Read Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct) for Free Online Page B

had been three nights since Zach went over the edge, and six since they’d been in the trailer.  The day before, River had dared to leave the bus for a moment.  He had to pee again, and the bathroom was worse than ever.  After he went, he glanced over the edge of the parking garage.  Zach was still down there.  It looked like he had shifted slightly to the right and that his arm was still twitching, but River chalked it up to withdrawal symptoms.  That same day, Doyle had made a decision.  He was going to go out and look for someplace they could move to, somewhere with more food, as they were running dangerously low.  It had been twenty-four hours and he hadn’t come back yet.  River wouldn’t have minded if the jack-off hadn’t taken the fucking axe with him.  He left River, Quin, and Greg virtually defenceless.
    River Webster groaned from where he was lying on the couch.
    “What?” Quin asked from the table nook.  He had his black fedora, his favourite hat, upside down on the table.  He was tossing cards into it.
    “I’m bored,” River told him , which was pointless, as they were all bored.
    “What’s your point?” Quin grumbled.  He was going to hit some real bad withdrawal soon.  River hoped his friend had been cutting back over the years; it would lessen the blow.  Blow sounded nice right about now.
    “Just saying,” River sighed.
    From the back of the bus, Greg farted loudly.  The man was totally wasted again.  He had always been a drunk, but a happy drunk.  This was beyond drunk, and he wasn’t happy.  He let himself go.  Quin and River had basically confined Greg to the back of the bus, where he sat in his own filth.  The wound on his arm wasn’t that bad—the back of the axe had grazed it when Doyle tried to defend him—and they had cleaned it and wrapped it up with bandages from the first aid kit.  From time to time , one of them would check on Greg, but generally, the occasional body noise he made was enough to let them know he was still alive.
    “I know what you’re thinking.”  This time Quin sighed.
    “What am I thinking?”  River got up and moved to sit across from Quin.
    “You’re thinking about getting off of this bus.”  Quin dumped the cards out of his hat.  He placed the hat on his head and started shuffling the deck.  The hat still looked good on him.  Quin always managed to look dapper in his black suit vests, grey, partially unbuttoned shirts, heavy necklaces, and black dress pants.  He was certainly the classiest of the group.  Greg was the least so, in his jeans and plaid shirts.  River was more out there.  He would put on anything that fit, and some things that didn’t.
    “What do you think about it?” River said in response to Quin.  Quin was right, he was thinking of getting off the bus.
    “I think we’ll need to eventually, but I really don’t want to.”  Quin finished shuffling and started dealing out cards between them.
    “If I knew where to go, I would go.”  River picked up his hand of cards, knowing they were playing this odd game they had made up on the road a few years ago.  His cards sucked.
    “I know where I would go.”  Quin picked up a card.  A subtle change to the position of his eyebrow meant it was a good one.
    “And where’s that?”  River picked up a card and it was crap.  He hated this game most days.  It was a game of luck, and he had used up all of his years ago.
    “The hospital.”  Quin took his turn.  The next card he got wasn’t as good.
    “Why there?”  River was thinking maybe because of Greg’s arm.  Quin and Greg once had a “minor” falling out that nearly caused the destruction of the band.  They patched things up, but you couldn’t quite call them friends anymore.
    “They’ll have drugs,” Quin answered simply.  “Even better, they’ll have those drugs that can dry you out in like a day.”
    Quin was thinking better than River was.  “Sounds like a good idea to