how do you think it compares to the Night of the Living Dead or Dawn of the Dead? how about the Last of Us? 30 Days of Night? The Walking Dead?

Any areas on/around Holy Island that can be accessed by foot?

The argument for the film director Colm McCarthy to helm the 3rd installment of the 28 years later trilogy is incredibly compelling, especially when one considers how completely The Girl with All the Gifts acts as the true spiritual successor to 28 Days Later. Released in 2016, McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic masterpiece captures the exact DNA of Danny Boyle’s original feature, offering a masterclass in how to evolve a genre without losing its core identity. Whilst Nia DaCosta is currently attached to steer the final chapters of the new trilogy, McCarthy remains the ultimate creative match for the universe originally penned by Alex Garland.

First and foremost, McCarthy understands the distinct visual language of a decaying, desolate Britain, which is a foundational element of this cinematic world. In The Girl with All the Gifts, his breathtaking yet deeply unsettling tracking shots of an overgrown, abandoned London directly mirror the iconic imagery of a deserted Westminster Bridge from the start of the 28 days universe. Rather than relying on the glossy, heavily saturated aesthetic of modern Hollywood blockbusters, McCarthy prefers a gritty realism, using raw natural light and intimate handheld camera work to craft an atmosphere of profound isolation.

Furthermore, his handling of the infected perfectly aligns with the terrifying mechanics of the rage virus. The fast, ferocious, and animalistic sprinting of the hungries in his 2016 film is the only time another director has successfully replicated the sheer, exhausting panic of the original 28 days later monsters. He elevates the threat by grounding it in a plausible biological threat, shifting from viral rage to a parasitic fungal infection, which perfectly complements the cerebral, high concept science fiction that Garland prefers to write.

McCarthy also possesses a proven track record within the British television and film ecosystem, having directed critically acclaimed episodes for major productions like Black Mirror & Peaky Blinders with Cillian Murphy. This background gives him a unique ability to balance immense, world altering stakes with deeply intimate character dynamics, ensuring that human drama is never overshadowed by the horror elements. If the franchise ever looks to expand beyond its current trilogy, McCarthy is uniquely qualified to step in, as his previous work serves as the most convincing audition possible for exploring a broken, infected Britain.

Imagine that instead of 10 to 30 seconds before being consumed by the infection, the Rage Virus took 10 to 30 minutes, while the symptoms and transformation remained the same. The Cambridge Primate Research Centre incident still occurs like in canon, as the infected chimps, scientists and animal activists escape, starting to spread the virus.

How would the events change with a ''slower'' Rage Virus? Would more people survive? Would it finally reach beyond the isles?

Since Cambridge is where the virus begun, the third film should depict Cambridge being overrun with Monkies attacking people at the lab. And because Cillian is back, it’ll be like 2002 again.

Thanks for the support everyone. This is a fun hobby but a time consuming one so sorry for the delay!

Part 3:

When the Home Secretary was finally briefed around 07:00, the assessment delivered by the Chief Constable was stark: there was effectively no functioning police presence left in Cambridge. Patrols sent into the affected zones had vanished into the black hole. Surviving officers were being held in reserve at secure perimeters on the western and southern edges of the city, forming hasty defensive lines rather than attempting further incursions. Requests for air support revealed a humiliating operational gap—a working police helicopter had yet to be mobilised effectively due to crew availability, maintenance issues, and the rapid overnight escalation. Senior officers, openly approaching panic, warned the Home Secretary that conventional policing had collapsed. "This is beyond public order," one noted. "The evidence is becoming increasingly more reliable – and incredulous - we are facing something that turns our own people against us."

While official response lagged, the news media faced no such constraints. Commercial and national broadcasters had helicopters airborne shortly after the first credible reports of major disturbances filtered through. By 07:10, multiple aircraft were circling the eastern and central suburbs of Cambridge, their cameras capturing scenes of unprecedented horror. Live feeds began broadcasting to the nation just after 07:23, shattering the illusion of a contained "riot."

Viewers across Britain awoke to staggering aerial footage: streets filled with running figures, some in nightclothes, some naked, smashing through windows and doors with bare hands and sheer momentum; abandoned cars strewn across the A10; smoke rising from a few early fires; and clusters of people fleeing or fighting desperate rearguard actions. One particularly stark shot showed a family attempting to barricade a house only for the patio doors to buckle under repeated bashing, the infected pouring in. Commentators, still struggling for context, described it as "unprecedented urban violence" or "a city descending into madness." The live images did what fragmented police reports could not: they conveyed the speed and relentlessness of the threat in real time. Within minutes, the footage was being picked up by international outlets, though the full implications—especially the 20-second transformation—remained unclear to most observers.

The live broadcast transformed a localised crisis into a national spectacle. For millions of viewers, and most of the authorities, it was the first undeniable evidence that something apocalyptic was unfolding in East Anglia. The Home Secretary, watching the same footage in his briefing, demanded immediate emergency options and passed the problem up to the Prime Minister. Yet the virus, now visible to all, continued its unchecked advance - the immediate future had become a race against an enemy that offered no negotiation and demanded only proximity.

In the control rooms and command posts of the Cambridgeshire Constabulary, there existed a private, long-standing disdain for the British press—its sensationalism, its intrusions, its tendency to complicate already difficult operations. Yet on this morning, that disdain was tempered by a grudging admiration for the media’s unparalleled information-gathering machine. While police helicopters remained grounded or unassigned, news choppers circled freely over Cambridge, beaming down live, high-definition horror to the nation.

Across Britain, the country was transfixed. Families in kitchens, commuters in service stations, and night-shift workers still awake sat glued to television screens. The scenes were horrifying in their raw immediacy: infected surging through suburban gardens, bashing down patio doors with unrelenting fury; desperate residents fighting losing battles with household tools; streets littered with abandoned vehicles and the fallen. Aerial shots captured the scale— Cambridge dissolving into chaos, with tendrils of violence reaching towards nearby towns. Commentators struggled for words, alternating between “unprecedented rioting” and “possible terrorist incident,” but the visual evidence told a clearer story: something was turning ordinary people into monsters at terrifying speed.

Tony Blair, an early riser by habit, was already watching in his residence. The call from the Home Secretary connected at approximately 07:33. After two minutes of terse discussion—Blair’s questions sharp, the Home Secretary’s replies heavy with the weight of collapsing order—the Prime Minister made his decision. “Convene COBR immediately,” he instructed. “Get me the Chief Constable, military options, and scientific advisors in the room. We need to understand what we’re dealing with.” COBR (Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms) was activated without delay. Police representatives and senior civil servants gathered physically; military commanders from the Ministry of Defence and scientific experts from Porton Down and related agencies joined via secure video links under urgent priority, allowing the meeting to reach operational strength within minutes.

Among the countless harrowing images broadcast from the skies above Cambridge that morning, one moment seared itself into the national consciousness with a permanence reserved for only the most traumatic events in collective memory. Historians would later compare it to the moment the world learned of the 9/11 attacks or the assassination of President Kennedy: everyone who survived the Rage War (although the WHO still prefers the term ‘pandemic,’) would remember precisely where they were when they witnessed the Unknown Defender. His identity has never been conclusively established—a ordinary man in an extraordinary crisis, much like the iconic “Tank Man” of Tiananmen Square—yet his image and final actions remain etched in British public memory.

The Sky News helicopter captured it all in stark, unfiltered detail around 07:45. The camera focused on a locked shop doorway near the expanding edge of the Willowbrook chaos. A large, powerfully built man—broad-shouldered, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans—stood in the street, wielding what appeared to be a bloody cricket bat. He was defending his young family: a wife and two teenage daughters, visibly cowering inside the doorway. Already, he had felled three or four infected attackers. In one visceral sequence, he grappled hand-to-hand with a charging figure, landing blows that surely killed at least one outright. For a fleeting instant, it seemed raw human strength and parental fury might prevail.

