Here We Stand (Book 1): Infected (Surviving The Evacuation) Read Online Free PDF

catch a train, but he wanted to be seen going into the station. There was a spot, halfway down a platform that wasn’t covered by any cameras. It led to a service tunnel, the exit of which was opposite the fire door of a gym. In a locker was a change of clothes, and a rudimentary disguise that—
    An animalistic scream cut through his thoughts. He looked toward the alley’s mouth, but couldn’t see what caused it. No matter. There was always plan C. He put the tablet away and set off down the alley, heading north.
    When he was sure he was out of sight, he ducked into the lee of an emergency doorway. The lock was easily broken, and he entered the building. He opened the paint-splattered backpack. The reflective vest went inside, along with the work-stained overalls. Out came a pair of generic blue jeans, a thin black jacket, and an I-heart-NY cap. He splashed a small bottle of solvent on the boots and wiped away the paint. The last thing to come out was a compact red and black rucksack with an airline luggage-tag still attached. The paint-splattered backpack and clothes went inside. He slung the bag in front of his chest and hoped, at least to a casual observer, he looked like a tourist. He walked up the narrow stairs, and into a corridor. It was an apartment block. A small group had gathered near the door. Ignoring them as they ignored him, he went back outside.
    The traffic here was just as bad. Bewildered drivers stood by open car doors as pedestrians ran past. There was another scream, and this one was far closer. It came from ahead. He clambered onto the roof of a freshly washed sedan.
    “Hey! Hey! Get off my car!”
    Tom ignored the irate driver as he scanned the roads. He knew he was being stupid, drawing attention to himself and thus negating the thin disguise, but he’d survived the last three decades thanks to information. If life was a puzzle, data was the key. It had become his lifeblood, his tool, his weapon, and without it he was feeling worse than unarmed.
    A gunshot echoed around the towering buildings. Another. The screams grew louder, edged with fear and panic. He jumped down and kept walking. Another junction, another block, and another crowd too dense to push through forced him further away from where he wanted to go. Alleys and roads, doubling back, heading north, then south, east then west until he was on Kenmare, two stores down from the junction with Elizabeth Street. Here, the people had stopped running. They stood in clusters, not talking, but all with their heads glued to their phones, oblivious to the woman staggering across the junction.
    Blood poured down the bespoke blue overcoat from a wound on her neck. Tom was halfway to her when she collapsed. By the time he reached her, there was no pulse. Part of her throat was missing. It was a miracle she’d made it this far. Shrapnel, he guessed, although there were no other wounds, nor was her clothing scorched from being in close proximity to an explosion. There was nothing anyone could do for her. He stood and backed away, walking into the opening door of a cab.
    “Watch out!” a suited-man said, getting out of the back, dragging a suitcase with him.
    “Yeah. Sorry,” Tom said, instantly ignoring the guy. He turned to the driver. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
    “The radio says terrorists,” the driver said, pointing at his dash. “I’m going back to the depot. I can take you there, but nowhere else. Not today.”
    Tom looked at the traffic. Part of him wanted to get inside the cab, to close the doors so he could rest, think, and find out the meaning to all this chaos, but it would be hours before the vehicles were moving freely again.
    There was a shout from behind the cab. It turned into a horrified scream. The cab’s passenger was in the middle of the junction being attacked by… It was impossible. Tom stared in frozen shock.
    The woman, the one he’d been sure was dead, was clawing and pawing at the man. Tom took a