Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure (22 page)

‘BLOODY LOADS,’ the first voice answers.

‘BE PRECISE, CLARENCE,’ the second voice shouts with a hint of calm humour.

‘USE YOUR SAUSAGE FINGERS,’ a third voice shouts with a chuckle.

‘ABOUT FORTY,’ the first voice bellows, louder and deeper than the other two.

A junction ahead but the high building line blocks any view left or right. Henrietta stretches her arm out protectively across Brian and Bennie, pushing them harder into the wall as she strains to listen. The shouts are coming from down the road on the right but there’s another noise growing louder from the left. A drumming sound that she’s heard many times tonight. Feet slapping naked on the surface of the road.

‘INCOMING,’ the first voice shouts in that awesome voice.

‘HOLD POSITIONS…PREPARE TO FIRE,’ the second voice shouts the order with a calm authority that sends a ripple of hope through Henrietta. ‘MALCOLM…YOU READY?’

‘Course I bloody am.’

‘Clarence?’

‘Do you need to ask, Chris?’

‘Hold…’

The feet drum closer. The voices shout from a position further back down the road. The snarling, hissing hunger comes into earshot, the sounds of the infected charging towards their prey.

Henrietta pushes her arm into the men and starts lowering, pushing them down. They do as bid and drop onto haunches, clinging to a wall behind the safety of Henrietta’s outstretched arm.

‘Hold steady…’ The second voice is so calm, so casual but yet so full of authority.

‘Forty, yeah?’ the third voice asks with that same level of humour. ‘Where did you learn to count?’

‘They were in the bloody shadows,’ the huge first voice shouts back.

‘Now, now, gentlemen, let’s focus…’

Henrietta holds her gaze on the right junction, feeling a surge of hope that someone in authority is taking control.

‘FIRE!’

‘Shit.’ Her voice is lost in the booming retorts of automatic gunfire coming from the right. Huge, thunderous, sustained bangs echo and roll on the buildings. On instinct she turns and pushes the three men into the ground, making them lie down before doing the same but watching the junction as the rate of fire increases.

‘MAGAZINE,’ one of the voices shouts. Two weapons keep firing for a few seconds until the third joins back in.

Movement on the left she switches her gaze to see the front of the horde breaching the building line but getting blown back and withered by gunfire. The sight is stunning. Human forms being torn apart by high-powered weapons. Wounds blossoming right there in front of her eyes. Heads exploding with a burst of pink mist but still they push on, charging ever towards the hail of bullets coming from the other direction.

‘MAGAZINE,’ another shouts. Two weapons fire. A few seconds then all three. On it goes for seconds that seem minutes and hours and days, always and forever that booming noise of guns and men shouting and people dying. The infected get halfway across the junction as the last few are shot down. Still the guns ring out. Single shots that strike bodies still writing and crawling on the ground.

‘CEASEFIRE,’ the man in charge shouts, and a new world of a deafening silence begins. A silence filled with the stench of death. Of heat, metal, shit, blood, innards and the crunching of boots from three men striding into view with assault rifles held aimed and ready. Feet taking sweeping steps. The man in the middle has a bushy black beard like Dolan, but there the resemblance ends. This man is big with wide shoulders and thick, hairy arms. The man closest to them is smaller, wirier, but still hard-looking. The man furthest away catches her eye. An enormous man mountain with a gleaming bald head and clutching an assault rifle that looks like a child’s toy in his massive arms.

‘Hold,’ the man in the middle calls out in a low voice that carries clear in the silence. His left hand automatically comes up to clench a fist to the side of his head. That clenched fist opens and the arm waves left. ‘Malcolm…’

‘On it.’ Malcolm, the smaller man closest to Henrietta, moves forward aiming at the corpses in the middle.

‘Clarence.’ The bearded man waves to the right.

‘Roger,’ that first voice answers, a deep bass-filled voice. ‘You staying at the back then, Chris?’

‘Funny man,’ the bearded man replies quietly.

‘He likes the back, don’t you, Chris,’ Malcolm says in that hushed tone.

‘Pair of comedians,’ Chris mutters.

‘Clear,’ Clarence says from the far side.

‘Forty, was it?’ Malcolm asks with a look across the corpses.

The huge man shrugs with a roll of shoulders that move like boulders. ‘There or thereabouts.’

‘CONTACT!’ Malcolm brings his rifle up on turning round to see the four pressed into the base of the wall.