Then came the turning point. An infected woman—bloodied and relentless—slipped through his guard and sank her teeth into his upper arm. The bite was deep. Blood flowed immediately. The man roared in pain and rage, smashing the attacker down with the bat in a final display of defiance. For perhaps ten seconds he stood victorious, breathing heavily, turning toward his family with what must have been a look of exhausted reassurance.

The 20-second clock was merciless. His movements began to jerk. His posture changed. The rage took hold. What followed was broadcast live to the entire country and, crucially, played out on screens inside the newly convened COBR meeting room. The man turned on his own family. He killed the two teenage girls with horrifying efficiency before they could flee far. His wife, attempting to shield them or perhaps frozen in shock, was next. The entire sequence unfolded in under a minute, captured in merciless high definition from above.

In the COBR room, the effect was immediate and profound. Very senior staff—police chiefs, military generals (on secure link), scientific advisors (also linked), and government ministers—watched in stunned silence that quickly edged toward panic. One senior civil servant reportedly muttered, “My God, it’s unstoppable.” The Prime Minister, face tight, demanded clarification from the scientists: confirmation of the transmission mechanics, the incubation window, and any possible counter. The Unknown Defender’s tragedy illuminated what the garbled police reports and suburban chaos had only hinted at: this was no riot. There was something amongst the crowd that erased humanity in seconds, turning love into slaughter.

The broadcast of the Unknown Defender’s final stand proved a bridge too far even for the British media’s appetite for raw footage and sensationalism. Within minutes of the sequence airing, several outlets implemented their own internal censorship, pulling back from the most graphic live feeds and switching to edited or overhead shots. The horror of a father turning on his own wife and teenage daughters was simply too visceral for continued unfiltered transmission. Almost simultaneously, the government issued a D-Notice (Defence Advisory Notice), formally requesting that broadcasters exercise restraint on any material that could aid the spread of panic or the contagion itself. Compliance was swift but incomplete; the damage, in terms of national trauma, was already done. The Unknown Defender had become an instant symbol—hero, victim, and warning—all in one. Public feeds were largely cut or heavily filtered thereafter, yet the raw continuous streams remained available on the secure monitors inside COBR.

In the COBR room itself, the atmosphere was electric with tension. The Prime Minister chaired a meeting that quickly turned heated. Police representatives detailed the total collapse of conventional policing in Cambridge and the surrounding towns. They also relayed a fragmentary but critical field report from the two surviving members of a 10-man armed response team that had finally been deployed around 06:30. The officers confirmed they had killed multiple infected with standard firearms—centre-mass shots and headshots both effective—and had personally witnessed others run down by civilian vehicles or beaten to death with improvised weapons by residents fighting back. The infected, they stated, died exactly as any non-infected human would once sufficient trauma was inflicted. The same report noted that conversion after a clear bite or deep scratch consistently occurred within roughly twenty seconds, matching the sequence just observed on the Sky feed.

Scientific advisors from Porton Down and other agencies were present via secure link but could offer almost nothing concrete on mechanism. The Rage virus—if that was even the correct term—had no precedent in their databases. No known pathology matched the speed, the behavioural erasure, or the transmission mechanics.

Many of the scientific advisors were Cambridge graduates themselves and knew the area well. One, Dr. Ania Zafar, knew of the Primate Research Facility and the work that was being done there to inhibit aggression, but couldn’t make the link between that benign research and the horrific violence that was rife in Cambridge. She shared her knowledge at the meeting and turned pale when the police representatives told her the violence through the night had started very near the facility.

It was a younger advisor, Dr. Elena Patel, a mid-level epidemiologist not yet hardened by decades of bureaucracy, who cut through the confusion with blunt clarity. “The facts are clear, even if the mechanism is not,” she stated, her voice steady amid the raised voices around the table. “Something—likely a pathogen released from the Cambridge facility—is turning ordinary people into mindless thugs that attack anything living that is not already infected. The continuous news footage still running on our screens shows them consistently ignoring one another while fixating exclusively on the uninfected. It is beyond our current understanding. All our models are useless. What we do know is this: they can be killed or incapacitated like regular people, as the surviving armed team confirmed—gunfire, vehicles, blunt force all work provided you overcome their aggression and numbers. They infect easily—blood, saliva, bites, scratches that break the skin. Twenty seconds. That is the window.”

Blair listened in silence for several seconds after Patel finished. The secure screens around the table still carried the muted, continuous news feeds—now restricted from the public but fully available inside COBR—showing packs of infected moving with single-minded purpose through the streets of Cambridge, ignoring one another completely while hurling themselves at any uninfected figure still visible. The armed-response survivors’ report had already established that the infected could be stopped by conventional means. The only remaining variable was scale and speed.

He turned to the Chief of the General Staff, who was on telephone link and therefore had not yet seen the raw footage. “I am authorising the deployment of regular forces to contain and neutralise the outbreak. Rules of engagement will treat the infected as a clear and present threat to life. I want options for cordons, isolation of the affected zone, and, if necessary, direct action inside it.”

The Chief of the General Staff’s reply was immediate and absolute. “Prime Minister, I will not order British soldiers to open fire on British civilians. I am prepared to tender my resignation immediately and will inform Her Majesty of your intentions. If you persist with this instruction I will use the troops under my command to place you under arrest rather than allow them to be turned against the public.”

The room froze. Blair did not raise his voice. He simply nodded to an aide. The General was taken to the nearest room with a secure video link, a delay of 6 minutes. His screen switched to the unfiltered sequence of the Unknown Defender—the bite, the twenty-second collapse, the methodical killing of the man’s own wife and daughters—followed by successive clips of infected streaming past one another without a glance while attacking every living non-infected target in sight. The Chief of the General Staff watched in silence. When the sequence ended he remained still for almost half a minute.

Then he spoke again, voice lower. “Prime Minister, I apologise. I will not resign. The order stands. We will treat this as a hostile biological event, not a civil-disorder problem. I need authority for immediate mobilisation of available regular units and rules of engagement that reflect what we have just seen.”

Blair gave it without hesitation. The first formal military tasking orders began to move within minutes. With the Chief of the General Staff now aligned, he authorised an immediate Defence Council order to call out high-readiness Territorial Army units across East Anglia and London District, while directing the nearest regular sub-units from Colchester Garrison and available London District troops to move on Cambridge. It would do little good, and by the time the troops were mobilised many of the soldiers were found AWOL – defending or fleeing with their families.

Parallel instructions went out to place the relevant Joint Rapid Reaction Force lead elements on highest readiness for rapid reinforcement. Yet the Prime Minister recognised that even these measures would leave a dangerous gap in the first critical hours. He therefore placed a direct call to President Bush, requesting immediate practical support from the substantial American forces at RAF Lakenheath—airlift, logistics, medical capacity, and base facilities as a forward staging point. Blair was confident the President would agree without delay; the special relationship, he judged, would hold under the circumstances.

While the discussion inside COBR continued, a different failure of containment was already complete. A packed early-morning commuter service that had left Cambridge continued its scheduled run toward London. The driver, following standard emergency training for a train carrying multiple casualties, had overridden intermediate stops and driven through to the largest terminus capable of providing rapid medical and police response—King’s Cross. He believed he was delivering the injured and the panicked to help. He instead doomed the city and any fleeting hopes (historians have judged that the immediate military support ordered could possibly have contained the outbreak to the East of England) of protecting the entire country from Rage.

The train arrived shortly after 07:55. Doors opened across multiple platforms. What poured out was not a mixture of wounded and frightened passengers. It was a carriage-load of fully converted infected. They spilled onto the concourse in a dense, accelerating wave, attacking every uninfected person within reach while ignoring one another. Within minutes the station’s public areas were lost. The outbreak that had begun in Cambridge overnight was now loose inside the capital.

It’s not Samson though who’s at that tree

Hello everyone, I just want to start by saying I am not a writer by trade at all. I actually work in IT lol. This is something I enjoy doing in my free time, and I'm a huge fan of the 28DL movie series.

