Primal Shift: Episode 1

By Griffin Hayes

The end of the world in a way you never imagined!

The apocalypse strikes without warning. A mysterious geomagnetic event that sweeps the globe, leaving a powerful amnesia in its wake.

In the blink of an eye, the human race is robbed of the most basic skills learned in childhood: reading, writing and the ability to speak. Civilization crumbles, plunging the world into an age of unparalleled barbarism.

From the ashes emerge a handful of survivors, largely unaffected by the change. Alone, they must brave a dangerous and chaotic world in order to reach the only known refuge: a camp set in the foothills of Salt Lake City, Utah. There lies food, shelter and maybe even answers.

But standing between them and safety is more than bands of armed thugs and bloodthirsty cannibals. A new evil is gathering. One that's eager to destroy the last vestiges of life on earth and finish what it started, once and for all.

The survivors:

A man who awakens in the bowels of a secret laboratory with no memory of how he got there and only an enigmatic tattoo to guide him.
A Coast Guard sailor searching for a killer who may not be what he seems.
A mother of two and recent widow, struggling to protect her family from a world gone mad.
A former CEO and full-time scumbag determined to do whatever it takes to thrive in this new apocalyptic wasteland.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Griffin Hayes
• Release date: Jun 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991888139

Griffin Hayes

I'm a horror and YA paranormal thriller writer. In September, I published my first novel, MALICE. Two of my short stories, THE GRIP and THE SECOND COMING, as well as my novella, BIRD OF PREY, are now also online. And don't worry, I've got plenty more in the pipeline, including a zombie novella that's currently in the works. If you felt like saying hello or you just wanted to engage in some good old fashioned internet stalking, you can find me at my blog: http://griffin-hayes.blogspot.com/

Book preview

PRIMAL SHIFT

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The apocalypse strikes without warning. A mysterious geomagnetic event that sweeps the globe, leaving a powerful amnesia in its wake.

In the blink of an eye, the human race is robbed of the most basic skills learned in childhood: reading, writing and the ability to speak. Civilization crumbles, plunging the world into an age of unparalleled barbarism.

From the ashes emerge a handful of survivors, largely unaffected by the change. Alone, they must brave a dangerous and chaotic world in order to reach the only known refuge: a camp set in the foothills of Salt Lake City, Utah. There lies food, shelter and maybe even answers.

But standing between them and safety is more than bands of armed thugs and bloodthirsty cannibals. A new evil is gathering. One that’s eager to destroy the last vestiges of life on earth and finish what it started, once and for all.

SOME HELPFUL DEFINITIONS

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Procedural memory:

Remembering how to perform a learned skill (i.e.: riding a bike).

Declarative memory:

Recalling past experiences or information.

Retrograde amnesia:

The most common form of amnesia which involves the loss of declarative memories gained before an injury, trauma or the onset of a disease. Therefore, learned skills are retained (i.e.: reading, driving etc.), but the subject will not recall how those skills were acquired.

Alzheimer’s disease:

The slow erosion of both procedural and declarative memories.

Subject: Unknown

Date: Unknown

Location: Unknown

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Inside the empty room, the capsule split open, releasing a torrent of pink liquid. With it came a man, his nearly naked body washing up against the wall. He rolled onto his stomach where he lay coughing and spluttering, trying to breathe. It sounded as if he were drowning. Already, the amniotic fluid that had rushed from the capsule was retreating toward the narrow space beneath the door. The man propped himself up on one elbow and vomited lungfuls of the same pink liquid, drawing in fresh oxygen to replace the fluid exiting his system. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and that was when he noticed the black tattoo. Eight numbers in a neat little row: 92574301.

What those numbers might mean he didn't have a clue, nor could he recall what the hell he was doing there, lying on a cold hard floor clad in a pair of soaking wet underwear.

A single memory dangled before him. An open field with tall grass, the height of a man's chest. The sun, bright and blinding and it bathed him in warm, nurturing light. He felt a calming peace linger in his body as he cradled the memory, the same one he’d been dreaming about inside the capsule, before it tossed him out onto the cold, hard floor.

He enjoyed a nice cold beer. He knew that much, but he couldn’t say what brand or whether he preferred it in a glass or in a bottle. It was only the sensory memory of the brew rolling over his tongue and down his throat that he could recall. What he also knew was that it tasted a hell of a lot better than the pink crap still floating around in his mouth. He spat, thinking about that cold beer and that was when he realized how much of his past had simply vanished. His own name, for example. He couldn't remember what it was, although he knew he surely had one. It was the strangest feeling, as though someone had reached into his mind and stolen all of his memories, only to leave as residue the very imprint on his personality that those memories had created.

Slowly, he rose on unsteady legs, struggling to make sense of this strange new environment. The concrete room around him was small and dimly lit by emergency lighting. The most prominent object in the room was the capsule: a smooth edged coffin standing on end, with a mass of wires trailing up into the ceiling. A hatch at the bottom was open and pooled around it was a puddle of that pink crap he’d barfed up a minute ago.

The man scanned his fingers in the dim light. They looked pruned. How long had he been stuck in that black box, his lungs filled with disgusting goo?

A thread of smoke tickled his nose.

Something was burning.

He glanced around and spotted a yawning crack in the wall. His eyes followed it all the way to the ceiling and that's when he heard the faint sound of a siren.

Where the hell am I?

He scanned the tattoo and the rest of his body for clues and he finally found it stitched into the band of his boxer briefs.

FINN

A name. His name? He wasn't sure, but it sure beat the crap out of the other one he'd found: Fruit of the Loom.

Finn heard the sound of rumbling only a second before the room began to shake violently. His legs were too weak to keep him balanced and he went slamming up against the wall.

Without warning, a giant slab fell from the ceiling, crushing the upright coffin he'd been trapped in not less than a minute before. Chunks of plastic sprayed him in the face as the concussion from the falling debris knocked him to the ground.

He stood with some difficulty, his body white with the concrete dust that was swirling through the room, making it hard to breathe.

Wherever the hell he was, he couldn't stay here. Not if he wanted to live.

Another slab fell against the door, pinning it shut. There was some kind of earthquake or explosion and if he didn’t get out now, this room would soon become his crypt.

He peered up through the hole in the ceiling. Wisps of light filtered in from the opening. If he couldn’t go through the door, he’d go through the ceiling.

Finn climbed onto one of the fallen concrete blocks, his legs still shaking, sharp bits of gravel and rock biting into his bare feet. He was higher now and could see a narrow shaft through the concrete and something on the other side. A room or part of a hallway.

Grasping at the protruding edge, he pulled himself up and swung a leg over the lip. The muscles in his arms and abdomen quivered violently, begging him