The morning the world fell apart it was still early. I had spent an uncomfortable night trying to sleep in a shop doorway and was forced to move on a couple of times. By the time it was daylight I was wide awake. Remember it was springtime, so it was light fairly early.
I wandered around some of the streets and checked the bins at the rear of the Pizza Express on St Martins Lane. It was a regular visit for me and it usually paid dividends. I had learned that people often ordered a pizza and then failed to collect it. Those pizzas usually ended up in the bin.
That morning I hit the jackpot – a sixteen inch pepperoni in perfect condition. It was going to feed me for the rest of the day. I stuffed a cold slice into my mouth and chewed on it while I put the rest of it carefully into my rucksack, then I set off to do some rounds of the charity shops to see what people had left overnight.
By half past eight I was inside the Leicester Square tube station, trying to beg enough money for a cup of coffee. It was slow going. Too many tourists who were busy deciding what to do for the day, or too many people in a hurry to get to work.
I was just about to give up and had decided to head off, when I suddenly heard a noise from deep within the station. It was distant at first. Screams? Certainly shouts. They became louder and louder as a passenger, who had been waiting for her train, suddenly came running towards the exit. She was followed by another, then a few and then dozens. Before long a wave of human fear exploded up the stairs and over the turnstiles, desperate to avoid something down there. The staff tried to hold them back, to make them scan their Oyster cards. Were they really that stupid? I could see that there was a serious problem down on the platform. The terror filled faces of the fleeing told me it was something life threatening.
Very quickly, as the number of people swelled, they were unable to get through or over the exits quickly enough and people started to get crushed against them. Some fell and were trampled without care. Some who tried to stop to help a friend, were pushed aside. Fights broke out between men and some women. And at the back of it all I could make out was a few shambling individuals, lashing out, grabbing at people, falling on the ones who had been knocked over. Biting them. Yes, they were biting them. It was horrible.
I knew I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I had to get out. The mass of those trying to escape was increasing by the second. I turned and ran. I made it out into the street and ran to Leicester Square. Behind me the rest of the terrified crowd spilled onto the street, colliding with pedestrians and cars as they ran for their lives. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Something told me that if I stayed there I would die and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. What I really wanted now, more than anything, was a drink.
Kim Taylor
08:40 hours, Friday 15th May, Piccadilly, London
When some people talk about that day, they ask why it got so bad so quickly. I don’t know. I never had the answer. But when you look at all the other places that were affected, almost at the same time, it doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary. New York City was effectively shut down in twenty four hours. Berlin was the same. Washington DC, Beijing, Sydney, Bangkok. The list of large cities went on and on. The frightening thing was the lack of information from the government. There was almost nothing. Just some rambling nonsense about staying indoors and not approaching anyone who looked odd. This was London in 2015 for Christ’s sake. There were a lot of odd people going about.
I was only eighteen. I was in London for two days of flat hunting, with my best friend Ellie Jones. She’s dead now. She was one of the ones who couldn’t take it anymore. She decided enough was enough and overdosed on pills she had looted from a shop just a few weeks after it all kicked off. What a blow that was. Ellie was always the popular one at school, with her long blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. All the boys fancied her. I’m sure some of the girls did too. She was infectious and once you had been in her company it was hard to imagine her not being around. I was genuinely shocked when we became friends, because I didn’t think we would hit it off. But we had and we had been best friends since we were thirteen. Now we were preparing for a new chapter in our lives, both of us having been accepted to study in the capital.
We were walking along by Piccadilly when someone came up to us and told us to run. We never paid much attention. There was usually some weirdo who wanted to chat us up, or least chat up Ellie. We just looked at each other and started laughing in that adolescent girl way. We weren’t really the streetwise kind.
A few moments later someone crashed right through the middle of us, knocking Ellie off her feet. It was a man in his thirties I think. He didn’t stop, just kept running away down the street towards Trafalgar Square.
I held out my hand and pulled Ellie up. She winced as she put weight on her feet.
‘Ow, I think I sprained my ankle,’ she said.
I didn’t have time to respond. I was suddenly aware of more people streaming down the street, pushing past us and flooding into the surrounding areas. Then I saw my first one. A man of about sixty, eyes completely unseeing, clutching and grabbing at people. He caught a youngish woman by her ponytail and pulled her back towards him. He bit a chunk out of her cheek and she fell screaming to the ground clutching her face. He was going for a second bite when he was hit from behind by a man with a briefcase. The woman crawled away as the 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 15th 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 underg
round 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 as much information as he could from the officer.
Location? He was close to the station entrance.
Situation? Numerous casualties. Numerous assailants. Several dead.
‘Wait a moment,’ the voice said. ‘That one isn’t dead.’
Another voice. ‘One we thought was dead is getting up. Badly injured though. We’re going to need paramedics here at once.’
The controller cut back in. ‘I don’t think there are any left. We’ll see what we can do. How serious is the injury?’
‘Conscious and breathing. She’s got severe haemorrhaging. Lost a lot of blood. Multiple injuries. Just sit down and try to stay ca…’
The radio cut off. The next person to speak was the officer’s other half.
‘We need urgent assistance here now. Officer attacked.’
Gunshots could be heard on the radio and in my ear. He was shooting. What the hell was going on down there?
We broke into a jog, shoving our way through the crowds until we were able to see what was happening. Then I saw my first one. They say you always remember your first one. I do. He was only about ten years old, wearing a school uniform. He was a skinny kid with not a lot of muscle but he seemed to have strength beyond what he should have had. He had hold of one of the police officers by the leg and he wasn’t letting go. A female was also fighting with the officer who was trying his best to hold her off.
