“Emma,” I start, “I know you don’t really know me, but I’m asking you to please come with us. I don’t think it’s safe to be here on your own, what with asshole ex’s inside and sicko nutcases outside. I’m worried for you. I was thinking we could give you a lift somewhere safer like your parents’ farm? I’m sure they’ll be worried sick!”
She tries to interrupt, but I’m on a roll and don’t give her a chance as I carry on my rant.
“I mean what if something happens? Your mobile doesn’t even work. How will you get help?”
I’m nearly red in the face and panting from my outburst. My recently acquired confidence from the sword wielding is shunted aside momentarily.
Emma responds in a very matter of fact kind of a way.
“Okay look, firstly like I said the other night my parents are abroad on holidays at the moment so it’s possible they don’t even know what’s going on over here. And secondly, fine I’ll go with you but only to make you stop your raving. It’s a little embarrassing to say the least.”
She grins cheekily.
“It’s a deal,” I utter, relieved that she’s changed her mind.
“I think you’re on to something though about going to my parent’s farm. It pretty secluded so it should be free from unwanted visitors.”
“Great then we have a plan,” I chirp.
With our arrangement in place the mood in the room lightens and I feel more at ease.
“Answer me this Matt. Why do you care so much about looking after me? I mean, as you just said, you hardly even know me. Like your charming friend out there assumed, I’m just a bit of ass that you want to ride right?”
The surprise of this sudden crude question leaves me flustered. My confidence levels are now definitely back down in the dirt where they usually reside. I’m no good when put under this type of pressure.
Growing up as a shy kid lacking in interpersonal skills meant I never fully adjusted to dealing with certain situations. Being a loner is in my nature and it’s how I get along best in life. But who truly wants to live that way? I don’t, I never have, but ever since certain incidents when I was younger I just turned inward and away from society. The result of which is my being completely awkward in many everyday conversations but especially emotion based ones with the opposite sex.
“Well you see,” I begin to stutter.
Emma saves me from any further humiliation by flashing me that perfect smile of hers and saying, “I’m just screwin’ with ya. You really do make it too easy.”
She comes over to me and slides her arms around my waist, pulling me in close.
“I never did get to thank you properly for rescuing me the other night. Let’s just say last night was a minor indication of my gratitude,” she says as she runs a finger seductively from her perfect lips over her collar bone and down towards her flawlessly formed breasts which are nestled revealingly in her skimpy string top.
I’m almost drooling as she pulls away, leaving me standing there trying to conceal a semi, with thoughts of last nights’ fun racing through my head.
“I’m just going to throw a few things in a bag,” she toots as she trots off to her bedroom seemingly unaware of my tent pitching abilities. Jeez, that girl is one fucking prick tease.
I throw the sword onto the couch and go into the kitchen to check the portable radio for any updates. I turn it on and tune it to the government broadcast station. The same message is still playing. I listen to it again in case there might be a bit extra added to the end.
As I listen, I rummage around the cupboards throwing random packets of food into a discarded box. This might have to feed us for awhile.
With my entire concentration focused on the radio and supply foraging, I fail to hear the stealthy feet make their way up behind me.
By the time I notice the person’s reflection in the glass of the window it’s too late. I’m dragged to the ground and subdued by the full weight of a grown person pressing down on of me.
Who the hell is this? My immediate assumption is that Jason has decided to teach me a lesson but it quickly dawns on me that I left the front door unlocked after I persuaded him to leave. Some other randomer freak could have snuck in.
I’m spun around onto my back and my shoulders are pinned to the ground restricting my movement. This isn’t Jason that’s for sure, it’s an infected.
All I’m able to do is use my arms to hold back the advance of a grim looking face, but even this is futile as he traps my arms above my head. I’m totally defenceless.
We’re eye to eye as he begins to wretch, not dissimilar to a cat before it coughs up a hairball. I foresee what’s going to happen next so I suck in a deep breath, tighten my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut just in time as the manky liquid spews from his mouth and flushes over my face.
The smell is revolting. It stinks like the dressing on a cut that was left on too long and reeks of dead blood and puss and shit like that, except this is ten times more potent.
I continue to struggle but it’s no use. I don’t open my eyes or mouth for fear that some of the solution might happen to go in.
My lungs begin to burn; telling me I need to inhale more air, but I know if I do I’ll be inviting the infection into me.
My chest starts shaking as I’m about to let out a gasp. Shit. I exhale heavily just in time to hear a loud gurgle.
Suddenly, I’m free from the weight that was bearing down on me. All I can hear is Emma shouting at me to hold still.
With my eyes still closed I feel her wiping the crud from my lips, but it’s too late, I’ve already inhaled a hefty mouthful of oxygen and along with it surely some of the soon to be deceased’s oral discharge.
“Fuck,” I scream out long and hard knowing all too well I’m in serious trouble.
Emma, realizing the consequences of the dilemma I’m in, switches her tactics to panic mode and starts chucking pots of water over my head and face in an attempt to cleanse me.
All the time my attacker continues making disturbing noises but they’re fading fast. Emma follows up the dousing by giving my face a rough scrubbing with a towel.