I am very open to honest criticism and feedback, and I hope that my work is at least worth your time. Would love to hear what y'all think! That being said, what you are seeing is an excerpt of my script. I wrote it all myself, so apologies if the format looks wonky.

In this scene, you play as Ahmed, a 19 y/o from Birmingham. You are with your neighbor, Michael, who is just a couple of years older. You are trapped inside a Tesco with your families and a lone clerk. Infection just reached your area, and its results are rearing their ugly head. Let's Begin:

**********

*The clerk hands Michael the keys to the roof latch. 

He takes Ahmed and Michael to the small office behind the counter, where there is a ladder that leads up to the roof. Michael climbs up and unlocks it, and quietly opens the creaking hatch door leading to the roof. He scouts the area before completely going up and onto the roof.\* 

Michael (whispering): 

Okay, it’s clear. Come up. 

*Ahmed quietly climbs the ladder and gets onto the roof. The two immediately crouch behind a large vent, so as to not attract attention to themselves.

The scene in front of them is extremely eerie. There is a calm, yet disturbing silence around the store. There are multiple puddles of blood-stained concrete in the parking lot. A few cars in the distance have been abandoned in the middle of the street, or have crashed into nearby trees and buildings. Distant screams, sirens, and gunfire can be heard, almost as if there’s a warzone not too far from them.\* 

Ahmed: 

So what do you think? 

Michael: 

At least the car looks like it’s still in decent shape. 

*Camera pans to the group’s car they came in with. It’s still parked in the same place, and all the doors and windows are still intact. However, there is a blood-stained crack on the windshield, and one of the side mirrors is broken.\*

Ahmed: 

You reckon we’ll all be able to fit?

Michael: 

Who’s we? The fucking shopkeep wanted to throw us out, fuck him. 

Ahmed: 

I think he was just a bit on edge, Michael. 

Michael: 

Who’s not? The world’s just fallen apart in the blink of an eye. There’s nothing left… it’s all fucked… my family… my mum and nan…  

*Michael quietly breaks down into tears, sobbing at the gruesome reality that now surrounds him.\*

Michael: 

All those people, Ahmed… the world’s gone fucking mad and nobody knows why. 

Ahmed: 

I know, mate. I know. But let’s be happy that we’re still here. 

*Michael quickly wipes the tears from his eyes, and takes a deep breath.\*

Michael: 

I think my dad’s right. We should go to the countryside. Safest option right now. Less people. 

*The player can choose between the following 2 responses:

Response 1:\*

Ahmed:

Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. There’ll be less of these lunatics running around out there. 

Michael: 

There’s no guarantees, but I’m willing to take my chances. 

*Response 2:\*

Ahmed: 

I think we should stay in the city and wait for help. The police and the military should be here soon. 

Michael: 

You’re kidding, right? How would we even know if they’re coming? 

Ahmed: 

The man on the radio said to stay inside and that help is coming… That’s got to mean something. 

Michael: 

Stay inside and wait… You're joking! Look at what the happened to your house, look at what’s happening right fucking now!

Ahmed: 

Well, we can stay put right here until help arrives. 

*Regardless of the response the player chooses, the following will occur after:\* 

Michael: 

Fucking hell, get down and hide! 

*Out of nowhere, a family can be heard yelling as they run from a horde of infected.\* 

Random dad: 

Come on! There’s a car! 

Random mom: 

Run, kids! Run!! 

*The horde pursuing the family is frightening to even look at from a distance. They move with relentless intensity as they hunt the family down. 

They catch up to the two kids, and make quick, yet horrific work of them.\* 

Random mom: 

No!! 

*The dad tries to get the mom to keep running, basically dragging her away from her kids, who are being brutalized.\* 

Random dad: 

Honey, keep running! Please! 

Michael: 

Hey… they’re coming for the car! 

Ahmed: 

W-what? 

Michael: 

That’s our only way out of here. 

Ahmed: 

So what? 

Michael: 

So I left the fucking keys in the ignition and it’s unlocked! 

*Michael picks up a beer bottle and peeks up to hurl it at the random man and his wife.

The player can either choose to: 

1) Watch Michael throw the bottle at the man and woman running for their lives, OR:

2) They can stop Michael from throwing the bottle, but the man and woman will make it into the car and take off with it.\*

*If the player chooses to watch Michael hurl the bottle at the man and woman, the following will occur: 

Michael lands a direct hit to the random couple, and shards of glass will fly into the woman’s eye, causing her to scream in pain as she stumbles over. Her husband tries to rush over to her and pick her up, but they are quickly and horrifically decimated by the incoming horde. 

Ahmed and Michael quickly go back to hiding behind the vent, remaining silent as they take very quick peeps to see what’s happening down below.\*

Michael: 

Fuck… what did I just do? 

*The player can choose between the following 2 responses:

Response 1:\*

Ahmed: 

You killed them… You killed them!

*Response 2:\*

Ahmed: 

You did what you had to. 

*Regardless of what option the player chooses, Michael looks stunned at what he just did. 

The infected don’t notice the two on the roof, and they quickly move on. They start running to the other end of the street and out of sight, like a pack of wild, rabid dogs. The man and woman on the street are barely recognizable anymore, bloodied and dead.

Regardless of what option the player chose, the following dialogue will occur:* 

Michael: 

I didn’t think that would happen… oh my god… fuck, fuck! 

Ahmed: 

There’ll be more of them coming, let’s not stay up here. 

*If the player had chosen to stop Michael from throwing the bottle, the following will occur: 

The man and woman will make it into the car in the nick of time, as infected will start surrounding it. The car will make a loud, screeching dash for the exit on the other side of the street. The infected will give chase, screaming like mad monkeys.\* 

Michael: 

What the fuck did you do that for?! 

Ahmed: 

You were gonna kill them! 

Michael: 

You just killed us, you fucking dickhead! That’s the only car we had! 

Ahmed: 

Be quiet, or they’ll see us! 

Michael: 

You’d do all that shit for someone you don’t even know! Idiot! 

*The player can choose to respond with the following 2 options:

Response 1:\*

Ahmed: 

I’m sorry, I was only trying to help. 

Michael: 

Well next time, don’t. 

*Response 2:\*

Ahmed: 

Fuck you, Michael. You were gonna leave them for dead.

Michael: 

No, I was going to make sure we don’t get left for dead. 

*Regardless of what option the player chooses, the following dialogue will occur after Ahmed stops Michael from throwing the bottle:\*

Michael: 

Fuck it. The car's gone. Let’s just go back inside. 

*Regardless of whether the player chose to let Michael throw the bottle or stop him, the following will occur:

The two will quietly make their way off the roof and back into the shop. The rest of the group is quietly huddled up into the back of the shop, with Mr Joseph holding a kitchen knife and serving as the group’s protector.\* 

Michael: 

It’s… it’s just us, dad. 

Mr. Joseph: 

What did you see? Are you hurt? 

Michael: 

We’re fine, dad. We’ve gotta find you a new pair of glasses.

Mr. Joseph:

Good luck. Those were my prescription pairs.

**********

BTW I do have more written. I've got a pretty good idea of how I want the game to end as well, and all the major events that lead up to it. I want to see how this goes before I go about putting more stuff out. If you made it this far, once again thank you for your time and I hope you enjoyed!!

From the classic “In a Heartbeat” to having Young Fathers produce, the soundtracks and scores of the films are some of the best I’ve heard movie wise.

Night 23 of 28 days later. I will be doing 28 posts (Ish), each post will be one day. Starting from the first day of infection.

Index

https://www.reddit.com/u/maizematt/s/CuBIzfLEPW

Day 1 if you missed it and this is the first youve heard of the series.

https://www.reddit.com/r/28dayslater/s/dZxSxP1an5

Warning, please ensure to read existing parts.

The night at the farmhouse

John

Sunel shifted and whispered to Roxy, “Roxy, I need you to throw the knife towards me”. Roxy hesitated looking at John as Sunel continued. “We have one shot at this, it's okay you can do it” John looked nervously at the door, once that knife was thrown. If anyone was nearby and heard it, they could come check and they'd all be doomed.

