Monday 1400 hours

Outgoing…..

General Wilkes to General Feldman…..

Have attempted contact on all frequencies with same result. Requesting extra ammunition if holding action is to be established.

Please respond soonest.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

'Two little ducks, 22.'

'On its own, number 1.'

The garishly coloured pen stabbed down on the number obliterating it from existence.

She looked down through her bifocal glasses.

Maude Evens wondered where Phyllis and Marlene were, and then instantly regretted spending any thought on them. They would be where they always were; leaning against the wall that separated their two properties, tea in hand and the latest gossip falling from their lips.

She was interrupted from her revere by the caller in front of her.

'Two fat ladies, 88.'

She scanned the sheet in front of her at a speed earned from countless visits to the hall.

She had only come today because the weather was nice and warm, and she had little else to do. She enjoyed her visits to the hall both today and for the last forty years and today was no different; the seats all around her full of locals and, she saw, strangers who were just passing through.

The fact that today's prize topped the hundred pound mark didn't hurt either. She smiled through the sticky toffee mess in her mouth and concentrated harder.

Maude could have no idea that she had ten minutes left to live.

My God, why in seven bells of Hell had he agreed to this.

Phil Smith pulled another ball from the slowly revolving cylinder and put his mouth closer to the microphone in front of him.

'Legs, 11.'

He had only agreed to this for the sake of a little peace and quiet. His mother could be a very persuasive woman.

'I don't ask you for much Phillip, do this for me please?'

She had made the plea into a whine and he had said yes to partly shut her up, but also to get away from the house for a while. Since the first cup of coffee that morning he had had one major headache. He had a pounding behind his eyes and his vision was blurring in and out of focus.

Just what I need he thought, another damned cold.

'What do I do again?'

Marcus looked down at his young son, a sarcastic answer on his lips when the youngster looked up at him. He looked into the boys big blue eyes and the retort evaporated before it was spoken. The look on the kids face could always melt his heart.

He leaned across the table and reached for the pen in his small fist.

'I'll show you one more time.'

Phil saw the commotion at the doorway first. Thinking it was just some late arrivals he put his head back down and reached for another small numbered ball.

That was when he heard the sound that stopped him dead.

He looked back up towards the entrance to the hall, the ball that he held falling to the floor at his feet. Slowly he got to his feet and started to back away, pushing the chair that he sat on away.

The scream of pain lingered in the air as the woman that had issued it struggled on the floor while the man who had attacked her chewed steadily on her left arm. Even as he watched another man joined the first, the ragged remains of a postman's uniform hanging from his body. The first figure yanked his head back, a chunk of bloody flesh in its jaws. As soon as it was out the way the other man darted in.

Phil backed slowly away from the scene that was unfolding in front of his eyes trying to move as quietly as humanly possible so as not to attract any attention to himself.

He reached the edge of the raised stage and stepped down to the wooden floor.

Stepping quickly but quietly backwards he shuffled towards the door that he knew to be there. Reaching back a hand when he thought he had gone far enough he groped for the door handle that would lead him outside and away from the nightmare.

He touched the wooden frame and his fingers slid to the left, his gaze refusing to leave the sight in front of him. His hand dropped through the space where the door would have been if it had been closed.

Phil chose that moment to turn around.

The three infected that were stood there wrestled him to the ground.

It was the last thing that he saw.

Maude stood on shaky legs and grabbed her walking stick. She walked as quickly as she could towards the exit trying desperately to avoid the fighting that was going on around her.

She felt something tug at her skirt and froze, looking down with wide eyes.

'Help …help me … please?'

She saw a man on the floor, his jacket covered in blood. He held a small hand in one of his clenched fists. She followed the arm and saw that the rest of the body was hidden under a squirming mass of bodies covering the floor.

'Please?'

The man begged again, his eyes pleading and totally focused on hers.

She took her free hand, the one not holding her stick, and started to reach for the man at her feet.

The man took his hand from her skirt and reached for her too. The noise and screams from around seemed to vanish and all that was left were the two of them.

Their fingers were millimetres apart when the mans eyes grew wide and he was dragged bodily away.

Maude stumbled back as soon as he was gone and found herself up against a wall.

She stumbled against it and her flailing arms caught the cups that had been laid out on the surface.

What seemed like every face, those that weren't eating someone else, looked in her direction. Several figures broke off from what they were doing, either finished or maybe sensing she was an easy target, and started to shamble their way to where she was standing. She saw them advancing and knew in that instant that she was going to die, very soon and very violently probably. At that moment something happened inside that she had not felt for a long, long time.

She failed to care.

About herself, about the people in the room, about anything,

She raised her walking stick in a defiant gesture and, brandishing it like a sword, stood her ground. A feral grin appeared on her face and she took a wobbly step towards her adversaries.

'You want me you scumbags, come and bloody get me!'

They did.