“Listen to me you bitc...”
Before I get any further Emma cuts in with, “You can’t park here; it’s a disabled parking spot. You ignorant prick!”
There’s silence in the car. I’m left with my mouth open and my finger in the air like a knob, totally at a loss for a response to such a random, off topic criticism.
The beginnings of a coy smile form on the edge of Emma’s lips, and the two of us let out a muted chuckle as the tension dissipates.
For the first time she starts speaking to me in a more natural tone. She explains all that’s happened and why Matt stayed behind.
I realise at this point, that it’s concern for a mutual friend that has us both on edge and it’s possible she’s not the opportunistic succubus she first appeared to be... the girl is alright.
8
With tensions relieved for now, it seems like a good time to pick up a few essentials. The supermarket is locked up, but the sight of that box in the back seat that Emma brought from her apartment, filled with supplies, is motivation enough for me to justify a bit of breaking and entering.
The content consists of a half empty bottle of diet Cola, a packet of biscuits and five tins of beans. Her pathetic selection of food reeks of student lifestyle.
I’m not sure of the best way to approach this little heist, especially considering Emma’s reaction to my story about how I got my new jeep.
I’ve never been overly sensitive about rubbing someone the wrong way but I’m not stupid either. I’m well aware I’ll be spending the next few hours in tight quarters with her and she’s already pushed me over the edge once.
I glance back with a cringe at the beans, and while considering the best way to approach things, I’m taken by surprise with the sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass.
I turn around to see Emma awkwardly making her way through the broken window, with one leg on the ground and the other on the three foot high window sill.
I happily cross my arms and smile at the sight I’m faced with, as Emma’s skirt rides up revealing a pair of little white panties covered with tiny love hearts. What a girly girl, just Matt’s type.
She stumbles as she lands with a shuffle inside the supermarket, quickly yanks her skirt back into place and without pause, turns to give me a look that would kill a goat. I raise my eyebrows and grin back in response.
Once we’re both inside the supermarket, her first stop is the girl’s toilet. I suspect her change of view on looting is as much a result of her desire not to pee outside, as it is the realisation that this infection thing isn’t as temporary a situation at it first appeared.
I stand guard outside, and when she comes out we stay in eye contact as we shop for essentials. She gets what she wants while I grab a pack of two hundred pep pills and raid the tinned food section, taking a bit of everything except beans, I fucking hate beans.
Despite our little make up in the car park, conversation is still at a minimum between the two of us and that suits me fine.
It’s obvious there’s something there between her and Matt and even more obvious she’s worried sick about him. I was a little concerned myself but I know Matt, he’s far too stubborn to die when he’s chasing a bit of tail as tasty as Emma.
We carry our haul outside in shopping baskets and start loading up the car. As I busy myself packing away the food, I see Emma staring blankly into the boot.
“Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of him that easily, believe me, I know.”
It’s a small and essentially meaningless reassurance but the effect on her character is immediately apparent.
Once the car can hold no more and I’m struggling to get the boot closed, I take a quick glance over at Emma who’s getting into the front passenger seat. Taking my chance, I grab her supplies box and quickly fire it across the car park and out of sight. The boot snaps closed, and it’s time to hit the road again.
“Can I drive for a while,” Emma asks, “It might help me get my mind off it all.”
I give her what she wants after a light hearted but genuine warning about putting a single scratch on my VW.
As I switch with Emma and un-tense my back into the leather bucket seat, I realise this is the first time I’ve rested in nearly two days.
I was neck deep in a job last night, designing an identity for some nobody start up company, whose idea of a logo brief was, “Give me a unicorn with an exploding galaxy behind it, but keep it simple.”
Like usual, I was avoiding fatigue with coffee and a few special blends of my own. The days seem to meld together when you’re an insomniac, never sleeping but never really awake. I had to gather my thoughts and make sure I wasn’t dreaming when I got the call from Matt about pale faced weirdoes sucking the blood from unsuspecting taxi drivers.
I’m still making my mind up about how real any of this actually is, although Emma has far too many clothes on for this to be a dream of mine.
Once we’ve been driving for a while, Emma starts to talk, opening up and telling me a bit about herself. I’ve no real intension of listening, but I don’t see this as a reason to stop her now that she seems to be on a roll.
I lean my forehead against the passenger window and stare out into the distance. I’m noticing the bright, fresh greenness of the Irish countryside turning into an unsettling version of itself, as we pass what can only be described as an endless string of victimless accidents. There’s plenty of blood, and I think I even spot limb or two as we speed past, but no bodies.
From what I’m witnessing, it’s hard to interpret what events could have led to this carnage but there’s no doubt they were bad.
My mind starts to wander, drifting as close to sleep as I usually get. As we drive down this stretch of road; this twisted version of what would yesterday have been a mundane commute for hundreds of people going through the motions of their normal everyday lives, I consider the chaos that’s going on everywhere. With this apparent self-destruction of society I have to wonder if this is now the new normal, the next inevitable evolution of society. Is this the new everyday world we’re gonna be faced with from now on?