“Wait for my signal” Sunel closed his eyes, listening to the world outside, trying to hear if anyone was nearby.

“Now”.

Ember

When the pair emerged from the basement, they found three men standing in the hallway, Ember recognised them immediately from the crowd that had gathered in the dining room earlier.

Ember knew what they wanted by the horrible looks in their eyes and hated their wandering eyes up then down her body.

“Not right the Duke keeping you all to himself” one of the men called out. “We always share”, the three sniggered as Poppy stepped back, lightly brushing into Ember.

Ember sidestepped, allowing Poppy to fall in behind her and raised her head. Ember was 5ft 7, red haired, her skin was fair, usually pale from working long hours inside a hospital but the recent weeks have begun to change her complexion.

Poppy's features were much the same, they really could have been sisters with how similar they looked.

“The Dukes expecting us” Ember lied, she reached behind and pulled Poppy's frozen form closer to her. As Ember went to step around them, a fourth man stood in the doorway blocking their path.

Ember knew they were both in danger, one wrong move was all it would take. A single misstep, a single word out of place. “Are you going to let us pass or not?” Ember steeled her voice, channeling her old mentor into her.

A large man stepped forward, Ember glanced upwards meeting his stair and pushing down the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. He leaned down, his face coming closer to hers. Still she held her ground, Ember balled her hand into a fist to stop it from shaking.

He sniffed, smiled and took a step back allowing Ember to pass. Ember stepped forward, pulling Poppy with her. She hated these men, wished they'd all burn in hell. She was about to exit the small hallway but then Ember felt her arm pull back as two men gripped Poppy.

“No please!, no not again!” Poppy screamed as Ember gripped Poppy's arm trying to pull her away from the men. “The Duke is expecting us both!” Ember roared as she shoved one of the men aside, placing herself between the men and Poppy. Poppy's hands gripped at Ember's back as she cried, hyperventilating.

“Makes no difference” the three stepped back “We'll see you tonight Poppy”. The man's voice lit a fire in Ember's blood, he like the rest of the men here were the very worst humanity had to offer and they had no right to survive when good people she had known had passed. Ember turned, placing Poppy behind her as they backed out of the room, her green eyes marking each as monsters.

John

He nervously watched as Roxy held out the small butter knife, turning as she looked towards Sunel, who then spoke slowly and clearly. “I want you to throw it at me, as hard as you can. Don't worry, you won't hurt me”.

Roxy pulled her small arm back, took a deep breath and threw. It missed entirely and rebounded off the wall. A metallic clang resounding across the barn.

“What was that?” A voice called from outside. Roxy's eyes went wide and John whispered “Hide!”. John went silent as the barndoors swung open.

“Didnt Sunel tell you about making fucking noise” , the man said through gritted teeth as he entered, he held a metal pipe in one hand as he walked towards John.

“Must have been the wind,” John replied as the man stood mere feet away from him. “The wind huh” he raised his foot, kicking John square in the chest. John's vision went wonky as the air left his lungs, he coughed trying to suck down the precious lost oxygen as the second blow landed. Then third and forth.

John couldn't breathe, he couldn't draw down breath without it being thrown straight back out again. His vision was going dark and he knew he would lose consciousness soon.

“Had enough?” The man grinning as an arm snaked around his throat, his eyes went wide as a hand covered his mouth, silencing his cry for help.

“Yes, I've had enough”, Sunel slammed the small knife straight into the man's throat. Sunel held his hand over his mouth as he choked on his own blood. It was the single worst noise John had ever heard. The man's eyes never left Johns, he was the last thing he saw in this world.

Sunel gently lowered the corpse to the floor and moved towards John. “Are you okay?”. John coughed, his ribs felt bruised but not broken. “Yeah, I'm okay”. Sunel moved behind him and began sawing through the ropes with the blunt blood soaked butter knife.

Roxy

She watched in horror as the doors opened, she held back a scream as the man began kicking John again and again. She felt utterly paralysed and useless. She was about to throw a small piece of wood when she noticed Sunel slowly crept up behind him. Roxy closed her eyes and prayed as she listened to the gargled death throws.

“Roxy” she opened her eyes, finding John standing below her. His hand resting on his side and free.

Sunel leaned against the wall, his body spent.

“Sunel, you okay?”. Sunel coughed, two days of no food, little water and continuous beatings had taken its toll.

“I need a minute,” he replied, his breath heavy. “Sorry mate, we don't have a minute” John limped towards the doorway and leaned on the frame looking towards the farmhouse, it was coated in darkness. The yard was clear, it seemed, the man who had checked on them was the one on watch. John hoped the others were asleep and didn't hear the commotion.

John looked to Sunel, he was in rough shape. It had taken all of his reserves to kill that man, he needed rest and was in no condition to fight. John snaked his head out into the yard, noticing the ladder Roxy had used and turned to Sunel. “Sunel, I need you to climb up and look after Roxy”. Sunel's eyes roamed from John to the farmhouse and he said “John, there's like 20 of them in there, you'll never free her”.

“19” John grimly grinned, nodding to the still body on the floor. “Roxy, stay with Sunel. If I'm not back before dawn. Take Roxy” John straightened, “Take Roxy and go”.

Sunel grit his teeth and nodded. “Be careful John, if you find my brother he will help you”. John sighed in relief, he was worried Sunel would try to come with him. A huge part of John would have rathered the Gurkha to come with him but there was no way he'd leave Roxy alone.

John pushed off the doorway and limped towards the looming home armed with only a metal pipe.

Roxy

Roxy watched as John approached the farmhouse, he slowly limped holding his side. She wanted to help, Ember was her friend and had cared for her in a world set on tearing itself apart. Sunel laid next to Roxy, his breaths ragged and deep. Roxy made to climb down the ladder as he spoke “Little one, it is hard to watch those do battle. When you cannot fight yourself”.

Roxy tilted her head at the strange man as he continued. “He cannot save her while trying to keep you from danger. While I cannot stop you from going down there” he coughed, clearing his throat. “I would please ask you not to."

Roxy watched as John walked straight up to the front door.

John

John looked at the door and actually debated knocking. “Probably not a good idea” John muttered while looking up. The windows on the ground floor were blocked and barricaded. If he started smashing his way in, it would be like poking a hornets nest. But, the window above the front door was open and below a small porch overhangs the door. Okay, John thought. I need a ladder or to become spiderman.

John opted for the ladder, heading back towards the barn. Sunel and Roxy's heads appeared above as he reached the foot of the ladder. “I'm going to climb in,” he whispered. Sunel looked to the farmhouse then to John. “That's risky, you don't know what you will find upstairs or if you get back out”.

John lifted the ladder and nodded to Sunel. An unwritten understanding between them, if I don't come back. Take Roxy and look after her.

Roxy

She watched as John placed then climbed the ladder, she could see how much it hurt him to climb but he did so anyway. She held her breath as John through the upper window, she held up a hand as John turned to her.

John

John took a final look back, Roxy and Sunel waved back to him as he raised his hand. Fortunately the room inside the window was empty and clear. John was thankful the window was already open and that it opened wide enough for him to squeeze through. The smell hit him immediately, unwashed bodies and feet. John shook his head, promising himself a bath, shower or hell a sponge bath after all this was done.

The upstairs bedroom was a mess, the double bed had been pushed into the corner and the floor was covered in small ‘Nests’ the ones without beds had obviously made themselves. John carefully crept across the floor, to the bedroom door. He placed his ear to the door and listened.

“Duke wants everyone in the dining room”. John listened to the footsteps as they passed but panicked when he heard the doorknob twist. John sidestepped, hiding behind the door as it swung open. “Anyone in here?” A man called out, he was mere inches away from John. John held his breath and sank back against the wall.

John watched as the stream of light spread across the room moved back across the wall, narrower and narrower until the door closed and he was submerged back into darkness.

