Survival Instinct (Book 2): Adaptive Instinct Read online

  “It’s landing on the lake!” Riley cried out. Only her family and close friends of the family knew of this cabin’s existence, and someone would only be out here if they were coming to it.

  Riley dashed off the deck and took off running toward the lake. If the plane were truly landing, it would have to be someone she knew. Someone else had survived.

  She skidded to a halt on the sand and searched the sky again. There it was, coming in low over the trees. It was definitely landing. Riley couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Soon she would find out who the pilot was, and it looked like there may be a passenger as well.

  “Riley?” Mathias called out from the tree line. “RILEY!”

  Still smiling, Riley turned to find out what the panic in his voice was for. Then she saw the massive polar bear barrelling toward her.

  2:

  River Webster – Days 1-7

  They had been sitting in the blasted bus for a week now. River Webster was fucking sick of it. Mind you, he had spent far more time than that on buses in the past, but he had been young then. Damned young. Now he was old. Too old to be spending a week on a bus. At least that was what he kept grumbling to himself. Really, he just wanted another bump and they didn’t have anything left. He and Quin had snorted it all. River had quit the shit, had been clean for the last decade, but when all hell broke out at that fucking concert, he said “fuck it”, and asked Quin to share his stash. Being sober in this nightmare was too much. There was still a bit of booze in the bus, but not a lot. And the way Greg was hammering it back, that would be gone by the end of the day.

  Greg hadn’t been as keen as River and Quin to do the concert. He had said he saw a bunch of crows sitting on the balcony railing of their hotel room, which was a bad omen, and that they should back out. Quin had told him he was a fucking idiot and River concurred. Looks like those shit-eating crows had a point.

  River Webster was the lead guitarist of a band called Gathers Moss. His band mates were Gregory Ireland, the drummer extraordinaire, lead singer, Quincy Beharry, better known as Quin, and rhythm guitarist, Zachary Matson, son of the late and great Mitchell Matson. Mitch had gotten a tumour next to his spine about ten years ago, which was when River quit drugs, booze, cigarettes, and random women in one terrible go. The cigarette habit returned less than a year later, his estranged wife still wasn’t coming back, and he would accept a night cap if offered, but he stayed off the drugs for as long as he could. Anyway, the band stopped playing when Mitch got sick; he was too weak to play. They still got together to jam on his better days and spent the holidays together, but it wasn’t the same. It could never be the same, not without half a million fans screaming for them. Just before Mitch finally bit the bullet about a year back, he told the guys he wanted them to play again. He wanted them to get back on the stage with his son, Zack, playing in his place. Zack was good. He grew up playing his dad’s guitar, his dad’s notes. He could probably play them in his sleep. After some test sessions, and talking to some managerial people, they decided to do at least one concert. They would see how it went and would take it from there.

  In honour of Mitch, the concert they had decided upon, was Keystone’s charity concert for spinal research. Not only was it a charity directly related to what had happened to Mitch, but all the guys had lived and met in Leighton, so it would be nice for their comeback to be there. They had also arranged for it to be a secret, which was a massive challenge. A handful of homegrown, up-and-coming bands would start things off, and then a few big bands would get things really going. During the last song, Gathers Moss would sneak up on stage, and as soon as the song finished, they would launch into one of their own. They were going to play only three, maybe four songs, and then leave in a hurry.

  To help keep this secret, they were picked up from the hotel in a band bus. River hadn’t been in a bus for some time and rather enjoyed the novelty of it. It was great to be back with the guys, to be performing again. It was even great having Zach around; because they could tell him all the stories they were sick of telling each other. The bus drove to the park, went through the band entrance, and parked in the midst of all the other buses back there. Some of the starter bands were so small that they didn’t even get buses, just vans. That really took River back. When they had first started, he was seventeen, and drove all around Leighton in Quin’s rattletrap van. He was now sixty-seven and usually travelled in a private jet. Unlike most of the other band buses, their bus didn’t have their name smeared on the side of it. Most of the other bands didn’t even know they were there and that they would be playing. River had a good time surprising some of them backstage. He also had fun dodging reporters and cameras.

