“I met a group of survivors. When I brought them to you, you were gone. I’ve been surviving in the city with them. We were staying in this hotel, one floor down, when we heard all the screaming and fighting. We figured that since zombies don’t fight with each other, at least one person in that room had to be alive. I volunteered to check it out.” Doyle led them to a staircase and they began heading down. “We’re gathered in the lobby right now. We were going to move to another location today. We don’t like staying in one place for very long.”
“I’m fine with leaving,” April said when she wasn’t coughing.
“You got a cold?” Doyle asked as they neared the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah.” April nodded.
“That cough’s not going to be good for drawing zombies. We might have some cough suppressant you can take though.” Doyle led them back out of the stairwell into the lobby. Just shy of a dozen people stood there. Three men and eight women, one of whom was very pregnant, were grouped together next to the front desk.
“Doyle?” One of the women hesitantly stepped forward, looking at the three people trailing behind him.
“It’s all right,” Doyle assured her. “This one has a cold, and a fourth in their party went a little overboard. We left him unconscious up in the hotel room, but it’s probably for the best if we get moving.”
“You just left a man up there?” A different, dark-haired woman frowned.
“He tried to kill me,” April said in their defence.
“He was going to run her through with that sword while she slept. He also set fire to the building we had previously been in,” Robin added.
Doyle’s group suddenly looked okay with them leaving River behind.
“Oh, names.” Doyle turned to them. “I’m Doyle.” He then pointed around his group, saying everyone’s names. Robin’s pounding head managed to remember only two of them. The pregnant woman was Elizabeth, and the dark-haired woman was named Cynthia.
“I’m Robin. This is April. And that’s-”
“Quincy Beharry!” one of the men said excitedly and hurried over to them. “It’s an honour to meet you.”
“Always nice to meet a fan.” Quin allowed his hand to be shaken.
“Who?” Cynthia raised an eyebrow in confusion and scorn.
The man looked at her, shocked. “Surely you’ve heard of Gathers Moss. This is their lead vocalist!”
Cynthia continued to look annoyed but didn’t say anything further. She had to know of Gathers Moss; just about everyone did.
The excited man turned back to Quin. “I’m such a big fan. Your music was my entire teenage years.”
“Yours and thousands of others.” Quin continued to smile politely.
“Are you girls okay?” Elizabeth waddled her way over to the girls, while the man continued to chat up Quin.
“Shaken, and I have a cold,” April told her. “So you might not want to get too close. Other than that, I’m okay.”
“I don’t think a cold is going to hurt us after all we’ve been through.” Elizabeth smiled, rubbing her swollen abdomen. “And you?”
“My head hurts.” Robin turned to April. “What did you guys do to me?”
“You were hysterical.” April blushed. “You were trying to run into the burning building after the kittens. We weren’t sure how to stop you, so Quin injected you with something to put you to sleep.”
Elizabeth looked from one girl to the other, confused but still smiling. “Sounds like your group has had quite the time. Come on, I have some painkillers and cough medicine.”
Robin and April followed Elizabeth over to the front desk where a pile of bags was sitting. She opened up one and searched through a number of plastic bottles that rattled around. As she took out a bottle of Advil for Robin and Buckley’s for April, Robin couldn’t help but look at her pregnant belly. She had never been so close to a pregnant woman before, and it just seemed out of place with what had been happening.
“How far along are you?” she asked as she shook two of the Advil out into her hand.
“About eight and a half months,” Elizabeth replied.
“Doyle said you might have some cough suppressants?” April asked.
“I think so.” Elizabeth rooted around in the bag and pulled out another bottle for April.
Robin dry-swallowed her pills. “Is it your first one?”
“He is.” Elizabeth beamed. She was so upbeat. Robin would have been petrified being pregnant under regular conditions, let alone with the world gone to hell.
April popped the cough suppressant pills into her mouth and swallowed them with a swig of the liquid cough syrup. She made a face of disgust, capping the bottle and returning it to Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, you shouldn’t be near sick people,” Cynthia chastised her from where she stood near Doyle.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth called back. She then turned to the girls and whispered, “Don’t mind her, she’s all bark, but no bite. She was a nurse who worked with my obstetrician, and let’s just say, she can get carried away.”
Robin found herself smiling alongside Elizabeth despite herself. The woman’s mood was just so infectious. It was also possible that the painkillers were already kicking in.
The group organized themselves, putting on packs and grabbing weapons. Doyle and one of the other men took the hockey bags, allowing Robin and April to carry smaller, lighter packs. Elizabeth even gave Robin a baby sling she could use to carry around Splatter, allowing both her hands to be free to hold her shotgun. The group had a large variety of weapons: Doyle had a fire axe, Cynthia had a bone saw, and the other man carrying a hockey bag had a bow and a quiver full of arrows. They also had an extra fire poker they gave to Quin. Until Robin’s shotgun came along, they had only one handgun amongst the lot of them, which Elizabeth carried. Whereas Doyle seemed to be the leader of the group, Elizabeth and her baby-on-board were the heart and soul. She carried only a light messenger bag full of meds, and everybody naturally put her in the middle of the group.
