Infected: The Beginning

By Perry Stevenson

The book is based in small village three miles from Chelmsford, Essex in the UK. The main character James is a self employed Taxi driver. A virus start to spread across the whole country and eventually the world, which turns people into a zombie like state. This is the story of James collecting his three children and five grandchildren together and his near neighbours survival against the Infected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Apr 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524597399

Perry Stevenson

Mr Perry is now in his senior years, after being self employed as a Accountant and IT consultant for most of his working life, having three children and has six grand children, Mr Perry decided to write a book, which he has wanted to do since the age of 14 when one of his short stories were read out in the class room by his English teacher.

Book preview

Day One

Monday 12 May 2014

I awoke at 11.00 am. What a beautiful day – last day of work! Pity I was due to start at 3.00 pm, but then I had three days off – hooray! This taxi driving work was starting to get to me, working 12-hour shifts for not a lot of money, but that’s what happened when you approached retirement age. I used to be an accountant and implementing computer systems, but at 64 technology had now overtaken me. It was definitely a younger man’s game. I was just lying in bed reflecting on what to do that day before I had to leave for work at 2.00 pm, when a distant voice shook me from my dreamy state.

James, are you getting up? I’ve made you a cup of tea.

OK, Mary, I’m working on it, I replied. Well, that must be a first – the wife had not made tea in months. Mary must have wanted me to do something.

Five minutes later, Hurry up or your tea will be getting cold. Why was it that wives never liked you to relax?

And you can cut the grass before you go to work, Mary continued.

I knew there would be a catch. I dressed myself and staggered down the stairs, still not fully awake. After sitting down in the kitchen, I started to drink my tea.

Sheba, our black Labrador, gave me a nudge for a stroke, which I dutifully did.

You have a letter from the police – what have you done? Mary asked.

Have I? Let me look, I replied.

It was from the firearms division. I had applied for a licence ten weeks earlier, for a .22LR. Yes! – they had granted me a licence; what a mission that had been. It took three months before I could join a small-bore rifle club in Chelmsford. You had to be a member of a club for six month, attending on a regular basis, before you could even apply for a licence and you had to have proper storage, such as a gun cabinet. Because it was for target shooting, you could only use solid pointed ammo and you had to declare the maximum number of rounds you would be storing on your property at any one time. I went for the .22LR because that was the only calibre semi-automatic rifle you could get legally in the UK. You could not get a pistol full stop, unless it was over 20 inches long.

I’ve finally got the firearms certificate, I said.

The wife responded with a question: Is this going to cost us money?

Yes, I replied, thinking, I have three days off – this is going to be so good, and what type of .22LR semi-auto to buy. I had owned a shotgun certificate for nearly 50 years but never a firearms certificate.

Anyway, I cut the grass and managed to watch the news before the wife turned over to watch the tennis. Mary did love her tennis – her favourite was Federer.

I got myself ready for work, and collected the mobile phone and satnav. No sandwiches today, I thought – I’ll treat myself to a Big Mac. The Nissan Micra started up OK; it didn’t like the damp weather but now we were well into spring it started fine.

It was about a 35-minute drive to Stansted Airport from Boreham, which involved going along a few country lanes – you just had to avoid the occasional pheasant and rabbit. Arriving in our car park in Stansted Business Park just before 3.00 pm, I had just got out of the car and saw Roger, another driver, walking across the car park towards the main entrance of our building. He waited for me by the double doors.

Last night tonight, I said, making small talk.

Yes, thank God for that, Roger replied.

Do you know if there are any good jobs for tonight? I asked. Roger always seemed to be in the know, although the controllers were told by the main man not to tell drivers about upcoming jobs, especially the longer runs.

Yes, there’s one to Gatwick and another into London.

Well, I hope I get the Gatwick one, I replied. Driving to a hotel in London could be a real pain, plus I would have to use the satnav. I had been driving taxis for 18 months and had never been to the same hotel in London twice.

We arrived in the controller’s office to be greeted by Max, another driver, who was just finishing his shift.

Did you have a good day? I asked.

No, he said in a rather disgruntled voice. Starting at 3.00 am on a Monday was not a good time for business.

Laura appeared at the small opening in the partition that separated the controller’s office from the drivers’ room. Laura was 20-something, with all the bits in the right places. Very nice.

