At last, my left foot decides to get involved and I manage to get it grounded. Now, my breathing takes on the sound of someone who has just run a marathon, rapid and harsh. I daren’t move until it calms down. My head is dizzy, and I cling onto the door frame for dear life. I doubt I’d have it in me to do that again if I fall or collapse back down.
After an age, my head clears and my breathing recovers. With my hands still gripping the door frame, I try bending my knees, one at a time at first. The right one performs pretty well, but the first time I try the left, it trembles and almost gives way before it does lock back into position. I try it again and again before the bloody thing remembers what it is doing, and it stops trying to collapse. Finally gripping tightly with my hands, I bend both legs at the same time and then straighten them. They complete their task; I won’t be taking part in any races right now, but my legs are working.
I’m eager to get to the door, to get to the light, but I need something before I dare to crack the door open. My Sig, which is still inside the cubicle, on top of the well, just inside the door. I thought about bringing it up with me but decided against it. I needed both hands free to get me upright and as I’m stark bollock naked, there was nowhere else to put it. I don’t delay this latest challenge and with a few dramas along the way, the Sig is soon in my grip.
With no more excuses, I start shuffling over toward the door, using the cubicle to steady myself. I am full of trepidation about opening the door even though I am all but sure there are no Rabids behind it, in the office. If there were, they would have made themselves known by now. I don’t take it for granted though; my guard is up, not that I’m in any state for a fight, not by a long chalk.
The bones in my feet feel so fragile, giving the impression they could crumble and snap with each shuffled step. In my hand, the Sig knocks against the glass as my hands support me on my slow journey. I keep averting my eyes to look at the light at the bottom of the door, like an addiction, afraid it could disappear. I can’t wait to get out of this tomb, and I hope I never have to return to this godforsaken place. I will have to come back inside though; when I’m ready, I will need to get my belongings and equipment.
Coming to the end of the cubicle, I turn the corner and my hands move onto the wall that the door is built into. I am now very close to the door which I feel in just a few steps and my anxiety rises. My last few shuffles bring me to the other side of the door and to the door handle, and my left-hand curls around it, ready to open the mechanism. Before I turn the handle, I take a moment to prepare myself as best I can. I look down at the dull light that comes under the door to try and get my eyes adjusted to light as much as possible. I don’t want to be squinting as the door opens because my eyes haven’t seen light in so long.
Naked in the dark, I am totally underprepared if anything unexpected does happen when the door opens. I gather my courage and tighten my grip on the Sig. It’s now or never. Slowly, the handle turns in my left hand until the mechanism frees from the door frame and the door is poised to swing in. Moving further to the right, so that my eyes are in line with the edge of the door, I crack it open.
Light streams into my eyes and for a moment, I can’t see anything as they squint and rush to adjust to the blinding light. My exercise to get them adjusted prior to opening the door proves to be an almost total failure.
Fresh air chases in the light and while my eyes may complain, my open mouth and nostrils certainly don’t. They breathe in the new source of air greedily, filling my welcoming lungs to capacity.
Quickly, my blinking eyes recover and start to focus as the fresh air gives my brain a new lease of life. The first thing I register is that the light in the room beyond the door isn’t as bright as I first thought and is actually quite dull. The initial assault of light had played tricks on my eyes. Now that they are adjusted, I see that the sun coming through the windows is weak. Whether that is because the sun is on its way up or down, or because it is still blocked by cloud and smoke, I don’t yet know.
The Sig is raised next to my head ready to defend myself. My trusted pistol isn’t needed, however, not yet. I scan the office, taking in the horror laid out before me. Two contorted bodies in the centre of the floor make up the centrepiece of the carnage. One is face down in virtually the middle of the floor, the first Rabid I shot as it followed me down from the roof. The second body is face-up with its shoulders and head propped up on the legs of the first body, and its legs are bent and twisted to one side. It is the first time I get a proper look at the Rabid that sliced my cheek with its nails and infected me. I look at the dead face with dread and its
