Struggle (The Hibernia Strain)

by Peterson, Albert

  “Oh it’s nothing really, just a private joke.”

  “I see. Well you mustn’t be feeling too bad if you can manage a laugh. Here, take these.”

  He hands me the packet of morphine tablets from earlier, as well as a small green medical bag.

  “I’ll leave you in charge of self medicating yourself. You should apply some of this antiseptic cream and bandages on a daily basis to help prevent infection too.”

  I take the stash, place it securely in my hoody pocket and thank him.

  “By the way, don’t let her get to ya okay. She’s just on edge. I can’t say I blame her. We’re trained to deal with some heavy shit, but this right here is a whole different ballgame.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t. I can totally understand where she’s coming from.”

  Happy that we all seem to be on the same wavelength, he leaves the room and goes into the one opposite mine, returning minutes later with a selection of different foods.

  It turns out they horded all the food and supplies they could find from around the hospital and stored it in there.

  I’m still famished despite eating a hearty meal earlier so I proceed to fill my face with packet sandwiches, fruit and some crisps.

  Once I’ve gorged myself, I feel like resting for a bit, so I push my seat close to the window and angle the blinds in such a fashion that I’m inconspicuous to the outside world. I can easily scrutinise the vast expanses lying out in front of me from this high vantage point.

  The hospital is on the edge of the city. The immediate area surrounding it isn’t densely built up and there are plenty of green areas. Further in the distance, plumes of smoke swirl into the sky. Presumably it’s the result of the infected setting fire to buildings to force the inhabitants to take flight in to the dangerous streets outside. Such cruel master mindedness it is.

  The road networks are quiet now. It’s hardly surprising. Its being so many days since this all began, that anyone who hasn’t fled already probably isn’t going to now. Is there even anyone left to flee?

  I hold strong at my lookout post until darkness begins to fall. With the visibility reduced, there’s little point in continuing. I close the blinds and move into the hallway.

  A dim radiance illuminates the hall from the various emergency exit signs and other minor light sources scattered about, like vending machines and blinking medical equipment. The hospital must have its own backup generator.

  I can tell from the glow being emitted from the scope on Siobhan’s gun that it has night vision equipped. She’s as tentative to her duties as ever, still scanning the far end of the hall.

  “I hope you don’t cramp up,” I whisper, trying to show some friendly pseudo concern.

  She looks away for the first time from her target area, and throws me the dirtiest of looks. Even through the shadowiness, her glare pierces into me making me wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I’m glad I’m not one of the infected, because I’m afraid to think what she’d do to me if she got her hands on me.

  A quiet snigger from Flynn is enough to break her stare and she returns to her scope. I make a wide eyed questioning gesture to him. He just comically throws a hand in the air.

  He has to pull it down again with speed to grab a hold of his weapon, as a few rounds burst forth from the muzzle of Siobhan’s machine gun. The rounds flash up the hallway like shooting stars lighting up the night sky, until they thud into their intended targets. My ears are ringing from the loudness of the firing.

  “Targets down,” she informs us, “If there’s more of ‘em then they’re gonna know were here now.”

  Flynn unhesitatingly ushers me into the lift and hands me his side arm from a holster strapped to his leg.

  “You know how to use one of these?” he questions.

  I shake my head.

  “It’s easy, look here. Safety on, safety off, squeeze the trigger to shoot,” he explains as he demonstrates the gun.

  “It’s simple right? Use it only if you have to ok, there’s only one magazine.”

  “INCOMING,” is the call from Siobhan, as she lights up the corridor once again with a hail of gun fire. Flynn flicks on a light switch before hurriedly joining her. The fluorescent bulbs slowly flicker to life, as he takes a kneeling position just as a herd of aggressors come barging round the corner.

  I wait in the lift, shakily holding the gun upright. Admittedly it does make me feel slightly more protected than if I didn’t have it.

  The hall now fully lit up from the strip lighting on the ceiling, enables us to see exactly what were dealing with. Corporal Fitzgerald mows down the majority with sustained firing, while Walker picks off any that manage to make it past her stream of bullets.

  I count ten to have fallen but more keep coming. This next lot are smarter however. They don’t just rush headlong into the bullets. Instead they’re seeking out cover in doorways and anywhere else that will provide shelter. The screams and taunting roars that can be heard through the intermittent firing, is not just intimidating, but pants soilingly terrifying.

  Some have managed to weasel their way to about halfway up the hall, about thirty feet away from us.

  “Tac reload,” Flynn shouts as he swops out one cartridge of ammo for another. His speed is impressive and I can only assume he’s spent many an hour practising.

  He just about gets his eye to his sights again as a mass of bodies comes barrelling towards us. Some of whom are carrying blunt objects such as bed pans and medical equipment to offer limited protection from the bullets.

  Most fall as the bullets rip through them but the overwhelming numbers mean that they’re gaining ground on us too quickly. Flynn taps Siobhan on the shoulder to indicate retreating. She doesn’t budge. He attempts to help her up but she pushes him away.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” she bellows.

  “I’m not leaving you,” he argues.

  “There’s no time to move me. Just go,” she counter argues defiantly.

