Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct) (45 page)

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 important 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.

“The road ends.”  Orson frowned at her.

“It’s a hidden door, you idiot.”

“How do we open it?”

“I need to put in the code.  From here, we walk, and you let Jasmine and Isabelle go.”  This was the part where Nicky was going to learn if Orson could keep his word.

Orson got out of the truck and went around to the back.  One of the rear doors was opened but Nicky couldn’t hear what was being said.  She wished that Orson had locked her in the backseat.  Back there was a monitor, which gave a direct feed from a camera in the rear compartment.  She could have even flipped a switch to hear what they were talking about.

Orson returned to the front of the vehicle, looking unhappy.  He opened the door to the back seat and grabbed the rifle with one hand and a backpack with the other.  Hank, Isabelle, and little Jasmine came out from behind the truck shortly after.  The mother and child looked terrified, which was in sharp contrast to Hank’s utter sereneness.  Behind his large, dark sunglasses, his eyes were impossible to read.  Although Orson’s suit was brand new and more expensive than what Hank wore, the blind man still looked a lot
classier.  Hank was even carrying a briefcase of all things.

Orson walked around to Nicky’s
door and ripped it open.  He used the key to unlock one of the cuffs, and Nicky’s arms fell to her lap, the blood rushing painfully into them and making them tingle.  She had only a moment to rub her sore wrist before the opened bracelet was snapped back on it.  At least her hands were in front of her now.  The bastard yanked her out of the truck and started shoving her toward the rock.

“Orson?  The keys,” Hank said calmly.

Orson turned and threw the truck’s keys.  They landed in the dirt by Isabelle’s feet.  Hank spoke a few soft, inaudible words to them, and then turned to follow Nicky and Orson.

Isabelle scooped up the keys and quickly placed her daughter in the truck.  She hesitated for a moment, looking mournfully at Nicky.

“Go!” Nicky urged the woman.  As long as she was still present, Orson could change his mind.

Isabelle scrambled around the truck’s bloody nose and jumped in behind the wheel
, while simultaneously throwing closed the door to the back seat.  The engine came to life with a roar, and Isabelle made eye contact with Nicky one last time before backing up.  Her daughter, on the other hand, was covering both her eyes.  Perhaps she did it on her own, or perhaps her mother told her to, to save her child some of the guilt that she would no doubt feel herself as she left Nicky behind.

Orson shoved her toward the boulder again.

Nicky found the piece of rock that jutted out.  She placed both her hands on it and shoved sideways as hard as she could.  The rock piece slid to one side revealing a lighted panel beneath.  She tapped out the twenty digit alphanumeric code.  There was no way someone could guess what it was or put it in by accident.  It had to be memorized.  The read-out flashed green, and then turned blue.  Nicky placed her palm on the surface of the panel, and a paler blue light scanned down her hand.  Not only did it read the swirls of her finger and palm prints, it also registered the heat her hand gave off, as well as her pulse.  The scanner would reject a hand that had been cut off its owner’s arm.  The security was a little extreme, especially considering one only needed a coded/fingerprint transponder in their vehicle to open the main doors, but it did discourage any hikers who stumbled upon it and stopped any thieves on foot.  And if a thief had a transponder, it meant he could be tracked with its GPS.

A man-sized slice of rock jutted out from the rest of the boulder and slid to one side.  The large garage-like door was the one used most often at this
entrance. However, it did have a regular-sized door as well.  Orson shoved her through it first, keeping a tight grip on the back of her shirt so that she couldn’t run off.  As Hank followed after them, he snapped open his white cane.

“Feels big,” he commented, tilting his head this way and that.  His voice echoed.  The area was massive.  It was formed in a rectangular shape with the corners cut off to make an eight-sided figure.  Most of the wall was raw stone, supported by massive pillars of concrete and rebar at regular intervals along it.  Off each of these pillars hung a bright, halogen
light bulb, which lit the gently curving slope of the floor all the way down.

“It is,” Nicky told Hank.  “It has to be.  We have a tank down there that needs enough space to be able to drive in and out, as well as safely pass alongside something going the other way.”

“This place is huge.  Why didn’t we drive the truck in?”  Orson began marching Nicky down the grade.

“You need a transponder to open the big door.”  Which was the truth.  “Not all those vehicles have one.”  Which was a lie.

Orson seemed to accept this.  He looked all around him as he walked, keeping one hand on Nicky’s shoulder and the other on his gun.  He looked like he expected an ambush to be sprung at any moment.  Nicky knew there would be no such thing.

Around and around and around they went.  Nicky wasn’t a regular at the White Box, but she knew how long the tunnel was.  Her group’s leader had made them jog up and down the thing as exercise
, while everything was still being set up over two weeks ago.  Her group had been brought in from Texas and she greatly missed the place now.  There, the team was a lot smaller, more personal.  Everyone knew everyone else and followed orders with no confusion, but the place was more relaxed.

Down and down and down they went.  The tunnel was as silent as a tomb.  The only sounds were their footsteps and the tap and click as Hank’s cane hit the floor.

Farther and farther and farther they went.  The closer they got to the bottom, the stronger the smells became of oil, grease, gas, and exhaust.  Even with all the engines shut down, the odour created by the vehicles was strong enough to linger for a long time.  It reminded Nicky of her father, who had died when she was eleven.  He had worked as a programmer, but spent much of his free time in the garage, tinkering with his car.  She had no interest in cars herself, but the smell of them always made Nicky think of him.  Her brother had been the car guy, but he died at the age of sixteen, not long after getting his driver’s license.  Hit head-on by a drunk driver who walked away without a scratch.  Nicky’s brother had died slowly, crushed against the steering wheel, while her father, who had been in the passenger seat, died instantly.  A friend in the backseat survived, but he had to spend the rest of his life as a paraplegic.  It was probably then that Nicky started to believe something was wrong with humanity, and it only got worse from there.  That’s probably why she wasn’t totally opposed to Marble Keystone trying to make a drastic change.

“How much further?” Orson hissed in her ear.  He was the kind of human who needed to be blighted from the face of the earth.  Swept clean.  That was the problem with Keystone’s plan: it didn’t discriminate, didn’t kill the bad to leave the good.

Nicky didn’t bother to answer, because after a few more feet, they were able to see the bottom.

“Whoa.”  Orson forgot about Nicky for a moment as he took in the sight of the massive garage.  It was roughly the size of an airfield.  Although some support walls strategically placed around made it impossible to judge its real size, it was still impressive.  Nicky remembered being amazed the first time she saw it.

“This way.”  She led them toward the elevators off to the side.