I get my body into position to slowly start the pain-stricken, arduous task of pulling myself across the floor, in what I am sure is the direction of the shower. My muscles burn and protest fiercely and my joints creak, rubbing together like sandpaper as I go. The grimace on my face is fixed as is the determination. My legs are still dead, useless, and follow my body on a free ride as my hands and arms manage to do the work. Eventually, the shower door rattles in its runner to itself as I touch it. My sense of direction hasn’t failed me, and I pull at the bottom of the door to roll it back. The small ledge up into the shower is tricky but soon mounted and I turn over and grab whatever I can to help me sit up so that I can pull my legs in.
Sitting with my back against the back wall, I rest. Could it be that using my body has loosened it up a bit? The trip hurt, that’s for sure, but it could have been worse.
I try to remember where the tap to the shower is. I haven’t been in this bathroom many times and barely took any notice of the shower cubicle. With a creaking back, I reach above my head, to find the tap.
Before I turn the tap, I prepare myself for the onslaught of cold water, ensuring my body knows to expect the assault. Nevertheless, my body goes rigid with shock as the water starts to rain down. My clothes give me some protection at first, but they soon soak through as the water penetrates through to my skin.
Almost immediately, I put my head back and rest it onto the wall behind me, allowing the water to splash directly onto my face and crusty eyes.
A loud crash reverberates into the bathroom, from one of its outside walls. The shock makes me jump, my head springing upright as if to look what is going on. All I see is darkness and panic grips me. The noise from the shower has alerted the Rabids to my presence. Visions of them bursting through the bathroom door play across my closed black eyelids and my panic grows.
My hands come up to my eyes as fear flows through me. I put my head back again and my knuckles rub the water into my eyes, desperately trying to wash away the globules of sleep. Another crash is followed by muffled screeches and then another crash. Are they coming through the wall? I keep rubbing, massaging the water into my eyes. Taking my hands away. I urgently try to open my eyes and feel the corner of my left eye pop apart slightly. I rub again, encouraged that it is working. I can feel the hardness of the crust start to soften. I go to open them once more and both eyelids do prize apart. My eyelashes linger, stuck in the goo but I persist, straining to get my eyes open. Gradually, the eyelashes slide free and at last, my eyes are open.
Darkness still fills my vision though, and for a moment I think that I have lost my sight. My hands wash the last of the residue away in the hope that will bring my sight back, but it doesn’t. More crashes and screeches sound out and in a futile act, I slide my Sig out of its soaking wet holster, ready to defend myself. I don’t even know if it is loaded, I can’t remember—and I don’t fancy my chances of hitting a headshot when I’m blind.
The feel of my trusted weapon in my hand brings with it reassurance and my panic subsides a bit. Enough to let my brain work at least and realise that I haven’t lost my sight. The room is in pitch darkness, I think?
At least my sudden panic has taken my mind off the shower’s cold water, which actually isn’t that cold. The commotion outside the bathroom continues but I just sit there waiting for something to happen and letting the water wash over me.
The Rabids don’t burst in and eventually they settle down, obviously having gotten used to the new noise of running water.
After a time, I realise that they aren’t breaking in and my guard starts to drop. I put the Sig down and start to undress. The process is a struggle and painful. My muscles have relaxed more as my skin has soaked up the water, but my joints haven’t; they are still in turmoil with every movement. I place the important pieces of kit close by, just outside the cubicle, like the Sig’s holster and my body armour. All the clothes I am wearing, however, I throw as far as I can out of the shower. Especially my soiled trousers and underwear, which were a nightmare to get off, as were my boots.
Finally undressed, I have one more thing to try before I can fully relax for a while. I have been afraid to try it in case my body rejects it but I can’t put it off any longer if I mean to carry on. My head leans back, and I open my parched mouth to allow water into it. My dried-out tongue tells me immediately that the water is welcome as it soaks it up like a new sponge. The water slides down my throat and