  Earlier, it struck me as strange that they hadn’t shared shifts aiming down the corridor, but I just shrugged it off as her being thorough. I hadn’t paid enough attention to notice, but now Flynn’s attempt to help her to her feet has unearthed a well hidden secret.

  The unnatural positioning of her legs is a dead giveaway that one of them is broken. To avoid slowing down our escape she’s going to sacrifice herself. I swallow hard; disgusted with the fact we’re just going to leave her here to die.

  Flynn moves backwards into the lift, kicking away the fire extinguisher in the process, but holds the door open with his hand as if to give her time to reconsider. She doesn’t budge.

  “SIOBHAN,” he shouts, but she still stays put.

  With a quick turn of her head, she mouths the words “Go,” before facing away again, letting us know she’s intent on killing as many as she can.

  With the horde almost upon us, Flynn releases his grip on the door and fires until it shuts across in front of him.

  “Stupid crazy bitch,” he roars thumping the metal walls in frustration and anger.

  As the lift moves I can still hear the rattle of the Browning until it stops all of a sudden. No more shots are heard ringing throughout the hospital.

  I drop my head as a sign of respect and sorrow for the obvious outcome of Siobhan’s suicidal showdown. Flynn’s equally dejected, but is managing to keep himself together.

  Before we had ever gotten into the lift, it was already prepared to go to the underground car park.

  “When the doors open, run for the jeep. It’s parked beside the lift entrance,” Flynn instructs.

  “Got ya.”

  I watch the as the floor numbers come and go as we pass each level. Then to my dismay I notice the button for the first floor lighting up, indicating that someone there has pressed the button. Flynn must have noticed too as he holds his right arm out against my chest and directs me right up against the back wall.

  “Crouch,” he whispers.

  We both t
ake up a kneeling position and point our respective guns at the door.

  The lift bell dings and the door folds open. Standing there with his back to us is a lone man; distracted by something in the distance and seemingly unaware that the lift has arrived.

  I’m confused as what to do, unable to tell if he’s infected or not. So here we stand in silence, guns aimed at his head, reluctant to make our presence known and find out his true form.

  The few seconds it takes for the door to begin sliding shut again feel like an eternity. However, as it gradually rolls and scrapes its way across its rails I breathe a sigh of relief and lower my gun arm.

  That is until a wandering hand shoves itself in the way of the door at the last second, causing the safety mechanism to fling it wide open again.

  Standing there, facing us this time is a man in his late forties or early fifties. One hand remains on the lift door and the other is clutching his shoulder. A trickle of blood is extruding from between his fingers.

  Obviously taken aback by the realisation that two guns are being shoved in his face he retreats back a couple of steps.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” he pleads.

  He can talk! That means he’s human right?

  “Please help me. Some maniac has bitten me badly. Just two minutes ago. Won’t you do something please?”

  Fuck it. It’s already too late for him.

  He takes a step towards us, still begging for assistance.

  “Step back,” Flynn commands in a strong and insistent voice. The man hesitates momentarily from this surprise, before resuming his grovelling advance.

  “I said move back, NOW,” Flynn barks the order this time.

  His gun held strong and steady, unlike mine which is shaking around in my hands.

  A lack of compliance from the obviously distressed man is rewarded with a hefty kick to his mid rift. This sends him stumbling backwards; eventually landing in a heap on the floor.

  “Why won’t you help me?”

  The word ‘me’ extends into a blood curdling shriek, as his body begins to writhe around on the floor. It’s a really freaky and disconcerting sight.

  The lift door has begun closing again, as the now metamorphosed guy rises up and makes an attempt to rush us. Flynn lowers the barrel of his gun, and squeezes off a couple of rounds into the legs of the oncoming threat.

  The door grinds shut just in time to absorb the full wallop of the falling mass of flesh. That’s what I call a close escape.

  The lift continues its descent until it finally reaches the car park. We ready ourselves to dash as the door slides open. Before exiting the lift I run my finger over all the buttons, so any pursuer’s intent on using it will have to wait for it to go from floor to floor before it can return here.

  Once were clear of the lift I can see that we have company. On the opposite side of the car park is an escalator that leads to the main reception area upstairs. Several runners are making their way down it. The jeep is equidistant between us and them.

  The race is on and I start pumping my legs hard. The exertion is taking its toll on my side, as the wound is getting taut and stretched by my movements. But I have no choice except to grin and bear the pain.

  Our efforts pay off as we make it to the jeep first. Hopping in, we lock the doors just in time, as windows and bodywork start to take a pummelling from raggedy fists. The windows appear to be made from specially toughened glass as they’re absorbing the heaviest of hits.

  Flynn is casually readying himself before he commences driving. He slides on a pair of aviator style shades and buckles his seatbelt. He obviously has the utmost confidence in the durability of this automobile. This self-assurance doesn’t instil much faith in me, so I nervously suggest we should get going quickly.

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, glints me a wry smile whilst turning the key in the ignition and presses play on the CD player. He floors the throttle as ‘Back to Black’ by ACDC begins to blare from the speakers. A trail of rubber is left on the smooth grey cement as the wheels spin to life. Flynn blatantly has a fondness for being an exhibitionist.

