Albert Peterson: The Hibernia Strain

I hear a voice mocking me, “You useless good for nothing little runt.”

It sounds awfully familiar. It can’t be him. What would he be doing here?

I look up and sure enough I recognise my uncle’s fat, ugly face unveiling itself from behind the hood. It makes no sense for him to be here. How did he even know where to find me?

“I’ll finish you right this time,” he taunts as he raises the sword above his head and draws down an almighty swing that severs my throat.

I lurch upright in the bed clutching my neck and panting for air. My clothes are drenched with cold sweat. It takes a few seconds to realise where I am and that I was only having a nightmare. It felt so real.

I’m dying for some water as I have a major case of cottonmouth. I forgot some important information from my conversation with Shawn regarding nutmeg. Ingesting large amounts of the stuff can have unpleasant side effects including dry mouth and sometimes feelings of impending doom. Apparently recreational drug users sometimes consume it to give themselves a cheap high. That explains the shitty dream then.

My uncle huh, I thought I’d left him in my past, blocked from my mind never to bother me again, but I guess not.

I reach out to the bed side locker for an old bottle of Emma’s water and place it against my lips. The coolness and wetness provide instant relief to my parched mouth and throat.

I sit motionless in the bed. Apart from the now relieved dryness and a case of slight dizziness I feel like myself again. That is, I don’t have any overwhelming desires to go around running amuck amongst society and convert others into infected zombies.

A sense of relief washes over me. It looks like I’ve been spared the indignity of wandering the streets as another infected mutt. I tense up at the thought of how close I came. To say I’m very lucky would be a massive understatement.

I decide to blame the nutmeg high for the mellowed out and indifferent attitude towards death before my sleep. My usual self would have been freaking out and unable to get a single wink of slumber.

I look at the time. The clock reads ten. I must have slept about eight hours. Eight hours!

My concern turns to Emma and Shawn. I wonder if they made it to the hotel in one piece. I have no other choice but to believe they did.

I lean back against the headboard. The thick padding cushions my head. It’s a hell of a lot nicer now then in my nightmare. I try piecing together everything that I’ve learned so far.

People are becoming infected but despite their condition they still seem to be vulnerable to injury and death just like normal people. The first thing that seems to be affected is their vocal abilities and the longer they survive the more seized up their limbs become. This could prove advantageous. The virus may be controlling them but it’s obvious that they are intelligent enough to think out ambushes like the one on the bus. They don’t seem to simply be mindless drones but instead appear to work together. The president said that communications were down. Is this because the virus has turned them into such impressive hunters that they intentionally aimed to sabotage such a vital commodity?

I close my eyes to help myself think more clearly. I have to focus on planning what to do next. My main priority is linking up with the others, but it’s at least sixty miles away, so going on foot is not really an option. I’ll to have to obtain transport somehow. My car is still across town so I can’t see that happening.

It dawns on me the taxi from last night is still abandoned just up the road from here. As far as I can recall, the driver left the keys in it. I can easily make my way to it undetected. Without any other alternatives, I decide this is the most logical conclusion.

With the basis of a plan figured out my spirit feels lifted slightly. I’ll get to the hotel and it’ll be safe there. The three of us will be. There’ll be plenty of room to hide and all the facilities we need like running water and a kitchen.

I opt to wait until darkness falls fully before hitting the road. There’ll be less chance of being sighted with the shadows acting as my cloak.

Half an hour passes and the night has taken hold. It’s time to make my move. I unblock the bedroom door and move through to the kitchen. The stench of the corpse has become highly pungent. So much so, that I have to cover my nose and mouth as I raid the fridge.

I take a fresh bottle of water and some easy to carry bits to eat. Typical student, there’s flip all to choose from, so I make do with a banana and another bar of chocolate and stuff them into my hoody pockets.

I un-cordon the front door and take a step out into the balmy night air. It’s a typical late Irish summer night for when we have a spell of good weather, which isn’t too often.

It isn’t as dark as I had hoped, but it’ll be enough to conceal my movements as long as I’m careful. I close the door behind me as quietly as possible and proceed on my way.

I notice curtains ruffling in some windows of the surrounding apartments. Scared residents keeping lookout no doubt. I wonder if it’s possible some people mightn’t even know about the disaster unfolding.

These people probably think I’m crazy venturing outside. I can’t help but think the same. After all, the darkness may hide me, but that just means it can conceal other would-be assailants too.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Should I go back and wait until daylight? No, I’ll carry on. Indecisiveness is my enemy in this situation. Any wrong move or decision could have dire consequences.

I make my way along the route that Emma and I had used in the morning, using walls and bushes to mask my presence.

In the distance I can see signs of buildings burning. They form an orange glow that eats into the skyline. Some aren’t all that far away and feel a little bit too close for comfort, as it indicates there could be enemies nearby.

I can also make out what sounds like gunfire far away. Presumably it’s the army fighting. They’re pretty much the only ones with guns in Ireland. I wish we had the American lack of regulation on gun control here. It would come in mighty handy to be packing some weaponry right about now.

Now and again I spot bodies moving in the distance and avert my course enough to ensure I keep off the radar, but at the same time not allowing myself to stray too far from my destination. So far I’ve managed to remain unnoticed every time.

It appears there are a lot more infected roaming around the place compared to earlier. Does this mean more and more people are falling victim all the time or do they just prefer to skulk about at night time?

I maintain my stealthy approach towards the car. When I eventually get close, I crouch crestfallen behind a hedge. Not too far from the abandoned automobile two dreary looking teenage lads are shuffling about, neither coming or going. They just seem to be loitering.

To top off my bad luck, the parking lights of the taxi have been on this whole time and now they’re only glowing dimly. The battery is surely going to be too weak to get a turnover from the engine.

Contemplating my options yields two results. I can make a dash for the car and hope to god that it starts before I attract attention or attempt to find some alternate form of transport. The latter seems like a better idea but I can’t formulate any sort of plan how to actually go about it.

The longer I wait here amongst this hedging like a peeping tom, the greater the risk of being discovered. I need to make a move now, one way or another.

With no inspiration or other plan forthcoming, I decide to revert to my initial arrangement. I wait patiently until there are no eyes peering in my direction, and then I sprint towards the kerb stricken car.