Survival Instinct Book Novels & Stories

“But the reason for the war is mine. I chose this. Knowing the cost.” “And if the cost is too high? If more people get hurt? Or die?” He finally looked at me. “Then I will carry their ghosts. But I will not change my choice.” “Why?” The word burst out of me. “You don't feel a bond to me. You owe me nothing. I'm just… a problem.” He put the glass down. “You are a question that has never been asked before. ‘What are we without our instincts?’ That question is more important than any single life. Even mine. Even yours. It is the future.”

Like I'm finally following the path that was set out for me ages ago - like I'm finally living my destiny, following my true calling. All of my senses are on high alert. I can hear the faint rustling of the leaves as the breeze whips through. I can smell the acrid, metallic scent of blood mixed with sweat in the crisp night air. I can feel the vibrations of movement in the soil beneath my bare feet. I can even taste the delicious mixture of fear and desperation hanging heavily in the air. This is the way it should be - the way it was always meant to be: man and beast - survival of the fittest. No pretense - just pure skill and raw survival instinct. Pure, natural - the way it was intended.

Survival was not something I learned. It was something my body remembered. The days blurred together after that first night in the cave. Hunger became a constant ache, thirst a sharp reminder of my weakness, yet somehow… I did not die. Each morning, I woke with sore muscles, dirt under my nails, and a strange determination pulsing quietly beneath my fear. I didn’t know what I was doing. I only knew I had to keep moving. I followed instincts I never remembered learning, how to listen to the forest, how to step without snapping branches, how to read the wind. When I crouched to drink from a stream, my reflection startled me. My eyes looked sharper. More aware. Less broken.

I had become the target, and I needed to run for my life. I crossed the road without looking. My lungs burned, but I couldn't stop. I needed to keep moving. A car suddenly screeched to a stop beside me, and the passengers door flung open. I didn't think twice before jumping in, and slamming the door shut. It could have been the very people who were on my tail, and I would have just surrendered myself to them on a platter. But in that moment, all I could bank on was my survival instinct, and it had led me into this strange car.

After training for two solid hours, she was drenched in sweat and exhausted to the bone, yet she felt strangely comfortable afterward. If she wanted to survive and live better than others, she had to keep improving. Nicole made a schedule. Two hours a day for physical training. Three hours studying traditional medicine. Another two hours teaching herself basic surgical knowledge. The storage space held over 100 books, all quietly taken from the university library. She could work through them over the coming years. She had also grabbed psychology books. Those needed attention, too. In the apocalypse, people didn't just die from disasters. The ones who survived longest were often no longer nor

Even on a sinking ship, surrounded by danger, even alongside allies, I had learned the hard way that trust had to be earned. I said quietly. "I don't care why they brought me. All that matters is getting out." His sharp eyes didn't leave me. I could feel him measuring me, weighing every nuance, every movement. I didn't move, didn't break his focus. This wasn't just about escaping a locked warehouse or outsmarting a few Rogue captors. This was survival at its rawest: reading predators, hiding weaknesses, leveraging every instinct I had honed over years of being unseen, underestimated, abandoned.

We were out of time. I climbed onto the windowsill and looked down at the grass. Thirty feet. Land right. Roll fast. I could survive. "Maddie, cover your head. Roll the second you hit the ground!" I looked back at her. "Okay." She clenched her jaw, trusting me completely. "Kayla, don't jump! Get back here!" Tristan finally freaked out. He lunged for me, reaching for my ankle. He thought coming back meant he could control everything.

The crowd erupted in quiet cheers, whistles, claps, and laughter—joy sweeping through the clearing like sunlight breaking through clouds. I found myself smiling so wide my cheeks ached. Tonight, we remembered. And tonight, we celebrated. We were more than survivors—we were something new. And we were just getting started. *Note from the author* Book two Starts in the next chapter. "What Rose From the Ashes" I hope everyone has enjoied reading "What Survived the Burn" as much as I have enjoied writing it. This is why I see no other way than to begin book two...

The impulse to save them fuelled me to burst through the kitchen doorway, intending to grab the first thing that I could find to use as a weapon and take that person down. The survival instinct to protect, fear, courage, it all balls together as one. There is just no time to think. You’ll do anything in that mindset. Things you never imagine seeing yourself doing, even if it meant to kill or be killed, because when you hear the screams of the ones you love, you’re not thinking of yourself. The first thing that caught my eye was the blood, and dread hit me with the force of a speeding truck. Everything happened in seconds.

“Yes, you do.” I struck again. Faster this time. And he caught it again. But this time, he didn’t let go. He twisted, shifting my balance just enough. And suddenly, I was the one stepping back. My breath hitched. “You’re relying on instinct,” he said. “That’s how I fight.” “That’s how you survive,” he corrected. I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the difference?” “Survival keeps you alive,” he said. “But it doesn’t win wars.”