That’s right; I haven’t been here since I left home to find work when I was seventeen.
Straight out of secondary school after my exams, I headed to Galway in search of a job, any job, with the aim of starting a new life for myself.
I had little more to my name than a backpack of clothes and the little savings I had accrued over my teenage years.
I found a shitty room to rent and was lucky enough to get a job working in a factory. They hired people without any specific education qualifications. Easy work and the wages weren’t too bad either. That’s why I’m still working there. Well, not anymore I guess.
That fucking sheep shagger! I was doing just fine for myself. I had a nice little life pieced together. Now, I have to make a homecoming to the place I had so desperately wanted to escape.
I turn left onto a road, at the end of which lies my old estate. It looks pretty much the same as I remember. Some houses have extensions added on, but basically it’s unchanged.
It appears quiet and undisturbed outside. There are no burning buildings or wrecked cars.
Have the ravages of the infection failed to reach this quiet little part of suburbia yet? Hopefully not, as it might guarantee me a peaceful night.
I turn off my head lights as I roll towards number eighty-two, street lamps guiding my way. There are no house lights on and zero signs of life. The infection may not have reached here yet, but word of it surely must’ve.
Parking outside my house would be too conspicuous so I opt for a safer option of driving around the corner and parking in a green area that lies directly behind the back garden.
The jeep is more concealed here and I can also make a stealthier entry. Stealthier that is, if I’m not already being watched. Who knows what eyes are locked onto me, observing my every move? Oh well, it’s a risk I’ve chosen to take so I’m not turning back now.
I tuck the handgun into my belt and put up the hood of my hoody. I open the door and hop out, closing it quietly behind me and locking it. I opt to leave the rifle where it is.
The rain is bucketing down as heavily as ever and I’m drenched to the skin within a matter of seconds. The rain may be lashing, but it has the warmth of summer in it, so although my clothes are waterlogged I don’t find myself shivering or losing concentration.
This is my territory. Many times I played out in this green area as a kid. I was usually by myself of course, but I made sure to use my lonesomeness to my advantage and learned every inch of the surrounding area, including the best ways to sneak in and out of our garden undetected.
I follow the mental map from my memory that leads me through the mucky undergrowth of large bushes and fern like plants whose names I never bothered to learn.
My shoes squelch from the wet soil and mud as they become embedded.
My next obstacle is a mass of rose bushes growing against the side of the garden fence. I manoeuvre my way through them as carefully as possible, but several thorns still manage graze the back of my hands and face.
The fence now towers before me at a height greater than I can scale. It’s not a problem though, as I make my way to the far right hand corner of it.
When I was a kid I removed the bottom screws from a couple of the planks, allowing them to be moved to one side, thus letting me slink in and out as I pleased. I’m counting on my uncle being his predictable, useless self and not having fixed this barely noticeable defect.
I reach out and grab the two planks in question. I’m in luck. They move to one side with ease and I crawl through the gap. Once inside, I bolt for the wall of the house and take cover in the shadows.
What a sight I must be, filthy and dripping wet with blood stained clothes and bandages hanging off me. A fitting portrayal for an apocalyptic casualty I suppose.
I make my way along the wall, checking the windows and back door to see if any are open. On a normal night I would be afraid of looking like a burglar and someone calling the Gardai. There’s no fear of that happening this time.
I’m out of luck as everything is tightly shut. I’d expected as much. What to do next? I’d rather not smash in the glass, as the noise could attract undesirable attention.
Inspiration strikes as I remember back to when I was a teenager. I used to hide a spare key outside, so I would never get locked out and give my prick-head uncle an excuse to be obnoxious. Not that he ever actually needed an excuse, but giving him extra ammo was unwarranted.
The rain is finally starting to subside as I sneak over to the flower bed. Calling it a flower bed is generous at best, as it’s more of an overgrown weed bed these days. It actually fits in well with the rest of the garden which looks neglected and untamed. A far cry from how it used to look in my father’s time.
I root around under the vegetation until I find the sea stone I’m looking for. I rub my thumb over its surface. It’s still as smooth and perfectly round as the day I put it there.
I lift it out and scoop handfuls of soil from under where it lay. A few inches down I come across a plastic freezer bag, and inside it is the key for the back door. My luck is holding out, for now at least.
I tear away the plastic from around the key and insert it into the keyhole. It glides in and I twist the door handle. It opens. Thankfully the locks weren’t changed at any stage in my absence. I push in the door and close it again behind me as quietly as I can.
The house is silent and the air has a stale, dank quality to it, like the house wasn’t aired out in a week or even longer. Does this mean there’s nobody here? Am I free to move around without fear of raising alarm? I decide not to throw caution to the wind just yet and thread carefully as I make my way through the house.
What if my uncle sold the house and somebody else owns it now?
It doesn’t really matter either way, but just in case I draw the gun from my waistline to have it at the ready. I’m feeling more comfortable with my fingers grasped around the cold, firm handle.