Hello Laura, are we going to have a good night or a bad one? I asked, fishing for information.

Something may turn up, she replied. Sounds like something is booked in then, I thought.

Roger and I collected the car keys. He got the eight-seater Mercedes Vito and I was put in the Ford Mondeo. We used the Mercedes for airline crew, so it looked as though he had the Gatwick job – damn! We walked along the corridor and out through the front doors together.

I’ll see you at the watering hole, I said, meaning the car park at the back of the Hilton at Stansted.

We had to check our vehicles over first to make sure there were no dents or scratches, and that the indicators and lights were functioning correctly. We then logged into the PDA system to show we were available for work, which would be displayed on the controller’s computer in the office.

Roger left first and I followed. It was less than a mile from Stansted Business Park to the hotel, which we covered in under five minutes. We pulled up in the car park next to each other at the back of the Hilton to wait for a job to come in. The car park backed on to a small wooded area, where two rabbits were feeding at the edge; three magpies were walking around the car park looking for scraps and two others were sitting on the roof of the three-storey hotel.

How are your children? I asked Roger.

They’re fine, but my oldest still hasn’t found a job.

That’s not surprising. Work is very difficult to come by, especially for the young these days.

Roger’s PDA sounded off – he had a job. That was quick; sometimes you had to wait hours before a job came in, especially at 3.30 in the afternoon.

Anything good? I asked.

Pick up at the Travelodge in Great Dunmow and back to the airport terminal.

OK, I’ll see you later, I said. With that, he pulled away.

I turned my radio on and started to listen to some music, looking across the car park towards the end of the runway about a quarter of a mile away. The usual planes were taking off – EasyJet, Ryanair and the occasional Fedex cargo plane.

Roger came back about 4.00 pm, and just as he pulled up next to me my PDA went off. From the Hilton to the terminal. I indicated to Roger that I was off, and drove round the car park to the front of the hotel. There were two people waiting at the entrance, looking a bit agitated and with a whole pile of luggage. I pulled up opposite.

Mr and Mrs Jones to go to the airport terminal?

Yes.

I got out of the car, opened the boot and proceeded to try to fit all their luggage in – with great difficulty. The Joneses sat on the back seat, and with luggage finally loaded we were on our way.

We just missed the hotel bus and our flight leaves in just over an hour, said Mr Jones in a very strong Welsh accent.

If there are no holdups we should be there in five minutes, I said.

I went the back way to the terminal, by way of Long Border Road, which ran parallel to the A120. It also passed very close to the end of the runway, and just as we were passing a Fedex Boeing 747 flew overhead. It seemed to be going so slowly that you wanted to try to give it push, but the noise was deafening, and I turned to Mr and Mrs Jones and said, I bet that rattled your teeth.

Is that thing actually going to get into the air? said Mr Jones.

They usually do, but it seems to take them a long time before they gain any height, I said.

We continued on our way past Endeavour House, a large office block near the airport, coming out at the main terminal roundabout. Fortunately, there were no holdups as we approached the drop-off point.

I don’t believe it! exclaimed Mr Jones. They’re charging two pounds for dropping off passengers now, it used to be free. He had noticed the sign as we turned into the drop-off area.

Yes, they started charging this year, but I have a special discount card so it only costs us taxi drivers fifty pence, I replied.

We managed to find a slot to pull into. I turned to Mr Jones and said, That would be eight pounds, please.

OK, keep the change, he said, handing me a £10 note.

Thank you very much, I replied, jumping out of the car and starting to extract their luggage from the boot. We said our goodbyes and I proceeded out of the drop-off area. I fed the discount card into the payment machine so I only had to pay 50p, and then headed back to the hotel, where I found Roger still waiting for his next job.

The day continued with small jobs for each of us around the hotels and the airport terminal until around 7.00 pm, with long waits in between. Then Roger got his Gatwick job from Enterprise House, where the airline crews were picked up, to take them to Concorde House, which did not even have a postcode and was approached the long way round from the North and South terminals – well by road, anyway – due to the many security barriers.

I received a few more jobs from the Hilton and the Holiday Inn Express into Bishop’s Stortford, people just wanting to go out for the evening rather than being stuck in a hotel.

