《Zombie Shards: Outbreak》


 Friday 00:50 - Gary

    A solitary car drove along the tree-lined road, travelling at slightly over the speed limit. Some fifteen miles ahead, the lights of Marrenforth were shining into the chilly December night air.


    The driver was a professional young man by the name of Gary Erling; had anyone been watching him, they would have known that from the photo-ID badge still pinned to his shirt like a talisman. He wore it so much that it seemed like a part of him.


    Gary glanced at the digital clock on the dash display. Almost 1am Friday morning. What a ridiculous time to be driving back from work. He yawned and risked taking his hands off the wheel for a second in order to stretch briefly and run a hand through his curly brown hair. Staying awake was difficult. At least he was nearly home now, more than ready for a long sleep after what had been an exhausting day.


    The team''s safety inspection at the chemical plant had been due to continue until Friday lunchtime. By mid-afternoon Thursday, they were considerably ahead of schedule - rather surprising given the age and state of the place. Janine, the team manager, had suggested that they work late to finish the job that night; then they could all take Friday off. Gary had a feeling that Janine was rushing things to suit her own plans, but he couldn''t deny that the idea of a long weekend was appealing - and everyone knew that Janine''s ''suggestions'' weren''t ones you argued with. The team had agreed to stay on, expecting to be done by eight or nine in the evening. However there had been issues with the documentation and a few faulty seals that needed replacing, so they didn''t manage to get everything signed off until gone midnight.


    Which was why now, in the early hours of Friday morning, he was still on the road when he should have been in bed and asleep.


    Gary shivered, despite the car''s heating being turned up full. He''d been feeling alternately hot and cold since waking up that morning, probably some virus. There was always something going around at this time of year. Now he was exhausted and it was taking its toll. He was torn between putting his foot down to get home as soon as possible and driving slowly for safety. The emptiness of the road and his desire for bed suggested speed, the darkness of night and his inability to concentrate argued for caution. Hence the compromise of driving at slightly over the speed limit.


    Almost home now, only a few more miles and...


    A shape dashed out from between the trees, running into the road directly in front of him. Gary reacted automatically, slammed his foot on the brake and turned the wheel. Too late. The tyres screamed as the car slowed and span, out of control. There was a sickening thud as the passenger side door smashed into something.


    The car came to a halt and Gary quickly switched off the engine. He sat back, his seat belt still tight across his chest from the sudden stop.


    Shit. What was that? What had he hit?


    Or... who had he hit?


    No, it couldn''t be a person. Nobody would be walking around the countryside at this time of night. And nobody with even half a brain would step out in front of a fast-moving car. It had to have been an animal.


    But he needed to be sure.


    Leaving his headlights on, he opened the car door and stepped out. He walked round to the front, heart beating fast. On the road, illuminated by the beam of his lights, he saw...


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    A deer.


    The body of a small deer lay crumpled next to the side of his car. The headlights glazed the body, shrouding its shape and making the blood-splattered corpse gleam.


    Gary let out a breath he hadn''t realised he was holding. It had been an animal, not a person. Just a deer.


    Even so, it was strange. He''d often seen deer moving through the trees, sometimes along the edge of the road, but had never seen one run out in front of a car like that. Had it become lost and confused? Or had something frightened it?


    Whatever the reason, it was dead now. And his car had a nasty dent ¨C did his insurance cover that? That was a problem for tomorrow. The immediate question was, what should he do about the carcass?


    He''d never hit an animal before, didn''t know the protocol. He should probably report it to someone ¨C the police? ¨C but then he might have to spend hours answering questions, filling in forms and dealing with all sorts of bureaucracy. Right now, all he wanted to do was get to bed. No suicidal animal was going to interfere with that.


    So no police. What about the deer? He could simply leave it where it was, but it might be a hazard to other drivers. He didn''t want someone''s death on his conscience. Which meant that he''d have to get the thing off the road.


    As he approached the deer''s corpse, the stench hit him: a nauseating aroma of death combined with an unusual metallic tang. He stopped walking as his stomach retched. Did dead animals normally smell that bad before they''d had a chance to start decomposing? He didn''t know. It looked as if the impact had split the deer''s body open on one side, revealing some of its inner organs. Maybe that was why it smelled so bad?


    Trying to breathe through his mouth, Gary walked over to the carcass. He grabbed one of the deer''s legs and began to pull, the carcass leaving a trail of blood behind it. He hadn''t realised how heavy the creature would be - it took him a good ten minutes of alternately pulling, panting and cursing to get it to the side of the road. Finally he managed to deposit the body in a small grassy area just off the roadside.


    He stood there for a few moments, panting, looking down at the corpse with a mixture of sadness and revulsion. Moving it had been an unpleasant task - something he wouldn''t want to do again in a hurry - but at least it was out of harm''s way.


    Gary wiped the blood off his hands as best he could with a handkerchief, then headed back to his car. His heart was still beating fast after the exertion and his head felt as if someone was playing a drum solo in his brain. He closed the door and sat in the driving seat, trying to relax.


    After a few minutes, he started up the engine and drove away from the bloody scene. Away from the dead creature that lay lifeless and unmoving, its eyes glowing in the reflected moonlight.


    This time Gary made sure to keep well within the speed limit; he didn''t trust himself to drive fast after what had just happened.


    As he drove, his could feel his pulse continuing to race rather than returning to normal. The pounding in his head was getting worse, not better. This wasn''t simply the effects of exertion, he was definitely sick. The slight symptoms he''d felt all day seemed to have turned into a full blown illness. So much for his long weekend, he was going to spend it feeling lousy. Dammit.


    The headache was also getting worse, a constant pressure in his brain. And he was tired, so tired. Keeping his eyes open was becoming increasingly difficult. He just wanted to sleep. The blackness of the night seemed to be beckoning him. His jaw opened, the beginning of a yawn, then...


    "Ow!"


    Gary yelled as a sensation like an electrical pulse shot through his skull. This wasn''t the steady pressure of the headache, it felt as if his brain was being zapped by lightning. He instinctively let go of the wheel and put his hands up to his temples. As he did so, the car swerved out of control. It left the road, heading into the trees at speed.


    Gary tried to ignore the pain in his skull. Took his hands away from his head. Back to the steering wheel.


    Too late.


    The car crashed into the solid trunk of a large tree. As it did so, Gary realised that he''d forgotten to put his seatbelt back on.


    He was thrown forwards violently, the airbag belatedly expanding beneath him as his body was launched out of the car. His head crashed through the front windscreen and his now bloodied face collided with the trunk of the tree, causing his neck to snap and twist round at an unnatural angle. He fell on to the front of the car then slid slowly off.


    He was dead before his body hit the ground.


    His corpse lay still, the only sound coming from the still idling car engine. Nothing moved for some time.


    A few minutes later, Gary''s lifeless body slowly rose to its feet. Its head hung crookedly to one side, dead eyes open and staring without blinking. The creature that had once been Gary Erling twitched a few times, then began moving. It staggered around and, by luck rather than judgement, found its way back to the road.


    The lights of the nearby town caught its attention and, acting on instinct not intellect, the zombie that had once been Gary Erling began shambling towards Marrenforth.


    <hr>

 Friday 09:45 - Ellen

    A chill wind blew through the narrow lane where Ellen stood in front of a small shop. There was a slightly grubby printed sign above the door which read "Tourist Information Office".


    Her brown, almond-shaped eyes had been drawn to colourful posters in the windows of the building boasted of various delights awaiting visitors to Marrenforth. Attractions on offer included adventure theme parks, historic castles and sporting activity centres. However, closer inspection had revealed that almost all of these were at least two hours'' drive away from the town. The only ''attractions'' actually in the vicinity of Marrenforth itself were a decommissioned 1970s nuclear bunker, the local fish farm and a recently excavated historic burial mound.


    Ellen was sure that some people would have found those offerings interesting, but she''d rather chew her own arm off than spend an hour at any of them. Even if she had been keen enough to want more information, she''d have been out of luck. There was another sign taped to the door; this one was hand-written and said: ''Closed due to illness. Sorry''.


    "Well done, girl," Ellen muttered to herself, shaking her head and with it her reddish-brown low hair bun. "You''ve managed to find it: the genuine, accept-no-substitutes, arse end of nowhere. How can a town of 50,000 people be so dull?" For a second she considered livening things up by swinging her shoulder bag at one of the windows, just to see if the town even had a police presence, but common sense won out over frustration.


    She''d arrived in Marrenforth by train the previous night. Her first impressions of the place, formed while walking from the railway station to her hotel, had been distinctly underwhelming. What was probably once a quaint little town full of charm appeared to have been sacrificed to bland modernity in the 1960s and left untouched ever since. Instead of period architecture and a variety of interesting buildings, Marrenforth today was dominated by charmless office blocks in concrete and glass. The town centre was dominated by charity chops, fast-food outlets and the same chains of stores that you could find in any modern British town. Any distinctiveness and personality the place might once have had were now long gone.


    She had at least hoped there might be some vaguely interesting places in the town for her to visit during a long weekend stay. Now she realised that thought had been wildly over-optimistic; the tourist office was proof that the town was mainly just a base for people making day trips elsewhere.


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    Which wouldn''t have mattered if things had gone according to plan.


    Ellen and her boyfriend Brendan had booked the hotel room and the train tickets months ago. They''d intended it to be a pre-Christmas break together before the seasonal round of partying and family visits. The plan had been to spend the days exploring the town''s attractions, and the nights having awesome sex. If they''d been together, the awfulness of the place would actually have been funny.


    But Brendan wasn''t with her. At some point after booking the trip, the two of them had begun arguing. Ellen still wasn''t sure exactly how or when it had started, they just began irritating each other. Things had got progressively worse, crockery had been broken and last week they''d split up for good. Having paid for her half of the weekend, Ellen was determined to get something for her money and so had decided to make the trip anyway. Brendan certainly wasn''t going to accompany her, so she''d be free to indulge herself and have fun. Hence her arrival on the late Thursday night train.


    That, she now realised, had been a big mistake. This lifeless place would be no fun at all on her own.


    No, she wouldn''t bother staying the rest of the weekend. She''d spend the morning looking round the town, trying to find something at least slightly interesting to do. That would kill some time, as would lunch, then she''d catch a train back to London in the afternoon. It would cost her extra to change her ticket, but it would be worth it to get out of this morgue of a place before her weekend was totally wasted.


