin had blown them away with a clean, much too close head shot.

  Every five minutes or so, Robin checked the watch and updated Greg on the time. The fact that he hadn’t died yet was both a miracle and a curse. Last night, there was a serious discussion about putting him out of his misery. They decided it had to be a unanimous vote, and so far, it wasn’t. Surprisingly, the only holdout was River. Robin thought that if anybody didn’t want it done, it would have been April. She had been the one who shot him, after all, and so his death would be on her hands. She was upset about it, she wasn’t heartless, but she had come to accept what had happened. She believed that keeping him alive now was far crueler. Quin had voted for it, but it was hard to follow his reasons why. His fever-addled mind caused him to drift in odd tangents, and they weren’t even sure he knew what he was voting on. But River said no. River wouldn’t agree to it, so now Robin was sitting next to a dying man, telling him how much longer he would be in pain before she could do anything about it. And it wasn’t like the painkillers did much for him anyhow; they barely took the edge off.

  “Just sixteen more minutes, Greg. You’re doing really good. Just a little longer.”

  Greg just shook his head furiously back and forth.

  That’s when Robin felt a light hand fall on her shoulder. She whipped around, drawing the shotgun up, but it was only River.

  “What have I said about announcing yourself?” Robin lowered the large weapon.

  “Sorry,” River said without really meaning it. He sat down on Greg’s other side, smiling down at his friend. “Hey man, how you doing?”

  Greg just m
ade some odd sound and kicked the sheet with his good leg.

  “Fifteen more minutes until you can dose him,” Robin said with the intention of leaving.

  “No.” River shook his head. He looked up and locked eyes with Robin. “It’s time.”

  Robin didn’t know what he meant at first. She thought he was going to dose Greg early, but then he lifted the pillow up from under Greg’s head. Robin didn’t want to be here for this, but she couldn’t possibly look away. She couldn’t leave River to this, not when she had been the one to bring it up in the first place.

  “Greg, look here,” River spoke gently, drawing Greg’s eyes to his face. “Do you remember that time we played in Florida? Remember all those people? And there was that one chick, in the front row, totally gaga for you. Quin bent down to her, pretty much sang to her, but she didn’t even seem to notice; her eyes were totally on you. Remember that, Greg? And later, the two of us went to that alligator farm and saw a huge, hulking beast. And when we were taking pictures of it, the guide told us its name and its name turned out to be the same as that chick’s. Do you remember that, Greg? Do you remember the name?”

  “Sheila,” Greg croaked.

  “Right, Sheila. That was a good weekend, wouldn’t you say? I want you to close your eyes and think of Sheila. Either one of them will do. Can you do that, man?”

  “Yes.” Greg closed his eyes, but what he was thinking about was unknown.

  River lifted the pillow up over his friend’s face and brought it down. Greg didn’t struggle until his body’s natural defences kicked in, and even those were weak, pathetic. Robin watched as River stole the life from his friend. Greg finally stopped moving; he was no longer in agony.

  River sat there awhile longer, holding the pillow over his bandmate’s face. Tears were flowing down his cheeks like his name. Finally, he collapsed backward, letting Greg’s face remain covered. Robin had no words of comfort to offer the old rocker.

  “Did you tell the others you were going to do it?” Robin croaked out just for something to say.

  River looked up at her, startled. He had probably forgotten she was there, or thought she had left. “No. I didn’t want to give them a chance to change their minds.”

  “I’ll go tell them then.” It was the perfect excuse to leave, and River let her take it.

  Robin crossed the department store quicker than she had earlier. She wanted to get away from Greg, away from his dead body that had been decaying while it was still alive. It was as if the smell had suddenly gotten to her again, and she gagged a few times. She wanted nothing more than fresh air right then, but she knew she couldn’t get that. Outside, the air wasn’t any fresher. Dead bodies lay in the streets, while others walked upon them, their rot casting its stink on everything. The heat wave they were having wasn’t making things better. They hadn’t had any rain to wash anything away, just the blazing sun baking it all. Not one drop of water had fallen from the sky since the virus had begun its spread. It was like Mother Nature herself wanted to escape this monstrosity.

  The kittens greeted Robin as she re-entered the protective ring of woodwork and metal. It had been only a week, but Robin swore the little kittens were already bigger. April was awake, but it looked like Quin wasn’t. Quin was sweating and shaking, in the throws of a nightmare more terrible than any of the nightmares the others had experienced. April had gently placed the old man’s head on her lap and was stroking his hair. There was no way to tell if that helped at all.

  The bed frame fortress didn’t smell any better than the rest of the department store. The mattresses and sheets were soaked through with everyone’s sweat, although Quin was the worst with his withdrawal. No power meant no AC, which meant that everybody would sweat all day long. They still had a lot of water, but when that ran low, they would be in trouble. Bad odours also came from the kittens’ litter box. The box was enclosed, and Robin cleaned it every day, throwing the waste into a sealed garbage bin, but it still stank. At least they had found kitten food for them; Robin didn’t want to imagine what their shit would stink like if they were eating people food. Robin decided that was the thing she hated most about this whole situation: the terrible, awful smell.