“Are we walking?” Robin asked as they headed toward the doors. There was a zombie trapped in the revolving doors that watched them. Blood smears all over the glass suggested he had already tried, unsuccessfully, to escape.
“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “We ride in style.”
***
Robin looked out of the window, watching the city cruise by. When Elizabeth had said they rode in style, she had been half joking. The group had procured three vehicles: two shiny, black SUVs, and one shiny, black mini-van. They drove slowly, one SUV on either end of the mini-van, taking their time to pick the best route down the roads. It was like riding with secret service or something. Robin was in the back of the van with April, while Elizabeth and Cynthia sat in the seats in the middle row. Quin was up front with Doyle, who drove. Resting on the dashboard was a walkie-talkie, which they used to communicate with the cars in front and behind.
“Have you ever heard anyone else on that?” Robin wondered, looking at the walkie-talkie.
“Oh, yes.” Elizabeth nodded. “In fact, that’s how they found Cynthia and me. We were hiding out in the cab of a long-haul truck when we heard voices coming over the CB radio. They don’t have much range, but we’ve picked up people from time to time. Some of them are members of our group now, although others we weren’t able to track down.”
“Something’s screwing up the frequencies,” Doyle added. “Seems related to certain buildings.”
Robin nodded and sat back in her seat, looking out the windows again. When April huffed weakly beside her a few times, she looked over.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” April smiled at Robin, trying to reassure her. “It’s just the cough suppressants. They don’t quell the need to cough; they just seem to make my lungs too tired to do it.”
“Sounds weird.”
“Feels weirder.” April turned back to her window, her smile instantly turning to an expression of worry.
As she thought of her other kittens, Splatter grabbed hold of her pant leg. The little guy had been crawling all over the van since they got in. Elizabeth adored the kitten, and even Cynthia’s gruff exterior cracked when he sat with her for a while.
Robin watched as Splatter climbed her pant leg to her lap. He then proceeded to climb her shirt, up toward her shoulder. Although he made it up to her shoulder, he slipped once, kicking the arm where Robin had been injected. She drew in a sharp breath between her teeth at the quick flare of pain, and then Splatter settled on her shoulder, preparing to sleep in the fall of her hair.
“Hey, Quin,” Robin called up from the back.
Quin turned around in his seat and looked back at Robin. His eyes were red-rimmed and Robin didn’t think it was from drug use this time. He and River had been friends their entire lives. His face was even more gaunt than usual. Leaving the other man behind was clearly weighing very heavily upon him.
“What was it you injected me with?” Robin asked.
“M99,” Quin answered.
Robin frowned, not having the slightest idea what that was.
Quin saw her confusion. “It’s a large animal tranquillizer.”
“Why did you have a syringe of large animal tranquillizer?” Robin asked next.
Quin shrugged. “To be honest, I can’t for the life of me remember where I picked it up. I may have had it with me since the concert, or maybe I went out and found it one day while you and April were gathering food.”
“You really did any drug you could get your hands on, didn’t you?” Elizabeth chuckled. She had mentioned earlier, when they were getting into the cars, that her dad had been a big fan of Gathers Moss.
“Life of a rock star, babe.” Quin winked and tried to give her a charming smile. It wasn’t as charming as it used to be, back before the zombies.
“How are you doing with the withdrawal lately?” Robin remembered that the band’s original destination had been the hospital to try to find drugs for detox. After meeting the girls, they had been attempting it on their own, using whatever they had on hand to soften the blow.
“Good. Better. Head still goes around the bend from time to time, but I think that might just be me. Haven’t had a fever in awhile, which I guess is a good sign. And I’ve mostly been all together all day today.”
“That’s good,” Robin agreed. The last thing anyone needed right now was a dying junkie.
The walkie-talkie crackled but the voice was just too quiet for Robin to hear. She probably could’ve made it out if she had leaned forward, but with Splatter on her shoulder, she didn’t want to move. Doyle picked up the device and communicated with whoever was speaking.
It turned out that the lead car had found a potential place to stay for the night. Robin glanced skyward and noticed it was around noon. Apparently, they didn’t like to travel a lot or far. As soon as a place looked good, they stopped and checked it out.
Once they stopped, everyone but Elizabeth and Cynthia got out of the vehicles. Doyle explained in a quiet voice that they stayed behind, just in case the building they were checking out wasn’t as safe as they first thought.
“You girls stay with them,” Doyle then said to April and Robin.
April was fine getting back into the van, but Robin frowned. “Why?”
Doyle was confused by her annoyance. “Because you’re kids. You shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.”
Robin hadn’t considered herself a kid for a long time. Not since her father had hit her mother, her mother had become an alcoholic, and she had to do everything she could to get her brother out of town and her father into prison. Now that zombies roamed the city, sixteen could definitely not be considered a kid.
