The Z Infection Read Online Free PDF

older guy turned and attacked her
rescuer.  The two of them seemed to lock in an embrace as they fought one
another.  But before long another one, a woman this time, with the same vacant
expression, dived on him.  He fell, unable to fight them both off and I could
see them clawing and biting him.  It was unspeakable.
    Then something else happened.  The
woman with the pony tail had fallen.  She was on the ground, convulsing.  She
looked like she was having a seizure.  Her body shook and trembled as something
unseen gripped her.  A man ran to her aid and tried to put her in the recovery
position.  He was knocked down in turn and the confusion increased, as did the
crowds.
    Then she stopped moving completely. 
She was absolutely still for a few seconds and then she began to get up, very
slowly.  She wasn’t holding her face any longer.  A flap of skin hung down and
blood was pouring from the wound.  It must have been agony, but it didn’t seem
to bother her any more.  Her face was an empty mask of nothing.  That was the
first one I had seen turn.  I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I saw
many more do the same thing over the course of the next few weeks, but that
first one will stay with me always.  The speed they turned was incredible.  I
tried to scream but nothing came out.  Instead, all I could hear was Ellie’s
pleading voice.
    ‘Let’s go Kim.  Let’s get out of
here.’
    We ran.  Actually Ellie limped more
than anything, but we made good speed despite her pain.  The choice was simple
- run and be in pain, or stay and die.  So we went with the rest of the panic
stricken mob and ran down to Trafalgar Square.  From there we joined hundreds
of others as we ran down the Mall, towards Buckingham Palace.  I hadn’t
considered that the Queen might not want us in her house, or that she would
have any idea about what to do in this particular set of circumstances, but we
went there anyway.  It was a decision that saved our lives.  Perhaps even our
souls.
     
    Clive Westlake
    08:42 hours, Friday 15 th May, Piccadilly,
London
           I had only been working at West End Central for
about two months and I was still getting used to the job and my colleagues.  I
was on an amended early shift as I had finished late the night before.  That
might have helped to save me.  I already knew about the bus crash by the time I
was kitted up and ready to go.  It sounded like it was an accident rather than
something more serious.
           Then the incidents on the underground started. 
Stories began circulating about people being attacked by others.  All sorts of
people were carrying out the assaults, from children to the elderly.  Men and
women of all descriptions and walks of life.  It sounded unusual to say the
least.
           One of the local units was nearby and it was
despatched to the Piccadilly underground station and asked to make a report on
the situation there.  There had already been officers at the scene but contact
had been lost with them very quickly.  I was told to make my way down there to
lend a hand.  It sounded like it was getting out of control. 
           I went down with one of the other officers who
worked in the team.  I don’t even remember his name any more.  We drove through
the streets at a snail’s pace, despite using the siren.  The closer we got to Piccadilly
the worse it was, until we were forced to abandon the car and walk. 
           It was bedlam when we got there.  Absolute
pandemonium.  There were thousands of people, some injured, all running in the
same direction.  My radio was going non-stop, with officers asking for backup
and the control room desperately trying to carry out welfare checks on officers
they hadn’t heard from for a while.  Then I heard another officer, a firearms
trained one, asking for permission to fire his weapon.  I was sure I must have
heard it wrong.  The control room inspector was trying to get