Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct)

by Stittle, Kristal

  “That’s a possibility.” Isabelle was answering in ways to keep her daughter happy. She had probably thought the same horrible thing that Nicky had. Why else would an older man give such attention to a little girl he didn’t know?

  ***

  At first, Nicky thought she had gone blind. The eye that wasn’t swollen shut was open, she was sure of it, but she could see nothing. Perhaps Hank wanted her to feel his pain? To know what it was like to live in the dark?

  Her hands weren’t cuffed anymore—she didn’t know when they had been freed—so she flailed her arms around through the blackness as panic rose within her. One of her elbows struck the side of the truck with a hollow bong.

  “Nicky?” the voice of Isabelle drifted from across the truck.

  “I can’t see.” Her voice broke during its response. It would be harder to deal with Orson and Hank if she couldn’t see them.

  “They turned the lights off,” Isabelle calmed her fears. “I think it’s night out, so they came back here and turned out the lights.”

  Nicky let her arms drop. Her fear of being blind abated for now. Not only had her face been beaten in by Orson’s fist, but also there was the blow to the head she took when they kidnapped her. That much head trauma could easily turn into something permanent, like loss of vision. She was also afraid of going deaf, becoming paralysed, slipping into a coma, or becoming a vegetable. Every time she woke up it seemed like a small miracle. She just needed to hold on long enough to secure Isabelle’s and Jasmine’s safety. Once she had that, it would be all right to slip away into the land of the invalids and then into the land of the dead. Although lately, it seemed that land had been waging war with the living. Shuffling corpses and all that.

  “How long has it been?” Nicky asked the darkness. She wasn’t sure what she was asking exactly. Was she asking Isabelle how long she had been out? Or was she asking death how long he had been following her? The beating? The kidnapping? The walking of the dead? Her birth?

  “Since Orson beat you up?” Isabelle assumed the question was directed to her. “A night and a day. Perhaps another night now.”

  Only a day? It seemed absurd. Even though it was possibly the middle of the night and there would be nothing to do in the dark, Nicky struggled to remain conscious. She needed to gather her wits to her, to focus. Orson and Hank would run out of errands soon enough, and they would call on her to lead them to the White Box. She needed to be sharp, alert, and ready for anything. Enough of this thinking of doom and gloom, enough crazy talk. She would be prepared.

  She fell asleep.

  ***

  This time, Nicky didn’t swim to consciousness like before. She was shocked awake by a sudden bolt of light upon her eyelids. She had actually been asleep that time, not just unconscious, and could therefore be disturbed.

  Her good eye cracked open, noting the light came from the direction of her feet. Not the overhead lights then, but sunlight, shining in through the open back hatch. Realizing it must be Orson and Hank, Nicky sat bolt upright on the bench she had lain on for apparently a day and two nights. A sickening wave washed over her from the exertion, threatening to make her pass out again. With mental claws, she dug in and held fast to her mind. Her eye focused on the light and Orson and Hank took form.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Orson said with a broad and disgusting smile. “Nicky, so nice of you to join us today.”

  Nicky wadded up a large ball of spit in her mouth and hocked it at him. It fell short.

  “Spry as ever.” Orson’s grin grew wider. “Which is good. It’s time for you to direct us to the magical place you spoke of the other day.”

  Nicky began to shuffle her way down the bench, not yet trusting her legs to hold her up. When she reached the end, Orson grabbed her upper arm and yanked her out of the truck. Nicky couldn’t get her legs under her in time and fell to the hard pavement. She looked up and saw a couple of zombies shuffling toward them. They had stopped in the middle of a mostly empty parking lot next to a Walmart. With the zombies coming, they couldn’t stop for long. It was likely the two men had planned it that way.

  “Come on.” Orson grabbed her arms and hauled her up onto her feet. Hank had already climbed up into the back, his hand seeking out the light switch for Isabelle and Jasmine. With a tight grip on Nicky’s upper arm, Orson slammed the rear doors shut before Hank found it.

  Nicky was dragged to the front section of the truck, where Orson opened the passenger door. He shoved her into the seat.