    She turned her back on the tourist office and began walking along the street, away from the town centre. A little further down, she reached an opening that was signposted ''Marrenforth Town Park''. The sound of a young child''s shrill laughter caught her attention, so she paused and looked in.


    A short path led to a neatly cut expanse of grass about the size of a football pitch. At the back she could make out a large pond with seats along its edge. Near the entrance was a children''s playground area with swings, a slide and a roundabout. A chubby woman with sandy hair sat on a wooden bench, wrapped up tightly against the cold. She was watching a young child in a white T-shirt who was running around the equipment and shouting happily as he chased pigeons. The three sides of the park away from the road were lined with evergreen trees and dense shrubs which partially shielded it from view of the surrounding buildings.


    Marrenforth Town Park looked like a great place to sit and relax, but relaxing wasn''t what Ellen wanted to do. Maybe if Brendan had been with her... but no. She wasn''t going to sit on a park bench on her own, she''d find something else to do.


    As she turned away, a movement in the distance caught Ellen''s eye. Something was happening in the trees about halfway down the park. The bushes were shaking and she thought she could see flashes of what looked like naked limbs thrashing back and forth. In fact, she was sure that she could hear distant female squeals. The woman on the bench was looking around anxiously, presumably worried that the child might witness something ''inappropriate''.


    The sounds from the trees became louder and Ellen was sure she could hear the man growling. The couple clearly liked it rough. Ellen smiled wistfully and thought about the weekend she had originally planned with Brendan before things went sour. Some good, hard sex would cheer her up right now. Although maybe not out in public like that, and definitely not in this weather.


    Still, at least somebody in Marrenforth was having fun today.


    <hr>

 Friday 10:05 - George

    George Macdonald shuffled slowly towards the window, his walking stick taking much of his weight. When his arthritis played up, moving was difficult. He certainly wouldn''t be going out to the shops until this flare-up was over. When his bones were behaving themselves, the  flights of stairs between his floor and ground level didn''t cause any problems. On a day like this he could probably still manage the trek down, but getting back up would currently be beyond him, even without carrying bags of shopping. That was OK, he didn''t need to go anywhere soon. He knew his limitations and always made sure to have his cupboards well stocked with essentials. Especially tins of food, partly for him but mainly for his companions.


    Reaching the window, he eased himself down into his favourite chair and placed the stick alongside. He  and looked down at the street down below.


    Friends ¨C when he still had any ¨C had often asked why a man in his seventies chose to live in a flat several floors up from the main street. He was high enough up to make life difficult for himself, yet not high enough to avoid the noise of the people and the traffic. It seemed like he''d chosen the worst of both worlds.


    There was a simple reason he stayed in this flat: he liked the view.


    George had never been what would be called a ''people person''. Since his wife had died nine years ago, he''d seen even less reason for mixing with others. His only son lived overseas, and many of the few friends he once had were already dead. The rest he simply let go.


    There was a gentle mewling from the floor by his side and George turned to see a cat staring up at him. Its shaggy white fur resembled his own hair, although


    "Ah, Mrs Jones!" he said. "There you are. Come on up."


    People he could live without. But cats, they were different. Cats were his true friends.


    Once, Mrs Jones would have leapt up without even needing permission, but now she was ¨C in cat years ¨C almost as old as him. So George reached down and lifted her gently onto his lap. She settled down and purred contentedly as he stroked her. He returned his view to the street below.


    Over the years, George had learned a lot about people from his window seat. He had become something of an expert at interpreting their appearance and behaviour. At least, he thought he had. He rarely knew for sure if he was right. Not that it really mattered, the fun was in the observation and deduction. He''d read plenty of detective stories in his time, had admired and envied their heroes. Observing and analysing the world from his unseen vantage point made him feel as if he was one of them.


    "Look at her," he said to an  Mrs Jones. "That woman down there. Those clothes really aren''t right for her. Too bright, too new for someone that age. They don''t go with that hair or those glasses. She''s trying to impress. Probably a younger guy. I reckon she''s had a long and unhappy marriage and recently got up the courage to start seeing a lover on the side." Mrs Jones purred again as he tickled her behind the ears. "Yes," said George, "I thought you''d agree with me."


    "Oh! Him again!" George''s attention had moved to a young man walking with apparent casualness "Where''s his mate? Ah yes..." He spotted the other man he was looking for, walking towards the first from the opposite direction. "Watch this, Mrs Jones. These two are good." As he spoke, he saw a quick hand signal pass between the two men. The first ¨C apparently not watching where he was going ¨C bumped into a woman. George knew what was happening and had a good angle of view, but even so he was only just able to spot the man''s hand dart into the woman''s shoulder bag and pull something out. As the man apologised, his associate came up behind them. Feigning a steadying gesture, the first man passed his prize to the second, who walked off leaving the thief clean. The victim smiled and continued on her way with no idea that she''d just been robbed.


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    "Nice," said George. "Very nice. I wish Mrs Smith had been here, she''d have enjoyed that. I wonder where she is?" He glanced up at the clock. "She''s normally hungry again by now. Oh... look at that!"


    He pointed to the end of the street, a gesture ignored by Mrs Jones. A man and a woman were staggering along the pavement, arms flapping limply. They seemed to pick one pedestrian and both moved towards him, but he simply stepped out of their way and walked on. Their heads snapped round and fixed on someone else, but again the target evaded them easily.


    "What do you think about them, Mrs Jones?" George asked the cat. "Drunk? No, I don''t think so either. We''ve seen a lot of drunks and they don''t move like that. Are they ill? Both of them with the same sickness? That seems a little unlikely, doesn''t it? They''d be in bed, either alone or together. Junkies? Maybe. This could be interesting let''s look more closely."


    He picked up a pair of small but powerful binoculars that he kept permanently on the windowsill. He brought them up to his eyes and scanned around to get a better view of the two uncoordinated walkers. With the help of the binoculars, he could now see that they both had grey, unhealthy looking skin. The man also had blood on his chin.


    "Oh dear. Bleeding from the mouth. He really is very sick, isn''t he, Mrs Jones?"


    As George watched, the woman fixed her attention on a man who was standing looking into a shop window. She shuffled slowly towards his back. Perhaps the man heard a sound, or perhaps at the last second he saw a reflection in the glass, but for some reason he turned round as she reached him. He opened his eyes and said something whilst raising his arms as if telling the staggering woman to go away.


    At which point her head darted forwards.


    Her jaws clamped around the man''s throat. George could tell from the victim''s face that he let out a scream of surprise and pain. Blood began spurting out from the wound. The man reached up and tried to pull the attacker off, but the bite had been deep and the woman''s teeth were firmly lodged in his flesh. She raised her hands and started clawing at his cheeks.


    "Well I''ll be blowed," said George. "That''s no junkie, it''s something else. Don''t look, Mrs Jones."


    Ignoring his advice to the cat, George kept his binoculars firmly fixed on the scene below. Other people in the street had been alerted to what was going on by the man''s cry. A few quickly strode away, not wanting to be involved. Most stood and watched from a psychologically safe distance. Many had phones out; some were making calls, possibly to the police or ambulance service, but most were simply filming the attack.


    As the man''s struggles became more intense and the blood flowed more freely, two of the braver bystanders moved to his assistance. They grabbed the attacker, attempting to pull her off. However the second shambler had approached and it bit heavily into the arm of one of the would-be rescuers. He turned to try to defend himself, at which point his fellow have-a-go hero decided to run.


    "This is bad," said George. "Very bad. We''ve never seen this sort of thing, have we, Mrs Jones?" He put down the binoculars and stroked the cat. "I wonder what''s going on? Do you know what I think? I think it''s zombies, just like in the films. Zombies! In Marrenforth! What fun."


    He put the cat down on the floor gently. "I''d better check the door''s locked properly. I do hope Mrs Smith''s OK."


    Supporting himself with  stick, he shuffled over to the main door of his apartment. Then he took his keys from his pocket and made sure that both the locks were in place. He also put on the security chain. Whilst he was doing this, he could hear some sort of commotion in the corridor outside. "No," he said to himself. "We''re not getting involved."


    Satisfied that the door was as secure as it could be, he returned to his window seat where Mrs Jones was still sitting on the floor. "It sounds like something''s happening out there," he said. "So let''s stay very quiet." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I''m really worried about Mrs Smith."


    He sat still, listening carefully and wishing that his hearing was as good as it had once been. There was definitely something going on in the corridor outside. He heard what sounded like a struggle, cursing and banging. Then there was a scream.


    The sounds outside the door came closer, then paused. There was a large thump which sounded to George as if someone had fallen to the floor. This was followed by a variety of moans and groans. And scratching.


    Scratching at the door.


    "Go away," George hissed. "Leave us alone."


    The clawing sound grew louder, accompanied by light banging. George picked up his stick, the only weapon he had, and sat watching the door intently.


    There was a movement. Not the whole door, just the panel at the bottom. The cat flap was gradually pushed open.


    Through it came... a cat. A small, black cat that seemed to be having trouble finding its way through the amply sized opening. It scraped along the edge of the flap then almost fell into the room.


    "Mrs Smith!" cried George. "It''s you! Oh we''re so glad you''re ok, aren''t we Mrs Jones? But you gave us quite a fright. You don''t look well. And where''s your collar? Come over here and let me take a look at you."


    The black cat advanced towards George. Mrs Jones stood up and let out a ferocious hiss, then darted under the chair. As Mrs Smith approached, George could tell that something was terribly wrong with her. She was walking with difficulty, her steps slow and uneven. Although there was no visible damage to her legs, she seemed to lack coordination.


    It wasn''t until the cat was just a couple of feet away that George got a good view of her eyes. They were no longer their usual  green but a sickly grey, streaked through with deep veins of red.


    A dark trail of fresh blood pooled around her lips.


    "Mrs Smith! No, not you. It can''t be. Just stay there and I''ll..."


    George''s voice trailed off as the cat snarled.  leapt forward.


    <hr>

 Friday 10:15 - Andrew

    Friday - 10:15


    Andrew looked into the rear-view mirror, keeping an eye on  passenger in the back of his cab. The  man appeared to be asleep, but not resting peacefully. Even though his eyes were shut, he muttered softly to himself and twitched spasmodically.


