Struggle (The Hibernia Strain) (4 page)

It all reminds me of the incident with the taxi driver. Just like that time I don
’t run to the rescue. However, this time it is not through fear. This time I have a full understanding of the circumstances. This time I know... I know that Flynn is done for.

The whole assault only lasted several seconds and is over frighteningly fast. Only four of the original group of attackers remain. A
few bites to his face means Flynn will be one of them soon.

Now
that they’ve dealt with him, they turn their attention to me. One is kneeling on Flynn’s chest preventing him from getting up. The bloodthirsty eyes of the other three stare me down.

“Stay back,”
I order.

A ridiculo
us command I know, so instead I fire a single round towards them. It whizzes past them into the distance.

My cheekiness doesn
’t go unnoticed as they begin walking towards me as if to say, ‘If that’s all you’ve got, then you’re not even worth chasing down.’

Like a cat with a mouse, the cat doesn
’t chase down the cornered mouse. It slowly closes in. It enjoys itself. It toys with it and lets it wallow in fear before striking.

I won’t forgive them.
Not just these zombies in front of me, but all of them. They’ve taken too much, not just from me, but from the country as a whole. I can’t stand it anymore. Anger floods through me.

“Come on ta fuck ya cunts,”
I bellow.

I
’m about to fire again when a pitiful, choking laugh comes from behind the trio.

“Looks like you don
’t need to find another car after all. Save your bullets kid. Find your friends.”

He waves to me with a salute. It
’s a final wave goodbye. But it’s not just that. In his hand I can barely make out a shiny silver metal ring.

I don
’t even get time to respond, as the grenade still strapped to his body explodes, ripping through all those in its path.

All that
’s left as the blood infused dust settles is lethal carnage. The blast has dismembered Flynn’s body and that of the zombie kneeling on top of him beyond recognition. The others have being cut down to a lesser degree, but regardless all are dead.

It
’s truly a bitter-sweet, sickening victory. The enemies defeated but at the cost of another ally.

Here I am again, all a
lone. Not even the cows are around to keep me company. They ran off, afraid from the sound of the gun shots.

Collapsing to the ground I
break down. Tears are rolling down my face. It’s all too much to take anymore. The amount of death and destruction. Not knowing where my friends are and if they’re safe. The probable inevitability, that I too will fall victim to some monster somewhere.

For the briefest of moments there
’s the contemplation of sending a bullet between my temples, saving myself any further agony. The thought is fleeting at best however, as the fear of killing myself is far superior to the fear of future uncertainties.

I let another few tears
leak from my cry holes before standing up and dusting myself off. With my moment of weakness over and a good sob to boot, I’m ready to cop on and get back to business.

I slowly walk towards the location where Flyn
n’s disembodied remains lie. It’s a really disturbing scene. There’s blood and chunks of flesh alongside other less damaged body parts. It’s just like a scene from a Quentin Tarentino movie with it’s extremely over the top gore.

I feel really cold-hearted as I reach into the vile mush and pull out Flynn
’s rifle, ensuring to hold it by a part that’s clean and free from blood.
It’s no use to him anymore after all.
He’d want me to take it.

I
quickly turn on my heels and get back to the jeep, placing the blood spattered gun in the boot area. I will have to clean it off later in case any of the blood is contaminated. Hopefully it’s undamaged by the blast and still functions.

I sit into the driver
’s seat and adjust it to my own leg length. Mine are shorter than Flynn’s are. I feel miserable as I correct myself...
Than Flynn’s were...

I buckle my seat belt and turn the key. Before I drive off
, I remove the clip from my hand gun. There’s only one bullet remaining.
That’s not gonna help much but it’s better than nothing; an insurance policy perhaps.

P
opping the clip back in, I place the gun on the passenger seat beside me. The petrol gauge reads three quarters of a tank of petrol. From here to where I’m going is only another two hours of driving, so I
should
get there with plenty of fuel to spare.

I take another moment to arrange myself before pulling off. My hands have a slight
tremble. It’s surely the result of undergoing all the trials of late.

I try shaking
some steadiness into them, but it’s no good. My psyche is probably so scarred it will never go away. The memories of all my recent adventures are permanently etched into my brain. I’ll need some serious counselling if I get out of this alive.

I pull off
, leaving the battlefield to the dirty grey crows that have started flocking in. The filthy winged vermin will feast well today.

I fucking hope
the infection is limited to being a human strain otherwise the whole world will be fucked.
No point worrying about that now I suppose. It’s not as if I can do anything about it anyway. It’s best just to focus on my own agenda.

Drops of rain begin to hit the windows as I
take one final look behind me to where Flynn gave his life to ensure the continuity of mine. His is another soul that will be remembered in my prayers.

Thank you
, Flynn.

3

I
’ve been driving for well over an hour, and the sky has darkened from a mix of night time starting to fall and the rain laden clouds that incessantly barrage everywhere with freakishly large raindrops.