‘STAY STILL,’ Chris thunders, striding towards Henrietta and the rest cowering in fear on the ground. ‘Are you bit?’

‘ANSWER HIM,’ Malcolm roars. ‘ARE YOU BIT?’

‘NO!’ Henrietta shouts the reply. ‘Not bit…we’re not bit…’

‘I see blood,’ Malcolm calls out.

‘NOT OURS,’ Henrietta yells back. ‘Our friend was killed…Rose…she died…’

‘Malcolm, check them over…I’ll cover…Clarence? How’s it looking back there?’

‘Yep, all good,’ Clarence calls back, sweeping his rifle over the corpses. A powerful beam of light comes on as Malcolm moves slowly towards them, holding his rifle one-handed while shining the torch at them.

‘Woman and three men,’ Malcolm says. ‘Miss, stand up first, please…you men, stay down…’

‘We need to check for bites,’ Chris says. ‘We won’t hurt you…’

‘Do as you are told and you’ll be okay,’ Malcolm says in a voice easing down to a calm level full of proficiency.

Henrietta stands up slowly, looking back at Dolan, Brian and Bennie. On her feet she feels incredibly vulnerable and exposed as the torch shines into her face, making her twist away with a hand coming up to shield her eyes.

‘Easy now. Need to see your eyes please, miss,’ Malcolm says. Henrietta lowers her hand and tries staring towards the light, forcing her eyes to stay open.

‘Clear eyes,’ Malcolm says, lowering the beam of light. ‘Just stand still now please.’

She complies with the order, feeling a new fear pulse through as the torchlight drops over her neck, shoulders and down over her cleavage so exposed by the low-cut dress, but the torch doesn’t waver or pause. It carries on smooth and fast over her bare legs and feet.

‘Turn round please, miss.’

Again the light sweeps over her. From feet to head.

‘Clear. Covered in blood, though,’ Malcolm reports. ‘Miss, move over…you with the beard…stand up next and do as you are told.’

She moves out of the way, hugging her arms across her body. She glances to Chris who looks past her to the men still on the ground and the big man on the far side of the road who has now moved round to gain a clear firing line.

‘My name is Dolan,’ Dolan blurts, getting shakily to his feet. ‘I work for Channel Four…I’m an executive and…’

‘Shush now,’ Malcolm says. ‘Open your eyes.’

‘Stop shining that torch into my face then.’

‘We need to see your eyes, mate,’ Malcolm says.

‘Are you the army?’ Dolan demands, opening his eyes with a grimace as the torch burns into his retinas.

‘Nope,’ Chris replies. ‘He clear?’

‘Yep,’ Malcolm replies. ‘Next one…on your feet, mate.’

‘Who are you then?’ Dolan asks.

‘We live here,’ Chris answers. ‘We
were
soldiers…’

‘Who is the commanding officer? Where did you get those weapons from?’

‘You’re not listening,’ Chris says. ‘We’re not the army…’

‘Yeah, Chris,’ Clarence booms with a deep chuckle from across the road, ‘where
did
you get the weapons from?’

‘Where is the bloody army then?’ Dolan asks angrily.

‘The army? They can’t scramble this fast…the police are overwhelmed, too. We got a few back down there…he all clear, Malc?’

‘Yep.’ Malcolm waves at Brian to move aside. ‘Up you get, mate,’ he says to Bennie.

‘What do you mean back down there?’ Henrietta asks politely.

‘Hang on for a second,’ Chris says, watching Bennie as Malcolm checks him for bites.

‘Christ, he’s pissed out of his head,’ Malcolm chuckles at Bennie swaying on the spot.

‘Clear?’ Chris asks.

‘Yeah, all clear,’ Malcolm says, switching the torch off and turning away to head over to Clarence.

‘Right, listen in,’ Chris says, speaking fast and urgent. ‘Go back down that road…yes?’ He looks at Dolan then at Henrietta and waves down towards the right side of the junction. ‘Keep going…fifth turning on the right and you’ll see a barricade being built…’

‘Now just hang on,’ Dolan says, stepping towards Chris.

‘No,’ Chris cuts across him firmly. ‘We’re clearing this area while we can. Down that road. Barricade. Tell them Big Chris sent you down. Got it?’

‘No. Wait…’

‘Miss, do you understand?’ Chris says, turning to Henrietta.

‘Got it,’ Henrietta says. ‘Big Chris. Is that you?’

