Albert Peterson - The Hibernia Strain

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.