Free The Z Infection by Russell Burgess Page A

down,
causing even more difficulties.  They couldn’t climb over it so they started
going under and around.  It was slow going.  Taff was eager to be moving again,
but I insisted we stay.  I wanted to see for myself what was happening.  Up
until then all I had was mostly second hand reports and TV images.  I wanted to
see it up close.
    We didn’t have long to wait.  My SAS
guard were taking a cigarette break, calmly puffing on their smokes, when the
first indication came that things were serious at the back of the crowd.  There
was a sudden movement as it parted, revealing a host of their pursuers all
staggering around.  Some at the back pushed harder against those in front and
the inevitable happened.  People were knocked over and trampled in the rush. 
Some jumped from the side of the bridge.
    I asked Taff for his binoculars and
focused in on the main body of the infected.  They all bore the same
expressionless features, eyes devoid of care or compassion.  They were lashing
out and grabbing people, falling on those who had been knocked over.  It didn’t
seem to matter about age or gender to them.  Everything was fair game.  The old,
the very young and the unfit were some of the first to die, unable to keep pace
with younger and fitter people.
    As I watched I noticed a pattern
develop.  Most of those who were in that first group I just described, were
killed where they fell.  The infected killed them on the march.  To my medical
mind it was a fascinating sight.  To everyone else it was awfulness beyond
belief.  The fitter ones, those in an age group usually between about fifteen
and fifty years, were often able to fight off one or sometimes two attackers. 
Any more than that was usually too much.  The problem was that they often
suffered scratches and bites from the infected.  I watched as a woman, who had
suffered what looked to be a minor scratch on her arm, ran through the crowd
then suddenly stopped rigid and dropped to the ground, convulsing in agony.  It
went on for a minute or so, before she went still.  A few moments later she was
moving again.  When she stood up she had completely transformed from the young
woman of a few minutes before, to a ravenous mutant.  And she was right in the
middle of the crowd.
    A new wave of panic spread as more
and more people mutated.  In the narrow confines of the bridge, with nowhere to
run to, many chose the river as a last chance for survival.  Before long the infected
outnumbered the living.  It continued like that until everyone on the bridge
had been either killed or transformed.  It was a remarkably quick process.  I
looked at my companions.  They were just finishing their cigarettes.  How long
does it take to smoke one?  About five minutes.  That was how long it took to
wipe out several thousand people on Blackfriars Bridge.  All that was left now,
was a shuffling mass of the dead, arms outstretched towards the thirty or so
people who were lucky enough to have made it through them.
    ‘Back in the car,’ said Taff, ending
a phone call he had just taken.  ‘The government is now at Earl’s Court.  We’re
going there.’
    Soon we were speeding through the
near deserted streets of the south bank.  Word was spreading, almost as quickly
as the infection.  People were abandoning their homes and businesses.
     
    Mike Bradbury
    19:40 hours, Friday 15 th May, Heathrow Airport,
London
           By the time it was seven in the evening I had been
asleep for about three hours.  We had all been advised by airport security, to
remain in the lounge as there were problems in other parts of the airport and
at least two of the terminals had been sealed off.  There was nothing else to
do, but stay in there and watch news reports.  I couldn’t get through to my
boss on the phone and so I had decided to have a drink.  I had finished off
five pints of beer, while sitting with one of the other passengers. 
    That was about my limit in