By 9.30 pm things were getting very quiet, as they often did at that time of day; everybody had got to wherever they wanted to be. We very rarely picked up passengers from Bishop’s Stortford as there were plenty of other taxi firms in the town, plus our controllers tried to avoid drunks. So I turned on the radio to listen to the BBC news. The usual stories came up – in Iraq the fighting against IS was still going on, but the Iraqi government forces seemed to be losing; the Syrian war was still in progress and seemed to be getting worse; and the British government was still talking about immigration but never seeming to do much about it because its hands were tied, due to the prevailing EU regulations. There were some reports of disturbances in London around Marble Arch and the Oxford Street area – probably a load of drunks, and the theatres finished at about 10.00 to 11.00 pm, which would add to the chaos.

Finally, my PDA went off, just when I was thinking of getting something to eat and drink. These things did happen to me. It was from the Inflite Jet Centre, for executive jets, to a hotel in London. The passenger would supply the details. The Inflite Jet Centre was at the opposite side of the airport to the main terminal, in Stansted Business Park. Within minutes I was at the security gates outside Inflite. The guard opened the hatch in the small security cabin as I approached.

Hi Jack, I said.

Jack was a very tall, well-built man who always gave me the impression of being a nightclub bouncer.

Hi James, are you busy today?

We knew each other quite well as I had taken passengers from Inflite to various locations before.

We’re not exactly overworked at the moment, but I’ve got a passenger to take to a hotel in London, I said.

I’ll just check that, said Jack, picking up his phone. He spoke to someone for a few seconds, although I couldn’t hear what was said. Then he continued, OK, James, that’s fine. Pull up at our new main entrance.

The security gates opened. A new executive lounge had just been added, with TVs and rather posh lounge suites, furniture and Wi-Fi connections; it must have cost a fortune. They did get a few celebrities passing through. I had seen Victoria Beckham (Posh) with two of her children, and I once picked up Muhammad Ali from there to take him and his family to a hotel in London just before the Olympics in 2012. Most times we picked up aircrew and took them to a local hotel. This time, the passenger had not given an exact location to our office, so it could be a celebrity of some sort. I pulled up at the entrance, walked into the lounge and approached the reception desk.

A very nice young lady sat behind a counter with a computer and telephone in front of her and a large screen hung on the wall behind her which seemed to be displaying the weather, with the sound turned off.

Can I help you? she asked in a posh English accent. She was very conservatively dressed, which seemed to match the accent.

Yes, you can. I’ve come to take a passenger to a hotel in London, I replied.

They are just clearing customs, and should be out in five or ten minutes, she said. If this had been the normal terminal for normal people, this process would probably take at least an hour.

Can you point me in the direction of the toilet? I asked

It’s just around the corner to the left, she replied.

Thank you, I said, noticing at that moment a very large sign stating Toilets this way.

I had at least an hour’s drive ahead of me, longer if the traffic was bad. There was nothing worse than being stuck in a traffic jam, dying for a pee. So I did what I had to do and then walked back to the car. This was a good time to have a smoke, so I rolled a cigarette, walked round the car park until I had finished it, and then got back into the car. I knew it was against the law to smoke in the taxi.

After about five minutes, through the windows I saw my passenger walking through the executive lounge, followed by a porter pulling two suitcases. I extracted myself from the car, which was becoming very comfortable, and opened the boot ready for the luggage.

The porter came up to me and said, Taxi to go to London?

Yes, I said, and he put both suitcases in the boot. I shut the lid and walked round the side of the car ready to open the door.

Hello, would you like to sit in the front or the back? I asked the passenger.

Hello, I will sit in the back, please, he replied in slightly broken English. He was from somewhere in Asia, although I could never tell if people were Chinese or Japanese, or from any other country in that part of the world.

He looked vaguely familiar. I opened the back door and he got in. Shutting the door, I walked round and climbed into the driver’s seat, then turned to the passenger and asked Which hotel are we going to?

He consulted a mobile phone and said, This is where we are going, leaning forward and pushing the phone towards me. I could see it was the Hilton London Metropole on Edgware Road. I fed the information into the satnav and had a quick look at the route it planned to take us. I saved the information and turned the satnav off.

Do you know where it is? he asked.

I know roughly where it is, but I’ll use the satnav when we start getting close, I replied.