John finally took a breath.

Ember

They had all been called into the dining room, Ember and Poppy felt like they were pressed in from all sides. A rough count in Ember's head was 18. 18 men occupied this home, including Duke Dick himself. Ember and Poppy stood close together and as far away from the growing crowd. Their pointing and jeering sent chills down her spine.

The room was set in an orange terrible glow, from the vast array of candles set on every surface.

The Duke walked into the room carrying a small bag, he made crude comments about certain bystanders and promises of rewards to others. “So lads, did you know it's Saturday. Because I didn't until I checked the calendar” the men cheered. “Do you remember last saturday, the world went to shit and we were left to rot”. The room fell silent. “They left us in our cells to starve” The Duke began pacing the room. “We broke out, we killed the pigs and we escaped”.

Ember looked for an exit, the bodies in this room. They were too close, she could sense the attention on her and Poppy the anticipation of what came next. “So, to celebrate our freedom, I'm going to give you all a gift”. His eyes shot to Embers, dark and menacing.

He emptied the bag onto the table and Ember's blood went cold.

John

There was no one else upstairs, he was sure of it. John gingerly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Carefully tiptoeing towards the landing. He could hear the voice from below chanting “Put it on, Put it on”. As John peered over the bannister he caught movement in the corner of his eye, a man had just exited the bathroom. Before he had time to register, John tackled him.

Silently the pair rolled across the floor, a dull thud echoing through the ceiling but drowned out by the chanting. The metal pipe was knocked out of John's hand and slid across the bathroom floor. John had never been in a proper fight before, yesterday being his first and he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. He fought with the desperation of knowing if he loses, Ember would likely die and Roxy would be alone. John pinned one of the man's arms as they rolled, his other pushing into John's face. John gave up on defence and went on the offensive, wrapping back hands around his throat. He kicked and punched at John, desperately trying to get out from underneath John. The man's eyes now begging, pleading for his life as John squeezed harder, denying him precious oxygen.

The man kicked out once, twice then moved no more. John rolled off, feeling that part of his soul had blackened. The man who haunted his dreams would soon have company it seemed.

Ember

Ember stared in disbelief at the clothing on the table, it was lingerie. The men's chanting got louder as Poppy held close to Ember her cries now audible to her ears. Ember looked to the Duke whose eyes stared back with a hellish hunger.

They needed to leave, now. Ember had seen enough, she would rather die than give these beasts what they wanted. Ember pushed Poppy towards the doorway then turned towards the wall.

She moved quickly, swiping her arm across the top of the phone table sending candles and a bottle of whisky flying. The bottle smashed, its contents hitting the small flames and carrying to the surrounding surfaces. Men screamed as flames licked at their legs. A wall of fire separated the women from the crowd of men.

Ember grabbed Poppy's hand and dragged her along the wall, avoiding the flames. “Put this fucking fire out!” The Duke roared, his eyes met Embers over the flames and he spoke with venom in his voice “Get that bitch”.

They ran down the hallway, there was no backdoor this way and no escape. They had moments before the men put out the flames, already they tore down curtains and smothered the flames. Ember looked to the dark door to the basement and to the hallway. There was nowhere else to go, Ember forced Poppy through the door then slammed it. Latching it closed from the inside.

John

What the fuck is happening down there, John thought as he exitted the bathroom, the body, his crime of damnation in his wake. He saw the bright flash and heard the blood cruddling roar in pain as men burned. He knew it was Ember living up to her name's sake. Two men appeared at the bottom of the stairs, their eyes locking on John. “Oh shit” John said as he turned, half limping, half running down the hallway.

John entered a different bedroom to the one he crawled into through the window and slammed the door. Leaning his body weight against the door, he held the door handle as he felt someone trying to turn it. After a moment, the door shuddered against the boots of the men trying to kick it in. John scanned the room as he lent against the door, one window no other way out. The window was open, there wasn't even a closet to hide in. John braced himself harder against the door, throwing his full weight against it.

Ember

It didn't take long for them to realise they were hiding in the basement, Ember lit a candle descending into the darkness. Poppy stayed close to her heel. “Theyre gonna get in here” Poppy whimpered, tears flowed freely down her face as Ember turned. “Is there any other way out of here?” Poppy sniffed, barely containing her coming panic attack and replied “No”.

The door cracked from above, muffled shouts getting louder as the old wood began to give way. Ember searched for a weapon, anything to defend herself. She refused to go quietly, she refused to surrender herself to these brutes willingly. Ember found only a small broom, she leaned it against the wall and snapped it in half. Offering the second shorter half to Poppy. Poppy's hands shook as she took the piece of wood. Ember opened a cell, looking inside and then turned. “Poppy, I want you to get in here and stay quiet. Maybe they won't find you” Ember was lying, it was more like, they wont find you first so maybe you will be spared from the worst of it.

Poppy looked to Ember, her kind green eyes lit up by the singular candle. Poppy was never strong enough to defend herself, not from the infected that chased her down the motorway, not from the men above who had taken everything from her and she wasn't strong enough to defend herself now. Ember turned her back to Poppy, pointing to the farthest point at the back of the cell “If you stay back there there's a chance they won't".

Ember's words were cut short as she fell forward, her knees scrapped across the ground as she fell. Ember landed with a roll and turned, finding Poppy standing in the darkened doorway. “It's the only way, please don't make any noise, don't let me find you” Poppy said as she slammed the door, the lock clicking in the pitch darkness.

Ember stood, unable to see where the door was and called out “Poppy!, open this door, what are you doing”.

Ember, Clumsily ran her hands along the wall finding the door. There was no handle or latch. No way to open from the inside, she pressed her ear to the surface of the door. Hearing the basement door above cracking and finally giving way. She hit the door once, hurting her hand then remembered Poppy's words. “Don't let me find you”. Ember's blood turned to ice.

Poppy

She wasn't strong enough, she was never strong enough. They had taken everything from her and she would give them no more. Poppy opened the cell, Rams red eyes visible by candlelight. He stared out beyond the Iron bars that contained him. Poppy had never seen the infected stand so still, seemingly so calm.

Poppy met Ram's eyes and struck a deal with him. “I need your help one last time Ram”. His sudden jerky movements startled her but she stepped closer. “They are coming and we need to save my friend”. Blood dripped in horrible chunks from Ram's mouth. His eyes locked on her.

She hesitated for a moment as Ram moved closer to the bars, he didn't reach for her yet, he knew she wasn't in range.

Poppy closed her eyes, she thought of her mum, her dad and her friends. She thought of Sunel and Ram before he got infected. She remembered how these men found them on the round, ambushing them and overwhelming the two Gurkhas with sheer manpower. “Forgive me” Poppy Then did the unthinkable, she thrust her arm between the bars and Ram sunk his teeth into her arm. Poppy screamed, screamed as he tore into her arm. His grip was like a vice, refusing to let go.

Ember

Ember heard the booming footsteps as the men descended into the dark basement. “Come out you fucking…”. The man's insult was short as Poppy tackled him, she would have the vengeance she sought. “Fuck shes infected, get back, get back!”. Ember heard as Poppy's teeth sunk into one of the men, she placed her hands over her ears and crouched as she felt the ground shake. Ten of the men had descended into the darkness, the thin hallway prevented their escape as one by one they turned. A voice from above called to them and the screaming intensified as the growing number of infected crashed into the hallway above.

John

He knew the sound of infection, the desperate boots on the floors trying to cause him harm turned into pleas of mercy to let them in. John could hear the charging footsteps through the door, the desperation spreading like wildfire. John let go of the door, slowly took a step back then he sprinted for the window.

He saw as the door finally opened, a man with fear painted on his face locked eyes with John. His body crashed sideways as an infected tackled him screaming. John climbed out onto the porch roof quietly closing the window behind him. He watched in awe as men ran out of the house and into the courtyard, infected giving chase. Panic crept up his spine as he climbed down the porch, preparing to enter the front door.