“I’m not a kid.” Robin checked the chamber of her shotgun for emphasis. She was getting better at using the pump action; it was less difficult each time. She’d probably get good with the weapon right around the time she ran out of shells. “I’m coming with you.”
Doyle’s look clearly said he didn’t like the idea.
“You’re going to want this if something does happen.” Robin gestured to her gun. Although several members of the group had discussed taking her gun and giving it to someone else to use, in the end, Doyle said that Robin should keep it. She had found it after all. If she wanted to trust someone else with it, that was her right to do so. Doyle would only take it from her if she appeared reckless with it.
Doyle looked at the group behind him, which included Quin. A few of them shrugged.
“Let her come,” Quin said. “You’re letting me come and trust me; she’s far more useful than I could ever be.”
“All right,” Doyle relented, “but you stay right by my side.”
“Sure.” Robin probably would have done that anyway. She handed the sling carrying Splatter over to April. The kitten would be useful inside, but she’d rather have the car kept safe. And she’d rather have Splatter be kept safe inside it.
“Where’d you get him?” Doyle wondered as they neared the front door. It led into a large, glass office tower. Earlier, Doyle had explained that office towers were usually good choices. Since the outbreak had occurred on a Saturday, most of them were empty. The hotel they had gotten lucky with, because someone had pulled a fire alarm and evacuated most of the building.
“Who? Splatter?”
“Yeah.”
“April had him and two others when we met. She has this theory that the kitten’s heightened senses can pick up the infected before we can and might be able to smell it on people who haven’t turned yet. Even a few seconds of warning is better than none, right?” Plus their furry, little bodies were a comforting presence.
“I guess so.”
Robin was glad he didn’t ask about the other two kittens. She knew he had heard about the fire, yet Robin wasn’t ready to mention Charcoal and Charlie to him. Maybe he was able to put two and two together.
The group of ten people entered through the glass doors. Robin glanced back once at the van parked at the curb. April sat against the window with Splatter balanced on the edge of it. Elizabeth and Cynthia watched mutely as well. There was one other person staying behind with them: a forty-something-year-old guy whose name Robin hadn’t caught. He was the guy with the bow and arrows, and he patrolled slowly around the three vehicles, on the lookout for anything and everything.
Robin stuck closely to Doyle as she had been told which put her near the front of the group. Although Doyle seemed to be the one in charge, a young woman actually led them through the building. After entering, she had slipped her bare feet out of her flip-flops and now moved silently across the linoleum floor on the balls of her feet. She stayed several steps ahead of everyone else, her movements and gestures like that of a frightened bird, ready to take flight. Robin guessed that she was the figurative canary in the coalmine.
The front lobby area was clear, so they headed for the stairwell, which had no windows to let in the sunlight, and so a variety of flashlights clicked to life. Not everyone in the group had a flashlight, but more than enough light was shed for everybody. Their shoes and boots clomped loudly up the steps in comparison to their fleet-of-foot canary, who kept one flight above them. Once they reached the fifth floor, they decided to check out the place.
Almost the entire floor was filled with cubicles, with s
ome offices along the back wall.
“Looks like this used to be the offices for a newspaper or magazine.” Doyle spoke barely above a whisper. “They may have been open on the Saturday, so stay sharp.”
As Robin followed Doyle down an aisle between the cubicles, she realized she was trembling. Gripping the shotgun harder, she swallowed her fear, burying it in the pit of her stomach. She had asked to be here and wouldn’t chicken out now.
Each time they approached the opening to one of the cubicles, Robin tensed up, ready to blow the head off a zombie within it. Each time they found nothing.
The group, which had spread out to check the aisles more quickly, reconvened by the offices in the back. There were three of them, so they split again into three groups to investigate all of them. Robin and Doyle’s were again empty.
“Here,” someone called softly from another room. Everybody quickly gathered over there.
Slumped over a desk was the body of a balding man in a suit. A mostly empty liquor bottle was clutched loosely in one hand, while the other was folded under his chest where they couldn’t see it. One of the women of their party approached the body, holding forth a crowbar. She poked at the man’s shoulder a few times with it then hurriedly stepped back. Robin was expecting the body to spring up, groaning and groping for them, but it didn’t move. The woman cautiously placed her fingers against the man’s neck.
“No pulse,” she whispered. Although that meant nothing these days.
The woman pulled back on the man’s shirt, sitting him upright. His other hand was revealed and an empty, orange prescription bottle rolled out from it. The lower half of his face, his chest, and part of his desk were coated with a layer of old puke.
“Suicide,” the woman explained, nonplussed, “and he wasn’t even infected.”
The group started to leave the room through the door behind Robin, but she continued to look at the dead man. Suicide had never occurred to her, not once in her entire life. She had sometimes wanted to curl up and do nothing, but to actively take her own life was a foreign concept. This man hadn’t even been infected, yet he chose to die instead of trying to live in this world? Why?
Survival Instinct (Book 2): Adaptive Instinct Page 42