    Not far now to Marrenforth Southern General hospital, another fifteen minutes at most. There  an  department in the centre of town, but it had been moved out to the Southern General as a cost saving measure. Many people had been annoyed by the decision, but for Andrew it had been very welcome. If someone couldn''t drive but wasn''t hurt badly enough to justify an ambulance, they had two choices: use the slow, infrequent bus servicer hire a taxi aybe his.


    The man in the back of the cab mumbled again. The sooner Andrew got rid of him, the happier he''d feel. The traffic was heavy today and even the usual shortcuts weren''t making much difference.


    <hr>


    Andrew had known he''d made a mistake when he''d picked this passenger up. The man had waved him down then, when he stopped, had walked to the cab unsteadily. As he got closer, Andrew had noted his pale face and the bloody handkerchief tied around his wrist to form an impromptu bandage.


    You didn''t need the instincts of an experienced cabbie to realise that something was wrong, something more than just a cut. Andrew d listened without surprise as the man asked to be taken to the hospital.


    He should probably just have , but his natural curiosity had got the better of him and he unlocked the doors. "So what happened to your wrist?" he''d asked once the man was seated. "?"


    The passenger had snorted. "ly. I was attacked in the street. Bitten! By a cat, a fucking cat!"


    "A cat? I''ve known them to scratch people, but not bite them without a reason."


    "Well this one did. I was sitting at a bus stop when the furry, black monster jumped up beside me. I turned towards it, then it leapt up at me. Only just got my arm up in time, otherwise the fucking thing would have ripped my throat out."


    raised his eyebrows, not sure how much of the story he believed. "So what did you do then?"


    "Grabbed it with my other hand and pulled it off ¨C but it took a chunk of my flesh with it. At least the bite was on the back of my wrist. Thing struggled like a demon, but it was only a cat. I was able to throw it off and give it a good kick, then I ran. It didn''t come after me."


    "That is one wild story..."


    "I know. I can''t believe I had to run away from a fucking cat. Don''t blame you for not believing me. But in the struggle, this came off." The passenger had reached into his pocket and pulled out a narrow strip of leather. "It''s the damned thing''s collar. And it''s got the owner''s address on it. Once I''ve finished getting stitched up at the hospital, I''m  straight to the police. Get the cat put down and the owner locked up."


    "Good idea, pal. Well, you can relax now. Just don''t bleed over the seats, there''s a  quid surcharge if I have to clean it up."


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    The passenger had nodded. He''d settled back into his seat and, not bothering with the seat belt, closed his eyes.


    <hr>


    Andrew glanced into his rear-view mirror and saw his passenger was still asleep.  there was now drool was coming from the corner of his mouth. A slight metallic tang drifted in the air in the cab.


    Andrew''s first thought was that the  was having some form of stroke. "Hey, pal. Are you ok back there?" There was no reply, even when he asked again more loudly, so he pulled into the side of the road and stopped the cab. If the guy was really sick, he should call for help. He knew that could get to the hospital quicker than any ambulance, but he didn''t have the medical training that might be required . Like every experienced cabbie, he''d given CPR to fares a couple of times in his driving career ¨C but that was as far as his first aid knowledge went.


    He turned round in his seat and spoke through the open hatch between the driver and passenger sections of the cab one last attempt at getting a reply. "You look really sick, . Want me to call for the paramedics?"


    The man''s eyes snapped open, revealing a grey sheen across them. His mouth opened wide, drool slipping down the teeth. A low groan came from his mouth. Then he lunged.


    Andrew only just managed to pull back in time to avoid the snarling head with its snapping jaw. "What the...?" he cried as he moved as far away as he could get.


    He thought about shutting the hatch cover, but the man''s head was half way through and blocking it from closing. So he had two choices.


    He could radio for the police. They''d deal with the man easily enough. But there would be statements, paperwork, possibly an eventual appearance in court as a witness. He''d lose , something he couldn''t afford to do.


    So that left option two.


    Andrew undid his seat-belt and, making sure he stayed out of reach of the drooling jaws behind him, felt under his seat for the heavy iron bar he kept there. He''d never had to use it before, but its presence made him feel better when doing late runs on the weekends. Holding his weapon tightly, he unlocked the doors and stepped out of the cab.


    He walked round to the passenger door.  ¨C who looked less human by the second ¨C followed him from inside, leaning its face on the window and battering away at it with its hands. It never even tried the door, so Andrew stood as far back as he could whilst still being able to reach the handle. He held the bar raised in one hand as he opened the door with the other.


    The man tumbled out of the cab, crashing onto the pavement with a sickening thud, then staggered to his feet. Andrew had hoped he might run off, but that didn''t happen. Instead, the creature that had once been his passenger bared its teeth and its sickly grey eyes locked on to Andrew.


    It snarled and thrust forwards. Andrew reacted instinctively and brought down the bar hard. It connected with  shoulder and Andrew winced as he heard the snap of breaking bone. The passenger fell back but hesitated for only an instant before starting to rise again. Andrew''s eyes opened wide. No way! The pain must have been immense! But the creature didn''t seem to have even noticed. And now it was on its feet again.


    It was also standing between Andrew and  cab. The thing wasn''t very fast, Andrew could probably just run away. But he wasn''t about to abandon his livelihood.


    He raised the iron bar again. He thought about going for the head, but that might kill it. Everything he had done so far could be justified as self-defence, but a head blow would be excessive. Even though his passenger was behaving like a wild animal or worse,.


    "Come on, . Just back down. Walk away and we can forget all of this."


    The creature''s snarl made it clear it had no intention of complying. When it started forwards again, Andrew swung the metal bar at its .


    There was another loud, sickening crack as metal again crushed bone. The creature still showed no sign of pain, it merely crumpled onto the ground once again. And once again it tried to get up ¨C but this time, lacking the use of one leg, was unable to do so. Andrew stepped back and wiped the sweat from his face.


    Maybe he should call the police and report it? The thing be dangerous. But he really didn''t want to get involved, especially given the damage he''d done to it. Just his luck he''d end up the one who got the blame. No, best just drive off.


    He looked down at the broken, snarling thing that had once been his passenger. Then he carefully walked around it and opened the driver''s door of his cab. As he got in, he turned back and said simply:


    <hr>

 Friday 11:00 - Val

    Friday 11:00 - Val


    A subtle beep announced that the outer door of Marrenforth East police station had opened. Desk Sergeant Val Carter, sitting behind the desk, looked up from the newspaper she was reading to see the inner door open. Through it came an overweight woman with sandy hair, towing behind her a young boy of about five who was wearing a white T-shirt bearing the word ''Hugs''.


    Val wondered what it would be this time. Had an older child taken the kid''s yo-yo? Was it another missing cat? Marrenforth was hardly a crime hotspot. Val put down the newspaper, stood up and adopted her best ''helping the public'' smile.


    "Good morning, madam," she said, "What seems to be the problem?"


    The woman ignored her and went straight to the row of chairs that lined one side of the room.


    "There you go, Sammy," she said. "Sit here and wait. That''s it, good boy. Now stay quiet while mummy talks to the nice police lady. You''re safe here, the nasty man can''t get you."


    After making sure the boy was seated, she turned and walked up to the desk.


    "My Sammy''s just been attacked! You need to do something about it!"


    Well, this was different. Marrenforth was normally mercifully free of kiddy-fiddlers. Val''s professional smile was replaced by a genuine look of concern. Her eyes flicked to the boy, who had closed his eyes and seemed to be sleeping. Then she looked back at his mother.


    "I''m sorry to hear that. What happened?" She picked up a pencil; she preferred to take notes on paper, then enter them into the computer system afterwards.


    "Well, we''d been in the park. Sammy likes playing on the swings there. Sometimes I give him a push, but usually he prefers to just swing gently by himself. Or he chases the pigeons. Never catches them of course. So I sit on the bench and watch."


    "And somebody attacked Sammy in the park?"


    "No. But they might have done. There was some funny business going on in the trees. Doggies or whatever they call themselves. Well, I don''t want Sammy exposed to that sort of thing, not at his age. Could scar him for life. So I took him out of the park."


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "So nothing happened in the park?"


    "No, I just told you. We left the park. We went to the shop round the corner and I bought Sammy some chocolate. I try not to let him eat too much sugar, not good for his teeth, so I buy him chocolate instead of sweets."


    She paused for breath. Val was about to ask if anything had happened in the shop, but thought better of it and just waited.


    "Well," the woman continued, "After that I said we could go and look in the big toyshop. It''s his birthday next month, so I thought we could talk about what he wanted. See if I could get him to make a decision rather than keep changing his mind. You know what they''re like at that age, always after the latest fad."


    "And at the toyshop?"


    "We never got there! We were walking along the street. Well, I was walking, Sammy was running ahead. He always gets excited about the toyshop. He wasn''t looking where he was going and bumped into a man''s legs. Most people smile when they see a youngster, but I was ready to say ''sorry'' just in case. I was brought up to be polite and I want Sammy to learn good manners as well. But when the man turned round, he didn''t say anything. Just stared. His face looked all wrong, I think he might have been on drugs or something. So I ran up and grabbed Sammy. As I did so, that filthy junkie lowered his head and tried to bite him! Bite my poor Sammy! I only just pulled him out of the way in time. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn''t been there. The junkie looked like he was going to have another go, so I took Sammy and ran away. Once we were safe, we came here as quickly as we could. I wanted to report it so you could send someone to arrest that man, get him off the streets before he hurts anyone."


    "Very sensible, Ma''am," Val said, knowing that the chances of getting a good description of the assailant, let alone locating him, were slim. "But before we deal with that, how is your son? Was he hurt at all?"


    "No, he''s fine. He got a scratch on his arm from the horrible man''s teeth, nothing serious. I mean, at his age they''re always getting scratches and bruises, it''s part of growing up. Makes you stronger, that''s what my father always used to say. He''s been rather quiet but I reckon that''s shock. It was a really scary thing for a young boy like him to have to go through."


    "Of course. I''m sure he''s a very brave boy. I should take a look at him, even if it is only a scratch. I''ll put some disinfectant on it just in case. And we should probably get the on-call doctor to check him out properly."


    Val took the first aid box from the shelf behind her, opened the flap in the desk and walked over to the chair where Sammy was sitting.


    The boy''s eyes were still closed. She could see the scratch on his left arm, she could imagine him raising it to protect himself as his mother lifted him up and inadvertently moved him closer to the attacker''s mouth. The scratch looked pretty deep but at least it wasn''t bleeding. Once she''d cleaned it up, she''d try to persuade the mother to wait while she called in the doctor.