‘Yes, that’s me. Head straight down there. Do not deviate or go anywhere else. If you are challenged then comply with the instructions given and tell them Big Chris has checked you…they’ll want to check you again but…’

‘Now listen here,’ Dolan says, trying to gather himself up with a straight back. ‘I am an executive for…’

‘Shut up,’ Chris snaps. ‘Move out, all four of you…go now.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ Henrietta says, nodding fast. ‘Dolan, come on.’

‘No. I want some answers.’

‘We do not have answers. Move out,’ Chris says, glaring at Dolan who withers from the hard stare and backs down immediately.

‘Thank you,’ Henrietta says again. reaching back to guide Bennie along. ‘Can we take our knives?’ she asks suddenly at the sight of the blade still clutched in her hand.

‘You’ll be disarmed when you get inside…we can’t stop and talk. Hurry.’

‘We will, thanks,’ Henrietta says as Chris strides off to join the other two men and wishing she could stay with them. She leads her small group down into the road. The street lights have all been smashed out, plunging the street into a darkness broken only by moonlight.

‘Love,’ Chris calls out from behind. ‘Watch your feet. There’s glass everywhere.’

‘I will. Thanks again,’ Henrietta says, watching the three men wearing normal jeans and tops walking like soldiers towards the bad thing happening. An essence of honour, of decency and discipline that is so different to the world she has dipped in and out of for the last two decades.

‘She was bloody pretty.’ Malcolm’s voice carries soft and clear down the road bringing a rare blush to her cheeks. ‘Did you see the size of her boobs?’ The replies are muted, soft and unheard but that sense of decency only grows bigger. The fact that he saw her figure and had every opportunity to gawp or even try to pat her down and grab a feel, but he didn’t.

‘More fans?’ Dolan quips nastily.

‘Did you see that?’ Brian whispers now the silence has been broken. ‘Did you fucking see that?’

Henrietta nods into the darkness. Forty people or more shot down in the space of a couple of minutes. Forty people killed outright, just like that. A sickening thing to see but not wholly bad and there was a part of her willing them to be put down.

‘I can’t cope with this,’ Dolan says, still angry at being brushed off. ‘That man was an arrogant piece of shit…’

‘Yeah?’ Brian asks. ‘Why don’t you go back and tell him that?’

‘You wait,’ Dolan says, muttering. ‘My shit list is growing by the second. When this is over there will be questions. Where the hell are the police? The army? How did those men get military-grade weapons so easily? What the hell is going on in this country when important members of the establishment are left to fend for themselves during a terrorist attack?’

‘You still think this is terrorism?’ Henrietta asks, genuinely surprised.

‘Of course it is. What else can it be? A chemical nerve agent released into the most important city in the world. Fucking switch on, Henrietta. You might have ex-squaddies staring at your tits but the rest of us use our brains.’

‘What the hell?’ Henrietta asks. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Shut up. I am trying to think.’

‘Stop telling me to shut up, Dolan.’

‘Or what? What? What will you do? Tell someone?’

‘Just…please, stop doing it.’

‘Grow up. Which road did that idiot say to take? He said the fifth turning on the left…’

‘The right,’ Henrietta says, biting the anger down.

‘Er,’ Dolan announces loudly, ‘I think I can remember what road he said and he said the fifth on the left.’

‘He said the right,’ Henrietta says. ‘Brian?’

‘I think he said the right,’ Brian says.

‘You think or you know?’ Dolan asks. ‘I heard him. I heard him say the left.’

‘He said there’ll be a barricade,’ Henrietta says. ‘So we’ll see that and…’

‘Barricade,’ Dolan cuts in. ‘We’ll look for the barricade.’

‘Henrietta just said that,’ Brian points out.

‘What? I wasn’t listening to her,’ Dolan says quickly. ‘We find the barricade, find the police and I get the hell out of here.’

‘What about us?’ Brian asks.

‘What about you?’ Dolan asks then sighs heavily. ‘Fine, if there is room in whatever mode of transport they are providing for the important people then I am sure I can speak to…’

‘What transport?’ Brian asks, cutting across him again. ‘You’re making shit up as you go along.’

‘There must be a contingency for important people.’

‘Yeah, like politicians but not people who work on the telly, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I do not work on the telly.’

‘Exactly, even worse then. Henrietta is famous. Bennie is, too, and they’ve got far more of a chance at people helping them than some jumped-up nobody. Face it, Dolan. Right now you’re about as important as I am, which is sod all.’