  There was this one man he remembered, Lucas Jonas. Although the little idiot had never spotted him, he must have heard something and tried to track them down. Quin said he dressed like a man who didn’t know what world he belonged in; he was trapped between a rocker and a hard news reporter. At least his cameraman looked very professional. He just introduced himself to the band members who were being interviewed by the Jonas character and then stayed silent. He probably wasn’t a music fan.

  River’s fun with the whole ordeal ended midway through the first somewhat big band’s set. Apparently, there was a security threat, and all the bands were rounded up and locked inside their buses. Gathers Moss’s four personal bodyguards, along with Jared, their gig manager, joined them in the bus. Jared kept saying everything was fine, and that they would get things moving any minute. Greg, the drummer, didn’t believe him.

  River had been sitting near a window and looking out through the heavy tint. After several minutes, a woman who helped coordinate everything, ran by with a large gash on her head. Harris, Quin’s guard, saw her as well. He opened the door and called to her, hoping to get some sort of explanation for the holdup. She turned and ran at him. His defences must have been down because she was a coordinator—River’s most fucking certainly were—and she leapt on Harris before he could stop her. In one quick move, his throat was torn out. The other three bodyguards hurried out to help their comrade, their friend. River, Quin, Greg, and Zach, were all plastered against the windows, watching. The woman was unbelievably strong and fierce. At some point, River didn’t know when, their manager slipped out of the bus and disappeared. He left the fucking door open behind him.

  Another coordinator showed up, but he ran away instead of trying to help. Then a security guard, who was a big, white guy in a white t-shirt, appeared. He didn’t help either. Instead, he tried to help the coordinator woman and began attacking the bodyguards. Then a fan showed up and joined in. Then another. And another. River thought he was having acid flashbacks right up until one of them got on the bus.

  Some skinny guy ran at the band, crazier than a drugged-up fan ought to be. Greg reacted by smashing a $5,000 guitar into his face. Both the face and the guitar broke, but the man started to get up again. Zach, being twenty years younger than the others were, stepped between the rest of the band members and the crazy man. He grappled with him, but was knocked over. River, Quin, and Greg, didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t hit the man without also risking hitting Zach.

  That’s when a fireman appeared from nowhere. He swung a fire axe and hit the skinny man in the back, severing his spine. The fireman, who later introduced himself as Doyle, pulled the axe out, hauled the man up by one arm, and threw him out of the bus. Doyle shut the door and looked at Gathers Moss. Both parties were stunned by the other.

  River and Quin both started asking questions at once. Greg was smarter, or maybe just nicer, and bent down to help Zach get up. The poor kid had gotten blood on his face. Doyle was overwhelmed by their questions, and probably even more so by whom they were. He told the band what little he knew: fights were breaking out all over the concert, and people were trying to kill each other. There was mass panic.

  River looked back out the window. He saw that their personal bodyguards had been carried off or something. Even Harris, with h
is torn-out throat, was gone. Where the hell was the rest of their goddamned security team? They practically had a fucking army of them, so where were they? The fireman, Doyle, had been brought in because of Gathers Moss’s presence at this thing, although it turned out he didn’t even know they were there. Great fucking planning on the security team’s part.

  It was unanimously decided that they needed to get the hell out of Dodge. Of course, none of the band members knew how to drive the massive bus. Doyle took the driver’s seat, saying it shouldn’t be that much different than driving a fire truck. As they were pulling out of their space, they scraped and rammed into the buses around them several times. Not quite like a fire truck then.

  As they roared toward the band entrance, River saw that the security fence was still up, and the gate was still closed. River asked if Doyle planned to stop and open the gate. Apparently, he did not, and pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

  Their manger was at the gate; the little fuck-up was trying to get out on his own. He heard the bus coming and managed to get his ass out of the way. As they roared past, slamming into the gate and ripping it open, River saw their manager standing off to one side with his mouth hanging agape. Catching flies, as the saying goes.