As soon as he had leaned forward and started to speak, I knew who it was – a world-renowned actor and director from Hong Kong famous for his action movies. Well, that didn’t happen to me every day! I would tell the girls back in the office later; that would make them feel a bit envious.

Finally, we were on our way. As we approached the security gate, I waved at Jack and he signalled back, the gates opened, and I turned left onto the one-way system past our offices and round to the M11. I quickly built up speed to 75 mph – according the speedometer, anyway. Within 15 minutes we were approaching the M25, where I turned right, heading for the A1. By now it was nearly 11.00 pm and the traffic was very light. I had found with this particular brand of satnav that it was best to plan the main route and only use the device when getting close to the destination. If not, it could take you on some really strange routes, such as through the middle of London rather than around it.

How long will it be before we arrive? he asked.

We should be there or very close in about fifteen minutes, I replied.

We had just picked up the A41. At that time of night, most of the traffic was making its way out of London. Apart from traffic lights and the occasional roundabout, there were no real holdups at all.

As we started to approach the A501, I noticed blue flashing lights in the door mirror, approaching us very quickly as I approached a right turn. Four police cars passed us, going the same way as us.

This doesn’t look good, I said to the actor.

Do you think we will have a problem? I have a meeting at midnight, he said.

Hopefully they are going into London, I replied. I did hear something earlier on the news about some sort of disturbance at Marble Arch and Oxford Street, but the Metropole is almost a mile from there.

Ahead of us I could see the blue lights taking the slip road to the A5, the Edgware Road, the same direction as we were going.

The bad news is that the police cars are going our way, but the good news is we are nearly there, I told the man in the back seat, as I saw the satnav telling me to take the next exit.

As I turned left onto the A5, the Hilton appeared on our right. I indicated to turn right into Praed Street, but realised it was a one-way system and we would be going the wrong way, so continued across the junction and did a U-turn on the other side of the bollards, hoping that nobody was looking. Going back across the junction, I pulled up outside the hotel.

Well done, I have time to spare, announced my passenger. How much is the fare?

I checked the PDA and said, Eighty pounds.

He put a hand into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of notes, counted out £90 and gave it to me saying, Keep the change.

Thank you very much. Let me get your luggage, I replied, getting out of the car at the same time as he opened the passenger door and got out of the car. As I was about to open the boot, we both noticed the blue flashing lights again, about 400 yards further down Edgware Road towards Marble Arch. The police cars seemed to be trying to turn round.

That’s a strange one, I said.

By now the actor had his mobile phone in his hand and was taking photos, or possibly a video. The street lights were quite bright, so he might have got something.

At that point I opened the boot and extracted the two suitcases, putting them on the pavement.

Let me take them into the hotel for you, I said. Well, he did give me a £10 tip, and you didn’t get that every day.

No, I will do it – besides, I want a cigarette first.

OK, I said.

By now two of the police cars had been turned around and were heading towards us. As the first one passed us it slowed down and an officer shouted, Get inside and lock the doors, now!

My passenger still had his phone in his hand, holding it in such a way that it was clear he was taking a video. The second police car was now approaching, but moving rather erratically as it neared the junction where I had done the U-turn. It suddenly swerved to the right, completely demolishing the bollard in the middle of the road, and continued across the oncoming traffic. With an enormous bang and the sound of breaking glass, it went through the plate-glass window of the Marks and Spencer store on the opposite side of the road.

Jesus Christ! I exclaimed, and turned to the actor. Did you get that?

Yes – what’s going on?

I don’t know, but I think we should do what the policeman said. I’ll just look to see if the occupants are OK. You’d better get the hotel to call the police and ambulance services.

I ran across the road towards the stricken vehicle, which was half-buried in the shopfront window. As I arrived at the scene, I could only reach the rear passenger door, as the front of the vehicle was covered in debris. I looked in the rear seats, where a handcuffed man was leaning forward onto the front seat on my side of the car with his head turned away from me. I tried to open the door but it appeared to be locked. On the other side of the car was a police officer with blood running down his neck. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. I tried the door again – still no joy. At that moment, the handcuffed man turned towards me.

Jesus! emitted from my lips as an automatic reaction, and I took two steps back. I was greeted by a contorted face, with what should have been the whites of his eyes an abnormally bright red, and very black pupils.