“You can open your eyes now.”
I do, to the sight of her face above mine with tears streaming down her cheeks. Some droplets run into the sides of her mouth. Others collect at the tip of her nose, fall freely and splash against my nose and forehead.
For a split second, I’m perfectly content with the knowledge that somebody seems to care so genuinely about me. The flash of self gratification is fleeting however; as I spy the now departed remains of a fat lump of a man lying to one side. His throat pierced by my sword. The gurgling noise was him making his dying gasps for air as the blood from his wound choked out his lungs.
What a horrible way to go. I hope these poor contaminated unfortunates aren’t in any way conscious anymore and are simply mere puppets unable to comprehend or feel what’s happening to them.
Emma is still hovering over me crying. Is she upset because I’m in a major dilemma or is it because she just killed someone, no something more like, which earlier she protested so strongly against doing? Maybe it’s a little bit of both. It’s irrelevant right now regardless. I really do have such a pointless habit of wondering stupid things at inappropriate moments.
I pull myself together and lift my sorrowful ass off the floor.
“Salt. Where do you keep your salt?” I ask while spitting profusely in an attempt to remove as much as I can from my mouth.
“I don’t have any. I don’t keep any. Added salt to food is bad for your health.”
She’s crying hard and unable to complete her sentences. I root through her presses and find the one that I earlier noticed had herbs and spices in it. I spot a jar of nutmeg and grab it.
I recall from somewhere in the far recesses of my brain, a conversation I had with Shawn about how nutmeg can be toxic if eaten in a large dose and doing so can trigger severe nausea. Or, puke your ring up, is how he phrased it.
/>
I toss the lot in to a glass of water and gulp down the horrid mixture in one long swig. It’s difficult to swallow, and my taste buds are fighting me every drop of the way.
The reaction is almost instant, as my stomach rejects the lot and I start gagging everything up again, all over the kitchen worktops and floor. Great big warm mouthfuls of vomit.
When I can’t heave up any more, I go to the sink and put my head under the tap. I gargle and rinse my mouth out for another minute ensuring I’ve spat out everything possible.
Have I done enough? The only one way to find out is to wait and see if I transform into one of them. But how long does that take, minutes? Maybe even hours. Judging by everything we’ve seen up to this point, I reckon it won’t take too long.
Emma who has now stopped crying comes over to me. Her pretty eyes are all bloodshot.
“You don’t like me just because you want to get me into bed do you?” she asks. I shake my head.
“You like me because you’re genuine and sweet.”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Well in that case, you have to be okay because I like you very much too Matt. So promise me you’ll make it, so when all this is over you can bring me out for that breakfast date you owe me.”
“I promise,” I answer, despite the fact that I’ll probably be trying to eat her face by tomorrow and not in the good sexy way. We hug but it’s hard to enjoy it this time.
With all the niceties completed we both know what the next course of action is. We’re going to have to go our separate ways. It’s too dangerous to stay with Emma and Shawn. There’s no guarantee I was able to completely clear the infectious fluids out of my system. I could change into a slobbering monster at any given moment.
“Get the things you were packing.”
Emma obeys and nips quickly to her room; returning a few minutes later with her things. I grab the small box with the bits and pieces of food in it.
I take her hand and lead the way to the front door. I scout the surrounding area outside and upon seeing that the coast is clear we make a run for the jeep. Shawn is still there with the engine running.
When he sees us coming he unlocks the doors, reaches over to the passenger side and swings the door open.
“What took you guys so long and who was that irritating dick that came out of there and was begging me for a lift?” he asks as I help Emma in.
“Emma will explain later,” I reply hurriedly. He looks at me be muddled.
“You know that old abandoned hotel by the lake that we go to? Make your way there and wait for me. I’ll follow you both in a day or two.”
I turn my attention to Emma.
“If I don’t show assume the worst and stick to the original plan and head to your parent’s place.”
She nods but says nothing. Shawn tries questioning my words.
“There’s no time Shawn. Just hit the road and drive hard. Keep her safe for me.”
He still isn’t sure what’s happening, but I know he trusts me enough not to question any further, so he answers with an abrupt, “Ok,” followed by a reassuring thumbs up.
I gently stroke Emma’s cut cheek once with the back of my fingers.
“Stay safe and I’ll see you soon.”
She says nothing. Her eyes are beginning to well up again so I hand her the box of food before kissing her forehead. I shut the door before things get too emotional and tap the roof. On hearing my signal, Shawn salutes me goodbye as he puts the jeep in gear and pulls off.
I don’t stay to watch. Instead, I turn and retreat back to the seclusion of Emma’s rundown digs. As I run I hear Emma’s poignant voice trailing from the departing vehicle.
“Mountain View, our farm’s name is Mountain View.”
I’ll need to make sure I remember that.
After returning inside, I lock the door and start pushing as much furniture as I can against it. When I’m satisfied it’s safe, it dawns on me that all I’ve eaten in the last two days or so is the pizza yesterday and some toast and juice. I never did get my chicken wrap.