  The streets were crowded, but not with fans. Well, some of them might have been fans; Gathers Moss wasn’t going to stop to find out. There were people and cars everywhere, littering the fine streets of Leighton. Doyle performed admirably behind the wheel. That’s not to say he didn’t hit nearly every fucking car they passed. He had to hit them in most cases just to get by.

  River chose to sit with a seatbelt on at that point. It was a very rough and bumpy ride. Quin seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing and hooting every time they hit something particularly big. He was as high as a fucking kite. Of course, that was the norm with Quin. And as the norm went, River fed off his emotions and began to enjoy the ride as well. Greg and Zach clearly thought they were nuts. By all accounts, they were.

  They drove around for as long as they could, but an impassable barricade cropped up in front of them. Finding a parking garage next to them, Doyle drove the big bus into it. The roof kept scraping along the pipes, signs, and low concrete. Doyle drove them all the way to the top of the seven storey parking garage, and parked along one side. They could look out of the windows on one side of the bus and see everything happening on the street below.

  It was incredible. And it was horrible.

  The street below was utter chaos. They saw car accidents, both minor and major. They saw looters breaking into the stores. They watched as groups of people chased other groups, or individuals. River had seen a riot before; this was no riot. There was no purpose, no collectivity. As he watched, a policeman took down a man. With the distance, it was hard to make out the details, but it looked like the pig was beating the hell out of the man. Eventually, the cop got up and ran off. The man did not. At least for twenty minutes he didn’t. When he finally did get up, he moved off as if nothing had happened. A short time later, another cop went by. This time, the cop was the one being chased. He even had a pistol out and was firing at the individual—River thought it was a woman who was chasing him. She took a hit, stumbling for a few steps, but then kept chasing the policeman as if nothing had happened. It was mind-blowing. It was enough to turn River back to drugs.

  They stayed in the bus all day, eating and drinking things from the well-stocked fridge. Doyle attempted to get the news on the radio, but nothing was coming through, just static. Zach spent his time mourning over the broken guitar. River didn’t give a fuck. Sure, it was expensive, but the thing didn’t make a very good sound. The only reason it was in the bus was for show.

  River and Quin jammed on a pair of better sounding, and drastically cheaper, guitars. They were even getting the start of a new song going, which was a wonderful feeling. Greg, on the other hand, couldn’t keep himself away from the windows.

  When that first nightfall came, they still believed things would settle down and return to normal in the morning. They didn’t.

  ***

  Three nights came and went on the bus, with Gathers Moss and the fireman sleeping on the little beds and couches within it. They continued to eat and drink from the store of supplies. River Webster spent most of the time out of his mind with Quin. They would get high and start playing something, anything. Greg was always drunk, and always looking out at the street. Doyle and Zach seemed to be trying to figure things out. Considering they didn’t do anything, they had yet to succeed in coming up with a plan. Just talk. Jabbering back and forth for hours. They always came to the same two options. The first was staying put. Sitting in the bus, eating all the food, and hoping someone showed up to help them. The second was to leave. Where they would go was the topic of much discussion, as was the purpose of leaving. Doyle was for it. He kept saying they would run out of food soon and have to leave anyway. Zach wanted to stay. He didn’t see the point in going outside before it was necessary. He argued they were safe right now, and that was what was most important. They had walls around them, and none of those crazy ass attackers knew where they were. Doyle then pointed out that the walls weren’t that safe considering they had all the windows and the door open. To save the fuel and battery power for the fridge, they kept the engine off most of the time, which meant they had no AC. Quin, Greg, and River, had played in much hotter places, and had to be lively and energetic while performing, and so they were fine with the heat. Doyle complained about it all the time.

  On this day in particular, Zach was extremely irritable. Every little thing set him off. He was being a bitch.

