The Hibernia Strain

by Peterson, Albert

Bang. A heavy hit shatters the passenger side window but it stays in place. Thousands of little glass pieces make up an intriguing jigsaw puzzle.

  There’s a second wallop and the window caves in, sending glass everywhere.

  A little more speed is all I need. I just hope they aren’t clever enough to somehow jam up my wheels.

  As if he was somehow reading my mind, the jerk on the driver side, who obviously can’t run anymore, decides to fling himself into the path of the front wheel in a last ditch effort to slow me down. The car bumps and kicks slightly, as it bobbles over what looks like his leg, but it doesn’t slow down.

  Meanwhile, his longhaired companion has made a failed attempt to lunge in the broken window. His efforts have fallen well short, but he did manage to hold on to the window frame.

  Blood streams from his fingers as shards of glass pierce deep into them. He’s being dragged along like a rag doll and it’s hindering my speed. This combined with the fact I’m about to reach level road means it’s now or never to try the start.

  I depress the clutch, and knock the gear stick into reverse. I quickly release the clutch pedal and start giving it some throttle. The engine chokes for a second before roaring into life and jerks backwards as I over-rev it.

  The sudden increase in speed dislodges the window hanger and he tumbles along the road. I slam on the brakes. The car jolts to a standstill.

  Throughout this entire harrowing experience, I’ve tried to maintain a level of composure. I’ve tried to prevent my humanitarian side from snapping; not wanting to cause harm just in case the zombies could still have a chance to regain their former humanness.

  The only problem is I’m feeling this ordeal is finally catching up with me and something has sparked inside of me. These grunts are no longer human. All they care about is devouring society. My society, and no matter how cruelly it may have treated me in the past, I can’t stand seeing it being brutalised in such a manner, even if I am a coward.

  There certainly is something of an affinity between the defenceless general public in all this and my own mistreated upbringing; both being tortured by an overbearing and seemingly unbeatable force.

  These infected, despite being victims themselves, are no longer human and there’s probably no hope of getting them back. They’re nothing but sadistic bullies now. Meat puppets to a domineering virus master.

  I see red. Knocking the gear stick into first, I floor the accelerator.

  I have no feeling of joy or satisfaction as I mow down the lowly miscreant. The thud against my bumper doesn’t exactly fill me with remorse either. If I’m going to survive, if I’m going to protect those few I care about then I must be callus.

  Leaving the hit and run behind me, I get back to following my agenda and head for the hotel. It’s about an hour’s drive.

  I wonder if the others made it safe and sound. In that beast of a jeep they surely wouldn’t have encountered any problems. Every possible scenario is running through my head but I realise there’s no point in dreaming up contemplations. I’m only cluttering my brain with unnecessary distractions.

  Speaking of distractions... Emma. It’s typical, I finally meet a girl like her and Armageddon decides to begin. She’s brave, smart and the right mix of in your face, yet sensitive. Oh ya and not forgetting the hotness levels.

  I can’t help allowing myself to fantasize about how good she’d be in the sack. If my impure thoughts and previous encounter are anything to go by, then I wouldn’t be disappointed.

  I feel a little embarrassed when I wonder just what she’d think of me if she could glimpse at the images in my head right this minute. I allow myself a slight laugh out loud at the notion. Ah testosterone, even when the world is in jeopardy, it can still leave men sexually yearning.

  With my voyeuristic imagination satisfied for the moment I turn my attention to the radio. I tune in the emergency station, but there’s no reception from it.

  Did something happen to the president? Was his secure location also compromised? It’s not altogether unlikely. If the infected really are as cunning as they seem to be then there’s no reason they couldn’t figure out how to get to him.

  I wonder if it’s possible the virus is able to use each individuals own knowledge to its benefit. If that’s the case, then how do you beat something that knows its enemy secrets? Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just run and hide and try to outlast it. After all isn’t that my plan in essence? Escape to the countryside, lay low and hope the military, scientists or somebody else comes up with an answer. One way or another, that’s all I can do.