My view is becoming increasingly impaired as the wipers struggle to keep up with the rivers of water cascading down the windscreen.

I’m driving slower now because of the level of surface water on the road. The last thing I need is to run the risk of aquaplaning and crashing again. Also I’ve recently popped another pain pill and the resulting grogginess isn’t helping.

I’
m feeling not only physically exhausted, but mentally jaded too.  Despite knowing the general location of Emma’s home, the combination of the weather condition outside and my meek condition inside, means that the odds of finding it tonight are stacked overwhelmingly against me.

I
f I don’t make it there then where do I stay?
I certainly can’t sleep in the jeep, as I’d be a sitting duck. There’s only one other place I know where I could go. It’s not too far away either. Unfortunately, it’s also the last place I would actually ever want to go... my old home.

This is a wei
ghty decision to have to make, especially in my fragile state of mind. Seeing the place of my tortured childhood might just be enough to put me over the edge into a complete and utter mental breakdown. I really don’t see any other alternative though.

A nostalgic wave washes over
me and with it all the pain and sadness; my parents, all the resentment, my uncle.

Shit, my uncle. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.
I don’t care either way, but if he’s alive then that means I may have to face him.

I look over at my gun. One bullet left in the chamber. If I was to put
a hole in his head as payback I’d probably never get caught. I have doubts about my capability to kill a living person. However, this isn’t any normal circumstance.

It won
’t be easy, but the sensible decision is to go and check it out at least. Getting there won’t be a problem either, even in this torrential downpour. I still know these local roads like the back of my hand, despite the fact that I’ve avoided returning to this area for the last eight years.

That’s
right; I haven’t been here since I left home to find work when I was seventeen.

Straight out of secondary school after my exams, I headed to
Galway in search of a job, any job, with the aim of starting a new life for myself.

I had little more to my name tha
n a backpack of clothes and the little savings I had accrued over my teenage years.

I found
a shitty room to rent and was lucky enough to get a job working in a factory. They hired people without any specific education qualifications. Easy work and the wages weren’t too bad either. That’s why I’m still working there. Well, not anymore I guess.

That fucking sheep shagger
! I was doing just fine for myself. I had a nice little life pieced together. Now, I have to make a homecoming to the place I had so desperately wanted to escape.

I turn left onto a road, at the end of which lies my old estate. It looks pretty much the same as
I remember. Some houses have extensions added on, but basically it’s unchanged.

It appears quiet and undisturbed outside. There are no burning buildings
or wrecked cars.

Have the ravages of the infection failed to reach this quiet little part of suburbia yet?
Hopefully not, as it might guarantee me a peaceful night.

I turn off my head lights as I roll towards number eighty-two, street lamps guiding my way.
There are no house lights on and zero signs of life. The infection may not have reached here yet, but word of it surely must’ve.

Parking outside my house would be too conspicuous
so I opt for a safer option of driving around the corner and parking in a green area that lies directly behind the back garden.

The jeep is more concealed
here and I can also make a stealthier entry. Stealthier that is, if I’m not already being watched. Who knows what eyes are locked onto me, observing my every move?
Oh well
, it’s a risk I’ve chosen to take so I’m not turning back now.

I tuck the hand
gun into my belt and put up the hood of my hoody. I open the door and hop out, closing it quietly behind me and locking it. I opt to leave the rifle where it is.

Th
e rain is bucketing down as heavily as ever and I’m drenched to the skin within a matter of seconds. The rain may be lashing, but it has the warmth of summer in it, so although my clothes are waterlogged I don’t find myself shivering or losing concentration.

Th
is is my territory. Many times I played out in this green area as a kid. I was usually by myself of course, but I made sure to use my lonesomeness to my advantage and learned every inch of the surrounding area, including the best ways to sneak in and out of our garden undetected.

I follow the mental
map from my memory that leads me through the mucky undergrowth of large bushes and fern like plants whose names I never bothered to learn.

My shoes squelch from the wet soil and mud as they become embedded.

My next obstacle is a mass of rose bushes growing against the side of the garden fence. I manoeuvre my way through them as carefully as possible, but several thorns still manage graze the back of my hands and face.

The fence now
towers before me at a height greater than I can scale. It’s not a problem though, as I make my way to the far right hand corner of it.

When I was a kid I removed the bottom screws from a couple of
the planks, allowing them to be moved to one side, thus letting me slink in and out as I pleased. I’m counting on my uncle being his predictable, useless self and not having fixed this barely noticeable defect.

I reach out and grab the two planks in question.
I’m in luck. They move to one side with ease and I crawl through the gap. Once inside, I bolt for the wall of the house and take cover in the shadows.

What a sight I must be, filthy and dripping wet with blood stained clothes and bandages hanging off me. A fitting portrayal for an apocalyptic casualty I suppose.

I make my way along the wall, checking the windows and back door to see if any are open. On a normal night I would be afraid of looking like a burglar and someone calling the Gardai. There’s no fear of that happening this time.