‘I…’ Dolan goes to fire back with a retort that dies on his lips as Brian’s words hit home.

‘Let’s just stay quiet and look for the barricade,’ Henrietta says, breaking the tension again.

The road is long and made seemingly longer and narrower by the lack of light and the high, dark buildings on both sides. In the distance they can hear engines, shouts and the odd gunshot ringing out that makes Dolan and Brian flinch. Bennie is too drunk to notice and Henrietta just feels a need to move faster, to be where there are people at least doing something proactive instead of running in panic.

Chris, Malcolm and Clarence seemed so alien from everything else she has seen this night. The calm manner. The jokes and humour used to deflect the seriousness of the situation. The way they moved and carried their weapons. If only Rose had survived long enough to get this far. She would be here now walking next to Bennie and staring in adoration while he snatches drunken glances at her backside.

Her mind flits back to the images of the infected they saw being shot. They were people. Just normal people with as many hopes, dreams and worries as everyone else. They just got bit and infected with something that made them do something against their will only to be killed outright, and that same thing is happening across the city. Right now. Hundreds…no, thousands…hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people being infected and turning to chase others. That frail old lady bit loads of those youths before someone broke her neck with a scaffolding pole. The bouncers back at the theatre, too. Just a few of them bitten and look what happened. Everyone else became infected. What do you call that? Transition? Attrition? When one single thing can affect so many other things.

She blinks, tired and feeling drained but nowhere near as bad as the other three that trudge on with heavy legs and feet scuffing the ground. The road is longer than she expected and deathly quiet, too. Huddled shapes come slowly into view, lying in sticky patches of blood surrounded by brass bullet casings from the assault rifles used to gun them down. She counts the turnings off in her head, third on the right coming up.

‘RUN.’

The four spin round at the deep voice screaming behind them. In the distance the three armed men sprint hell for leather across the junction caught in the light of the street lamps.

‘RUN,’ Clarence shouts again before twisting round to fire into the dark street behind him with muzzle flashes strobing bright and sudden.

‘Go…’ Henrietta starts to move as the other three stand mute and shocked. ‘GO…MOVE…’ She grabs Bennie, pushing him hard ahead before reaching to grip Dolan’s wrist while the sensation of almost being somewhere safe is snatched away, plunging them back into terror.

The three ex-soldiers fire and run with shouts to one another but still in that chaos Henrietta detects the calmness in their voices and the difference between people doing something quickly with urgency instead of panicked and rushed.

She runs at the back of her group, pushing them on and urging them to run faster with her own voice trying to emulate the assurance of the soldiers. A snatched glance back and the junction is filled with infected stomping, tripping and traipsing over the dead bodies shot down. The three men keep firing but for every one taken out another fills the space. So many of them. Hundreds, maybe more.

‘Keep running,’ Clarence shouts again between firing.

‘Run,’ Henrietta repeats the order. ‘Dolan, keep going…Bennie, you’re veering off…Brian, pull him back in.’

Her legs hurt, her thighs burn, her face sweats but her lungs still hold air enough to speak and drive the other three on.

The heavy boots of the three men get closer and the guns grow quieter as they conserve ammunition and focus on making progress down the road. She goes to turn, to snatch another glance.

‘Don’t look,’ Big Chris says between breathing hard. ‘Just run.’

‘How many?’ she asks, snatching a hand out to steady Dolan as he staggers off to the side.

‘Too bloody many,’ Big Chris says. ‘When we get in go deep…’

‘Deep?’ Henrietta asks, ignoring his warning and twisting lithely to gain a view of the horde careering after them and now well past the junction and into the deep shadows of the street.

‘Clear the entry point…’ Big Chris says. ‘I meant get inside and keep going…’

‘He means give us space to work,’ Malcolm says.

‘Got it,’ Henrietta says. ‘Bennie, keep going.’

‘Got a stitch,’ Bennie grunts, clutching a hand to his side.

‘Run through it,’ Henrietta urges. ‘Not far…’

‘Gonna puke,’ Bennie says, heaving from his guts as he runs.

‘No, you aren’t.’ She runs past Dolan to get a hand on his back. Her arm locks, pushing the young man on who speeds up from the sudden exertion of pressure on his back.

‘Next on the right…’ Big Chris pants. ‘BARRICADE…COMING IN HOT…’

Torches shine from the side street ahead, wavering and bouncing as the holders run out onto the wider main road. Voices shouting, calling for more to join them and more come with torches shining and boots crunching on the ground.