  On the constructive side, I’m not a doctor or medical researcher who can formulate a cure for this condition. On the other hand if the whole population is turned into zombies there’s no way I can kill them all. It’s not physically possible. So yes I’ll run, and I’ll hide, but if the need to stand and fight arises then I won’t falter. That however will be a very last resort.

  I recall Toma’s degenerative state, and how I predicted that she had a week maximum to live before her body would cease to function. With this presumption I decipher that if we can hold out and avoid detection for maybe a month, the virus may spread throughout the population and then proceed to die out naturally. It’d be even better if there were some sort of divine intervention, but realistically this is at least a slice of hope to cling on to.

  I’m so engrossed in my own little world of thoughts and possibilities that the impact comes without any warning.

  The lack of a seatbelt and the fact it’s a direct hit on the driver side leaves me with little hope of avoiding serious injury.

  The airbags deploy, but do little to protect me as I’m sent reeling around the inside of the car as it rolls several times.

  The car must have ended up on its roof because I can woozily make out the floor looking down on me.

  My body isn’t in agony, but I know I’m not right. I can’t really think or breathe. I feel dizzy and unable to focus my vision. I’m groggy like I’ve been on the beer for a few days straight.

  The last thing I see before I pass out is a single pair of feet outside the window. The door opens and I’m slowly dragged out of the wreck.

  Friend or foe I can’t tell, but I’m at their mercy whoever or whatever they are. As I try to adjust my vision I’m able to make out the outline of a bloody face mouthing some inaudible words at me. It’s too late for anymore as I slip into unconsciousness.

  SHAWN

  11

  We’re motoring along admirably considering our transport has survived two head on impacts in a single day. That being said, the purr of the engine has been replaced by what sounds like a bucketful of nails in a washing machine.

  My mind is put at ease a little however, now that I can’t see steam leaking from the left side of the crippled bonnet anymore. The fact this is simply because it’s dark now isn’t lost on me, but you have to take whatever little positives you can sometimes.

  Despite the warm summer night, the lack of a windscreen is making the journey a nightmare, with no protection from the unrelenting stream of air blasting into my face.

  I just can’t keep warm, and I’m actually starting to worry my eyeballs are going to dry up and fall out of my head.

  The two of us attempted conversation for a while after getting back on the road, but Emma gave up after ten minutes of having to shout just to be heard and crawled into the back seat, before wrapping up tight and lying down to hibernate.

  I’m driving way faster than I should, especially since the one remaining headlight is bent downwards, providing a very small visible area of road in front of me. I’m in the middle of the road, using the centre line as my only guide, with no idea what is more than ten feet ahead of me.

  I’ve no real means of telling where we are either, as I can’t even see any road signs, but I know the area and I’m just hoping I’m lucid enough to get us there on memory alone, making adjustments as we encounter each junction and roundabout.

 
As I squint, and strain to focus on the speeding dashed white lines disappearing beneath the front of the jeep, the only positive I can think of is there’s no chance of me nodding off at the wheel.

  We’re in the middle of the country; it’s about as rural as it gets but we’re close now. The hotel is down a side avenue just over the next hill.

  I pull in and park underneath some low hanging branches before cutting the lights and engine. Remaining seated I take the opportunity to close my eyes. I place my thumb and index finger on my ice cold eyelids and gently rub them in the hope it will somehow have a rehydrating effect.

  It’s the longest moment of relaxation I’ve had in a while. My body is crying out for a few hours rest, so the sooner we’re out of this shattered shell of a vehicle and get secure in the hotel the better.

  I turn around to rouse Emma. She’s already up and ready. The unexpected sight of her silhouette in the back seat sends a shot of adrenalin throughout my system, returning me to a full state of alertness.

  “Why are we stopped in the middle of nowhere? Where’s the hotel?”