  “Arms up,” he commanded once she got in.

  Nicky raised her arms above her head. Orson grabbed each of them in turn, locking the handcuffs tightly around the wrists. The chain was looped through the handle above the door so Nicky couldn’t put her arms back down. It was going to be a seriously uncomfortable ride.

  Orson slammed her door closed, hitting her elbow in the process. Nicky drew in a sharp hiss. The disgusting pig ran around the nose and hopped into the driver’s seat. He didn’t have the rifle with him, Nicky noticed. It must be in the back seat, but she couldn’t turn enough to see. At least there was one advantage to having her left eye swollen shut: she didn’t have to see Orson while looking forward.

  The engine rumbled to life again. In the front section, it was more heard than felt, unlike in the back. The white monster began rolling forward, aiming for a scrawny zombie woman in a waitress outfit. Orson must have put his foot to the floor, because they gained speed immensely fast. The waitress was hit by the front of the truck with a sickening crunch. The hood was too high for her to be rolled up onto it, but she clutched and hung on for a while before being sucked under the tires. The front of the vehicle was covered in red and brown smears.

  Nicky dared a quick glance at Orson and saw pure joy on his face. She turned away, disgusted. Although she had no problem with killing zombies, someone shouldn’t take that much pleasure in it.

  “Where to first?” Orson asked as they swung out into the street.

  “Get to Newark and Civille first.” Nicky wasn’t even sure where they were at the moment. The corners of Newark and Civille could easily be in the opposite direction, but that didn’t matter. Once she was there, she knew exactly how to get to the White Box. Orson must have known where that intersection was, because he didn’t ask for any further directions.

  As they drove down the streets, they passed by several zombies. Those that were in the open though, were run down. Orson was deliberately swerving to hit them.

  A group of five were clustered on an empty corner. Orson rode up the curb just to smash them with the bumper. All five got crushed by the bulk of the truck.

  “Yeah!” Orson cheered as their bodies were pulverised beneath the wheels. “Strike!”

  Nicky risked a quick and cautious glance over at her driver. The man was practically salivating and had a hard-on tenting his pants. If Nicky had anything in her stomach, she would have thrown it up.

  “You like what you see, babe?” Orson had apparently caught her look.

  Nicky refused to give that an answer. Due to her one-sided blindness, she didn’t see Orson reach over until it was too late. He grabbed her tit and squeezed hard.

  “Hey!” Nicky screamed at him, trying to pull away. “We had a deal!”

  “I said I would let the others go and that I wouldn’t rape you, not that I wouldn’t touch you.” His ugly face was split into an even uglier grin.

  Unable to pull her arms down, Nicky pulled her legs up onto the seat. She crammed herself against the door, using her legs to protect as much of her body as she could. It was tempting to kick that grin right off, but if that happened, he was likely to go back on his deal. The best Nicky could hope for from doing that was that they’d crash. The big truck, though, was built to do more damage than receive.

  Nicky couldn’t take her eyes off Orson now. She had to keep an eye on him at all times in case he tried something. Despite her empty stomach, she felt her gorge rise when he began to masturbate.

&
nbsp; ***

  When they reached Newark and Civille, Orson pulled into a gas station. The tank wasn’t close to empty, but if they filled up now, they wouldn’t need to again on the way. The truck was big, but so was its tank, and the thing could drive for very long distances without needing to refuel. Nicky had to tell Orson how the truck’s built-in pump worked, so that he could draw the fuel out of the underground storage tank.

  Orson hopped out of the truck, so pleased with himself that he was actually whistling. He didn’t even glance at Nicky as he grabbed the rifle out of the back. He left both doors on that side open as he made his way to the rear. Nicky watched in the mirrors as he let Hank out to stretch his legs and then begin pumping the gas. Once she saw the toad head toward the little shop, she began to stretch out herself. Her muscles were all cramped and tight from sitting curled up for so long. Her wrists were aching from the handcuffs, and her hands had gone pale from limited blood-flow. It wasn’t enough to worry her, but enough that her fingers felt weak and not very dextrous. Even if she got hold of something to pick the lock with, she would probably just drop it. Some of her fingers felt numb enough that she would drop the actual key had she had it. As she stretched her legs and torso, Nicky began flexing her fingers, hoping that would stimulate more blood-flow and bring back feeling. It was working, but it also hurt.