  “Greg’s dead.” Robin didn’t bother sugar coating it.

  April’s eyes went wide and her dark skin became quite pale.

  “River put a pillow over his face and smothered him. I hope you didn’t have a change of heart about your vote last night.”

  April shook her head no, then quickly turned her attention back to stroking Quin’s hair. She needed something to do right now, that was obvious.

  “Hey, my clothes are starting to stink again, and I bet yours are too. Want to go downstairs and change?” Robin offered.

  “Sure.” April managed a smile as she lowered Quin’s head onto a pillow and got to her feet. From one of the corners she grabbed a pair of small, single-strap sacks. The sacks were good for carrying the kittens around. April hung one off her neck and scooped Splatter up into it. Robin took the other sack, wore it in the same backwards manner, and carried Charlie and Charcoal.

  The two girls headed over to the escalator and opened their ‘door.’ With River and Quin’s help, they had moved a large armoire to stand at the top of the escalator. After removing the back panel with some hammers, screwdrivers, and April’s sword, the armoire’s doors became real doors. And because of the handles on the front, they were able to lock them closed with a bike lock. April picked up a key from a nearby desk and opened the lock. The rule was that the lock was only closed at night when they were sure everybody was inside, otherwise, you could hang it from the handles if frightened, but not snap it shut. After April put the key back, she and Robin stepped awkwardly through the armoire and onto the unmoving steps. One floor down was the clothing level.

  Robin had noticed that April had these weird mood shifts. When they were upstairs, safely behind their doors, she was fearful of everything. She always fretted, and was concerned about Quin, and allowed guilt to eat her up about Greg, and worried about the food and water levels, but as soon as they were outside, that all changed. Once she was through the bureau, she became like a hardened warrior or something. With her sword in hand, she stalked grimly through the environment, constantly on the lookout for threats. She often became alerted to things before Robin did, and took point in their hunts for supplies.

  Robin found herself to be the complete opposite. She took charge upstairs, holding it together most of the time, organizing their things and planning their outings, but once outside, she became a scared, lost, little girl. She let April lead outside because she couldn’t. She just wanted to run and hide, to get away from the walking corpses. Her shotgun was always held in a white-knuckle grip, and she checked the kittens often. The kittens occasionally warned them about nearby zombies they didn’t know about, but not always; some still got the drop on them. Because Robin was coiled like a spring, she got the shots off quickly enough, but she was afraid one day she wouldn’t, or that one day, she would do what April had done and blast away a non-infected. Since then, April wouldn’t touch another gun. When Robin found a pistol and tried to hand it to her, April refused to take it. Not as if it mattered, there weren’t any bullets in it anyway.

  In the clothing section, Robin and April headed over to where they knew they would find clothes that fit them. This would be their third time changing their clothes since day one. Robin hadn’t changed the whole first week, even though she had some clothes with her when she was in the bank with Victoria. The day after Greg’s incident, Robin felt a very strong desire to change. Although that desire was gone and she didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that came with being naked, Robin promised herself she would change every few days. It had now been a few days.

  While one girl changed quickly in a change room, the other stood watch at the door. As Robin pulled a fresh, black T-shirt on over her head, she saw herself in the mirror. She nearly screamed, thinking it was some zombie she ha
dn’t noticed before. Her hair wasn’t tangled exactly, she did brush it, but it really needed washing. It was gross, clinging to her scalp in stringy clumps. All the makeup she had put on the morning of two weeks ago was gone; stripped off by sweat and replaced with grime. They didn’t dare waste any water with unnecessary washing. Under her eyes was the colour of bruising, and they had a wild look to them. Even her clothing had changed a lot. She didn’t exactly keep with the latest fashion trends, but she liked to think she used to have some sort of style. Now it was black T-shirt, black pants, and whatever underwear fit the most comfortably. All this, plus the strange lighting coming from the solar lantern on the bench, created a girl Robin had never seen before.

  “Robin?” April whispered through the door. She had been taking too long.

  “Sorry, be out in a second.” Robin picked up her kitten bag, putting Charlie back in because he had escaped, and grabbed her gun. She stepped out of the change room so that April could use it. “I saw myself in the mirror. It… startled me.”

  April gave her a curt nod, understanding. Maybe she had done the same thing the last time they changed, or perhaps glanced at the mirrors outside the change rooms. Her own hair was fraying out of its cornrows and her makeup was equally replaced by grime.

  Robin hated guarding. The only light source in the changing room area came from their solar lamp, and because that was behind a closed door, it was very dim indeed. It didn’t help that due to the light reflecting off the mirror, odd, moving shadows would be cast by the changing occupant. Robin’s hands trembled as she pointed the shotgun barrel toward the only entrance, which was also the only exit. She looked down at Charlie and Charcoal, or as she called them when they were together, the Char-Chars. Charcoal was asleep, dead to the world, while Charlie was awake and trying to move around the small confines. He wanted to play and kept attacking his brother’s head.