‘HOW MANY?’ someone shouts.

‘MANY,’ Big Chris replies, running towards them. ‘BARRICADE?’

‘ALMOST DONE…’

‘CAN WE PINCH POINT?’

‘YES.’

‘GOT FOUR CIVILIANS.’

‘YEP, SEE THEM…RUN…COME ON, RUN…’

Torches shine into their bodies as a cacophony of voices scream for them to get inside. They take the corner with ungainly control and legs feeling like jelly, going past men and women holding pistols, sub-machine guns and rifles. Henrietta catches sight of police officers in black uniform still wearing their stab vests and others in civilian clothing but holding themselves in that same controlled way.

‘FIRE,’ someone shouts as the runners get past the armed men and women. The weapons open up, booming shots that echo and roll. The duller, lower pops of handguns and the louder single shots of higher-calibre weapons then the solid retorts of rifles mixed in amongst the noise and confusion.

‘Through here.’ Another torch waves at Henrietta to lead her group through a narrow gap. She pushes Bennie ahead and holds Dolan back from trying to force Bennie aside in his wild panic. He thrashes against her, breaking free to push through as Brian goes next, leaving Henrietta to bring up the rear.

‘Straight in and down,’ the torch holder shouts over the noise of the guns. Henrietta spots the worried look on the woman’s face and the police officer uniform with the yellow handle of a Taser poking from her belt.

The barricade is made from large vans and small trucks parked across the junction, having been rammed hard against the building line to plug any gaps. Deep, too, with more cars parked against and driven into the vans and trucks to add weight. Messy and rushed but functional.

‘INSIDE NOW,’ Big Chris’s voice shouts from the other side. A second later the female officer rushes in ahead of the armed men and women pushing to get clear.

Henrietta backs away staring in awe at the sight of the flood of armed people and more shots still ringing out from the other side of the barricade.

‘IN, IN, IN,’ one of the three men shouts over and over and the press of people rushing through forces Henrietta back further from the barricade.

Malcolm comes first, then Clarence and finally Big Chris walking backwards with Clarence guiding him with a hand gripped on the back of his belt.

‘Cover that gap.’ Chris turns with eyes blazing and his hands working fast to change the magazine.

‘The vans aren’t high enough,’ Clarence shouts over the din. ‘They’ll get over the top…’

‘EVERYONE MAKE READY,’ Chris shouts the orders. ‘Two lines…front line kneeling…second line standing…we fight a retreat down the street…’

Clarence and Malcom work fast, pushing, guiding and shouting at the police and plain-clothes armed people to get into lines. Magazines get checked, changed.

‘You need to move away.’ The female police officer with the Taser rushes towards Henrietta standing next to her three dazed men. Bennie is on the floor heaving his guts up, Dolan is bent double and Brian is trying to look round but gasping for air. ‘Unless any of you are firearms trained? Are you?’

‘What?’ Henrietta blinks at the sudden question.

‘Trained in firearms? Can you shoot?’ the officer asks, holding her arms out to the sides as she walks at them.

‘No…I, er…’ Henrietta says, looking at the others.

‘Played
Call of Duty
,’ Bennie says, wiping his mouth.

‘INCOMING.’ The air splits apart from weapons firing at the gap and the first undead female surges through to get ripped to pieces by rounds slamming through her, but she keeps coming. Pushed on from behind by the horde driving forward to get inside. The lines fire but the corpses get trampled down or carried on the wave of human forms spilling into the street. They fire but the infected keep coming. They fire faster. They come harder. They kill but not enough.

‘FALL BACK,’ Clarence gives the order on a signal from Chris.

‘Move away…down that street NOW,’ the female officer shouts at Henrietta.

‘SOUTH ENTRANCE BEING ATTACKED…WE NEED HELP…’

Henrietta spins at the new voice spotting another uniformed copper running towards the battle taking place.

‘HOW MANY?’ Chris shouts over the din, breaking free from the firing lines to stride towards the man.

‘LOADS…’ the police officer shouts, coming to a stop at the sight of the barricade becoming overrun. ‘Oh shit…we’re fucked…’

‘Compose yourself,’ Chris snaps at the young officer. ‘Clarence, with me…Malc…you hold it here.’

‘Yep,’ Malcolm shouts back. Clarence peels away from the line running after Chris down the street.