  Hank suddenly appeared at the driver’s door, holding a sandwich in a baggy. Nicky’s stomach roared at the sight of it.

  “I heard that from here,” Hank commented. “Here.” He held out the sandwich for her.

  “I can’t take it. My hands are cuffed to the ceiling.”

  “Hmm, I suspected that might be what that sound was. If you don’t mind.” Hank slid into the driver’s seat and unwrapped a part of the sandwich. He tore a piece off and held it out directly in front of Nicky’s mouth. It was tuna, and the smell was alluring.

  Although her body craved the nourishment, her mind rebelled at the thought of eating something that Hank had touched.

  “If you don’t eat, your strength will wane further, and you’ll have less fight to put up with Orson.”

  The bastard was unfortunately right. Nicky ate a chunk of the sandwich. Hank continued to tear off pieces and feed them to her until the sandwich was entirely gone. Hank then pulled out another sandwich, also tuna, and fed her that too. Although Nicky had never been a fan of tuna, she found those two sandwiches to be some of the best things she had ever eaten.

  Hank climbed back out of the truck just as Orson returned.

  “I could have done that.” Orson’s disappointed frown was lost on the blind man.

  “You could have, but I don’t think she would eat anything you offered her.” Hank didn’t stop as he headed for the back of the truck.

  “Fair enough, although I would give her something much more filling than a sandwich.” Orson looked at Nicky with what he no doubt thought was a roguish grin. It wasn’t: it was a shark’s.

  Hank got back into the rear while Orson placed his rifle, along with items pilfered from the gas station, into the back seat. Nicky took her crunched and defensive position again as Orson got behind the wheel.

  “Where to next, babe?”

  Nicky didn’t want to fight just then. She was so tired. “Head east on Newark. I’ll tell you when we reach the next turn, which won’t be for awhile.”

  ***

  The next time they stopped, things weren’t as calm as the first time. At least not for Nicky. They hadn’t needed to stop, but Orson had insisted, to get a suit of all things. As they had driven past an expensive store with mannequins in men’s suits decorating the show window, he pulled over. Apparently, when he reached the White Box, he wanted to look presentable.

  “No suit could pull that off.”

  “Keep talking like that and I’ll be pulling off something of yours.” Orson’s voice was like cold acid. He didn’t take kindly to his appearance being made fun of. Nicky wasn’t actually sure if he was referring to her own clothes being pulled off, or perhaps a body part. He seemed capable of either.

  When he left the truck to go inside, he left the doors wide open again. Nicky started her stretching routine, but was less vigorous with it than before. An overall weariness was settling into her bones. Her face wound, which she was beginning to believe had caused a concussion, wasn’t even close to being fully healed yet, and it was draining her system.

  As Nicky popped her knuckles, a bad habit of hers, she looked out through the driver’s door. It was pointed up the street because Orson had ended up parking sideways after he nearly drove right by the place. A bob of grey hair was weaving around the vehicles in that direction. Nicky’s first thought was that it was an awfully big dog. She immediately realized her mistake and sat perfectly still. The grey hair was not that of an animal, but on the head of a zombie.

  It moved aimlessly. Left, then right, then forward, then right, then left, then forward, then back. It never showed itself between the cars or through the windshields long enough for Nicky to get a good look, to get any more of a description than grey hair. It was moving closer though, slowly but surely.

  Nicky glanced at the suit store window, actually hoping to see Orson. There was only darkness beyond the white, unseeing forms of the mannequins. She turned back to the street.

  It was closer now. Close enough to be called a he. In flashes, Nicky made out the features of an elderly man, somewhat over-weight, with a brown sweater vest over a white shirt, brown corduroy pants, and gold rimmed glasses that sat badly askew. He didn’t look like a zombie; he wasn’t covered in blood and gore like most of them. He actually looked like a lost, helpless, old man who had forgotten what bus he needed to take to get home. Nicky remembered James’s first instruction though, never under-estimate them. He may look dumb and feeble now, but get him on the scent of something, and he could turn into a ruthless monster.