Recovering slightly, I shouted Are you OK? keeping a respectable distance from the vehicle. All I could hear was a rather menacing growling sound, which appeared to come from his misshapen lips. That’s it, I thought, and turned away to look down Edgware Road towards Marble Arch. There were 15–20 people ambling towards me, some of them on the road about a hundred yards beyond the traffic lights. A man and woman were walking on the opposite side of Praed Street towards Edgware Road. I started to walk quickly back towards my taxi, and as I reached it my passenger appeared at the main hotel doors.

The hotel cannot get through to the police or ambulance service – they seem to be too busy.

That doesn’t surprise me. There’s something bad going on here. I suggest you get back into the hotel and tell the staff to lock the doors.

There was an ear-piecing scream from closer to Marble Arch and we both looked in that direction. The couple I had seen earlier had turned right onto Edgware Road heading into London. They were being attacked by the people I had seen earlier coming from the Marble Arch direction. Four of them had reached the couple and were all over the man, while the woman seemed to be frozen to the spot, screaming. The actor and I started to move towards her. But the other people who were walking along the road were homing in too, and one of them grabbed the woman, who went down to the ground. Then three more reached her and two others grabbed the man – there were at least six others who would reach them before we did.

I shouted to my companion, Stop, there are too many of them – there’s nothing we can do to help.

Yes, you’re right. I’m going back to the hotel – are you coming?

No, I’m heading back to Stansted. Nice to meet you – and, err, good luck!

I started back to the car and my passenger headed for the hotel entrance. As I reached the car I turned and waved at him, just as he was entering the hotel. I glanced down Edgware Road to where the screams had come from, but it had gone silent, and the people who had attacked the couple had left them lying on the ground. Oh shit, they’re heading towards me. Then out of the corner of my eye I detected movement, and as I turned to my left one of them was stumbling towards me, not five yards away. I braced myself for impact, but instead of trying to match force with force I pulled him forward, moving to one side and putting my leg out so he tripped and fell flat on his face. It didn’t seem to have much effect, though, as he turned onto his back and started to get up. I gave him a really good kick in the goolies and he fell back down. Any normal bloke would have been writhing in agony by now, but not this fellah – he immediately started to get up. Time to retreat, I thought, and sprinted for the car before the others could reach me.

I quickly got into the car, fiddling with my keys in a minor panic. It seemed like an age before the key would fit into the ignition, but finally I turned the key and the engine burst into life. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I was just in time to see someone jump on the back of the car. I could only see his chest at first, as his head and shoulders were above the roof, but as I pulled away he slid down the back and I could see his face – the contorted features and evil-looking bright red eyes with deep black holes just the same as the man in the police car.

I started to build up speed, leaving the man sprawled out in the middle of the road. I drove beneath the flyover and made an immediate turn to the right, which brought me onto the slip road that joined the A501. Within five minutes I was turning left, heading for the A1. By this time, I was starting to think clearly again, although I noticed my hands were shaking a little. Well, that doesn’t happen every day, I thought, turning on the radio. By now it was just after midnight. I had just missed the main news, so tuned into Heart Radio, hoping to listen to some soothing music.

The roads were surprisingly clear, especially the M25. I arrived back at the Hilton in Stansted at 1.00 am and tuned the radio to the BBC news. The disturbances in London were now the top story. The police and ambulance services were calling in reinforcements, and the authorities said they expected to have everything under control before the rush hour at 7.00 am. It was time to get something to eat, so I telephoned the office.

Hello, it’s James, I said.

Hi James, how are you? she replied.

Is that Julie? I asked.

Yes. Are you going to get something to eat? she asked. Julia knew my usual routine when I was on the late shift.

Yes. Have you heard the news about the disturbances in London?

Yes, I watched the news on BBC iPlayer. Did you see anything when you were there? she asked. The controllers had very little to do at that time of night, as things generally went very quiet after midnight.

Yes, I’ve never been so scared. I’ll tell you all about it when I come back to the office later. Is Roger about?

Yes, he’s at the back of the BP garage, probably fast asleep.

OK. I’ll see you in about an hour and a half, I said.

I started the engine and headed out of the Hilton car park for McDonald’s, where I turned in and parked the car. I didn’t like drive-thru, and did like to sit down and eat in comfort. I ordered my Big Mac meal with a hot chocolate, found a table and started my meal – at that time of night it was very quiet, so didn’t have to wait.