    "How are you feeling, Sammy?" Val asked gently. There was no reply.


    "Sammy. Sammy!" his mother called out. "The nice police lady is talking to you. Open your eyes and answer her."


    The boy didn''t respond. Val frowned. He really was very quiet. Very still. She reached out and touched his cheek.


    Cold. She squatted down in front of the chair and leant her head down to listen to his chest.


    As Val bent over, Sammy''s eyelids snapped apart to reveal lifeless grey eyes. His mouth opened and he uttered a savage snarl. Before Val could react, Sammy lunged forwards and clamped his teeth around her throat, ripping and tearing her flesh.


    Both women screamed.


    Val''s scream was cut short when Sammy''s milk teeth severed her windpipe. Blood poured from the gaping wound as she collapsed to the ground.


    <hr>

 INTERLUDE - London 11:30

    INTERLUDE - London 11:30


    Home Secretary Amanda Helmson was seated at her desk in her London office. She was currently halfway through reading a 28 page proposal for banning the use of encrypted internet communication between individuals. It seemed like common sense to her, but she knew that there would be an outcry from the civil rights lobby. Governments of both parties had tried to get support for the necessary measures, both had failed. So they had to proceed by small steps. A regulation here, a ''think of the children'' there. about the horrors of the Dark Net and the public would see sense. Eventually.


    When she''d taken the job of Home Secretary, Amanda had thought that she''d be able to make a difference. It was time someone with a backbone took the actions that everyone ¨C at least, all sensible people ¨C knew were necessary to protect the country. But politics was politics and even in one of the great offices of state she was still unable to achieve what she wanted.  society continued to collapse ¨C all in the name of freedom and democracy. She ran her hands through her tightly cropped, blonde hair and shook her head.


    "Excuse me, Ma''am."


    Amanda looked up at the secretary hovering in the doorway. "Yes? I thought I said I didn''t want to be disturbed?" In reality, the interruption was a welcome one. But she liked to remind people that she was in charge.


    "Sorry, Ma''am. But the Chief Constable of Marrenforth is on the phone, says it''s urgent."


    "Marrenforth? Where the devil is that?"


    "It''s a small town up north, Ma''am. About fifty miles from..."


    "Oh yes, that shithole. So what''s going on up there?"


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "He didn''t say, Ma''am. Just said he needed to speak with you urgently."


    "His name?"


    "Geoffrey Shanwell."


    "That prick. OK, put him through."


    She picked up the phone.


    "Geoffrey! Good to hear from you. How''s life in lovely Marrenforth?"


    She paused to listen to his response.  at the news of an attack in a police station. She pressed for more details, but it seemed that the idiot of a Chief Constable didn''t actually know what was going on in his own back yard. What he did know was that one of his officers and a civilian woman were dead.


    incidents in the town. Those could just be the usual early Friday drunks, but could be a sign of gang violence or civil unrest. Just the sort of problems she was always warning about.


    This was potentially very bad, especially if things spiralled out of control. It could lead to lots of negative press coverage and bring up questions of police resourcing. God knows, she''d tried to get more money for them, but somehow it was always Health and Education that won out. But who would get the blame for not protecting the public? Her, of course.


    "OK, Geoffrey," she said, making a mental note to  the local Commissioner to fire the clearly incompetent Chief Constable. "You were right to bring this to my attention. I''ll monitor the situation from here, let me know if there''s anything you need. For now, the most important thing is to avoid any panic. Just issue denials until things blow over, don''t let the press make this out to be worse than it is. Keep up the good work, I''ve got total faith in you."


    She hung up and turned to her computer. She opened up the government''s secure news monitor and typed in ''Marrenforth''. There was nothing on the traditional news websites yet, but plenty of nonsense and speculation on social media.


    There were also a few unpleasant photos that had been uploaded, showing people with grey eyes and bloody chins. The Internet Idiots were ranting about zombies and the end of the world. All because of a few pictures that had


    She wondered again why the PM insisted on allowing that sort of thing and kept overriding her proposals for more government control over social media. He hadn''t even allowed her to create a national CCTV network, so she couldn''t get a direct view of whatever was happening.


    Without knowing all the details, she couldn''t go on the media circuit to reassure people that she had everything under control. And thanks to the social liberals and their free speech nonsense, she couldn''t clamp down on the ridiculous internet rumours.


    A zombie apocalypse?


    Ridiculous.


    In England


    .

 Friday 12:50 - Barry

    Friday 12:50 - Barry


    As he rode his bicycle along the street, his middle age man bun bobbing at the back of his head, Barry Jenkins thought about ways of committing suicide. Maybe he could deliberately swerve and drive right in font of one of the lorries that occasionally thundered past? No, he decided, not that. That could cause an accident and he wouldn''t want to get anyone else hurt.


    If this was America, he could shoot himself. Or get himself shot. But this was England and he''d never even seen a gun, let alone held one. Slash his wrists? No way, just the idea made him wince, he knew he''d never be able to go through with it. Overdose of painkillers? Reliable but slow, painful and stupid. Hang himself? Hah! The rope would probably snap under his weight.


    It wasn''t that Barry actually wanted to die; he just didn''t particularly want to live. What was the point? He was useless and unwanted, someone else - anyone else - could make better use of the oxygen he was breathing.


    He wondered again what had brought him to this. Was it bad luck, bad choices or just a faulty personality? He wasn''t sure, but some combination of the three had led to him becoming a sad, overweight, middle-aged man with nothing to live for.


    Barry had never found it easy to make friends. His few relationships had ended badly, leaving him feeling even more isolated and unwanted than before. So he''d thrown himself into his work as a substitute. He was damn good at what he did. His job became his life, or at least the closest to a life that he had. Instead of going out for a drink with friends, he had been happy working late and eating pizza in the office with colleagues.


    But he no longer had any colleagues. The company that had practically been his home for the last ten years had gone bust a few months ago, leaving him jobless and adrift. With his routine broken and no office to go to every day, boredom and futility had swept over him.


    He''d tried to fight back, had kept sending out job applications. There had been numerous interviews but, like the one from which he was now returning, all had been unsuccessful. Nobody actually said the words, but it was obvious from their faces what was wrong: he was too old. They all wanted younger people with more ambition, more energy and slimmer waists.


    What a messed up world it was where having years of relevant experience actually counted against you.


    Zombies didn''t exist... so what was that he could see?


    Well, this nonsense had gone far enough. It was about time someone with a bit of maturity stepped in and sorted things out.


    Barry pulled in to the kerb and dismounted from his bicycle. He began walking towards the figure. The ''zombie'' seemed to embody the frustrations of the day, of his entire recent past.


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    The teenage boy walked right up to the shambler and raised his hand to give him a high five. As he did so, the man''s arm whipped up and he grabbed at the boy''s wrist. The man pulled on the boy''s wrist and his head was dragged forwards and thrust into the waiting jaws. The teeth bore down on his flesh.


    It had only taken a few seconds. Barry stood still and blinked, trying to process what he had seen. Was this part of the act? It had seemed so real. In fact... he tried to resist the conclusion but knew it was true. It had been real.


    It was impossible, but it was real.


    As Barry was thinking this, the second teenager called out "Karl!" and tried to pull her dead friend away from the zombie''s clutches. But it simply lashed out and grabbed her with its other arm. The girl struggled, trying unsuccessfully to break its grip. She kicked it with her heels and scratched its face, but it took no notice.


    A switch in Barry''s brain clicked ¨C or maybe a circuit overloaded ¨C and his eyes shone with excitement. He charged towards the zombie.


    It took him a few seconds to cover the distance. Just long enough for him to realise that he didn''t have a weapon. And also to realise that he didn''t care. Closing with the zombie, he simply punched it in the head.


    And again.


    He only stopped when he felt something give beneath his heel. The zombie twitched, and he thought it was finished. But then it began to rise again.


    Before it had a chance to get to its feet, Barry jumped. He only rose a few inches into the air, but it was enough. He brought his whole, considerable weight down on the zombie''s skull. This time there was a definite and very satisfying crunching sound.


    He stepped back and watched the body carefully, but there was no sign of movement. It was dead, or whatever the equivalent of dead was for a zombie.


    There was nothing he could do to help the creature''s victim. The poor boy would probably become a zombie too, but until he did Barry had no quarrel with him. So he just turned to go.


    One of the onlookers gave him a thumbs up and called out: "Well done, mate. You''re a real hero."


    A hero! Him!


    Yes, that was it. It all made sense now. Everything had been leading up to this moment.


    He was a hero, he just hadn''t realised it. His sad, dull life had been a secret identity he''d been living in as if it was a cocoon. Now his metamorphosis was complete and he was emerging as the hero that fate had always intended him to become. Barry Jenkins had just died, reborn to protect the people of Marrenforth from zombies, supervillains or other threats.


    Barry saluted the small crowd. "Thank you, citizens. Now hurry home to your loved ones and stay safe. Captain Marrenforth will defeat the zombie threat and make the streets safe once again."


    He turned and walked back to his bicycle. He hopped on to it and began cycling home.


    <hr>

 Friday 13:20 - Ellen

    Friday 13:20 - Ellen


    Ellen walked out of the small restaurant, ignoring the dirty look she knew she was getting from the young girl now clearing her table. No, she hadn''t left a tip. She felt bad for the girl, it wasn''t her fault. There was nothing wrong with the service, but the food...


    After a morning exploring the uninspiring sights of Marrenforth, she''d found what looked like a surprisingly sophisticated little restaurant down a back street. It had seemed to be a great place to have lunch and kill some time before heading to the railway station and a train home to London.


    The menu was enticing, lots of interesting twists on standard recipes. And the prices were decent as well; this place was probably expensive for Marrenforth, but by London standards it was a bargain. After much indecision, she''d finally ordered the special: steamed local fish with saffron couscous. It sounded rather heavier than she''d normally choose for lunch, but after a morning in Marrenforth she deserved a treat. And the thought of fresh, locally caught fish had proved irresistible.


    The food had taken a while to arrive, but that was a good sign. It meant it was actually being cooked rather than simply reheated. When her meal was finally delivered to her table, it had looked and smelt wonderful. Ellen thought that she''d actually found something worthwhile in the lousy town. With great expectations, she tried a little of the couscous. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise: excellent, and real saffron not padded out with turmeric. Next the fish. She''d cut some off and put a small forkful into her mouth.


