Albert Peterson - The Hibernia Strain

The rest continue straight for the hotel, held off momentarily at the open door by a man holding a semi-automatic shotgun. He seems to be shouting something out into the trees as he goes down.

Did he see us? Was he cursing me for my self-preservation? I feel tears escaping from their ducts as I struggle to restrain the volcano of emotions inside.

They persist on, attacking every window and door, climbing the walls and rotten drain pipes, anything to breach the structure. Their previous calculated calmness has being replaced in a flash by a coordinated viciousness unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

With all the focus now on the hotel, this may be our best and only chance to get away. I’m weighed down by the guilt and self doubt from what’s happening, exacerbated further by the panicked shouting still coming from inside, but it’s now or never.

I give Emma a nod as I begin to get up, but she pulls me back down firmly and directs her view upwards. Whilst I’ve been preoccupied with the hotel massacre, she’s been keeping an eye on something else from her vantage point in the undergrowth.

I arch my neck carefully, and assisted by the half light of the fire, I can make out what Emma’s been looking at. Up a large tree about ten metres from where we are, there’s a small figure clinging to the trunk, paralyzed by fear. This must be who the man with the gun was trying to shout to before.

My first thought is one of complete selfishness, as I consider the likelihood that we’ll be spotted by the little figure while making our exit, causing him or her to call out and bring the horde down on all of us.

My second thought is, if anything more selfish, as I’m beginning to see this little person, whoever they are, as a means of some kind of redemption. Surely if I risk it all and save this last remaining member of the group I can redeem myself in some way?

Before I know it, I’m off Emma and sprinting towards the tree. An over powering need to be away from this place has driven me to a hasty, poorly thought out course of action.

Stealth and subtly have gone out the window. I’m working totally under the assumption that there’s too much happening in the hotel for my movement to be noticed.

When I reach the tree I step onto a lower branch and reaching up with my right hand grab the scruff of the kid’s tiny hoody, and in no gentle way tear the child loose of their grip before hopping down and hitting the ground running.

It’s apparent now that it’s a boy who looks to be about ten or eleven, although it’s still hard to be exact in the darkness. I was anticipating that the shock of being grabbed without warning would cause him to freak out thinking he was being attacked, but he seems almost catatonic.

The only indication of life is the warm sensation of piss soaking into the arm of my jacket as I catch up with Emma, who wasted no time in heading back in the direction of the jeep.

The jeep seems so much further away than I remember. My heart feels like it’s about to explode. The stress of carrying this kid coupled with years of living a generally unhealthy lifestyle has taken me to my limit.

The sound of my clumsy movements through the woods are a distant memory, all I can hear now is the thumping of my own heartbeat. I’m about to drop to my knees when I see the sparkle of moon light on the shattered jeep window. Thank fuck!

Despite the seriousness of our situation, I feel the need to maintain the illusion of control over myself and hide the fact I’m about to vomit from overexertion.

I toss the urine soaked little fella into the back seat, before strapping myself into the driver’s seat.

It’s a safe bet that we weren’t followed and are out of harm’s way, at least momentarily. I have to take a moment to let my heart catch up. I can see Emma watching with concern as I put both hands on the wheel and drop my head down between them. I haven’t done that much sprinting in a long time, or ever. I’ll be fine in a minute.

“Shawn, are… are you ok?”

I lift my head sluggishly to answer, only to be faced with the sight of Emma holding a tin of kidney beans that had been rolling around the floor of the passenger side. The scary part is she has a face on her like she’s about to cave my skull in with it.

My reflex reaction is to reach out and grab the tin before she decides to use it. The second I see my hands out in front of me I cop on to what’s happening. I’m white as a sheet after the dash through the woods. I was on the brink of passing out. The state of me has her freaking out; I must look just like a spook.

The little compartment light over our heads picks this moment to fade out, and the shock of sudden darkness triggers Emma’s commitment to her course of action. I see the silhouette of the tin raise slightly in prelude to the blow.

I clumsily move to deflect her panicky swing, managing only to take the edge off it before the tin connects with a crack just above my left eye, followed by a rush of fiery pain.

“What are ya at? It’s me ya fuckin idiot.”

My loss of composure causes my accent to revert to that of my childhood, exposing my country upbringing.

On hearing the enraged words I’ve spit her way, she leans back with a mix of relief and concern. She hangs back as I grab my head, double over and wait desperately for the pain to die down to a reasonable intensity.

I feel the trickle of blood drip from between my fingers down the sleeve of my shirt. I fucking hate beans!

“Shawn, I’m so sorry, I thought… it looked like…”

The sorrow in her voice is genuine so I try hard to let go of my animosity.

With my head still pounding, the best I can muster is to interrupt her in a quite obviously pissed tone.

“ Its fine , I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Just switch seats with me, it’s your place we’re meeting Matt and I’ve no idea where that is. Besides, I think I’m overdue some rest.”

As she brushes over my crotch while shuffling across to my seat,any thoughts bordering on sexual are well and truly drowned out by my nowthrobbing head.

Emma cautiously pulls out of cover onto the road. We’re back out in the open, back on the move with the cool summer night air smacking me in the face once again through the shattered windows of the jeep. This time it’s Emma’s turn to deal with only the one bent headlight and any psychotic boy racers we come across.

The wee fella in the back isn’t saying a word; he’s just slumped against the pile of supplies, his face buried into the back of his seat. I’m in no shape to check on him now, especially as I just sat by and watched his family die without lifting a finger.

“It’ll take about an hour to get home from here,” Emma informs me.

I drop my head back. My body feels limp like a rag doll. When I said I needed some rest, it was an extreme understatement. I close my eyes and try and leave my guilt behind.

The throbbing in my head grows to a deafening roar as my mind drifts to a dark place. The rattle of the jeep is a million miles away now, and all the crap swimming around my head takes its chance to bubble up and manifest itself in the form of a fragmented scene of me walking through the countryside of my childhood holding the little guy’s hand as we go.

Our surroundings are distorting and shifting into something unrecognisable, as we make our way through this place. The warm nostalgic tones give way to a colder grittier landscape populated by remnants of horrific scenes.

What’s left of his family litters the path stretching out in front of us along with countless other remains, their bodies cleared of flesh by the flames surrounding them. There’s no escaping the accusing stare of their empty eye sockets.