I overheard two people talking about the disturbances in London. They had been to one of the theatres but it seemed they left about 10.00 pm and so missed the trouble. They were having difficulty contacting their friend, who had gone to a nightclub in the city. I think they must have known that I was listening, as the man turned to me and said, Have you heard anything about the problems in London?.

I’ve just come from the Edgware Road area, less than a mile from Marble Arch, I replied.

I gave a brief description of what had happened to me and my fare.

That sounds really bad, the man said.

I did listen to the news about half an hour ago, and they think everything will be under control by seven this morning, I said, trying to give him some hope for his friend – although from what I had witnessed, I was not very confident. By now I had finished my meal.

Anyway, I have to get back to work, I said.

What I was really thinking was, I’m going to have a sleep at the back of the BP garage. So, after saying goodbye I drove next door and parked up next to Roger, who was already fast asleep. The next thing I heard was my PDA beeping at me with the message, It’s 2.45 am. Are you going home today? Driving round to the fuel pumps, I filled the car up with diesel ready for the next driver and then went into the garage to pay the bill.

Hello Johnny, I said to the large man behind the counter.

Hi. You’re a bit later than usual.

Yes, they’ve been overworking us today, I said, not willing to tell him I had been asleep behind the garage.

Have you heard any news about the disturbances in London today? I asked. I was in the thick of it around midnight.

Yes, I did hear something on the TV news, but I didn’t take much notice. What happened to you, then?

First of all, is the car wash working? I asked.

No, it’s broken again.

I gave him a brief description of what had happened to me in London.

Christ, that doesn’t sound good, he said.

The last bit of news I heard was that the authorities expected things to be under control again by seven this morning. See you in three days, then, as I’m on my break now, I ended cheerfully, trying to make him feel a bit better as I thought most of his family lived in London. I said goodbye and drove back to the office, by which time it had started to rain. That’s good, I won’t be able to clean the taxi.

I gave the car a quick tidy-up inside, removed my gear and walked to the main doors and down the corridor to the drivers’ office. Roger was there, as it was only 3.10 am and his bus was not due till 3.30.

Good morning all, I said.

Roger was speaking to Julie through the hole in the wall leading to the main office.

Hi James, they said in unison.

Julia continued, So what happened to you today? I heard all sorts of things are going on in London. Tell us.

I started by giving the name of the Hong Kong actor I had picked up from Inflite.

No! she said, incredulously.

I then gave them a brief account of what had happened to me. By this time, it was 3.20 am, so Roger said goodbye and left to catch his bus.

OK, Julia I’ll be off – see you in a few days, I said.

See you later.

I left the building, got in the Micra and headed for home.

The drive was going to take me about 35 minutes, so I switched the radio on to listen to the news, finally finding BBC Radio 1.

The main story was the disturbances in London. Reports were coming in from Liverpool Street station, Stratford in the East End, the Elephant and Castle, south of the Thames, and Heathrow airport. From the information received by the ambulance service, it seemed to be some sort of disease, which was being spread through direct contact with an infected person. It could be a highly infectious form of rabies, but no conclusive tests had yet been completed.

Some police had been armed, following a few officers becoming infected. That would explain the erratic behaviour of the police car at the Hilton Metropole earlier, I thought. It seemed to me that everything was starting to get out of hand. I’ll see what happens tomorrow, I thought, as they expected to get things under control by 7.00 that morning – although in that latest news bulletin they said nothing about controlling anything. I finally arrived home at 4.00 am, and made myself a cup of tea and smoked a cigarette before going to bed at 4.30.

Day Two

Tuesday 13 May 2014

Mary woke me at 10.30 am.

James, I’m going to see my mother today. I hope to leave within the hour – are you getting up? Her mother lived near Lewisham in South London

Yes, I’ll get up, I said in a rather sleepy voice. No tea today then, I thought.

Come on, then, get yourself going, she added.

As I started to come round, the night before came back to me.

Have you seen the news? I asked, waking up fast now.

No, why? said Mary.

All sorts of things happened to me last night. Let me get dressed and I’ll tell you all about it, I said, now I had her attention. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

You could make a cup of tea while I’m getting dressed, I added. There was a 50–50 chance of that happening; on the other hand, two days on the trot might be a bit optimistic.