    Then almost spat it out again.


    What on earth? That flavour... It hadn''t been anything she could place, rather she would have described it as somehow metallic. As the piece of fish slid down her throat, it felt as if someone was running a fingernail along her gullet.


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    It was, in a word, horrible. It wasn''t ''off'' or simply uncooked, she''d have sent it back. There was nothing definite that she could actually complain about. It was just... unpleasant. They either had strange tastes or strange fish in Marrenforth.


    There was no way she would eat that. But at least the couscous was good, so she had just finished that quickly. Then she''d opened her purse and left exactly the right money on the table before walking out without saying a word. If she''d still been in London, she''d probably have demanded to see the manager and refused to pay, but her day was bad enough already and the last thing she wanted was an argument. Better to cut her losses and just leave.


    So much for killing time over a long lunch. The next train out of Marrenforth back down to London didn''t leave until just after three, so she had almost two hours to fill. She decided to do some window shopping whilst walking slowly to the station at the other end of town.


    As she walked back toward the main street, she heard a loud clattering some way behind her. She turned round and saw two middle-aged women shuffling slowly in her direction. One of them had apparently just knocked over a dustbin, strewing garbage on the pavement and producing the noise Ellen had heard. Neither woman seemed to care, they just continued walking, ignoring the rubbish beneath their feet. They were a good hundred yards away, but even from that distance Ellen could see that they looked dreadful. Their faces were grey, their clothes were crumpled and out of place. Both seemed to be having trouble with their coordination, staggering from side to side as they walked towards her.


    Drunk, thought Ellen. Out of their skulls at lunchtime. OK, so today was Friday ¨C but even so, it was way too early to be that far gone. Maybe they were homeless drunks? Perhaps, but their clothes looked too new for that; as a Londoner, Ellen had plenty of experience with both drunks and the homeless. She knew that one didn''t necessarily imply the other. She guessed that these two were probably office workers who had gone out for a ''quick glass of wine with lunch'' and managed to get themselves into this state. She was almost impressed that they''d done it so thoroughly.


    The women had clearly noticed Ellen now. One of them held out her arms and opened her mouth wide.


    As Ellen watched, a young man came out of a shop just in front of the staggering women. They turned away from Ellen and one lunged toward him. She threw her arms around him and her head leant in. The young man pushed her away and span round, only to find the other woman just behind him. He shouted something, but Ellen was too far away to make out what it was.


    Ellen felt herself shiver and her pulse rate increase. Oh no, not that. The poor guy. He was about to be the victim of a dreadful fate ¨C hugs and kisses from over-friendly drunks.


    Whilst sober.


    She turned and continued on her way, leaving the terrifying scene behind.


    <hr>

 Friday 13:35 - Graeme & Cynthia

    Friday 13:35 - Graeme & Cynthia


    Graeme smiled inwardly as he scanned the  through the till. They could do with more customers like this.


    He and his wife Cynthia ¨C who was currently standing at the window, watching the street through  ¨C had run this convenience store for the last three years. It was hard work - the hours were long and they didn''t make much money - but at least they felt like they were in control of their own lives. However business had become increasingly difficult recently; a new, large store had opened up just . Most of their regular customers had slowly drifted away, enticed by the greater choice and lower prices. Now, they only popped in to G&C''s Corner Shop to pick up a couple of things they''d forgotten or to buy a bottle of something strong and alcoholic to drown the memory of a bad day at the office. It was rare for anyone to use one of the baskets that were optimistically piled neatly by the door.


    This customer didn''t just have one basket, he had two. He''d filled both of them to overflowing with milk, tinned food, bottled water and more. Graeme wasn''t complaining, but it was strange. He normally avoided commenting on what people bought, but this time he couldn''t resist.


    "Looks like you''re stocking up for a war."


    "Too right, mate, too right. War''s a good word for what''s coming. Are you a God fearing man?"


    Oh oh. He should have kept his mouth shut; the last thing he needed was a sermon from a Jesus freak. He stayed carefully non-committal with his response.


    "Well, I try to keep an open mind."


    "Then close it." The man packed the last few items into his third carrier bag. "There''s no more room for doubt, the evidence is everywhere. Take a look outside, the forces of evil are here. The demons have been unleashed from Hell and only the righteous will survive. This is Armageddon, the final war. Heed my advice: lock your doors and pray."


    "Er... sure. Thanks. That''ll be ¡ê63.50, please."


    The man opened his wallet and brought out a wad of cash. He handed over some notes and Graeme gave him his change.


    "Spend the money quickly," said the man, then turned and almost ran out of the shop with his bags


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "He''s right, you know," Cynthia said quietly, still looking out of the window.


    "What, about going on a spending spree? Or praying?"


    Cynthia snorted. "Hardly! I mean he''s right about locking the doors." She turned to him. "It''s getting bad out there."


    Graeme walked over to join his wife at the window.


    "Look," she said, pointing. Graeme peered  and could see what seemed to be some sort of fight taking place down the road. Elsewhere, there were people running in all directions.


    This was not business as normal for Marrenforth.


    Maybe Cynthia was right. He hated the thought of losing business, but something was definitely wrong today. First the creepy customer, then this. "OK," he said with a nod. "I''ll close up."


    He went out through the door to the front and began the process of bringing down the heavy metal shutter that covered the windows at night; a necessary precaution for any shop that sold alcohol.


    As he was releasing the catch on the shutter, he heard slow footsteps close behind him. He turned.


    "Sorry, friend, we''re cl..." he began.


    The sight of the woman in front of him stopped him mid-word. She was only young, no more than twenty. Nothing unusual there. However the way she was staggering, approaching slowly in small shuffles, was definitely not normal. Nor were  deathly pallor of her skin and the grey, lifeless appearance of her eyes. The blood that stained her chin was the final touch.


    Graeme found himself frozen by the sight of her. As she came , he found himself unable to pull his gaze away from that face. Closer, closer... she reached out an arm in his direction... her mouth opened in a sick parody of a grin...


    "Graeme!"


    Cynthia''s voice snapped him back to his senses. He blinked rapidly then turned and ran into the shop, slamming the door behind him. Some inappropriate instinct caused him to flick the sign on the door from ''Open'' to ''Closed'' as he did so.


    He hadn''t had a chance to finish lowering the shutter. The staggering woman just continued to walk  and bumped up against the glass of the closed door.


    Graeme and Cynthia moved to the back of the shop and crouched low, hiding behind a row of shelves. They heard more sounds from the front for a few seconds, then there was silence. Graeme poked his head around the end of the shelves and looked towards the door. Nobody was there. Keeping low, he quietly moved towards the shop front and risked peering through the window. He saw the woman who had been following him heading slowly away down the street, towards even more chaos than there had been just a minute ago.


    "That was close," said Cynthia quietly. "We need to get out of here, go home."


    Graeme nodded. "Whatever this is, it doesn''t look like it''ll be over soon. We should take supplies, but that would slow us down. What do you reckon?"


    "We''ve got plenty at home, enough to ride this out. Speed is more important."


    "You''re right," Graeme agreed. "It''s too risky out front. Let''s use the back way."


    The two of them ducked down and made their way quietly through from the main shop to the storeroom at the back. From there, Graeme opened the door that led out into the alley behind the building.


    At the sound of the door opening, two staggering figures in the alleyway snapped their heads round and began moving towards him. One was a girl of around ten, the other a young boy who was wearing a blood-stained white T-shirt with the word ''Hugs''.


    Graeme  the door


    They were trapped.


    <hr>

 Friday 13:50 - Barry

    Friday 13:50 - Barry


    He turned to the young woman whose life he had just saved. She was standing as if frozen to the spot, eyes wide and mouth open. "Fear not, citizen," the Captain said, flashing his most reassuringly heroic smile. "The danger is past, another foul zombie has been despatched by Captain Marrenforth. Now hurry home to your loved ones and stay safe."


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Eager for the next encounter, the Captain hopped on to his three-gear MarrenCycle and pedalled away to continue his heroic patrol.


    <hr>

 INTERLUDE - London 14:05

    INTERLUDE - London 14:05


    Amanda  her computer screen, fingers drumming on her desk. After her  with the Marrenforth Chief Constable, shed cleared her diary in order to devote herself completely to what was happening there. Although the idea of a zombie apocalypse was clearly ridiculous, there was definitely something going on and it was getting worse. She couldn''t work out exactly what it was, but her political senses were practically screaming with alarm. The situation was dangerous and needed watching.


    So she had watched it, carefully. As time had gone on, she''d experienced a growing sense of anger and frustration. The violence was one thing, but what was far worse was the misinformation. People were spreading more of these ridiculous stories, risking not just panic in the shires but possibly questions in the House. Her office had started receiving enquiries from the press, but she''d fobbed them off with a story about an anti-fascist demonstration getting out of control.


    The Marrenforth situation wasn''t a demo, but it was definitely getting out of control. Yet there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.


    Oh, she had the power to stop these rumours with one phone call. MI5 via GCHQ had back doors into every communications system, ISP and internet gateway in the country. And for the past few years, some of those back doors had even been legal. One word from her and any or all of the internet could be blacked out in the UK. But the problem with legalising the powers was that it meant greater scrutiny and more constraints over when and how she could use them. Only very specific circumstances could justify even a partial blackout.


    Whatever was happening in Marrenforth, the irresponsible rumours were making it worse. Maybe after this was over, the PM would listen to her suggestions for . Right now, though, all she could do was shut things down completely. She was ready to do that, she just had to wait for the right opportunity.


    A new post caught her eye. It was a link to a video entitled: "Marrenforth hero slays zombie!!!". This could be it. She clicked on the link.


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    The video that played was low quality, clearly taken from a phone in a shaky hand. It showed a woman backed against a wall as a man shambled towards her. Amanda assumed he was one of the junkies that were causing so much trouble.


    Amanda gasped. She''d just watched a video of a brutal murder. In England. Posted on social media.


    That sort of violence was what that idiot Geoffrey in the police was meant to deal with. Well, there would be no problem identifying the killer. He''d be locked up within a week. And Geoffrey would be out of a job.


    "First self-defence, then vigilantes, then murderer gangs." Amanda muttered to herself. "It all spirals out of control and these sites just fuel it."