  She’s talking in a low whisper, which seems loud in the absolute calm of the undergrowth.

  “It’s just over the hill; we’re on foot from here. I want to scope the place out before we make our presence too obvious. We mightn’t be the only ones with the bright idea to come here.”

  As we leave the car far behind and walk through the ridiculously overgrown avenue in complete darkness, the sound of the lapping water from the lake shore to our right is our sole frame of reference for direction.

  Emma’s struggling with the tangled mess of briars we’re crossing in order to keep up to me, her floaty skirt and bare legs taking the occasional graze.

  I slow down, allowing her to come up close behind me. Placing her hand gently on my left arm she quietly asks, “Are you sure there’s a hotel around here?”

  Her enquiry exposes a lack of confidence in my navigation abilities, but it’s a fair question. After all, we did drive here in almost complete darkness, and I am now leading her deeper and deeper into thick vegetation, in what must seem like the middle of nowhere to her. Frankly, I’m a bit flattered she’s put this much faith in me, given my less than stable behaviour lately.

  Luckily, I know this area like the back of my hand and truth be told, I know the route better in the dark than I do in the daylight. I’ve been here so many times in my younger days.

  It’s an old disused hotel from the twenties that overlooks the lake, it’s long ago been reclaimed by nature. The route in is so obscured and overgrown that few people even remember it exists. The only ones being the old coot that owns the land and some of the older locals, all of whom are convinced it’s haunted.

  I discovered it late one night in my teens after I was kicked out of the car belonging to some bird I had met in the local pub. She was taking me back to hers, but was less than impressed when half way there I threw up in her lap while leaning in for a snog.

  Out of pure frustration, she opened my door and literally pushed me out onto the road. She barely even slowed down. In hindsight I can’t say I blame her. I might have had a few too many that night and with my sense of pain still dulled by whiskey, I actually found it hilarious.

  After stumbling around lost in a drunken stupor for a while, I must have wandered up the overgrown lane to the hotel, because the next morning I woke up inside it, covered in scratches and bruises. I was in an old rusted bath tub, next to the window I’d broken to get in through.

  Throughout the rest of our teens, Matt and I ended up using it as a place to bring girls and let the spookily romantic lakeside setting create the mood while the alcopops cooled in the lake water.

  Emma, who’s still holding my arm leans in and asks, “So how do you and Matt even know about this place?”

  I waste no time in giving a suitable vague answer, “Fishing trip.”

  It’s too dark for her to see the smile on my face.

  It’s been a while but the area hasn’t changed a bit. I’m almost feeling nostalgic.

  The hotel sits in a large clearing in the centre of the wooded area. As we’re approaching the edge of the greenery, even before the hotel is in sight, it’s apparent that there’s light coming from the area ahead of us.

  I hunker down and approach the edge of the clearing, concealing myself in one of the denser bushes. Emma follows my lead. It’s hard not to notice how the dynamic between us has shifted lately. As we’re sitting here undercover, her focus is on the glow coming from beyond us, but she’s keeping very close to me with both arms now held loosely around my left arm and her cheek pressed against my shoulder.

  I poke my face through the bushy foliage; from where we are we’ve got a complete view of the crumbling building and the surrounding open area. The sight I’m faced with causes a swell of anger to rise up inside me.

  It looks like a full house and whoever the idiots inside are, they’ve the place lit up like a Christmas tree inside and have built a fire outside.

  Although their presence wasn’t obvious on the side we approached from, I know all this illumination will stick out like a sore thumb from across the lake, despite the tree cover.

  This pack of knobs are ruining what is possibly the most secure place for miles, they’re broadcasting its position to half the fucking countryside.

  I stand up and begin to plough forward out of cover and into the opening with the intention of busting in there and straightening these pricks out. Even in doing so, I can’t tug free of Emma’s grip.

  As my face begins to clear the leafy barrier, I spot the outline of a motionless white face just inside the cover on the opposite side of the hotel. Without hesitation I turn and reverse course, bundling Emma back into cover.