Passing through the kitchen I notice remnants of meals left to the flies and bluebottles. Some of the food isn’t old though, maybe a day or two by the looks of it. That means somebody was here up until recently, so there’s high potential they’re still in the premises.
I grip the gun tighter. As an added protective measure, I stroll over to the cutlery drawer and pick out the meanest looking butcher knife I can find.
With my extra armament, I move silently into the sitting room. I’m taken aback by the decor that greets me. The room has been transformed into a sitting room come bedroom. It’s not just a temporary makeshift bedroom either, but a properly laid out room.
I must have exhaled too loudly because a voice startles me from a shadowy corner of the room, “Who’s there?”
Stiff with fright, I don’t answer. I can’t make anyone out in the dark. It’s only when a side lamp is turned on that everything becomes clear to me. I’m left even more taken aback than I could have imagined.
In front of me is my uncle, now wheelchair bound. The confidence vampire who used to bully me and suck away my self esteem has been reduced to this. I don’t know whether to feel delight at his misfortune or to pity him.
“Who’s there?” he asks again, “What do you want?”
I step closer allowing the light to envelop me. Upon seeing me clearly he’s certain to recognise who I am, but I’m unsure how he’ll react.
“Who are you?” he asks.
What?? You have to be fucking kidding me. He doesn’t recognise me?
It’s been a few years, but I pretty much look the same as back then.
“It’s me Matt.”
“Matt, hmmm I don’t know anyone by that name. Did Teresa send you?”
Doesn’t know anyone by that name... Teresa...Is he playing games with me? Is his eyesight shot to shit?
“I’m your nephew Matt, your Brother Martin’s son.”
I’m starting to sound irritated.
“Martin. I haven’t seen him all week. I suppose he’s busy helping father wi
th saving the hay.”
I almost groan as it becomes abundantly apparent the man is suffering from Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia.
Bastard, he’s even managed to take my revenge away from me.
I immediately hit myself on the head with the palm of my hand for thinking such an insensitive thought.
When did I become such a whiny little bitch? Jesus Christ, am I so pathetic that my woes are all that’s of concern to me?
My hate begins to melt away as I watch the confused mess in front of me reminisce about his early years and my father.
Teresa must be a state provided caregiver seeing as he has no other family to look after him. She must have gotten caught up in the epidemic going on in the outside world.
I lower the gun and tuck it into my belt once again.
“Could I bother you for a cup of tea,” he asks innocently.
“One tea coming right up.”
There’s no point trying to engage in any type of deeper conversation.
I laugh at myself mockingly. You couldn’t write this. Only in my life could something this complexly maddening happen.
I begin to stride towards the kitchen, but stop in my tracks as the sitting room window comes smashing in at the other side of the room. The curtains are closed but I don’t need to see outside to know what’s going on.
I step backwards towards my uncle and pull out the gun with my left hand whilst wielding the knife in my right. Two awkward moving ghouls navigate their way into the room. Did they follow me after seeing me drive here? It dawns on me the light from the lamp was probably visible from outside, even with the curtains pulled together. It would have acted like a homing beacon. That was stupidly careless of me.
The two glassy eyed freaks stand there momentarily, calculating their approach. Neither of them is showing any major signs of deformation so they’re only sired a short while.
They must have decided my uncle doesn’t pose any threat in his wheelchair, as they both slowly advance towards me. I have two choices, fight or flight.
To flee means leaving my uncle to face a grizzly end, but on the other hand, to fight doesn’t guarantee me a safe outcome.
The urge to run is tempting, but even after all I’ve gone through recently I don’t think I’m so void of compassion that I’d leave him to that fate.
The decision is made. My actions are lightning fast. My body moves before my mind even gets a chance to strategise. I lunge straight towards my adversaries.
For once I’m acting on the front foot. I’ll be the attacker instead of being defensive. My explosive jolt forward means I’ve taken them by surprise. The first target to come within range doesn’t even have time to react, as I swipe upwards with my right arm and drive the blade through the soft flesh underneath the chin.
On contact I push harder, wedging it in even deeper, past the tongue and through the roof of the mouth until it comes to a stop.
I hold it there for a moment, until lifelessness causes the body to weigh down on my arm, at which point I let go, leaving the knife lodged.
As he falls, I simultaneous sway my body sideways to avoid an outreaching arm, and extend the gun until it touches against the face of the second before pulling the trigger.
The face disintegrates on impact and the second corpse collapses just like the first, well and truly disconnected from life. The gun now empty of ammo serves no further use to me, so I toss it on the pile.
There’s no time to pause and celebrate. Where there are two, there’s probably more. I spin around and look at my uncle. He’s cowering, looking shocked. He doesn’t know what’s just happened and is obviously shaken up.
“Don’t be afraid. Everything’s ok.”
He nods, but I can clearly see he’s as unsure of me as anything else. I guess I can’t blame him. After all, I’m some random stranger that just showed up out of the blue and killed two people.