    This zombie crap was ridiculous, what they were dealing with was a cycle of violence and mass hysteria feeding on each other with the internet amplifying everything. , but at least the video and accompanying comments were what she needed to justify action. She picked up the secure phone and made a call to MI5.


    "Raj," she said. "I take it you''ve been watching the Marrenforth situation? Yes, I think so too. Well I''ve now got the ''ongoing exhortation to immediate violence and/or civil unrest'' plus ''mass threat to life''. So I need you... You''re way ahead of me. Good man, Raj. We think alike. What you can''t shut down, jam. Anything else you can tell me? Hmm, yes. It could be some form of chemical or biological leak. We don''t have any facilities there, do we? Thanks God for that. OK, I''ll talk to Health. Thanks Raj."


    She finished the call and began the required paperwork - some things still had to be done . Raj wouldn''t bother waiting for it, but they''d need a paper chain later if things went bad.


    The important thing now was that within a few minutes all civil phone, radio and internet connectivity to, from or inside the Marrenforth area would be impossible. Only official channels would operate.


    The public needed to be protected.


    <hr>

 Friday – 14:25

    Friday ¨C 14:25


    Charlene had seen many things during her twenty year career as a bus driver. Things that, in the words of the song, a woman ain''t s''posed to see. Especially on the Friday and Saturday night runs. But she''d never seen Marrenforth town centre quite like this. Even though there was surprisingly little traffic on the roads, she drove the double decker slowly and cautiously.


    The town this afternoon was a strange mixture of silence and chaos. The streets were definitely emptier than usual, just a few people hurrying along. Hardly anyone was going in to the shops and nobody had been waiting at the last three bus stops she''d passed. This was always a quiet service, but not that quiet.


    Where there was activity on the street, it wasn''t of the sort normally associated with this time of day. It was more like she''d expect at night, just after the pubs closed. Already today she''d seen lots of people staggering, clearly drunk. She''d seen numerous brawls, quite unpleasant ones by the look of things. A couple of hours ago, at the beginning of her shift, she''d even seen an overweight, middle-aged man jumping up and down on another man''s head whilst a crowd looked on.


    The town appeared to have gone mad.


    She''d tried calling base to report in, but her radio was dead. Without the radio, she had no way to contact anyone and find out what was going on. So all she could do was continue her route until she got back to the main garage where she was due to end her shift.


    She heard a man''s scream.


    Inside her bus.


    It came from above her, the upper floor. Over the years she''d learned to recognise numerous different sounds, including different types of scream. There were the screams of children playing, the screams of couples arguing with each other, the screams from young people playing games on their phones. None of those were her business. But the scream echoing through the bus now was raw and full of genuine fear. That meant it was very much her business.


    She glanced at the CCTV monitor in front of her and flicked to the upper deck camera, but the picture was so small and fuzzy that she could hardly see anything. There were several people standing up who appeared to be fighting, that was all she could tell.


    Protocol said she should radio base and arrange for police to meet her at the next stop. Since that was impossible, she had two choices: ignore it or deal with it. Which, for Charlene, was no choice at all.


    She pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the vehicle, switching off the engine. The screaming had stopped but a glance at the monitor showed that whatever had been happening upstairs was still happening, so she got out of the driver''s cab and smiled at the half a dozen people on the lower deck.


    "Won''t be a moment, folks, I''ll just sort this out," she said. There was another pained scream from upstairs and looks of concern spread over some of the faces in front of her. "Nothing to worry about, probably just someone playing their music too loudly. Some of today''s pop songs make me want to scream!" Her feeble attempt at a joke was met with a couple of sickly grins.


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    Holding on to the rail, she made her way up the stairs. Once she reached the top, she quickly appraised the situation: there were only three passengers on the upper deck, all standing near the rear. Two middle-aged women and a young man. The women were attacking the man...


    No, more than that. They were... eating him. He was struggling and he screamed again as one of the women chewed off half of his right ear. The other woman bit into his neck. Blood began to spurt, gushing from the wound and covering the woman''s face, then streaming on to the seats and the floor. The young man''s scream died as he slumped to the floor.


    Charlene remembered the two women getting on. They had seemed taken a little longer than most swiping their smart cards, but apart from that had seemed perfectly normal.


    "What the fuck?" she muttered.


    At the sound of her voice, both women turned to face her. She could clearly see the sickly pallor of their blood spattered faces and their dead, grey eyes. The woman who had bitten off the ear staggered menacingly towards her, while the other returned to feasting on their victim.


    Charlene''s mind span rapidly. She''d seen enough movies and TV shows to recognise what was happening: zombies.. But zombies don''t exist... No, Charlene? So what are you looking at?... But it''s impossible... OK, it''s impossible. But it''s happening... So what do I do now?...


    Run!


    Part of her wanted to stay, try to rescue the young man, but she knew he was beyond help. And there was no way she could take on two flesh eating zombies by herself. No, her first responsibility ¨C after staying alive ¨C had to be to protect the other passengers on the bus.


    She scrambled back down the stairs, stumbling down the last few in her haste. Reaching the lower deck, she turned and slammed the emergency door shut behind her. The metal clanged and she flicked the locking catches in place. The system was designed to isolate rowdy drunks or junkies; as far as she knew, it had never been tested on zombies.


    She took several deep breaths, then turned to face the passengers on the lower deck. All were paying her close attention now.


    "Don''t... worry," she puffed. "Just a minor incident." There was a banging from behind the door to the upper floor. "This... this bus is being taken out of service. If you could get off and wait here, another one will be along in a minute or two. Apologies... for the inconvenience."


    There was a collective grumble from the passengers, mixed with a few puzzled questions which Charlene ignored. She walked to the front of the bus to open the main door.


    As she reached up for the red ''Door Open'' button, there was a crashing sound. A man on the street had thrown himself hard at the outside of the door directly in front of her. She snatched her hand away from the button.


    The man was pressed up against the door of the bus, clawing at it. He didn''t seem to realise that he couldn''t walk through the hardened glass and kept bashing into it like a wasp on a window. His face had the same sickly pale complexion and grey eyes as the women upstairs. His lips were pulled back from the teeth in a feral snarl.


    Seeing one this close removed any remaining doubt from Charlene''s mind about what she was seeing: this really was a zombie. Just like in the movies. And right behind it were several others, approaching the bus. With more behind them.


    What to do? She looked through the front window at the street ahead: the situation was deteriorating, zombies staggering and ordinary people running. The road wasn''t blocked, she could still drive on. But where to? She couldn''t simply head for the next stop and let the passengers off; most had now realised what was happening. Even if they agreed to leave, which was unlikely, they''d just be eaten.


    Maybe she should take them all back to the main garage. That was what control would say if the radio was working. But what would happen to them then? Was the garage even safe? If other drivers had done the same thing, the place was probably swarming with zombies by now. Many of them would once have been her colleagues. Her friends.


    No, not the garage. This was her bus, they were her passengers. Her responsibility.


    She reached into the driver''s cab and pulled out a pen and paper, then turned back to the passengers on the lower deck. A few started to ask questions but fell silent when she raised a hand.


    "OK folks," she said. "I''m sure you''ve all realised that something isn''t right out there today. I don''t know any more than you do and I''m not going to speculate. What I do know is that it''s not safe for anyone to wander around. So here''s the plan: I want you all to tell me where you live, or give me the address of another local place you''ll be safe. Then I''ll take you there one at a time by the quickest route I can think of. You''ve got a chauffeur driven bus to your front door!"


    She paused, noting the palpable reduction of tension in the air. "But," she forced a smile. "Don''t tell my supervisor!"


    <hr>

 Friday 14:45 - Ellen

    Friday 14:45 - Ellen


    Ellen hurried along the back street that, according to the signpost, led to the railway station. She''d been forced to take a detour because much of the city centre had been cordoned off by police. Some sort of "incident" was all the officer at the barrier had told her. Her enforced detour meant she was later than planned.


    How much time did she have left? She reached into her bag to grab her phone and check the time. But the phone wasn''t there. Damn! Had she dropped it? Maybe she''d left it in that awful little restaurant? Well, it was too late now. No point going back and trying to retrace her steps, it could be anywhere. The insurance would pay for a replacement. And if she missed this train, the next one to London wasn''t for another five hours.


    She''d rather go through the hassle of an insurance claim than spend an extra five minutes of her life in this place, let alone five hours.


    Swinging the bag back over her shoulder, she continued her rapid walk along the street. A few minutes later, she saw the sign for the station entrance. Relieved, she turned the corner.


    And came face to face with a snarling man.


    His skin was a pale and sickly grey, his eyes dull and lacking intelligence. Blood and saliva ran down his chin and dripped slowly to the ground.


    Ellen''s brain processed those observations within a fraction of a second. Her instincts urged her to run, but her muscles refused to obey. She froze, willing herself to become invisible.


    But the man had noticed her. He snarled, his breath fetid and meaty. Then he reached out a hand in her direction and she instinctively raised an arm to protect herself. In response, he grabbed her forearm, pulling it towards him. She tried to draw back, but his grip was strong. His head came down and she saw his mouth approaching her wrist, about to rip through the flesh and sever the artery. She felt the press of teeth on her flesh, felt the surface of her skin break and the first drops of blood begin to flow...


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    There was a loud, dull thumping sound. Her attacker''s head was jerked aside and he released his grip.


    Behind him stood an overweight, middle-aged man wearing too-tight clothes and cycling goggles. In his hand, he held a length of metal pipe. As Ellen watched, the man brought the pipe down on her attacker''s head a second time, then a third. There was the crunch of bone shattering and the snarling man who had attacked her fell to the ground, his head a bloody wreck. Her rescuer made one last thrust with the pipe, penetrating the damaged skull. The fallen attacker twitched, then went still.


    The strangely dressed man let go of his weapon and turned to Ellen. "Fear not, citizen," he said. "The danger is past, another foul zombie has been despatched by Captain Marrenforth. Now hurry home to your loved ones and stay safe."


    Ellen said nothing, just stared at the bloody mess on the ground before her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She simply couldn''t think of anything to say.


    Instead, she fled from the scene and ran as fast as she could into the station.


    ---


    Five minutes later, she was sitting on the train for London, waiting for it to leave.


    She hadn''t reported the incident with the two crazed men. If she''d still had her phone, she might have called the police. But reporting it in person would mean hanging around and missing her train. By the time she''d finished giving statements, it would probably mean having to stay in Marrenforth another night.