The realisation of this possibility leads me to further ponder as to whether this world of entropy and random violence, where we’re forced to
live on reaction alone really makes any less sense to me than the everyday life of nine to five. A life where people collect their dog’s shit in the street and smile every morning to people they can’t stand. A world where everything everyone says is coded to such a degree by social convention and political correctness that they’re not even sure what they’re saying themselves. Yeah, I think I’ll fit in about as well in this new world as I did in the last. Roll on Society 2.0.
I waft back to reality and to the realisation that my thoughts are becoming less than rational. I’ve rarely been in a worse state than this before, and I can’t afford to be in anything but top form in this situation. I need time to rest properly and to eat something more substantial than the cold slice of pizza I ate for breakfast yesterday.
I can’t tell if it’s been hours or minutes since we left the supermarket, but I notice that the previously chaotic scenes outside my window have taken a more structured, sinister complexion. We’re now encountering wreck after wreck of head on collisions, as if people were intentionally ramming each other off the road.
I’m also suddenly aware of the reason for my return to reality, the background noise of Emma’s life story or whatever has ended. I look over at her wondering if she finally said something that required a response of some kind from me, only to see it’s the worrying developments outside that have rendered her silent.
While distracted by a particularly bloody wreck, she grazes the right hand side of the jeep against an upside-down VW Beetle.
I breathe in heavily and bite my lip. It’s obvious she’s uneasy and trying to keep calm in the face of the sights we’re passing, so I try to express gently that it might be a good idea for me to take over behind the wheel a
gain for awhile.
By the time I feel I’ve gotten my point across she’s in tears and angrily telling me to calm down stop shouting at her. Despite her protests, she seems more than happy to relinquish the responsibility of driving and she begins to climb over to the passenger seat.
I waste no time in hopping out and running around to switch seats. I give the damage a quick inspection on the way, it’s barely a scratch; I overreacted.
It’s not my style to lose my cool so much. I need to get some rest soon. I try to muster some kind of apology, but I’m pre-empted by Emma’s urgent tone saying, “Look, I know, I know, it’s getting to both of us. Can we just get out of here please?”
That’s all I need to hear. Just as I’m beginning to turn and face the road again, I spot something over Emma’s left shoulder on an adjacent road in the distance, over the river. It’s a group of five figures standing around an upturned car
It’s immediately obvious there’s something unnatural about the scenario. All I can make out from this distance is there are another two figures outside the upside down car, one pinning the other down.
By this point, Emma, who I imagine was starting to wonder why I was staring at her so intensely, has copped that I’m focused on something in the distance behind her and she swings her head around to investigate.
The only noise in the car is the hum of the engine as we both strain to see what the two struggling figures on the ground are doing. The movements are far too random and violent for CPR. I quickly glance back at the five figures overlooking the spectacle. My blood runs cold as I realise all five of them are fixated directly on us.
The implications of this development hit me like a smack in the mouth. The nearest junctions connecting our two roads are about two kilometres behind us and five kilometres ahead of us.
I don’t waste a second, as I stress all two hundred horses under the bonnet to their limit; the VW roars forward.
This action acts like a starting pistol to the creeps across the river, who dart towards their piece of shit car in perfect synchronicity.
Emma who apparently hasn’t noticed that we were spotted is shoved back into her seat. Before she can disapprove, she sees the car driving in parallel to us with six sets of ominous eyes peering over at us. Her automatic reaction is to buckle herself in, in a frenzy of frantic arm movements.
They’re pulling ahead of us. I don’t know where they came across that car or what kind of over funded boy racer souped it up, but they’re going to cut us off and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I grab the open can from the cup holder and down the liquid inside, spilling a good third of it down my chin as I do.
The can contains the sweetest, most sugar saturated sports drink I could find in the shop earlier. I opened it as we pulled off when Emma started her driving shift, and I dropped in at least twenty pep pills to dissolve. The idea was I could sip it throughout my next turn behind the wheel.
There’s no time for sipping now, as I dodge and weave through the jagged wrecks scattered along the road. I need to focus. The menacing car is still speeding along parallel to us, all the while slowly pulling away towards the bridge up ahead.
I can feel myself getting carried away again, so in the three minutes or so it will take to reach the bridge I need to quickly review the situation and the few options available to us. We can;
Stay where we are and try to prepare for their inevitable arrival, making it six against two.
Go back the road we came, giving us little or no advantage in out running them, not to mention the fact we’d be going the wrong way.
We could switch to four by four mode and sail up the embankment where their overpowered racer can’t follow, making a clean quiet escape; except the entire length of the motorway is clad in high tensile crash barriers. Besides, a clean and quiet escape, that’s not really getting into the spirit of things now, is it?
That leaves option four... I’ve got a plan.
9
I know the bridge we’re heading towards well. It’s stuck in my head because I nearly lost the front of my car to a speeding truck three weeks ago, while trying to pull of it onto the road we’re currently hurtling down.