  River needed to pee, and he was tired of the God-awful stench in the small bathroom. He was the first person to step out of the bus since they had parked it. Doyle had briefly tried to stop him, but River was having none of it. If he wanted to pee in the parking lot, he was going to damn well pee in the parking lot. Quin followed after him, his own bladder full.

  They wound up having a literal pissing contest. Using a line in the parking lot as their standing point, they decided to see who could piss the farthest. Quin won, the wanker. River blamed it on the fact that he was a year older than Quin was. Quin told him he was a whiny bitch. They both started laughing hysterically. They were laughing so hard that at first, they didn’t hear the sounds of a struggle going on inside the bus.

  When River turned toward it, he saw nothing wrong. The only section of the tinted windows that opened was the very top, so he saw just a black shiny surface. After the pair had taken a few steps toward the bus, a spider webbing of cracks exploded across one of the windows. River and Quin both stopped, stunned. They looked at each other, and just that look confirmed for one another that it had really just happened. River and Quin were so in sync with each other that they could communicate without words, just subtle movements and expressions. Using this method, they decided to stay in the parking lot.

  They watched silently and listened to the few sounds that escaped the bus. If the windows hadn’t been open, they wouldn’t even have been able to hear those. It was just as River was thinking that maybe they should check it out, that Zach came flying backward through the bus door. He hit the ground hard and fell flat on his back. As Zach got to his feet, Doyle came cautiously out of the door, brandishing his fire axe. Before River could think the worst of Doyle, Greg stumbled out after him. He was holding the broken guitar, which had become even more cracked and damaged. Greg was bleeding heavily down one arm and could barely stand from the booze. He swayed and wobbled in a manner that River and Quin had seen many times before. In fact, they were usually wobbling along with him.

  Zach charged at Doyle again. Doyle lifted his big fireman’s boot and kicked Zach squarely in the chest. Zach was knocked onto his back again, but started to get up for the second time. This time, when he got up, Greg let out a cry and swung the guitar. He got Zach right across his melon. River watched as some of Zach’s teeth left his mouth and scattered across the pavement. H
e and Quin still hadn’t moved.

  For the third time, Zach started to get up. Doyle brought his axe down and buried the blade in his chest. With an effort that made River’s head spin, Zach totally ignored the axe sticking out of him and wrapped his hands around Doyle’s neck. Doyle was doing everything he could to push Zach away from him, but couldn’t get him to stop choking him. Greg had become useless. He had fallen over, tripped up by his own feet.

  Quin finally moved. He ran over to Zach and wrapped his arms around him. Although Quin hadn’t performed in ten years, he kept in shape just as well as when he did. Quin had always been very animated on stage, usually running from one end to the other and up an alley through the middle of the crowd. When he didn’t get that marathon of a workout anymore, he ran real marathons. He also went to a dance studio to keep up his sense of rhythm. He had a face like an old, beat-up baseball glove, but still had the body of someone much younger than himself. Anyway, he was fucking fit, and he hauled Zach off Doyle as if it was nothing.

  Quin yelled at Doyle, asking him what the fuck he should do. Doyle was just trying to breathe. River jogged over and pulled the axe out of Zach’s chest, who reacted the same way to that painful stimulus as he had when it went in. River was thinking that maybe Zach had finished off Quin’s drugs; there were still some left at that time.

  Zach kicked and flailed, trying to free himself from Quin’s bear hug. He finally succeeded and ran straight at River. River could see the murderous intent in his eyes. When River had been younger and the band was in its prime, a man had tried to kill him in a restaurant. He managed to stab River with a fork before the idiot security team finally got him. River saw the same look in Zach’s eyes that man had.

  Still, Zach was Mitch’s son. Mitch was a brother to River, closer even. They had played and toured together for forty years. River had watched Zach grow up; he was practically a son. He couldn’t swing the blade he held. Instead, he used it in the manner of a pool cue. The flat top of the axe hit Zach right in the mouth, knocking out even more of his teeth. Zach spun around from the impact and ended up facing Quin. He ran at Quin this time.