‘GET THOSE WINDOWS SEALED,’ Chris shouts at a crowd of people cowering at the side of the road. ‘HELP THOSE MEN.’ He points at a group of people then runs hard after the copper towards the new peril. Henrietta peers round, trying to make sense of the confusion within the street. Doors stacked up on the ground and that weird sight catches her eye. Wooden internal doors ripped from frames and stacked ready to be nailed across windows. Men with hammers and mouthfuls of nails work fast, holding and nailing the doors up. Others run out from doorways carrying more doors to be stacked and made ready. An older heavyset guy in a pair of blue overalls shouts instructions. Order within chaos.

‘GET THE INJURED INTO THE SQUARE,’ an amplified voice speaks through a loudspeaker from a police car. ‘TRIAGE IN THE SQUARE…ANYONE WITH MEDICAL EXPERIENCE REPORT TO DOCTOR ROBERTS IN THE SQUARE…WE NEED CLEAN WATER AND DRESSINGS…’

‘Stop fackin’ about and get that fackin’ door nailed up…’ The foreman in the blue overalls strides past a small work party gawping at the infected pouring through the barricade.

‘We have to hold them here,’ Malcolm shouts. ‘We need more people over here to fight.’

‘Get ya fackin’ hammers and get in there,’ the foreman shouts, grabbing a length of wood and marching towards the barricade.

‘WATER TO THE SQUARE…CLEAN WATER TO THE SQUARE…’

‘You need to move away from here,’ the female officer says urgently, turning to face the firing lines at the barricade. She is pushed back as the waves of infected increase from the gap widening as the sheer weight of bodies pushing against the vehicles pushes them out into the street.

‘You gots a hole in ya barricade.’ The foreman waves his length of wood at the barricade. ‘That’s ya problem right there. Yous need to plug it.’

‘Are you taking the piss?’ Malcolm shouts.

‘Van,’ Brian blurts, taking a step towards the foreman. ‘Drive a van into it.’

‘Well don’t stand there fackin’ shoutin’ suggestions…go find one,’ the foreman shouts.

‘Come on,’ Brian says, nodding at Henrietta. They head off into the street past people running in all directions. Women rush past carrying bottles of water and white towels. Men clutching sticks, bats, poles and knives head either down in the direction Chris went or up to the barricade. Children gather in small groups under the watchful care of adults and men hold whatever weapons they can carry. People in uniforms, police, ambulance and council officials trying to shout at one another and everyone else. Windows being covered. Torches shining, lights flickering.

‘Officer.’ Dolan snatches at a policeman running past, grabbing him by the arm. ‘I’m an important person. Where’s the transport…’

‘Fuck off,’ the officer screams with spittle flying from his lips, jerking his arm away leaving Dolan reeling on the spot.

‘Did you fucking hear that?’ Dolan says. ‘I have never in my fucking life…’

‘Hi, sorry, can you help us?’ Henrietta rushes to a woman carrying towels. ‘They need a vehicle at the barricade.’

‘Ere, ain’t you that Jordan?’ the woman says, blinking in surprise.

‘The other one,’ Henrietta says.

‘What other one? Jodie?’

‘Henrietta Swallow.’

‘Oh yeah…well fuck me backwards. You look like shit, love.’

‘Vehicles?’ Henrietta prompts.

‘Oh right. Yep, down that road…Big Chris got ’em all lined up. Keys should be in the ignit…oh my fucking GOD! Is that Bennie?’

‘Thanks,’ Henrietta says, grabbing Bennie to drag him on.

‘BENNIE! Where’s The Boys…’

‘Dead,’ Bennie shouts, silencing the woman who turns away with a wince.

Keeping Bennie close, she runs through the street round a central square hemmed in by iron railings and shining like a movie set from floodlights set up, running off generators that add to the noise and smells. Solid dining room tables are put to use as operating tables and the bleeding and injured rest on a myriad of chairs and stools waiting to be seen by the frantic medical professionals identified within the disorder.

‘MORE WATER,’ a tall man with bushy eyebrows and wearing a white lab coat thunders at a poor sod running past.

People queue at the side of the police vehicle, waiting in turn to pass messages to the beleaguered officer using the amplified system, calling for more water, more dressings, support at the south, weapons to the barricade, more doors to be ripped off for boarding up windows.

‘MAKE WAY…MOVE OUT THE SODDIN’ WAY.’ Henrietta brings Bennie and the other two to a sudden halt as a train of people run past carrying heavy furniture. Sofas, cookers, two men straining with a washing machine and anything that can be grabbed and carried to shore up the barricades forming across the junctions.