What’s my next move? I’m not able to take him in his chair out through the hole in the garden fence. And even if I did somehow manage to get him to the jeep, there’s no way that I’ll be able to lift him up into the seat all by myself. I also can’t just leave him here. I’ve got to try at least.
“Ok Joe we’re going to go for a drive to get some tea,” I lie.
“Oh that’s nice,” he answers, a smile stretching from ear to ear.
It didn’t take him long to get over his apprehensiveness.
“Are they coming too?” he queries, pointing over at the recently deceased.
“Ah no, I think they want to have a little nap.”
He believes my ludicrous explanation, and starts nattering away to himself about looking forward to his tea.
He seems to be suffering from a higher level of dementia then I had first realised. Surely he should be in a nursing home. The Teresa woman might be some sort of live in minder. I don’t know the answer, and I guess it’s not really important now anyway.
I take his wheelchair by the handles and push him towards the front door.
“Are we going now?” he asks.
I confirm with an inattentive, “Uh huh.”
“We better tell Teresa that we’re off.”
“It’s ok I already did.”
At the front door I undo the lock, but leave it on the latch so I’ll be able to open it from outside.
“I’ll be back in a minute okay.”
He doesn’t seem to be paying much attention now and doesn’t respond. I leave him there muttering to himself as he straightens up his clothes to look respectable before he goes outside.
I run as fast as I can through the house, out to the garden. Everywhere is dead quiet. It’s eerie. I wriggle under the fence, and wade through the mucky undergrowth once again.
Once the jeep is in range, I avoid the horror movie cliché of fumbling around with keys trying to unlock the door by simply pressing the button on the key fob.
The lights flash once as the doors unlock. I jump in and resist the urge to tear off at full speed, alerting anything nearby to the sound of a roaring engine.
I slowly make my way across the green area back to the road. My heart is pounding from the adrenaline, but it starts beating even faster as the front of the house comes into view.
The whole front of the estate is swarming with infected, several of whom are converging on the house.
The front door is open, but there’s no sign of my uncle, just his empty wheelchair. The bastards have him. It’s too late to do anything. I’m powerless to help yet again.
I never thought I’d feel saddened over him dying. Although I can’t say for sure if he’s dead or one of them. It’s the same difference though; being turned into one of those goons is on par with death or maybe even worse again.
That way of thinking was before today. Seeing him in such a decrepit state has helped me to actually forgive him. But is it real forgiveness or just pity? Does true forgiveness come so swiftly? Either way, I’ve gone and messed up again. He’s another person I’ve failed to save.
No wait, I couldn’t have saved him.
I have to be realistic. There’s no tactic I could have used that would have ended up with things playing out any differently.
I don’t stop outside the house, there’s no point. Instead I put my foot down and crush my way through the walking scourge littering the street. I make it to the main road without any problems as the jeep is more than a match for my fleshy opponents.
How I’ve changed from the encounter after leaving Emma’s apartment. The guilt I felt after mowing down my first two victims consumed me to a state of rage.
This time I remained unfazed as I smashed through multiple victims. I don’t feel anything anymore. Have I become completely desensitised to the killing? Did I finally enter a state, in which I realise it’s survival or nothing.
Society is gone and it isn’t coming back, so I may as well be barbaric. There’s nobody to judge me anymore.
God damned, I’m starting to sound lik
e Shawn!
This could be a good thing. I can allow myself to be ruthless, just as long as I don’t forget to be sensible at the same time. There’s no point in having made it this far just to go and die by throwing caution to the wind and getting myself into a stupid unwinnable situation.
This new version of me will be well capable of protecting Emma and Shawn. Now all I have to do is find them.
I know the general location and name of Emma’s farm, but it’s going to be tough finding it in the dark. I guess I don’t really have any other option but to go looking for it. I’ll alter my direction at the next crossroads and head to where I presume it should be.
I hit my full beams and motor into the night. If I drive up every back road in the area where Emma’s from I’ll eventually get there. Patience is all I need. Patience and petrol and for the moment I have plenty of both.
I’m coming Emma. Just wait a little longer.
4
I’ve being criss-crossing the countryside for what feels like an eternity. Every road is starting to look the same, and the hedgerows are all starting to meld into one long continuous green streak. Dawn has broken, making it easier to distinguish between the different road signs and landmarks.
Glimpsing down at my fuel gauge I see it’s still healthy enough with a quarter of a tank remaining. As I return my gaze to the road I slam on the brakes and do a double take at an expensive looking post-box to my left. My fatigued eyes slowly trace each letter printed on its body until they spell out the name of my destination.
I’ve finally struck it lucky, very lucky! I could easily have missed it if I had blinked. The post-box is standing beside the entrance to a long drive way that leads up to a beautifully architected house.
I turn into the driveway and speed towards the house. The nearer it gets, the more dismayed I’m becoming. There are no signs to indicate anybody staying here. No cars are to be seen and the house is locked up.
Struggle (The Hibernia Strain) Page 4