An awkwardly placed wall and the general lack to pruning of the roadside trees make it a death trap, and that just so happens to be what I need right now.
The jeep is reaching top speed. I tell Emma to watch the road and take the wheel as I focus all my attention on the car across the river. They’re about five car lengths ahead of us now and still pulling away slowly.
She seems to trust me enough to do what I’ve asked without the need for an explanation. I’ve got to get the timing perfect and I’ll only get one shot to time this right.
I begin to ease off on the accelerator, allowing them to pull even further ahead. Emma looks at me with a mix of urgency and puzzlement on her face. I see her stare at me in my peripheral vision as I focus on the other car.
She pauses for a second or two before her expression drops and she turns a shade whiter with the realisation that we’re not trying to outrun them; it’s a collision course we’re on.
I continue to subtly reduce my speed, as they put more and more distance between us, hoping they’re stupid enough to think they have us well beaten.
My eyes are glued to their car as I use every brain cell I have to try and judge their speed. I know we’ll lose sight of each other on the approach to the bridge and I need to predict when they’ll pop out the other side.
As they disappear behind the trees I straighten up, snap back control of the wheel from Emma and unleash the full power of the VW. There’s just enough road left ahead to reach ramming speed by the time we reach the junction.
It’s all down to the accuracy of my prediction now. I block out Emma’s protests but they do inspire slivers of self doubt. What if I’ve placed too much faith in the jeep’s durability? What if I don’t get the timing right? They could build up enough speed to cause us some serious damage. What if I’m in the middle of a sleep deprived, pep pill fuelled craze and leading us to disaster? Thank fuck I went for the jeep with the bull bars.
Whether its adrenalin or the pep pill cocktail taking effect, I’m feeling sharp, I feel good. I can see sweat droplets dripping off my hands and running down the wheel, I’m barely even aware of Emma’s presence next to me anymore but I know she’s shouting something.
If this is Society 2.0, well then I’m going to be a contributing citizen. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, I didn’t even realise I had a smile on my face.
The exit of the bridge is approaching at a blistering pace, thirty metres... twenty metres... ten metres, with no sign of the anything. I fucked it up.
At the last possible second, just as the self doubt is at its highest, out shoots the car. I catch a quick flash of the emotionless, dead eyed faces before the shock of impact and the detonation of multiple airbags shocks me back to reality. T-Bone!
I come to my senses to the sight of a large bloody chunk of hair, with scalp still attached, smeared across the shattered windscreen.
We’re at a dead stop five metres down the road and facing the opposite direction. I feel rattled to my bones, like I’ve just been rolled down a mountain in a barrel, straight into a brick wall. I think the small finger on my right hand is broken along with what feels like a cracked rib on my right side.
Emma has a trickle of blood running down between her eyes, and she’s nursing her right leg.
I clumsily grope around and flick on the wipers, only to see the little stump that’s left of the wiper wiggle about doing absolutely nothing to help the situation. I find this sight quite funny and without thinking I turn to Emma with a chuckle. She obviously doesn’t see the funny side.
...Matt would have found it funny.
Not much can be seen through the shattered, bloody windscreen, so I poke my head through the hole in the door next to me, where the window used to be.
I look around
to check on our would-be pursuers. It’s clear that four of the six are no longer a threat, especially the one and a half of them spread across the bonnet in front of me. It’s a grizzly sight. I turn my head and gag a little.
I regain my composure and step out to survey the damage. I’m struck by the calm of our surroundings, the speed, the adrenaline, the anger, the excitement, all replaced by the serenity of the Irish countryside.
The sun is beginning to set, filling the sky with a red tint and apart from the slight rustle of the warm breeze through the grass, there’s dead silence.
The car they we’re travelling in is mangled beyond recognition. The jeep tore through it like it was made of tinfoil. The VW has seen better days too. The bull bars took the brunt of the smash, but it’s sitting lopsided on the road with the front end pretty torn up. It’s hard to judge the extent of the damage with two carcasses still clinging to it, but by the looks of it the radiator is leaking a bit.
As I approach the wreck, I see that two more of them are clearly dead, there’s no doubt. Another is still in the car, in the back seat where the car took the least damage. She’s twitching and making an intermittent gurgling sound. I’m not even sure if that means she’s still alive or not. The last one is still trying his best to crawl towards me, but at this stage it’s apparent he’s no more of a threat than any of the others.
He looks to be in his mid twenties, dressed like any average person, a white hoody over a t-shirt and jeans. His clothes are covered in stains of all kinds, most of which are quite obviously blood. His face is white as a ghost with a large, badly infected gash torn along his left cheek.
I bend over and look into his eyes. I get close and meet his gaze; I see nothing. No pain, no fear, no hatred, only drive, the drive to reach me. He’s not looking at my eyes; he’s looking at me, like I’m an object. I’m his goal, his sole objective in life.
The Hibernia Strain Page 6
