Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London by Frank Tayell

waiting for Jen to call. That's when I saw him, just walking down the street. He was wearing a tracksuit, not a cheap one, but the kind professionals wear to run up and down mountains. At first I thought, perhaps, he was a solitary type who'd decided to wait until after the evacuation and try on his own. Maybe he'd just bought the gear to look cool at the annual company away day and finally he'd found a proper use for it. By the time he'd got level with my house I realised that it wasn't a he, not any more.
    There weren't any visible wounds, there was just something about the way that it walked that told me it was one of Them. It was almost out of sight when it suddenly stopped. I’m not sure why, but I think I heard a scream from somewhere not far off. It paused only a moment before heading in that direction, faster and more purposefully.
    That was the first and I saw a handful more before the car came, always moving, never chasing anyone though. Never attacking.
     
    I was in the bathroom when the car finally pulled up. It was late, almost two hours had gone by since I'd received the text. By the time I got over to the window the engine was off though the driver was still inside. Whether he was waiting for me, or whether he was checking the address, who knows. I was still debating if, since I didn't have his number, I should call Jen or should just open the window and shout down to him, when the car door opened and he got out. He looked up at the window and raised a hand to his eyes. I don't think he could see me through the tinted glass and was just shielding his eyes from the sun but I waved back anyway.
    He took two steps away from the car, paused, then went back, bent over and reached in for something, I think from the glove box. I couldn't make out what he was doing, but it took his full attention for half a minute.
    It was long enough for a scrawny woman, she must have been at least seventy when she'd died, to claw at his leg. She had been in the alleyway that runs between the two houses opposite, hidden from his view and mine by the multi-coloured cluster of bins. Unlike every other one of Them I'd seen and every one that I've seen since, she wasn't wearing thick winter walking clothes, rather she was dressed only in a thin nightgown.
    I watched as he turned, as she raised a hand to his shoulder and pulled herself up his body. He grabbed at her arms and tried to push her away, to hold her back, but she kept violently thrashing, her mouth snapping open and closed. With each twitch and jerk her teeth got closer to his skin. Then there was a pop as her right arm dislocated, giving her the reach to bite down on his neck. In two ferocious snapping bites she'd virtually severed it. His body hasn't moved since.
    But he did turn off the engine off before he got out of the car.
     
    11:00, 22 nd March.
    Having difficulty planning lunch. I’m starting to feel hungrier more often and thought if I spent more time planning the meals that would help distract from the size of the portions, but I've not much variety of ingredients. It's going to be rice with herbs and spices. The only real decision is whether I should add oregano or thyme, paprika or cayenne.
    They're moving faster. They're still slow, slower than I could walk. Slower than I think I could walk, anyway, but They are getting faster, as if there's something drawing Them in. Is it herd mentality or could there be some kind of hive-mind behind it?
    No. There's no evidence of that. I need to stop thinking like that. It's just late night horror show stuff. There aren't any hives or herds. I need to stick to what I know, what I actually know, that today They are moving faster than yesterday.
     
    16:00, 22 nd March.
    Outside of the UK and New Zealand I don't know of any country that turned off its mobile phone network. Even with the fractured internet a lot of video was uploaded, particularly in that first week of the outbreak, and thanks to my government phone I had