The second officer was reloading his weapon, having emptied the magazine into a crowd of others. There were bodies everywhere and I remember thinking to myself, what the fuck am I going to write in my report about this?
I hoped to God that it hadn’t been a police officer who had killed all those people. Then something else happened. As we approached to try to lend some assistance the officer half turned.
‘Get away,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t stop them.’
He fired at the first approaching man, hitting twice in the chest at close range. It should have been enough to kill him outright, but it was like nothing had happened. He staggered back a pace or two and then carried on relentlessly. The woman next to him was the same. The officer double tapped her right in the middle of her chest. The rounds must have passed right through her heart but she only stopped for a moment, then walked on like nothing had happened.
Now I had heard about adrenalin kicking in, when people are traumatised or in fear. I even saw a deer run and jump a fence once, when I was doing some deer stalking in Scotland. That animal had been hit by a bullet that could have stopped a rhino, but it managed to run a hundred metres or so before it expired. But this was different. These people no longer looked like the ones who were running away. They were different. They had a crazy look in their eyes. It was like they had been taken over by something.
The officer emptied his magazine into another couple before turning again.
‘Run. For God’s sake.’
We turned from the scene and ran for our lives. I’m not ashamed to say it. If bullets couldn’t stop those people, what could?
There were thousands running with us. Nobody seemed to care any longer, about those we were leaving behind, facing their deaths, or worse. We didn’t stop running until we reached the car again.
Chapter Two
Sky News Broadcast
May 14th 2015
08:44 hours
‘Further to the earlier reports, of the bus crash at Covent Garden earlier this morning, there is now a confusing picture of the events so far. It has been established that a double decker bus lost control and collided with a shop front on Long Acre at about 8 am. Reports from the scene suggest there were several walking wounded. Emergency services were on the scene very quickly, but have since withdrawn from the area due to an unspecified danger.’
‘There are also several reports of wide scale problems on the Piccadilly Line. There have been widespread disturbances within several stations and at least three have been closed. It is not yet clear if this is the result of a terrorist attack, or if it is simply the result of numerous unconnected accidents. More to follow shortly…’
Anthony Ballanger
08:45 hours, Friday 15th May, Whitehall, London
I was in Whitehall, at around nine in the morning, preparing some papers for the Prime Minister, when the first reports began to drift in. I was one of his most trusted people at that time, so what happened a few days later, when he lost it, was difficult for me to come to terms with.
There was mention of a bus crash near Covent Garden. An explosion. People injured. We considered a terrorist attack but there was no intelligence to suggest something like that was imminent. Someone suggested a rogue group which were not on the radar but it was generally guesswork.
Then, about half an hour later, we began to get the first reports that something had happened on the underground. A number of stations had been affected and the Piccadilly Line had been shut down as a precaution.
By the time it was half past nine we had scattered reports of disturbances in the city centre at various locations. Police officers at the scenes were reporting numerous assaults and injuries. Some people had died as a result of their wounds. A crowd was gathering at the gates of Buckingham Palace and the fire crews who had attended the initial bus crash had been forced to retreat after coming under attack. The fire was raging unchecked and out of control.
The Prime Minister called me to his office as I was watching a news report and told me to organise a COBRA meeting as soon as possible. He was an astute individual, despite what the media and his detractors said about him and his instincts told him that something momentous was happening in the capital.
I spent the next few minutes telephoning and texting as many people as I could, explaining the urgency of the situation. The meeting was arranged for two in the afternoon. I think that was a record. If it was then there was no chance of it ever being beaten.
One of the men I contacted was Dr Richard Bryson. He was a foremost disease control expert. I had no idea what was going on but I wanted to make sure I had covered every conceivable angle. Luckily he was in the city that day, as he often travelled around the country giving lectures at universities and colleges. He agreed to come to Downing Street immediately.
Then, everything changed. A report from a police officer suggested that some crazed survivors of the bus crash had attacked several people, including police officers and fire fighters. The survivors appeared to be irrational, out of control and oblivious to pain. They were biting people. I read the hastily scribbled transcript three times before I handed it to the PM. He looked at me, not comprehending what he was seeing on the page.
But it got worse, even more incredulous on the next page. It seemed that these people, who were attacking anyone who moved, must have been infected with something really potent. Their victims were having fits and then expiring in seconds. It was like the most venomous bite from a snake. But then, even more disturbingly, they were rising up again, as if nothing had happened and then taking part in the violence themselves.
It was the firs
t time I had ever seen the PM stumped for what to do. On the one hand we had an obvious problem with public order, but it looked like the perpetrators were suffering from some sort of illness, which was causing it. The PM decided to wait until everyone was assembled at the meeting before devising a plan of action.
Was that a mistake? Yes. Would it have made any difference if he had acted there and then? Maybe. Who could say? All I know is, that by the time we had held the meeting and everyone had had their say on the best course of action, there were several hundred separate incidents ongoing, a number of streets were burning and panic was setting in.
Callum MacPherson
09:55 hours, Friday 15th May, Buckingham Palace, London
When the crowds first appeared it didn’t seem like it was anything out of the ordinary. We were used to it. There were usually a few hundred tourists gathered outside the gates of the palace on any given day. That always increased, of course, when there was a special event on.
That morning there were the usual scattering of people, taking their photos and watching every time we changed the guard.
I was in the guard room on the south side of the building, out of sight of the front gates, having my first cup of tea of the morning, when one of the lads came in. He was one of the newer ones. Keen as mustard and had all the hallmarks of being a first class soldier, even though he was only about seventeen.
‘There’s a large crowd gathering,’ he said.
‘There’s always a large crowd gathering,’ I told him.
He stood for a moment. ‘This is much bigger than usual. They’re running down the Mall. Thousands of them.
The Z Infection Page 3