Free Struggle (The Hibernia Strain) by Albert Peterson Page B

definitely subsided. There’s no point in piling on unnecessary mental anguish.
    I decide to try and get up. There ’s no way I’m going back to sleep just to be tormented again. I ease myself up into a sitting position, swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up until I’m standing. I feel a bit lightheaded, but otherwise not too bad.
    It ’s only now I’m standing that I notice all the bloodstains on the sheets. There are an awful lot of them. No wonder I’m lightheaded, there’s more blood on my bed than in my veins by the looks of things.
    I stand for a moment beside the window to check what view I have. It’s still bright out but is later in the evening, about six o’clock I guess. This room is on the fourth floor, which appears to be the top level of the building. At least no creatures will be scaling the walls to come in this window.
    Realising it’s possible I could be spotted from the ground, I remove myself from sight so as not to run the risk of letting anyone know that we’re here.
    I turn my attention to the food that ’s still there from earlier. I’m ravenous with hunger by now. My stomach is in knots and the thought of food is making me salivate. I gobble down the lot too fast and give myself the reflux feeling in my oesophagus that I usually get when I scoff my food.
    I wait for the feeling to pass and then take the bar of chocolate from Emma’s place out of my hoody. It obviously melted from my body heat and solidified again, as the edges are all congealed to the wrapper. This ensures I eat it with less haste. The sweetness is so satisfying. Even during an apocalypse I can always rely on chocolate to cheer me up. The banana I took must have fallen out during the crash because the other hoody pocket is empty.
    With my appetite appeased I slowly advance to the door, taking my time until I regain my true steadiness. I pull the door towards me to find the soldier from earlier sitting in a chair to my left, his gun on his lap.
    Alongside him is another soldier, a woman lying prone on the ground facing down the hallway with a heavy duty machine gun positioned in front of her. I recognise it from many hours spent playing Call of Duty, as being the M2 Browning .50cal. It’s a very powerful heavy machine gun. She has the sights ready and waiting for any movement in the far reaches of the hallway.
    My room appears to be the last room in the row. Across from me is another empty room and to the right is the end of the hall equipped with a maintenance elevator. The door of which is being kept open by a fire extinguisher canister. This all means there’s only one point of entry and that’s from the direction the soldiers are facing. It would appear they have us bunkered in good and securely.
    “Ahem,” I clear my throat to announce my presence. The soldier in the chair swings around and faces me. The other one maintains her position. She’s not allowing herself to be distracted, not even for a moment. This funnily enough makes me feel good as she obviously has her game face on.
    “Well hey there man. Good to s ee ya up and about. How ya feeling?”
    I clutch my side which I deem to be my worst injured area and reply that I ’m feeling a little better.
    “Good to hear man, good to hear. I guess my handiwork isn ’t too bad then.”
    Gesturing towards my side he continues, “You were cut open pretty bad and lost a lot of blood. We didn’t think you’d make it to be honest, but I sutured you up and hey presto here you are.”
    “I ’m very grateful.”
    His cool and matter of fact way of speaking gives me a feeling that I can trust him, albeit a tad annoying.
    He holds out his hand and introduces himself .
    “The names Walker, Lieutenant Flynn Walker and this here is Corporal Siobhan Maloney.”
    I shake his hand and introduce myself to them both.
    With the pleasantries out of the way, Flynn goes into great detail explaining our current situation, as well as the events leading up