My stomach growls in time with my thoughts. I don’t really want to, but the pangs of hunger are strong enough to force me into approaching the blood and vomit drenched kitchen. The corpse is still lying there, giving me the creeps.
“You stay right there,” I gesture with a wagging finger. The bloodstained sword is lying to one side. I pick it up and gingerly wipe down the blade.
I decide to avoid the rest of that part of the kitchen entirely and instead rummage around some of the blood splatter free cupboards.
I come across Emma’s stash of chocolate. She’s obviously a big chocolate fan. Being a self confessed chocoholic, I understand her addiction and cast no judgement. Instead, I grab a large handful of various treats and abandon that area of the house, locking myself in the bedroom. I barricade myself in; ensuring I’ll be undisturbed.
I go to lie on the bed. As my head hits the pillow, Emma’s scent lifts into the air around me and I breathe it in through flared nostrils. I think of how intoxicated I was by this smell when she stood so close to me in the alleyway. I hope she’ll be safe. I know she’s in good hands with Shawn.
I tear open the wrapper of a chocolate bar and take a voracious bite. Even though I’m hungry, my stomach still doesn’t feel quite right after the dose of nutmeg earlier.
As I’m chewing fingers of tiredness start to caress my mind. It’s only the afternoon but I haven’t slept since yesterday morning. I’m fading fast.
I can’t help noticing I have a warm sensation around my extremities. Is this a sign that it’s the beginning of the end for me? I say a prayer in my head and plead with God to protect me. It’s all out of my control now.
I decide to give being courageous in the face of adversity a go. There’s no point in crying now. I slide the sword alongside me underneath the bed covers and then curl up.
I swallow the final gooey mouthful of my snack as I drift off into a deep overdue sleep, with thoughts of the beautiful Emma rippling through my psyche.
Please let me keep my promise.
SHAWN
7
Twenty seven minutes! It’s been twenty-seven minutes since either of us said a word. It’s half an hour since we drove off and left Matt behind in that shithole of an apartment.
She’s sitting next to me in the passenger seat with a vacant expression on her face. I’m staring out the windscreen of my new wheels at the road with a puzzled look on my face. I’m still trying to make sense of the piss poor excuse for an explanation she gave me as to why we had to leave Matt behind.
Matt, who is the closest thing I have to a brother, made it plenty clear that it was vital we part ways for a while and that Emma would explain everything. I know Matt well enough to listen when he has his serious face on.
Unfortunately, once we pulled off and Matt was out of sight, all I got from her was a minute or two of sobbing, before she spit out a muddled hysteric account involving somebody named Jason and nutmeg flavoured vomit.
Matt’s got a level head, but when it comes to women he’s made some dodgy choices. Although he’s never really talked much about it, I know he’s gotten messed around pretty bad a few times.
It occurs to me that she may be shaken up and upset, and that possibly some restraint and compassion may be in order on my behalf. BUT NO! The situation is too serious, and besides, that’s never been my style anyway.
I mean, who is this person sitting beside me? Did she flutter her eyelids at Matt just so she’d have a convenient knight in shining armour to escort her through this mess that’s going on? Who is this Jason character she mentioned? Some ex boyfriend from what I could gather from her rambling.
I turn my head and give her the eyeball in an attempt to provoke a reaction of some kind, conscious of the fact that she may still be a bit bent out of shape from our little exchange earlier. I get nothing, not a flinch!
I turn my head and face forward again. The roads are emp
ty except for the odd car I see speeding by on other roads in the distance, and the increasing number of cars I’m encountering, apparently abandoned on the side of the road.
Frustrated by the lack of response from Emma regarding when, where or even if we’ll see Matt again, I turn back to her and without thinking I say in a crude tone, “So who the hell are you again?”
I regret my lack of finesse almost immediately. The aggressive manor of my question doesn’t go unnoticed by Emma either, as it seems to have opened the flood gates on something that had been brewing since the journey began.
She springs to life with a barrage of indecipherable ranting and abuse, from which all I can make out, is along the lines of, “How the hell did I let myself get caught in this situation with a juvenile psycho like you,” which I think is a reference to our earlier argument.
I hear Matt’s name interspersed in the verbal avalanche, but I can’t tell in what context. I’m no stranger to provoking this kind response in women, but given recent events, and the fact that it’s been ages since I’ve slept, my ability to tune it out is failing me.
I find myself wondering if Matt’s sudden need to be alone wasn’t an elaborate ruse to unload this toxic chick on me. I dismiss the thought as unlikely... but possible.
In an attempt to break her rant I shout back at her, “If you’re so interested in Matt; why did you leave him back there?”
She pauses for a moment as her eyes tear up. I can’t tell if this is a result of sorrow or rage.
In a more focused and accusing voice she looks at me and says, “Well YOU didn’t hang around too long after he asked you to leave either.”
I dig my fingernails into the steering wheel in an attempt to restrain myself. In my sleep deprived state I can’t take this shite anymore.
I take a sharp turn off the road into an empty supermarket car park and bring the car to an abrupt stop in the first parking space I see.
Turning in my seat to face Emma, I raise my finger in an aggressive gesture and begin a rant of my own.
The Hibernia Strain Page 5