And turn the telly on, so we can get the news at eleven, I added.

Mary disappeared downstairs, and I put on my jeans and t-shirt and slipped my feet into a pair of slippers that were at the side of the bed, then went to the toilet and headed downstairs.

Mary had just turned on the television and was in the process of selecting the 24-hour BBC News channel. As I walked into the kitchen the kettle started to boil, so I made tea for me and coffee for Mary – she never drinks tea and I rarely drink coffee. Mary managed to sort out the television and then walked into the kitchen. I had her coffee waiting for her on the table.

She sat down and said, What happened last night, then? I told her about the news bulletins, the Hong Kong actor and what had happened to me outside the hotel in Edgware Road – and was specific about the scary red eyes. We then went into the living room and sat in the armchairs to watch the news.

The disturbances had now spread from central London to Ilford and Buckhurst Hill. The disease was now well established in south London, and other countries were reporting the same phenomenon. The government’s advice was for everyone to return home and stay indoors and lock their doors – this would, it was hoped, stop the disease from spreading. That might be a problem, however, as most people would already have gone to work. There were also reports that the London underground system was grinding to halt, due to drivers and guards becoming infected and passengers creating mayhem. The authorities were requesting people not to call the emergency services as they were stretched to their limit – from what I had seen the night before, I thought they were sinking fast. The newsreader started to interview a government contagious disease consultant.

From what we know so far, infected persons have bloodshot eyes, seem to feel no pain and only attack uninfected people. The disease appears to be spread by direct contact, in most cases by a bite. In fact, that is what they are trying to do – they do not try to hit you in any way. Once their target has been infected, they look for a new one. The disease somehow infects the brain, similar to rabies, but the infected person has an overwhelming desire to infect others. We are currently looking to find the source of the outbreak, but we do not know if it originated in this country or abroad. If anybody has information on this, please contact the Department of Health. He then gave out a number to ring. That will give us a better chance of developing a vaccine. We are currently testing blood samples from various subjects. Just a warning – once bitten, the disease seems to take effect within five to thirty minutes. This appears to depend on the person’s immune system and size.

The interview over, the newsreader continued.

We have just received information that disturbances are now occurring in Birmingham and Manchester.

He repeated the government directive about going home and staying indoors, and then continued with other news – the normal subjects, Syria and Iraq.

By now it was nearly 11.30 am.

Mary turned to me and said, From all that, it seems things are getting out of control. Reading between the lines, the authorities have no control at all.

Yes, you’d better cancel the trip to your mother, until things are sorted out.

I’ll phone John and get him to pick up Josephine in Chelmsford on his way back from Brentwood, I continued. My son John and daughter-in-law Josephine were living with us at the time. John had his own IT business in Brentwood, which I understood was doing well. Josephine worked for the local council as a Chinese interpreter.

OK, you do that and I will telephone the girls. I’ll tell them to collect their children from school and get their husbands to come home. Mary picked up the phone and started to ring our elder daughter, Linda, who had four children – three girls and a boy. I picked up the mobile phone and called John’s office. Fortunately, he answered.

Hello, Dad. He knew it was me by the number displayed.

Have you seen the news lately? I asked.

Not recently, but I did hear there were strange goings-on in London last night when I listened to a bit of the news going to work this morning. What has happened, then?

It appears to be some highly contagious disease, I replied. The government is telling everybody to go home and lock their doors to stop the disease spreading until they can get it under control. It might be a good time to speak to Josephine and pick her up on your way home.

How did you do yesterday? he asked.

That’s another story. I’ll tell you when you get home. You’d better hurry, the news said the disease had reached Ilford, and that was half an hour ago.

Right then, I’ll see you later, Dad, he said and rang off. I was left looking at the phone. OK son, I thought.

Mary was still on the phone to Linda.

Do it now – ’bye, she said in a rather agitated voice. I could not hear the other side of the conversation, but our daughter could be very stubborn at times. Mary turned to me, looking very stern, and said I’ll just ring Ruth – our younger daughter, who had two young girls. Unfortunately – speaking as a bloke, that is – I had five granddaughters and only one grandson.

Mary started to speak to Ruth and told her what she had seen and heard