    No way was that happening. She just wanted to get out of this crazy town and back to the sanity of London. She''d call the authorities when she got home and if they needed a witness statement then they could come to her. The image of her attacker''s bloody mess of a head was etched into her mind, causing her to shiver, but she found it difficult to feel much sympathy for him.


    As the train pulled out of Marrenforth station, Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. Putting her bag down on the seat beside her, she looked at her wrist. The feral man''s teeth had grazed her, but it wasn''t much of an injury.


    Taking out a tissue from her bag, she wiped off the few drops of congealed blood and made a mental note to apply some antiseptic when she got home. She''d been lucky, thank goodness that other lunatic had been there to save her. Though he was almost as frightening as the first had been.


    But that didn''t matter. In a few hours, she''d be back in London.


    It was almost over.


    <hr>

 Friday 15:00 - Mark

    Friday 15:00 - Mark


    "Spare some change, pal?" Mark held out his hand, looking up from the pavement at the figure passing by. He didn''t really expect an answer. Most people didn''t even look at him, they tried their hardest to pretend he wasn''t there. Occasionally someone would give an embarrassed shake of the head and mumble "Sorry", usually they just ignored him.


    Mark scratched his ragged stubble ¨C he shaved once or twice a week at a hostel ¨C and reached down for the drink can on the pavement next to him, only to find it empty. So instead he pulled the stinking blanket tighter round his knees. There was never a good time of year to be on the streets, but December was worse than most. Especially when you spent the day sitting in one place. The begging lifestyle ¨C if you could call it a life ¨C hit the body hard. Mark was 43 years old but last time he''d looked in a mirror the unhealthy face staring back had seemed at least twenty years older.


    This was a relatively good spot for begging, one of his favourite pitches. He didn''t get much money here, but he rarely got kicked or spat on. And there were no restaurants or burger places nearby. The smell of hot food could be a soul killer when you were hungry, your last meal having been half a sandwich that somebody had dropped.


    "Spare some change, lady?" Again he was ignored. When he''d first started begging, that had annoyed him. Sometimes he''d shout at them, demand they recognise him as a fellow human being. After a few visits from the local police he''d realised that it was best just to stay quiet and accept his status as a non-person.


    Mark shivered. It was cold, colder than it should be for early December. The chill seemed to be getting through to his bones. Some of his fellow homeless tried to stave off the cold and the misery with booze, but Mark avoided that trap. The empty can next to him had originally contained a fruit flavoured sugary soft drink. No alcohol, that had done far too much damage already. Drinking had lost him his job, so he''d started drinking more. Then he''d lost his wife and his home and ended up on the streets. So he drank even more and several months of his life were missing from his memory. Then one day he''d woken up in a hostel, still drunk, and decided that enough was enough.


    He hadn''t had a drop of alcohol since that day three months ago. He wasn''t going to let the booze destroy what little was left of his life. One day he''d climb out of this hole, all he had to do until then was survive.


    He took the few small pleasures he could in his situation. Realising that people just ignored him he started to play games. Instead of saying "Spare some change?" to a passerby, he''d mumble "Beware the trains" or "Home on the range?". Then for the rest of the day he''d smile at the idea that this was probably worrying away in their brains as they tried to decide whether or not they''d really heard him say that. It was a small, petty pleasure but it helped him get through an otherwise unbearable existence. Somehow, he would manage to bounce back.


    At least that was the way he felt on a good day. But the good days were becoming increasingly rare. No money meant no clean clothes which meant no job which meant no money. He was trapped in a downward spiral from which escape was looking ever less likely. On the bad days it took all his willpower not to give in. Not to spend his few coins on a bottle of cheap, strong cider and dive back into welcome oblivion.


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    Today was not a good day. He could kill for a drink.


    "Spare some..." Mark stopped part way through the question. Why were people running? He looked to the right, in the direction they were heading. What was going on down there? Had someone famous arrived? Was there some free entertainment? Not that he could see. In fact the people in the crowd didn''t seem to running towards anything in particular. They seemed to be running from something.


    He thought about holding up his arm to shield himself from the forest of legs, but none of them were coming close. Even when running, people still instinctively avoided him. Tripping over his seated body would not only slow them down but force them to admit he existed.


    Unable to work out what the fuss was about, Mark turned the other way and looked to his left. As more of the stampeding crowd went past, he got to see what they were running from. Behind them was a small group of maybe a dozen shambling figures. Their clothes were torn and their eyes blank. Many of them had blood on their faces and some seemed to be carrying joints of meat from which they took frequent bites.


    Mark laughed.


    This was too rich. Stupid bloody tourists, scared of fake monsters. This was probably some brainless reality TV show. Actually, it was more likely to be some pretentious attempt at "performance art" by the students at the local college. They did a lot of stuff like this.


    Except... it did look very real. Too real for students. And from what he remembered of reality TV shows, they rarely had much of a budget either. Certainly not enough for an impressive display like this in a public place. The insurance cost alone would have been astronomical.


    The monsters were close now and they certainly looked realistic. As Mark watched, a running woman tripped and fell. Two of the shambling figures reached down. They grabbed an arm each and lifted her up. Then they sank their teeth into each side of her neck, ripping out chunks of flesh. Blood spurted out from vicious wounds and Mark could make out the woman''s screams over the general sound of panic. Another creature joined in the attack; this one began chewing at her leg.


    The others carried on their slow walk along the street. Towards Mark.


    Shit. This was real. The fucking monsters were real. They were fucking eating people! And they''d be on top of him in a few seconds.


    Mark knew he had to run. Now. If he didn''t, he''d be dead. The monsters ¨C the zombies, he corrected himself ¨C would eat him.


    He started to move, tried to stand. His legs had become cramped from sitting in one position and by the time he got himself upright the creatures were almost on him.


    Life on the street had left him malnourished and unfit. If he tried to run, he''d probably trip over the way the woman had. Then the zombies would pounce on him. He didn''t want to go like that, down on the ground. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it standing and facing his death like a man.


    Mark stood still and smiled. The monsters were alongside him now. He knew he should be very, very quiet and hope not to be noticed. Instead he began giggling. He couldn''t help himself. Overcome by a fit of hysteria, he held out his hand.


    "Share some brains, pal?" he asked of the rotting corpse closest to him.


    The creature moved over in his direction. Its bloodstained mouth opened. Slowly it moved its head down towards Mark. Prepared to rip out his throat. Mark''s temporary madness passed and in its place he felt a surprising calmness. He stiffened, ready to die.


    Then the creature stopped. A look of puzzlement came over what was left of its face. It sniffed the air a little, then it turned and walked away. Its fellows all walked past without a glance in Mark''s direction.


    Oh for fuck''s sake. Now even the monsters were ignoring him.


    Mark began to cry.


    <hr>

 Friday 15:40 - Iain

    Friday 15:40 - Iain


    Doctor Iain Hopkins and his receptionist Mina sat watching the scene outside the surgery via the CCTV monitor on the main desk. It was the only view they had since they''d covered up all the windows in the hope of going unnoticed by the monsters outside. Even though they couldn''t see anything directly, they could hear the sounds of chaos outside. Screams and shouting, the occasional car engine, the thumping at the surgery doors...


    Iain knew that they were hiding their heads in the sand; the creatures were clearly aware that there was life in the building. But at least they''d bought themselves some time by covering over the windows. The infected couldn''t see them. More importantly, the few patients in the waiting area didn''t have to see what was happening outside.


    Normally, the surgery would be crowded. However one of Iain''s colleagues had phoned in sick this morning, the other had simply failed to turn up. As a result, they''d had to cancel most of the day''s appointments. At the time it had seemed like a really bad start to the day, but now he was grateful. It meant that there were fewer patients here to worry about.


    Just three. A woman with her three-year-old daughter and an elderly man who kept coughing and spluttering. Both adults knew exactly what was going on, but mercifully the child was too young to understand that something was wrong. She was running around happily, playing with everything she could get her hands on. Normally, Mina would have gently calmed the girl down and then politely asked her mother to keep her under control. But today... well, there didn''t seem much point. Let her enjoy herself.


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    On the screen they could see many of the infected ¨C Iain couldn''t bring himself to call them ''zombies'' ¨C shambling around. Several of them were at the doors of the surgery where they''d spent the last half hour mindlessly and relentlessly pounding away.


    Some uninfected people were also still out in the street, either hiding or trying to escape. Every so often, one would become trapped by a group of infected and be left with no way out. Teeth would bite into skin, fingers rend away the flesh around the newly opened wound. The poor victims would scream as they were ripped open and devoured.


    For the first time since he had become a doctor, Iain wished he didn''t know as much as he did. He knew how strong human jaws could be if used without restraint. Over the years, he''d had to deal with a few bites made during drunken brawls. They had been awful wounds, yet most of them had been the result of just a single bite. And even aggressive drunks usually had some natural, subconscious limiter on their actions.


    The creatures outside showed no such restraint.


    Iain also cursed the fact that he knew exactly what was happening to the victims'' bodies. He could tell which veins and arteries were being pierced, which muscles ripped and torn. When the infected worked deeper into a body, he could identify the organs they were removing and devouring.


    He understood the pain involved in the slow, agonising deaths he was witnessing.


    There was a loud crash and one of the surgery doors rattled, its hinges almost broken away by the relentless pressure from the bodies outside.


    Mina looked up at Iain. "I think it''s time," she said.


    Iain nodded. He went over to the emergency medication safe and opened it up. From within, he brought out several small pill packets, all covered with warnings.


    He reckoned six pills each for the adults, two for the child. He''d discussed the plan with Mina and both adult patients earlier and they''d all agreed. The stuff was strong enough that, with those doses, they''d quickly slip away into a relaxed, peaceful death. Even if they were still alive when the infected broke in, they''d probably not feel anything.


    Probably.


    <hr>

 Friday 15:55 - Charlene

    Friday 15:55 - Charlene


    Charlene slowed the bus down to a stop, leaving the engine turning over.


    She''d delivered most of the passengers to their homes or wherever they wanted to go in town. There was only one left on board now: an elderly man who had introduced himself as Mr Addiscome and who had moved to sit in the front seat just a few feet away from her driver''s cab. Charlene had suggested taking him home first, but he had insisted on waiting until last. Maybe he was extremely brave, but Charlene suspected that he simply wanted the company.


