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

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