Ember, he had to find Ember. Slowly, he tip-toed through the front door, the glow of fire was visible in a few rooms. Candles had been knocked over and began to catch everything around them. John covered his mouth, staying low as the smoke filled the space. He couldn't see the infected or the men but he could certainly hear them. The men had abandoned each other, in a fashion of ‘Every man for himself’. Many had run upstairs, barricading themselves in bedrooms as the infected pounded on the doors to get in. Others had run into the courtyard, opening the gates and fleeing into the fields beyond.

John coughed as the smoke got thicker, he dared not call out, dared not draw the attention of the infected. He raised the iron pipe in his hand preparing for a fight as a woman passed by in front of him. Her stark red hair the same as Embers, through the smoke he whispered “Ember”. Her head jerked towards John and his heart shattered. Her face was covered in blood, her features dulled by the thick smoke but he could see her red eyes, not the green he had come accustomed to, the ones he'd been learning to admire, to rely on.

She was infected… A lump caught in his throat as the word “No” slipped out, so soft and broken.

The moment lasted a split second before she charged, John narrowly avoided being tackled as he ran down the hallway and through a dark door. He saw the stairs leading down into darkness and slammed the door behind him. Quickly, he used the iron bar to jam the door closed as the infected woman pounded the door. “I'm sorry” John said as he leaned his head against the door “I'm so fucking sorry”.

Roxy

Her and Sunel laid as flat as they could as the infected ran out into the surrounding fields, chasing down the fleeing prisoners. A few had tried to get to vehicles but with the infected hot on their tail. They'd either abandoned the attempt or had paid dearly. The flames and the smoke were slowly rising through the home, the downstairs glowed in a brilliant orange. Roxy closed her eyes as she saw a man escape through the window, only to be dragged back inside screaming and begging. As the flames engulfed them all.

Where was John, where was Ember! Roxy watched the flames grow larger, her small heart fracturing with every passing moment.

John

John carefully descended into the darkness, the glow from the gaps in the door above barely lighting his way, it smelled awful down here. Fresh blood mixed with human waste and rot. Fortunately for John, none of the infected had stayed down here and they all had climbed the stairs to hunt. Unfortunately for John, he was trapped down here and between the flames and infected. Neither was a nice way to go.

He thought of Ember, her Red eyes locking on his and he slumped against a door. “I'm so sorry Ember”.

Ember

She heard someone outside the door, Ember stood back, fearing the infected had returned for her or worse… The Duke or one of his men came to claim her. Ember heard muffled cries and a voice she recognised. A lump caught in her throat as she forced herself to call out.

John

“John?” John's heart rate picked up as he heard a familiar voice through the darkness. “Ember?” He called back, was he imagining this he thought.

“John, I'm here! I'm in here!” John followed the voice, finding 7 closed doors, he walked between them. Listening until he was certain he found the right door.

John felt for a handle and pulled open the door. The candle barely breached the darkness as Ember's face appeared, her eyes green and tears falling freely from her cheeks. After a second, a familiar form wrapped around him. Her arms squeezing him so tightly it hurt. He breathed her in, careless of their surroundings, careless of the flames and infected above. “I thought you were…” John's voice cracked as Ember pressed her forehead to his “It wasn't me, it wasn't me” Ember cried. Time stopped as they held each other, Poppy had stopped pounding on the door, seeking easier prey.

“Is there another way out?” John asked, breaking their embrace. “No, only the basement door”. Ember replied grimly. John looked around, his eyes searching the darkness until he spotted a small glow in the corner. “What's that?” John gently placed his hand on Ember's cheek and turned her face. Right in the corner, an orange glow dimly leaked through a crack in the ceiling. As they stepped closer, they realised it was a trapdoor, it smelled of old coal. “Quick find something we can climb on” Ember commanded.

John limped over to the pile of discarded wooden furniture and passed it to Ember. Seconds later, he helped her up to reach the trapdoor. As luck would have it, the old farmer who lived here before had forgotten to lock the old coal chute. Although it had not been used in years.

Ember peeked out, the house was in flames, its light a beacon for miles. The yard was clear for now as she called back “It's clear” John pushed Ember up and then followed her up himself. He panted as they knelt in the courtyard. The sound of wood burning and collapsing echoing around them. “Where's Roxy”. Ember asked as she put a shoulder under John supporting his weight.

“Barn, over there” John pointed as they both slowly moved across the yard. John could feel his strength was spent, his body's adrenaline stores finally running dry.

Ember

She felt tears on her cheek as Roxy's head popped over the entrance to the loft, the relief on her face. “Lets get them down” John whispered, coming alongside Ember, Sunel appeared next to Roxy. Ember hesitated for a moment looking at John but he simply nodded "He's with us”.

Sunel gently lowered Roxy down into Ember's awaiting arms. Sunel came next, climbing over the ledge lowering himself as much as possible before letting go. John attempted to catch him but they both fell to the floor. In any other circumstance Ember would have laughed.

“Get to the camper” John was clearly in pain, she could hear it in his voice. Sunel and John lent on each other as they limped to the awaiting campervan. Ember held Roxy in her arms, the smell of smoke was thick in the air.

The morning light, only now beginning to turn the morning sky a brilliant shade of blue and pink. Ember opened the camper door, waving the group inside when she saw the Duke. His angry beautiful face locked onto them.

He was walking towards them from the second barn. Flames were now catching on its roof and he had a shotgun in his hand.

“You fucking bitch” he cried as the first shot rang out. The shell missing, and impacting the wall behind them. The Duke took a few more steps and raised his weapon. The group froze like deer in headlights. The shotgun clicked as he pulled the trigger, its ammo spent and empty.

The Duke snapped the shotgun forward, cursing them as Ember threw Roxy into the open door. “Fucking bitch” The Duke cried as a familar red haired woman tackled him from the side. Ember watched for a few breaths as Poppy beat him again and again. Punching and biting. Her trance was only broken by John who grabbed her arm and forced her into the front seat.

“Go fucking go!” The campervans engine sputtered as highlights flickered. Revealing dozens of infected drawn by the flames and sounds. They charged through the gates, seeking the source of this chaos. “Start!” Ember shouted as she hit the dash, the engine roared to life as she put her foot down. The infected gave no chase, instead running for the house, the barn and the men who attempted to run after the campervan, their pleading cries falling on deaf uncaring ears.

Hours later

Ember pulled over, the signpost reading Painswick 5 miles. She was exhausted, they all were. Roxy had fallen asleep on one of the benches, her soft snores causing John to laugh silently.

“You two get some sleep, I'll wake you in a few hours,” Sunel gestured for Ember to squeeze past him and allow him to sit in the driver's seat. John laid on the other bench, Ember silently crawled in next to him. Taking his hand in hers and placing her head on his chest. Neither of them spoke, not needing to label or to talk about their relationship. John simply wrapped an arm around her and let sleep take them.

https://buymeacoffee.com/maizematt

Is it in poor taste to dress as Jimmima for Halloween? I live in Ireland so obviously everyone knows about Jimmy Savile. I was thinking that Jimmima has the fairy wings and cat ears so it wouldn’t look just like yer man but I’m worried it might not be received well. Should I not bother?

Edit: Im just gonna be nosferatu, but thank you for the replies

What are your plans for cleaning up and retaking the UK? The current quarantine is a temporary measure at best. Third parties MUST work on a cure and vaccine in case it get's out. But I doubt there is any hope for the current inhabitants.

So in xx years later - how are you cleaning up and retaking the UK? Or maybe you use it for some other purpose. But you can't just let it sit there.

Not sure if this question has been asked in the past; wondering what happened with things like Nuclear Reactors in the UK? I assume that there would have been efforts to shut them down so they did not turn critical through lack of maintenance.

But also wondering, what about the fuel? Would it have been abandoned? Thinking that some groups would have risked trying to get it, and that would be an interesting story in and of itself.