  This sudden unexpected reversal of direction causes her to trip and fall backwards onto the soft undergrowth, taking me down with her. I land as softly as possibly right on top of her, leaving us face to face again.

  Shit! Did he see us? I don’t think we were spotted but I’m afraid any movement might highlight out position. I carefully raise my index finger and press it to Emma’s lips, although I think she’s figured out the situation already.

  There might be just the one of them over there, but for all I know there could be ten of the bastards. We’ve no choice but to stay perfectly still for the moment. If he’d spotted us I think we’d know by now.

  Unfortunately, the two of us are stuck indefinitely in this embarrassing position, there’s that awkward feeling again.

  With the poor glow coming through the leaves, I can’t make out Emma’s face clearly but by the twinkle of reflected light from her eyes I can tell she’s looking at me, I can already feel the blood draining from my brain again.

  The temporary distraction is broken as I’m suddenly aware of a sharp crack nearby; there’re footsteps approaching. Whoever it is, they’re making an effort to be stealthy, but that’s next to impossible with all the dead wood and twigs scattered around.

  Did he see us and circle around? The sound is getting closer, heading directly towards us. Every instinct tells me to rush him head first, strike before he gets the upper hand, but it should be next to impossible for him to pinpoint us in this light, in such thick cover. If I’m patient I might get the opportunity to surprise him as he passes.

  He’s almost here. I have an overpowering urge to adopt a defensive stance instead of lying on my belly on top of Emma. It feels wrong to be so vulnerable, but I’ve got to keep in control.

  He’s right on top of us now. I can feel Emma’s heart thumping alongside mine. I see his feet. He’s come to a stop two yards from our heads and is just staring out at the hotel.

  The smell of his rancid Adidas shoes, dripping with various bodily fluids is enough to bring vomit to the back of my throat. I begin to slowly wrap my right hand around a grapefruit sized stone that’s lying next to Emma’s head in preparation for a surprise attack. However, before I can execute the manoeuvre I feel
Emma’s petit fingers wrap around my wrist and squeeze. She’s subtly shaking her head.

  She’s picked up on something! This isn’t the guy I spotted across the way at all. There’s more than one of them, a lot more. Shit! I hear them now, they’re all around us. The woods have come to life with the noise of them moving.

  There must be twenty of them at least. We were never spotted at all, they have no idea we’re here. They’re gathering here just inside the tree line for a coordinated surprise attack on whoever’s inside the hotel.

  I hadn’t credited the spooks with having two brain cells to rub together when I first saw them, but it looks like what I was starting to suspect is right. Their single mindedness is evident by this fellow’s lack of concern for his own wellbeing. He’s covered with lots of untreated, bleeding and infected wounds, probably inflicted as he himself was being infected.

  On the other hand, this show of structured coordination confirms what I was afraid of; they’re fully capable of using full intellect to achieve their obsessive goal of spreading their filthy infection.

  I have to do something to warn whoever’s inside. With a bit of a heads up they might still have some chance of defending themselves or possibly even getting away, but there are at least three spooks within a few metres of us now.

  What can I possibly do without completely fucking us both over in the process? The answer is simple I’m afraid, nothing, nothing at all. It’s a noble thought, to risk sacrificing ourselves and potentially save at least some of the crowd inside the house, but these guys are out of luck today.

  Why should I make a possibly suicidal choice for Emma and me to save these people who mean nothing to me, people who didn’t even have the sense to keep a low profile? This is survival, and there’s no question who’s earned it here. But... they are people.

  The spooks are all beginning to silently step out into the clearing, converging on the structure with no audible method of communication to synchronise the start of their advance.

  There must be forty of them now, all out in full view, slowly but steadily closing the distance to the hotel from every angle in one big enclosing circle. They’re not tripping over themselves to get there either. Patience is the key to any successful hunt.