The Z Infection (4 page)
‘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 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.
Sky News Broadcast
May 14
th
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 15
th
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 first 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 15
th
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.
I put my tea down and beckoned for
him to follow me. We went out to the front and looked out at a scene of utter
chaos. There were people everywhere. Hundreds at the gates, pressed up
against them. Behind them came thousands more, all running in blind panic. I
had no idea what was happening, but I didn’t like the look of it.
‘Call out the entire guard,’ I
ordered. ‘Fully armed. And tell Lieutenant Pearson.’
He ran off. Never even saluted me.
I didn’t care. What I was watching was filling me with a deep foreboding.
This was a panic. These people were running for their lives, not caring about
anything other than getting as far away from whatever was coming behind them.
It sent a chill down my spine like I had never felt before. I had served in
the Gulf War, Northern Ireland and four tours of Afghan. I had also been
involved in two rescue missions of kidnapped British nationals in my twenty
years in the army. Nothing I had faced in any of those situations had given me
as much cause for concern as what I was seeing now.
Anthony Ballanger
14:00 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Whitehall,
London
By two in the afternoon we had everyone we were
going to get at the meeting. The PM opened it by thanking everyone for getting
there. Travel, especially around the centre of the city, had become difficult
and he was grateful to those who had braved it.
We had three top military men,
including one of the most senior SAS officers, half of the cabinet, Dr Bryson
of course, the London fire chief, two women from the NHS and someone who worked
for British Telecom. What we didn’t have was the Met Commissioner or any other
senior police officer present, although we did have the Commissioner’s deputy
on the line. We also didn’t have anyone from any of the hospitals who were
treating the injured.
The PM asked everyone present to give
their views on the situation, based on what they had heard and seen at first
hand. Unfortunately, most of those who had seen the events of the morning at
first hand were dead by now, killed before they even knew what they were
facing. The police, we were told, were in the front line, but their resources
were so stretched that they were calling people in from their rest days. This
was taking time. The deputy couldn’t be certain, but estimated that at least
ten police officers were unaccounted for.
The PM asked what was being done to
trace those officers. He couldn’t give a straight answer. It was obvious to
me that they had been written off as probably dead. Shots had been fired by at
least two officers. There were no figures for civilian casualties of those
shootings.
The two women from the NHS were the
next to be quizzed. They couldn’t give any figures for numbers being treated
but confirmed a new report, that there had been an outbreak of violence at Great
Ormond Street Hospital and they had temporarily lost contact with staff there.
The PM knew he had to make a decision quickly.
General Breck, who was the most
senior military man in the room, asked if the Prime Minister wanted to order
the army onto the streets. Breck was an older man, probably in his late
fifties I would guess. He was army through and through, with a ramrod straight
back and the fitness of a man in his twenties. But he was also incredibly
perceptive. He could see a problem looming and he wanted to be in a position
to deal with it before it got any worse.
The Prime Minister was aghast at the
suggestion. It was far too early to consider such a drastic action, he argued,
when we still didn’t know exactly what we were dealing with. All the same he
ordered that all leave should be cancelled with immediate effect and for all
the armed forces to be placed on high alert.
The situation at Buckingham Palace
was then discussed in some detail. The Royal Family were already at Windsor
for a private family event, he was told, and should be safe in the meantime. But
thousands were still congregated outside and there were reports of many
hundreds of casualties. The guard had asked for permission to open the gates,
in order to protect some of those who were gathered there. This idea was
immediately discounted. We couldn’t allow thousands of ordinary people access
to the Queen’s residence. Impossible.
The PM concluded the meeting by
addressing Dr Bryson and asking for his opinion.
‘I haven’t seen what is going on at
first hand,’ the Dr said. ‘I haven’t seen any of the injured or dead, or had
the opportunity to try to communicate with any of the attackers to see what has
triggered it.’
‘I would like you to do so
immediately,’ said the PM. ‘Go to one of the hospitals and find out whatever
you can about this. We need as much information as you can get.’
He turned to Brigadier Carrick of the
SAS, another who had been lucky enough to make it through the early carnage.
‘See to it that the Dr has an
escort.’
With that the meeting came to an end,
with the next one scheduled for 22:00 hours in the same room. That meeting
never took place. In fact, by the time 22:00 hours had arrived, most of the
people who had attended that meeting were dead, or had been infected.
Callum MacPherson
14:10 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Buckingham
Palace, London
It was me who gave the first order to open the
gate. It was just the one at the side, near to the guard room, not the main
one where most of the people were gathered. What did it for me was the sight
of two young girls clinging to one another in fright as the world around them
descended into chaos. They never spoke. They didn’t ask to be saved, but the
imploring look in their eyes told me I had to do something.
From my vantage point I hadn’t been able to get
the best view, so I did something which was against protocol. I went inside
the main palace building. I knew the royal family were away, but if I had been
caught it would have meant serious trouble for me.
I went to the top floor with a pair of
binoculars and scanned across the Mall and the surrounding area. There were,
by now, tens of thousands of people either already gathered outside the palace
gates, or making their way towards us across St James’s Park and Green Park. I
gasped when I saw them all. There was no way we could let them through the
gates. It would be the end of us all. There was no room for them in any
case.
But worse, I could now see what was happening
on the fringes of the crowd. There were fights. People were being knocked
down, attacked, bitten. I could see one person who looked like she was being
eaten alive by a group of people. I thanked God that she was too far away to
hear.
Then I saw my first riser, as they came to be
called. I watched a man trip and fall. Two of them were on him before he
could get up. He flailed at them with a brief case and managed to get back up
and run away. He hadn’t gone much further than about fifty metres and he
suddenly stopped, clutching at his throat. He went into a spasm and dropped to
the ground again. He writhed around for twenty to thirty seconds and then
suddenly went limp. I guessed he was dead but his injuries didn’t look to have
been life threatening.