    The streets of Marrenforth had become increasingly crowded, some of them impassable with the mass of zombies, abandoned cars and general chaos. Ferrying the passengers to their homes had taken far longer than she had expected. During that time, Mr Addiscome had talked... and talked and talked. She had learned more than she ever needed to know about him, his sister Grace who now lived in Australia, his grandson Sammy, his bad back which he had been on the way to see the Doctor about today and much, much more.


    With only one passenger left ¨C excluding the dead ones still hammering on the doorway to the upper deck ¨C Charlene could no longer put off the question of where she herself would go.


    She lived alone and her family were all up in Scotland. Her original idea had been to go home and wait things out but, as the day had gone on, she had become increasingly convinced that there was no point. The outbreak was past the point of being contained. The passengers had all been grateful for her help, but she suspected that in most cases she was simply allowing them to choose where they were going to die.


    That wasn''t hat she wanted for herself. No. She wouldn''t hide, wouldn''t cower in fear and simply wait for death. She''d take the bus and drive as far away as she could. Maybe all the way up to Scotland. If the company complained, they could stop it out of her wages!


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    But first...


    First she had to get this guy home, and that was proving difficult.


    She''d tried several routes, and all had been blocked one way or another. The main road through town was cordoned off with what had clearly originally been a police barricade with official vehicles and barriers blocking the road. Some of the officers now staggered around amongst the undead, the rest had presumably fled. The vehicles remained across the road, many of their lights still flashing, so that way was impassable with her bus.


    The back road she was on now was the only route left to the old man''s home. Unfortunately, it was blocked by a seething mass of zombies some way ahead.


    The bus was heavy and sturdily built. Charlene was a good driver, she''d controlled the vehicle through snow and ice. If she put her foot down and accelerated, she could probably drive straight through the crowd of undead.


    Or she might end up stuck in the middle of them, maybe even overturned. Easy fodder for undead jaws.


    Driving through them would be a risk. Then there was the fact that these zombies had once been people. She knew intellectually that they were now dead, flesh-eating monsters, but that didn''t make the thought of driving straight at them any easier. Especially after all her training and experience as a professional driver.


    The zombies in the street had noticed the bus and many were now heading towards it. She had to make a decision quickly.


    Two choices. The risky option was to go straight ahead and attempt to drive through the walking corpses, take Mr Addiscome home, then leave Marrenforth on her own.


    The sensible option was to turn round and drive straight out of the town. Take Mr Addiscombe with her and head for somewhere safe. Drive and drive for hours with the talkative passenger as her constant travelling companion.


    "Mushrooms are the worst," she heard the old man saying. "I used to love mushrooms. But I can''t eat them now. They go straight through me. Last time I had a mushroom omelette, well, let me tell you..."


    There really was no choice.


    Charlene pressed her foot hard on the accelerator pedal and the bus charged forward towards the massed undead.


    <hr>

 Friday 16:15 - George

    Friday 16:15 - George


    "Not drinking?" George asked as he picked up the untouched saucer of milk from between the two cats. "You used to love this. Especially when I added a little cream. But I suppose you don''t drink milk now that you''re both... dead."


    He hadn''t found it difficult coming to terms with the fact that people were being turned into zombies. He''d spent enough time watching the world from his windows to realise it wasn''t much of a stretch. But cats... Not just any cats but his beloved cats... that was more difficult for him to accept.


    But however much he tried to deny it, there was no doubt that Mrs Smith and Mrs Jones were now members of the undead. Both had the same dead, grey eyes and moved with a shambling lack of muscle control. Mrs Jones also had one of George''s handkerchiefs tied around her neck, an impromptu bandage to stem the bleeding from the wound Mrs Smith had inflicted. For a second he had thought she was leaping at him, but it had been the cat under his chair that had been Mrs Smith''s target.


    George had instinctively grabbed Mrs Smith and dragged her off Mrs Jones before she could cause too much harm, but the bits had been enough to cause Mrs Jones to turn. It was only later that George had realised the risk he''d taken. What if Mrs Smith had bitten him? But she hadn''t. Neither of the undead cats had paid any attention to him.


    Both creatures ignored him as he carried the saucer back to the kitchen and poured the contents down the sink. He took a tin of cat food from the cupboard and opened it, emptying its contents into a plastic bowl.


    He returned to the other room. The cats immediately began twitching, their senses clearly picking up the meaty smell of the cat food. As he leant down to put the bowl down on floor between them, Mrs Smith snarled and made a badly coordinated leap into the air.


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    She swiped at the bowl with one paw and knocked it out of George''s grasp. It fell to the floor, scattering the food around. Both cats immediately pounced on it and began devouring the food with none of the finesse they''d shown when alive.


    George stood up. "Now that was very naughty, Mrs Smith, very naughty indeed. You''ve been a naughty girl all day, especially attacking Mrs Jones and turning her into a zombie. But then you always were a mischievous one, even before you died."


    He left the cats to finish off the food and walked over to the chair beside the window. He eased himself in, then looked out at the show taking place in the street below.


    Any semblance of normality in Marrenforth was long gone. Zombies staggered along the road whilst the few remaining uninfected hid or ran. There was almost no traffic, though a few minutes ago he''d seen a double-decker bus speed through, knocking zombies aside like bowling pins.


    Outrunning the zombies wasn''t a problem, they moved do slowly, but there were so many that it was easy for the survivors to become trapped. However, George occasionally saw one who walked right through the melee without apparently even being noticed by the flesh eaters.


    "Why do you think that is?" he asked the unresponsive cats. "I thought you two had left me alone because we''re friends. But it looks like some people are simply unappealing to zombies. I must be one of them. I wonder why? And what would you have done if I wasn''t immune, Mrs Smith? Would you have attacked me or Mrs Jones first?"


    Mrs Smith remained silent and George turned his attention back to the scene in the street.


    As he watched, a woman just below was grabbed by a zombie that had managed to walk up behind her without her noticing. George could clearly see the blood shooting from her neck as the zombie bit into her. Even this far from the street, he could also clearly hear her shrill screams.


    "I''ve got enough cat food to keep you both going for a week," he said, without turning from the window. "After that... well, things will be getting pretty nasty. The corpses will be smelling and a health hazard. If the authorities haven''t sorted things out by then, I''m going to test my immunity theory and see if I can just walk out of town. Which means you''ll have to hunt for your own food."


    He looked at the two zombie cats, their dead eyes dull but menacing.


    "I have a feeling you''ll be good at it."


    <hr>

 Friday 16:40 - Graeme & Cynthia

    Friday 16:40 - Graeme & Cynthia


    The shop door behind the makeshift barricade shuddered under the weight of dead bodies pushing against it. The number of zombies had been growing steadily and the pressure would soon be too strong for it to withstand.


    Graeme pushed back against the crates of tinned food and pasta with all the strength he could muster. "It won''t hold much longer!" he called to Cynthia.


    Over the hours they''d been trapped inside their shop, Graeme and Cynthia had watched through the barred windows as the situation outside gradually deteriorated. They''d boarded up the door using every movable item they could find, including boxes of stock from the storeroom at the back. The alleyway at the rear didn''t seem to attract so much zombie activity, but they had done their best to block that off as well.


    At first they''d hoped that someone would come. That the authorities would deal with the situation. That they''d be saved.


    None of that had happened.


    As the hours had gone on, the number of undead pressing against the doors had continued to increase. Looking through the gaps in the barred windows now revealed a scene of total chaos on the street.


    Some while back, they had been forced to accept that nobody was coming to rescue them. They also knew the barricades wouldn''t hold forever. The simple truth was that they were going to die in the shop.


    The best they could do was take as many of the creatures as possible with them.


    It was Cynthia who had come up with the plan. Whilst Graeme did his best to keep the doors secure, she had made multiple trips to the storeroom, bringing out all the crates of vodka, whiskey and other spirits that they had in stock.


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    She''d arranged most of the boxes along the two sides of the shop. The rest she had piled up in the centre. Then she''d opened a few of the bottles and poured the contents around the floor. Neither of them knew which spirits were most flammable, so she''d made a point of using at least one bottle of each.


    The smell was strong, the sort of aroma usually only found in the dreams of a deranged cocktail waiter. Cynthia was getting drunk just from the fumes; which, under the circumstances, was not something she was going to complain about.


    She emptied the last drops of vodka from the bottle in her hand. "That''s it," she said quietly. "We''re ready."


    Graeme stepped back from the door, which immediately shuddered. The barricade moved slightly inwards. He hurried to join Cynthia at the rear of the shop.


    He reached out and took her hand, gave it a squeeze. She smiled back at him.


    The barricade gave way and the first of the zombies entered the shop. Now that the dam had been breached, more flooded in. They shambled slowly towards Graeme and Cynthia.


    Graeme gave his wife a little kiss. "Love you," he said.


    "Love you too," she replied. "See you on the other side."


    He released her hand and picked up a large piece of cardboard that he''d ripped from one of the storage boxes. He reached into his pocket and brought out a cigarette lighter. With a click, the flame came on ¨C he half expected the fumes in the air to catch fire, but they didn''t. Instead, he lit the card and threw it spinning towards the centre of the shop.


    As soon as the card landed, the alcohol caught. Flames rose and spread rapidly. Unable to run away, the zombies writhed as their dead skin crinkled. The smell of their burning flesh merged with that of the alcoholic fumes in the air. But still they kept on coming.


    For a few seconds, Graeme worried that the plan wasn''t going to work. Had they made a dreadful mistake? He had thought that being eaten alive would be the worst fate he could imagine. But being eaten alive whilst burning to death...


    The first zombie was close now, almost within touching distance. Much of its clothing had been torn away, but somehow it still retained a photo-ID badge pinned like a talisman to what remained of its shirt. Graeme and Cynthia held each other tight and squeezed themselves back against the rear wall.


    The zombie reached out an arm...


    Finally, the pile of bottles in the centre of the room caught. Graeme and Cynthia never heard the explosion, the heat of the expanding fireball killed them instantly.


    The shop became a massive inferno. Dozens of zombies in and around it were reduced to ashes. As the fire spread to surrounding shops, many more were cremated.


    With no fire service to extinguish it, the blaze would burn for several days. During that time, it would destroy hundreds of zombies.


    There were thousands more to take their place.


    <hr>

 INTERLUDE - London 16:45

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    <hr>

 Friday 18:10 - Ellen

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    THE END


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