Albert Peterson - The Hibernia Strain

I hunker down and approach the edge of the clearing, concealing myself in one of the denser bushes. Emma follows my lead. It’s hard not to notice how the dynamic between us has shifted lately. As we’re sitting here undercover, her focus is on the glow coming from beyond us, but she’s keeping very close to me with both arms now held loosely around my left arm and her cheek pressed against my shoulder.

I poke my face through the bushy foliage; from where we are we’ve got a complete view of the crumbling building and the surrounding open area. The sight I’m faced with causes a swell of anger to rise up inside me.

It looks like a full house and whoever the idiots inside are, they’ve the place lit up like a Christmas tree inside and have built a fire outside.

Although their presence wasn’t obvious on the side we approached from, I know all this illumination will stick out like a sore thumb from across the lake, despite the tree cover.

This pack of knobs are ruining what is possibly the most secure place for miles, they’re broadcasting its position to half the fucking countryside.

I stand up and begin to plough forward out of cover and into the opening with the intention of busting in there and straightening these pricks out. Even in doing so, I can’t tug free of Emma’s grip.

As my face begins to clear the leafy barrier, I spot the outline of a motionless white face just inside the cover on the opposite side of the hotel. Without hesitation I turn and reverse course, bundling Emma back into cover.

This sudden unexpected reversal of direction causes her to trip and fall backwards onto the soft undergrowth, taking me down with her. I land as softly as possibly right on top of her, leaving us face to face again.

Shit! Did he see us? I don’t think we were spotted but I’m afraid any movement might highlight out position. I carefully raise my index finger and press it to Emma’s lips, although I think she’s figured out the situation already.

There might be just the one of them over there, but for all I know there could be ten of the bastards. We’ve no choice but to stay perfectly still for the moment. If he’d spotted us I think we’d know by now.

Unfortunately, the two of us are stuck indefinitely in this embarrassing position, there’s that awkward feeling again.

With the poor glow coming through the leaves, I can’t make out Emma’s face clearly but by the twinkle of reflected light from her eyes I can tell she’s looking at me, I can already feel the blood draining from my brain again.

The temporary distraction is broken as I’m suddenly aware of a sharp crack nearby; there’re footsteps approaching. Whoever it is, they’re making an effort to be stealthy, but that’s next to impossible with all the dead wood and twigs scattered around.

Did he see us and circle around? The sound is getting closer, heading directly towards us. Every instinct tells me to rush him head first, strike before he gets the upper hand, but it should be next to impossible for him to pinpoint us in this light, in such thick cover. If I’m patient I might get the opportunity to surprise him as he passes.

He’s almost here. I have an overpowering urge to adopt a defensive stance instead of lying on my belly on top of Emma. It feels wrong to be so vulnerable, but I’ve got to keep in control.

He’s right on top of us now. I can feel Emma’s heart thumping alongside mine. I see his feet. He’s come to a stop two yards from our heads and is just staring out at the hotel.

The smell of his rancid Adidas shoes, dripping with various bodily fluids is enough to bring vomit to the back of my throat. I begin to slowly wrap my right hand around a grapefruit sized stone that’s lying next to Emma’s head in preparation for a surprise attack. However, before I can execute the manoeuvre I feel Emma’s petit fingers wrap around my wrist and squeeze. She’s subtly shaking her head.

She’s picked up on something! This isn’t the guy I spotted across the way at all. There’s more than one of them, a lot more. Shit! I hear them now, they’re all around us. The woods have come to life with the noise of them moving.

There must be twenty of them at least. We were never spotted at all, they have no idea we’re here. They’re gathering here just inside the tree line for a coordinated surprise attack on whoever’s inside the hotel.

I hadn’t credited the spooks with having two brain cells to rub together when I first saw them, but it looks like what I was starting to suspect is right. Their single mindedness is evident by this fellow’s lack of concern for his own wellbeing. He’s covered with lots of untreated, bleeding and infected wounds, probably inflicted as he himself was being infected.

On the other hand, this show of structured coordination confirms what I was afraid of; they’re fully capable of using full intellect to achieve their obsessive goal of spreading their filthy infection.

I have to do something to warn whoever’s inside. With a bit of a heads up they might still have some chance of defending themselves or possibly even getting away, but there are at least three spooks within a few metres of us now.

What can I possibly do without completely fucking us both over in the process? The answer is simple I’m afraid, nothing, nothing at all. It’s a noble thought, to risk sacrificing ourselves and potentially save at least some of the crowd inside the house, but these guys are out of luck today.

Why should I make a possibly suicidal choice for Emma and me to save these people who mean nothing to me, people who didn’t even have the sense to keep a low profile? This is survival, and there’s no question who’s earned it here. But… they are people.

The spooks are all beginning to silently step out into the clearing, converging on the structure with no audible method of communication to synchronise the start of their advance.

There must be forty of them now, all out in full view, slowly but steadily closing the distance to the hotel from every angle in one big enclosing circle. They’re not tripping over themselves to get there either. Patience is the key to any successful hunt.

Their plan has worked, and the fate of the people inside is already sealed at this stage, there’s no escape for them. The time for heroics has come and gone.

The two of us are still in the same position, unwilling to move and risk being discovered. All we can do is look on in silence.

Unexpectedly, the front door opens wide and out walks a young girl holding a saucepan in her hand. It looks like she’s coming out to cook something on the fire. She’s no more than fifteen years old, and is looking back talking to someone as she walks. I can hear the faint sound of laughter from inside as she passes through the doorway. She doesn’t know what she’s walking into.

What have I done? Am I actually going to let this happen? I question it as though there’s a possibility of intervention now. I’ve made my choice, and it’s poetic justice that I’m forced to lie here and witness the consequences.

Emma’s view of the unfolding situation is obscured by the dense vegetation we landed in, but I have a clear line of sight.

The open door triggers a burst of acceleration from the horde and the whole scenario begins to play out in the only way it ever could have.

My perception of time seems to slow down as the girl’s head swings around on hearing the approaching rumble of feet from all angles.

I desperately want to look away and block out reality with some forced visions of my happy place, but the guilt gnawing at the base of my scull obligates me to watch as penance for my inaction.

She manages to release the initial whimper of a scream before being rugby tackled to the ground and lost under the weight of five bodies. I hope it’s enough to kill her outright and spare her an existence as a spook.