  Bodies are bundled in every direction as they bounce off the sleek exterior of the jeep. Flynn carefully navigates through the multitude of columns and parked cars before smashing the candy striped barrier pole as he makes his dramatic exit.

  I look over at him. A smug expression lines his face. He’s such a cocky bastard. But in fairness he got us out of there alive, so I have to give him that much at least.

  The roads are just as empty as they were three days ago, meaning our path to freedom opens up before us.

  “Now then, where are we off to next my friend?” Flynn throws the question out there.

  “Well if you could drop me off near the lake in Gregory Woods...”

  I trail off without finishing the sentence, because I’ve noticed that a troubled look has replaced Flynn’s brash facial expression.

  “Shit,” he mutters as he puts a heavy foot on the gas and rapidly builds up to a high speed.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “We’ve got company.”

  Looking over my shoulder and out the back window, I spot two cars in hot pursuit.

  “You’re kidding me right. Those things can’t actually drive, can they?” I blurt out.

  “It would appear so.”

  So not only do these wankers have an unquenchable desire to assimilate us, they have the means to chase us down by car as well!

  I previously figured out that during the first stages of infection their mobility seemed to remain unaffected, but I would never have dreamed they’d still possess the ability to drive or manage other such complex functions. How naive of me. I guess Flynn didn’t cop on to this fact either, otherwise I’m sure he wouldn’t have pricked about so long in the car park.

  Regardless of what happened before, we’re in this predicament now, and it’s not going to be an easy one to resolve.

  Were travelling along at high speed, but can’t manage to shake them as we pass several abandoned cars and vans. Flynn must have special training for high speed pursuits, because he seems unfazed as he weaves around them all. This buys us some distance but it’s still not enough to lose the two cars.

  When we come to a clear stretch of road they begin catching up. Their lighter cars are more than a match for our heavier reinforced jeep.

  “We’re gonna need to try something different,” I sputter as I’m tossed about my seat from the wilfully dangerous driving.

  “Let’s try this then. Hold on!”

  There’s nothing to grab a hold of, so I make do with pressing my hands flat against the dashboard in anticipation of some reckless manoeuvre.

  Flynn certainly doesn’t disappoint. Lowering his window, he flips them off. Great plan, piss them off even more.

  He slows, allowing them to get closer, before slamming on the brakes, causing the lead car to rear end us and the second one to smack into the back of them.

  I’m jerked forward but fortunately my hand positioning is good enough to soak up the force. Next he removes something, which I can’t quite make out, from his uniform and discreetly drops it out the window before accelerating away so fast that I’m sucked deep into my seat.

  We get about thirty feet away in the three seconds it takes for the grenade to detonate. We just made it out of the blast radius, as little bits of shrapnel ding against the roof.

  The shock wave produced by the explosion was enough to immobilize the first car, which in turn obstructs the second, allowing us to make a clean getaway.

  As if nothing just happened, Flynn calmly continues our conversation from earlier.

  “So where is it you said you wanted to go? Some lake somewhere was it?”

  The coolness of this flashy bastard has me impressed, but at the same time he still annoys me just as he did the first time we met. Maybe I’m just a little bit jealous of how self confident he appears or maybe it’s because he reminds me o
f just another one of those cocky assholes I dislike so much.

  Maybe I’m the asshole for categorising him without even knowing him all that well. After all, he does appear to walk the walk and not just talk a big game. And I guess he did just save our asses on top of that. Although at the same time he could just as easily have killed us both with his risky plan.

  Despite the advantages of having someone around with his expertise, the sooner we split up the better. I’ll be safer moving about on my own.

  I take a deep breath, puff out my cheeks and slowly draw out the words, “Yup, Gregory Woods.”

  “Gregory Woods it is then,” he says smartly as he rolls up his window, knowing full well he has me flabbergasted.

  I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last couple of hours and can’t help thinking there are more dangers lying in wait ahead.

  2

  The wound on my side is starting to bother me. The hard suspension bouncing around on every bump in the road sends tremors up my body.

  It’s been awhile since I took a pain pill, so I rummage around in the little first aid bag Flynn gave me and pull out the packet of tablets. I snap one tablet out of its foil holder before carefully placing the packet back in the bag.

  We don’t have any water so I’m forced to swallow it as is. This is something I’ve always hated doing, as no matter what type of pill it is, big or small, capsule or coated tablet, they always manage to get caught in my throat causing me to gag. It’s not a particularly nice feeling but the increasing pain level is all the motivation I need to get me over my dislike.

  Building up a mouthful of spit, I pop the tablet onto my tongue and swallow hard. The lot disappears down into my stomach. I don’t experience any uncomfortable gagging at all. I suppose it’s the least of my worries at the moment.

  We’re finally getting close to the hotel, but I’m feeling concerned about wisps of grey smoke that are visibly wafting into the sky.

  On any other day I wouldn’t pass any heed of this, but seeing as the hotel is in an isolated location with no other buildings nearby, and the fact that it’s supposed to be abandoned, I can’t help worrying something’s wrong.