Albert Peterson: The Hibernia Strain

We begin to retrace our steps from Friday night. It’s noticeably quiet out. We don’t meet anybody at all. It’s a Sunday morning. Everyone else is still in bed nursing hangovers I assume.

As we get close to where we abandoned the taxi, I can clearly see that it’s still there. The lights are still on. It might be unmoved because the Gardai are doing some sort of forensic examination.

We advance a little further, taking our time and making sure not to get too close. What’s going on? There are no Garda cars and the area hasn’t even been cordoned off with a police line.

We don’t mutter a word to each other as we edge a little closer. It’s becoming more apparent that the crime scene hasn’t being touched. Untouched that is, except for the driver’s body. There is nothing left from where he lay, except some blood stains spattered on the ground.

Did he survive? It’s possible the wound wasn’t too deep, and he managed to get a passing car to bring him to hospital or even call an ambulance. But why then is the car still there in the same position with the front wheels against the kerb and the tail end sticking out to the middle of the road? Why hasn’t it been towed away or at the very least moved to a safer position on the roadside?

I’m suddenly aware of a car approaching. It’s the first sign of another person since we left Emma’s apartment. It’s approaching fast, well over the speed limit.

As it nears the abandoned taxi the car doesn’t slow down, instead it maintains its speed and swerves out past the stranded taxi. The cars wing mirror shatters as it clips the side of the taxi. The driver doesn’t slow anything, just motors on and disappears into the distance.

“I don’t know what’s going on Matt, but I’m scared. Can we just get out of here please?”

I’m inclined to agree with her suggestion and we hurry our asses in the direction of the bus stop.

Along the way, there’s still no sign of any other people. The ominous feeling that’s being resting in the pit of my stomach is starting to overwhelm me. It’s virtually as if this area of the city was abandoned. Almost like there was a bomb scare or something.

Holy shit, was the area evacuated for a bomb threat, a chemical spill or something of that nature? We wouldn’t have heard any breaking news reports with all the communications being down.

Surely the army or Gardai would have gone door to door to make sure everyone was out of the area. I was awake all night so I definitely would have heard knocking. What if there was no time for that. All these possibilities are running through my head as we finally come within viewing distance of the bus stop.

There waiting are two buses. Even from here I can hear the hum of the engines. Great. That must mean the bus service is still running at least.

As we get alongside the first bus, I make out that there are no passengers queuing outside or waiting onboard either bus.

I cautiously approach the door of the bus nearest to us. It’s closed. I reach out and pull down on the emergency open lever located to the right of the door. It squeakily slides open. Inside is silent like a crypt. My arm hair is standing on end. Man up will ya, Emma’s watching!

I advance up the two steps and peer down the length of the aisle, but there’s nothing to see.

I get off and move on to the next bus. The door is open on this one and with no driver to greet me I get on reluctantly.

Emma is stuck to me like my shadow, following my every move. She must be freaked out. Hell I’m freaked out.

I glance down the aisle. At first I don’t see anything until I happen to catch a glimpse of something stirring between a set of seats near the back.

“Hello,” I say, my voice shaky but loud. There’s no response. “Hello,” I repeat, this time sterner, as I edge down the aisle.

I place my hands on the headrest of each seat as I pass. Each one I manage to handle is like a little victory over the nervousness coursing its way throughout my body. There’s still no answer.

As I get to about three seats away I notice the figure of a man hunched over against the window with his back to me. He’s quivering slightly. I speak a third time, “Hello is everything okay?”

No reaction, just a continued trembling motion.

I stretch out and put a shaky hand on his shoulder. This is enough to provoke a reaction, as the victim , who was apparently playing possum, whips around towards me and grabs my left wrist with both hands.

I immediately recognise the face before me. What the fuck are you doing here?

It’s our taxi driver. However, now he’s a gaunter, paler version of his former self. He throat bears the sign of the nasty bite wound which has crusted over into a blackish scab. I can’t think of any other reason for this outlandish behaviour other than he must have contracted something from that Toma girl. It could be possible she had rabies or some condition.

I start struggling to break free. It’s no good I can’t get loose. His arms are scourged with bloody sores. They’re vile looking and have a discernible whiff of rotting flesh that turns my stomach when I inhale.

The more I thrash about, the tighter his grip seems to become. Like a crocodile compressing its jaws down on a helpless wildebeest, its grip becoming more vicelike with every struggle of the prey.

I stand my ground and try pounding him with my free hand, but my strongest blows don’t seem to be causing him to flinch much.

I’m about to land one more punch when a mouthful of spit, the makeup of which contains as much blood as it does saliva, lands squarely on my cheek. The disgusting dark greenish red mixture slides down my cheek and drips off to the floor.

The sight of this is enough for Emma to fly into action and she grabs an emergency fire extinguisher from the drivers’ area. One swift blow to the head is enough to loosen his grip on me as well as two of his teeth.

“Hands off, he’s mine,” she threatens the now unconscious heap. This girl is unlike any I’ve met before. By looking at her you would assume she was a girly girl who wouldn’t be able to protect herself. How wrong you’d be. She’s either got a lot of courage or some seriously underlying anger issues.

She picks up a randomly discarded hoody from one of the seats and wipes the grim fluids off my face.

“Now were even,” she spouts as she taps her finger against the cut on her cheek from the other night.

I don’t have time to muster a laugh or a smile as meanwhile three more sick looking excuses for human beings have come aboard the bus. They’re slowly shuffling down the aisle towards us, making disturbing growl like noises and throwing fearsome looks in our direction.

Amongst the trio are two men, one of whom looks in about the same condition as the taxi driver. The next one looks fine except for that all too familiar grey tinged skin. And the final lurker is none other than the Toma girl.

Her appearance has diminished considerably since we last saw her. Her facial skin has sagged, and the veins look as if they’re almost protruding through her skin. Her eyes are bloodshot and bulge in their sockets. The rest of her bared skin is in the same condition.

She appears to be the leader of the group as she’s first to make a move for us. Letting out a frightening howl, she quickens her advances towards us. Albeit, not a major increase in speed as it seems her apparent cell degeneration is causing her significant problems with her motor functions.

I’m frozen to the spot, my body stiff with fear. I feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Emma is shouting my name and pulling at me to move, but my usual cowardice has made a triumphant return at the worst possible time. If I don’t move I’ll end up like one of the rest of these sickening pukes.