  A seagull landed on the pavement just outside the truck. Nicky willed it to fly away again, but it had found some potential food. Although Nicky couldn’t see what it was, the bird pecked at the whatever near its feet.

  Shoo! Nicky mentally shouted at the bird. Go on! Get out of here! Scat!

  The bird didn’t pick up on her attempt at telepathy though. It pecked the substance some more, seemingly infuriated by it. Then it let out a loud squawk and burst into the air with a flurry of feathers.

  The sound and the sudden movement drew the attention of the old zombie. He looked past where the bird had taken flight and locked eyes with Nicky. He shambled forward, nearly tripping himself with the sudden increase in speed.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Nicky muttered to herself, no longer worried about sound. You didn’t have to worry about drawing the attention of zombies when one was already coming.

  She struggled against the handcuffs, tugging and pulling and clawing, hoping that they would magically pop off or maybe the handle would rip out. Her legs had drawn back up on the seat, curling to defend herself.

  The old man reached the vehicle and began crawling in. His hand leaned on the horn for a moment, letting out a loud wail that filled the streets.

  “FUCK!” Nicky began kicking furiously as the old man reached for her. “FUCK!”

  First, he grabbed one leg in an iron vice, and then he got the other ankle. His grip was the total opposite of feeble. He raised Nicky’s leg toward his mouth, intent on biting her knee. Nicky couldn’t watch. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to kick with all her might, but he overpowered her.

  She let out a low whine, anticipating the pain of teeth piercing her flesh. Nothing happened though.

  Nicky opened her eyes and nearly burst out laughing. The zombie was still trying to eat her leg, no doubt about that, but the old coot didn’t have any teeth. His soft and smooth gums pressed into the fabric of Nicky’s pants, but there was no way he could tear through them. She had been so terrified, so completely overcome thinking her life was over right then, that she had failed to notice the most i
mportant feature of her attacker.

  For ten more minutes, Nicky sat in the truck with the old zombie. Whenever he loosened his grip, she would try to kick him away, but then he would just tighten it again. He continued his attempt to gum his way through Nicky’s pants, but to no avail. She might end up with a bruise from the pressure, but that was about it. Didn’t mean she wasn’t close to pissing herself with fear though. Her bladder was alternately locked up and was almost loose enough to relieve itself as she sat there. The zombie could always suddenly try for her face, and there would be no way to stop saliva from getting into her mouth, nose, or eyes. Other zombies, ones with teeth, were being drawn to the area.

  Orson finally came back, grabbed the old man’s trousers, and hauled him off Nicky. He brought the rifle around and fired once into the old man’s head, and then pointed it at Nicky.

  “He didn’t bite me.” Nicky curled, trying to protect her head. “He’s got no teeth, he didn’t bite me.”

  The asshole looked down at the man, assessing him. “Hell, he really doesn’t have any teeth.” He then got back into the truck looking pleased with himself. Whether it was from firing the rifle, his new suit, or Nicky’s terror, she couldn’t tell.

  Nicky was right though. The suit didn’t help much.

  ***

  Orson was less revolting the longer they drove. Most of what he had done was probably for show, trying to get under Nicky’s skin. Maybe now that he was in a suit, he felt he needed to act more distinguished. He had even stopped hitting every zombie they came across, although would still aim for the easy-to-strike ones. At least he wasn’t taking the same kind of perverse pleasure in it that he had been earlier.

  Nicky managed not to fall asleep again, but she couldn’t quite say she was awake. She knew where they were and continued to direct Orson, but she didn’t absorb much else. Maybe her body knew it needed to store up its energy for what was coming.

  When they hit the dirt road though, Nicky became far more alert. Trying not to draw Orson’s attention, she flexed her fingers in an attempt to get feeling back into them. Quicker than she would have liked, they reached the rock.