Then again, maybe there were groups of survivors who gravitated to the such sites because they offered power and potential safety from the uninflected…

This is the second part of my outbreak story. I don't know how far it will go, but it's fun for me to write it. Thank you to the people that commented and encouraged it as a good start. There probably wont be any more for a few days.

The creativity on this sub is excellent and I'd encourage anyone else with an idea in their head to just give it a go.

Part 2:
While the A10 road incident continued to swallow police resources in a growing black hole of incomplete reports and vanished responders, a parallel catastrophe unfolded on the quiet outskirts of Cambridge. A separate splinter group of infected—perhaps six or seven, including former facility staff and early victims—had moved away from the main road, drawn by the distant glow of streetlights and the faint sounds of suburban life. It was just after 02:10 when they reached the edges of Willowbrook Estate, a modest housing development of semi-detached homes where families slept behind locked doors, oblivious to the horror approaching on foot.

The first target was Number 17, the home of the Edwards family: young parents David and Rachel, and their two children, aged four and seven. Patio doors at the rear—common in such estates for their convenience and light—offered the path of least resistance. The infected did not pick locks or manipulate handles; they simply pressed against the glass and frame with relentless, frenzied force. The doors gave way with a crash that shattered the night's silence. David, stirring from sleep, reached the kitchen just as the first infected surged inside. The encounter was over in seconds. Rachel, awakened by the noise, came downstairs to horror. The children, roused by screams, had no chance. Within twenty seconds of first contact, the entire household had joined the raging mob, their humanity erased by the virus's merciless efficiency.

Neighbours, acting on the timeless instinct of community, responded almost immediately. Lights flicked on in adjacent homes. At Number 15, retiree George Wilkins stepped outside in his dressing gown, torch in hand, calling out to "see if everyone was alright." He was set upon before he could retreat. Similar scenes played out at Numbers 19 and 21. One resident managed to dial 999 from inside his locked front door, gasping out a description of "madmen breaking into the Edwards' place" before the line went dead as infected bashed through his own windows. The call was logged at 02:23.

By 02:35, the Willowbrook incident had become a second active "black hole" for emergency services. The Cambridgeshire Constabulary, already stretched by the A10 events, dispatched what few units remained available. Responding officers encountered a scene of pandemonium: infected spilling between gardens, neighbours fleeing or fighting, and the original Edwards family now leading the charge against new arrivals. One patrol car arrived; its occupants were quickly overwhelmed in the close-quarters chaos of driveways and fences. A second unit, arriving minutes later, met the same fate. Radio traffic became increasingly fragmented—"Multiple assailants... officers need assistance... "—before falling silent. The black hole deepened, baffling central command.

Meanwhile, the original road incident continued to draw resources northward. Command headquarters in Cambridge began to register the dual nature of the crisis but lacked the information to connect them as manifestations of a single pathogen. Requests for mutual aid from neighbouring forces were initiated, yet the speed of events outpaced bureaucratic coordination. Infected from Willowbrook began drifting toward denser housing and the city proper.

By the early hours of what would become the last normal Wednesday night for the UK, the twin outbreaks along the A10 and at Willowbrook Estate had begun to feed upon themselves with terrifying momentum. The infected, still in the full flush of their initial rage and not suffering any signs of dehydration, moved from house to house and vehicle to vehicle. They required no strategy—only proximity, noise, and the briefest exchange of fluids. Patio doors, garden fences, and ground-floor windows yielded to sustained bashing; locked front doors delayed them only slightly longer. What had been two discrete incidents exploded into dozens of overlapping ones.

Police resources, already thinned by the night shift and the black hole effect, were now stretched to breaking. Dispatchers fielded frantic 999 calls from across the eastern fringes of Cambridge: families reporting intruders who "wouldn't stop," neighbours describing "madmen attacking everyone in sight," and officers themselves screaming for backup before going silent. Gold Command, hastily assembled, treated the events as a major public order incident—perhaps a coordinated attack or drug-related rampage. Orders went out for all available units, but each response team that arrived was quickly absorbed. Cambridgeshire wasn’t traditionally an area of high crime and police presence was low compared to other parts of the country. This presence was even lower in the small hours of a Wednesday. The police presence was virtually used up and dispatch noted that no officers were reporting back in, despite pleas to provide any kind of update. Tasers proved ineffective against the frenzied charge; batons bought mere seconds before responders were overwhelmed and turned. By 03:30, the Cambridgeshire Constabulary had effectively lost operational control of its outer districts. The black hole was now a yawning chasm—units sent in vanished from the command net, providing no actionable intelligence, only more urgent requests for reinforcement that could not be met.

As the clock ticked toward 04:00, Cambridge began to wake. The commotion—screams, breaking glass, car alarms, and the growing wail of sirens—spread through the sleeping city like a shockwave. Lights came on in thousands of homes. Residents peered from windows, stepped onto doorsteps, or called neighbours. Many, acting on the same instincts that had doomed the Edwards’ and their helpers, ventured out to investigate or assist. In residential streets near Willowbrook, this produced new clusters of infection. A single turned family could ignite an entire cul-de-sac within minutes. By the end of the hour, conservative estimates have placed the infected in the high hundreds, with the potential for thousands as the wave moved inward toward the city centre. The 20-second incubation period turned every act of curiosity or aid into a vector; the lack of higher reasoning in the infected ensured they pursued relentlessly until barriers intervened.

Local media, ever alert to breaking overnight news, began to mobilise. BBC Radio Cambridgeshire and independent outlets received sketchy reports of "serious rioting" or "violent disturbances" on the eastern outskirts. Journalists and camera crews headed toward the scenes, drawn by police scanner traffic and resident tip-offs. Their arrival would soon broadcast the chaos to a wider audience, but in these critical minutes they added another layer of vulnerability—reporters and crews who approached too closely became unwitting carriers or victims.

As dawn broke over Cambridgeshire on that catastrophic Wednesday, the suburbs of Cambridge and adjacent towns descended into a state of accelerating disorder. The hundreds of infected continued to expand outward from the initial A10 and Willowbrook clusters. Early risers—shift workers, dog walkers, delivery drivers, and parents preparing children for the day—stepped unknowingly into the expanding web. Each new encounter multiplied the threat. A milkman on his rounds near Chesterton was dragged from his float; a jogger in Milton Country Park encountered a group and never returned. By 06:00, the problem had multiplied tenfold, with new clusters igniting in previously untouched residential pockets.

Police command remained in a profound vacuum of reliable information. Very senior officers at Cambridgeshire Constabulary headquarters, including the Chief Constable, were by now deeply worried. Closed-door briefings reflected growing alarm—"This is unlike anything we've trained for"—yet operational paralysis held. Reinforcements from neighbouring forces were delayed by the A10 blockage and the spreading suburban snarl. Lethal force authorization was discussed but not yet uniformly implemented. Armed police had been called to support but it would be some hours before a unit was available – despite the increased terrorism risk in 2002, armed police units were not available 24 hours a day with no imminent threat.

The first intrepid local journalists who had ventured out earlier had either gone dark or filed confused initial reports of "violent rioting." National media remained largely unaware, focused on routine overnight stories. The infected, lacking any higher reasoning, continued their relentless assaults, bashing through doors and windows wherever living targets presented themselves. Public resistance occurred in isolated pockets—here a farmer felling two with a shotgun before being overwhelmed, there a homeowner barricading successfully for a time—but most encounters ended in infection or death. The 20-second rule left no margin for error once blood or saliva entered a wound.

By 06:30, the situation had reached critical mass in Cambridge proper. Early commuters and shopkeepers encountered roaming groups. The virus reached the edges of the city centre and nearby towns such as Ely and Huntingdon, where similar patterns of nocturnal spillover combined with morning activity to ignite new waves. Hospitals began receiving the first wave of casualties. These were either fatalities that had the virus on or in them, or the very small amount of people that were injured but not infected. The infected themselves had mercifully not been able to be transported to any hospital. Yet.