I’
m out of luck as everything is tightly shut. I’d expected as much. What to do next? I’d rather not smash in the glass, as the noise could attract undesirable attention.

Inspiration strikes as I remember
back to when I was a teenager. I used to hide a spare key outside, so I would never get locked out and give my prick-head uncle an excuse to be obnoxious. Not that he ever actually needed an excuse, but giving him extra ammo was unwarranted.

The rain is finally starting to subside as I sneak over to the flower bed. Calling it a flower bed is generous at best
, as it’s more of an overgrown weed bed these days. It actually fits in well with the rest of the garden which looks neglected and untamed. A far cry from how it used to look in my father’s time.

I root around under the vegetation un
til I find the sea stone I’m looking for. I rub my thumb over its surface. It’s still as smooth and perfectly round as the day I put it there.

I lift it out and scoop
handfuls of soil from under where it lay. A few inches down I come across a plastic freezer bag, and inside it is the key for the back door. My luck is holding out, for now at least.

I tear away the plastic from around the key and
insert it into the keyhole. It glides in and I twist the door handle. It opens. Thankfully the locks weren’t changed at any stage in my absence. I push in the door and close it again behind me as quietly as I can. 

The house is silent and the air has a stale, dank quality to it,
like the house wasn’t aired out in a week or even longer.
Does this mean there’s nobody here? Am I free to move around without fear of raising alarm?
I decide not to throw caution to the wind just yet and thread carefully as I make my way through the house.

What if my uncle sold the house and somebody else owns it now?

It doesn
’t really matter either way, but just in case I draw the gun from my waistline to have it at the ready. I’m feeling more comfortable with my fingers grasped around the cold, firm handle.

P
assing through the kitchen I notice remnants of meals left to the flies and bluebottles. Some of the food isn’t old though, maybe a day or two by the looks of it. That means somebody was here up until recently, so there’s high potential they’re still in the premises.

I grip the gun tighter
. As an added protective measure, I stroll over to the cutlery drawer and pick out the meanest looking butcher knife I can find.

With my extra armament
, I move silently into the sitting room. I’m taken aback by the decor that greets me. The room has been transformed into a sitting room come bedroom. It’s not just a temporary makeshift bedroom either, but a properly laid out room.

I must have exhaled too loudly because a voice s
tartles me from a shadowy corner of the room, “Who’s there?”

Stiff with fright, I
don’t answer. I can’t make anyone out in the dark. It’s only when a side lamp is turned on that everything becomes clear to me. I’m left even more taken aback than I could have imagined.

In fr
ont of me is my uncle, now wheelchair bound. The confidence vampire who used to bully me and suck away my self esteem has been reduced to this. I don’t know whether to feel delight at his misfortune or to pity him.

“Who
’s there?” he asks again, “What do you want?”

I step closer allowing the light to envel
op me. Upon seeing me clearly he’s certain to recognise who I am, but I’m unsure how he’ll react.

“Who are you?” he asks.

What?? You have to be fucking kidding me. He doesn’t recognise me?

It
’s been a few years, but I pretty much look the same as back then.

“It
’s me Matt.”

“Matt, hmmm I don
’t know anyone by that name. Did Teresa send you?”

Do
esn’t know anyone by that name... Teresa...Is he playing games with me? Is his eyesight shot to shit?

“I
’m your nephew Matt, your Brother Martin’s son.”

I
’m starting to sound irritated.

“Martin. I haven
’t seen him all week. I suppose he’s busy helping father with saving the hay.”

I almost groan as it
becomes abundantly apparent the man is suffering from Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia.

Bastard
, he’s even managed to take my revenge away from me.

I immediately hit myself on the head
with the palm of my hand for thinking such an insensitive thought.

When did I become such a whiny little bitch? Jesus Chri
st, am I so pathetic that my woes are all that’s of concern to me?

My hate begins to melt away as
I watch the confused mess in front of me reminisce about his early years and my father.

Teresa mus
t be a state provided caregiver seeing as he has no other family to look after him. She must have gotten caught up in the epidemic going on in the outside world.

I lower the gun and tuck it into my belt once again.

“Could I bother you for a cup of tea,” he asks innocently.

“One tea coming right up.”

There’
s no point trying to engage in any type of deeper conversation.

I laugh at myself mockingly. You couldn
’t write this. Only in my life could something this complexly maddening happen.

I begin to stride towards the kitchen
, but stop in my tracks as the sitting room window comes smashing in at the other side of the room. The curtains are closed but I don’t need to see outside to know what’s going on.

I step backwa
rds towards my uncle and pull out the gun with my left hand whilst wielding the knife in my right. Two awkward moving ghouls navigate their way into the room.
Did they follow me after seeing me drive here?
It dawns on me the light from the lamp was probably visible from outside, even with the curtains pulled together. It would have acted like a homing beacon. That was stupidly careless of me.