That done, I lower onto the floor of the shower, again taking the pressure off my bum. I curl up on my side and let the shower do its job, thinking how pleased I am that the water is staying put in my stomach.
Dozing on the floor of the shower, but not sleeping, I am still aware of the water washing over me and the sound of the shower. I think about the horrors of the last few days. The carnage is brutal and horrible to remember, and I can’t help playing it back in my mind. The blood and guts stain my thoughts and are hard to escape. Friends and colleagues butchered, many in front of my eyes, fill me with sadness and guilt. Especially Dan, my best friend, he could have made his excuses and got the hell out of Dodge. Instead, he was by my side until the end, fighting my fight and always with a smile on his face. I don’t feel the tears I shed for him; they simply join the water raining down on me to be washed down the plughole as if they were never there.
Minutes pass and my thoughts threaten to overcome me. I have to suppress them and change my train of thought. Rolling onto my back, under protest from my body, I open my mouth again to let some water in. After a few gulps, I roll onto my other side, determined to think ahead and not back. Getting comfortable, I control my thoughts, making myself concentrate on what I am going to do next despite my tired head.
A chill shudders through me, waking me. I must have drifted off to sleep. Thankfully, almost immediately, I remember where I am for a change. I shiver again, the water is pulling my body temperature down. I have no idea how long I have been here, but it’s time to get out.
I manoeuvre myself and sit back up. My body is still hurting all over, but I think—hope--it is improving. I look at my wrist in a hopeless attempt to see what the time is. My military-grade watch’s hands have lost all of their luminosity, useless. If I couldn’t feel the watch around my wrist, I wouldn’t know it was there. How long have I been in this room, I wonder to myself?
My shivering is increasing. I need to finish up. My hands search around the outskirts of the shower cubicle and soon find a bottle of shampoo or shower gel, I have no idea which. I squirt a large dollop into my hair and start to give myself a thorough washdown.
With some relief, I finally turn the shower off; if only it had been hot. Now I just need to get to one of the towels that I know hang on the right, on a rail, on the wall.
I am forced to rest yet again when I finish drying myself, sitting on top of the damp towel, just outside the cubicle. My body aches and my energy levels are low, I feel so weak, but at least the shivering has stopped.
The Rabids are quiet; there was a bit of commotion when the shower went off, it didn’t last, however. My legs are better and have feeling in them. I move them around on the floor to try and get them working better. Any minute now I am going to have to try and stand on them; I can’t keep crawling, although my confidence isn’t high.
Through the glass-walled cubicle, a glimmer of light shines through the water droplets that cling onto the glass. It has to be coming from under the door. Is the sun coming up? Have I been here that long? It wouldn’t surprise me. I have been in a terrible state. If days had passed, I would have no trouble believing it.
The prospect of light spurs me on. The time has come to see if I can stand and use my legs, no matter how much it is going to hurt. I use the wall and the glass door frame of the cubicle to steady myself and for leverage. My arms scream as I pull up on the door frame, trying to get onto my knees. My legs are not playing along, and the assistance they give is feeble. What hope is there that they won’t buckle under me when I go to stand? With my head against the glass for balance, my right arm pulls under my right knee to move that leg into position, onto its foot to stand me up. The effort is nearly overwhelming. I am panting, out of breath like I’ve just run the hundred meters. Controlling my breathing, I take a deep couple of breaths and go for the big push up.
A funny wailing noise escapes my throat as the muscles in my leg contract. The strain is enormous as my right leg pushes and my arms pull against the door frame. Pain shoots to my brain from every part of my body as I slowly rise. As I go, I try to get my left leg involved to help but it won’t cooperate, I can’t bring it into position so that the foot is flat on the floor. My arms pull harder to compensate and my right leg keeps pushing. Determined not to give up and fall back down, gradually my leg straightens until finally the knee goes back and it locks into position with one last agonising jolt.
Fuck me, how the mighty have fallen, I think to myself. I powered across the roof above