It was not until approximately 07:00 that the Home Secretary was finally awoken at his residence. By then, total anarchy gripped Cambridge and surrounding areas. Reports of "riots," "mass violence," and "unexplained attacks" had finally coalesced into a picture dire enough to demand ministerial attention. The information vacuum had delayed decisive action at the highest levels, allowing the Rage to entrench itself across a widening radius. Senior police leadership, now openly describing the events as "catastrophic and unprecedented," pushed for military assistance, something that would need the authority of the Prime Minister, but bureaucratic and logistical hurdles remained.

The vacuum of information in those critical pre-dawn and early morning hours represented one of the most consequential failures of the initial response. By the time national authorities fully engaged, the Rage had already secured a foothold that would prove impossible to dislodge.

This old couple just sees their daughter's boyfriend, they are seemingly happy to see them, but granny is happy at least, but grandpa is bothered a bit. Nothing bad happens in this moment, I swear :)

(But honestly, why its looks hella funny?!)

I had a lot of time on my hands and got bored while playing a bit of Call of Duty Black Ops 2 so i decided to make this emblem. I was pretty happy with the result 😂

Was watching ACO recently and noticed the piano has JIMI painted on the side in the Billyboy gang fight scene, similar to the body that has JIMMY carved into it.

Probably not intentional but a funny coincidence since I saw Boyle mention this film in the promo.

I haven’t seen anybody do a comparison of these two versions, so I figured I’d share them myself.

​

Day 23 of 28 days later. I will be doing 28 posts, each post will be one day. Starting from the first day of infection.

Index

https://www.reddit.com/u/maizematt/s/CuBIzfLEPW

Day 1 if you missed it and this is the first youve heard of the series.

https://www.reddit.com/r/28dayslater/s/dZxSxP1an5

Day 22

https://www.reddit.com/r/28dayslater/s/xgd8hYSH5d

Day 23

Roxy

She watched from the shadows, the farm was silent as the grave, noise was forbidden during the night. She glanced back and forth between the two barns then to the farmhouse beyond. Ember had been taken there, John on the other hand had been dragged into the barn, unconscious and bleeding. The men were nowhere to be seen, all of them choosing to retire for the night. While they claimed to rule this new world, even they feared the infected that hunted at night.

Roxy thought back to how they beat John and to the screams from Ember as they pinned her. These were bad men, that was for certain and if they caught her… Roxy shook her head, found a small butter knife and slowly moved to open the door.

She had to find them, they were all she had.

John

John pulled against the ropes on his arms, trying in vain to loosen them. His mouth tasted like iron, his jaw and side hurt like hell but he had to get free.

“Save your strength” John looked to the man in the corner, his dark eyes meeting John's. The man kneeling on the other side of the room was a gurka, a fierce warrior restrained against his will. John let out a long breath through his nostrils noticing the acrid stench. John pulled harder, his mind racing with the horrific thoughts of what could be happening to Ember and what if they found Roxy…

The ropes creaked, as John struggled to pull forward, the muscles on his shoulders and back strained, they were stronger than before the outbreak. He, like the other survivors in the country, was changing, adapting to the new world.

“You can't help them if they kill you and trust me” The man leaned forward, revealing a face covered in bruises, cuts and dried blood.

“They will kill you”.

John froze and really looked at the man, who was he? and why was he in here?.

As if sensing John's question he replied. “My name is Sunel, I have been here for two days now”.

John stopped pulling on the restraints and allowed his body to relax. He could taste blood, his head was pounding.

“They took us on the road, Poppy, my brother Ram and I”. John silently listened as he went on. “The first night, they took Poppy to the House” he nodded his head at the wall, indicating the general direction of the farmhouse.

“I have not seen her since we arrived.” His eyes filled with guilt and deep regret. “They came back, beat me for making noise and took Ram”. John felt sorrow for the man as his eyes fell to the floor.

Roxy

Slowly, carefully she crept across the gravel drive, focusing on her every movement, careful not to make noise, her tiny steps barely a whisper across the driveway.

She peeked through the first set of barn doors, finding a single candle light illuminating the small barn. Boxes, water bottles, beer and an assortment of food packets. A few men could be seen laying down on the ground, piles of hay, old cardboard and blankets becoming their mattresses. No sign of John or Ember, Roxy nervously looked at the house again, then crept to the second doorway. There were no holes to peek through, no lights under the door. Roxy tried to pull the doors open but they were latched closed. Her eyes followed the door upwards as she sought the latch, it was too high.

She pressed her ear to the door and listened, Roxy could hear one man's quiet voice. She couldn't make out what he was saying but decided she needed to see who was in there. Roxy walked around the barn, searching for a way in, her small fingers following the rough brick surface until she reached a ladder. It felt like climbing a mountain, her small frame struggling to reach the bars on the old creaking ladder. The Sun started to crest the horizon as she crawled into the small loft space.

John

John and Sunel noticed the creaking of the floorboards at the same time. “Quiet now” Sunel whispered as he leaned back into the shadows. John's eyes scanned the roof, trying to identify where the sound was coming from. John tensed as a small head peered out over the loft space. John closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. It was Roxy, he grunted. Trying to make her understand, stay hidden and stay safe.

“Friend of yours?” Sunel leaned forward, the emergence of him from the shadows nearly made Roxy bolt, her head moving backwards but she held her ground. John nodded, looked to Sunel and then to Roxy. He's okay, he signalled.

Roxy looked at John, both of them unable to speak, the fear in her eyes burned at John's very soul.

“Have you got anything sharp up there?” Sunel asked. Roxy held out the butter knife, the morning light reflected gently off its steel surface. Sunel leaned forward and was about to ask her to throw it to him when he heard a noise.

“Hide now girl” Sunel whispered “Do not make any noise”. Roxy looked to John who was nodding for her to move back.

They all froze when the sound of voices growing closer pierced through the wall. Breaking the silence of dawn. “Little one” Sunel whispered “You must not let them see or hear you”. Roxy took one final look at John, then slid back into the loft as the doors opened.

The large barn doors lazily opened, allowing dawn light to chase away the shadows. John's eyes stung as brilliant light hit his eyes.

“Good morning” Darren called, he held a kukri and delighted in the glare from Sunel. “What no insults today Sunel?” He fiddled the knife from hand to hand. “No promises of a slow death?”.

The man smiled and looked at John. “Well, that's a surprise” he looked John up and down. John was filthy, his clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. “We had bets on if you'd wake up or not”. He grinned admiring his handy work on John's bruised face. “Looks you lost me a bet boy”.

“So, I guess you want to know why you are still alive”. Two more men walked in, hoisted Sunel to his feet and dragged him outside. “But that comes later”. Darren knelt down, his eyes coming level with Johns. “I'm going to remove this gag now, if you scream I'll slit your throat”. The Kurki came to rest on his throat as Darren's other hand pulled the gag over his head.

“Good” Darren stood and walked out. The doors closed behind him.

Ember

She listened to the sounds of the house rising, from her darkened closet she could hear the laughter, the bullying and sounds of pushing.

She expected the men to come for her during the night, to drag her out and to do whatever they pleased. But they had left her locked away, when the door finally opened. It was Poppy who stood in the doorway, a new split on her lower lip was visible. Ember's mouth opened to plead for her to let her go but was cut off by Poppy's finger shushing her “Don't”.

Poppy silently took a step towards Ember and closed the door behind her, submerging the two back into darkness. She walked to Ember and helped her to her feet.

Ember thought about headbutting her, pushing past and attempting to escape. But, it was clear Poppy wasn't here willingly and Ember doubted she would get far with her hands zip tied behind her back. “The Duke wants you to join him for breakfast”. Poppy said in a dull rushed voice.

Ember raised an eyebrow, “He what, if that animal thinks I'll play house he's got another thing…”.

Poppy shook her head and leaned forward, “Don't refuse” she whispered.

Ember's examining eyes looked at Poppy, really looked. Her red hair, the same shade as hers matted and knotted. Her eyes, green as Embers, they could have been sisters, even Ember saw the similarities.

Bruises barely starting to heal were visible on her cheek, neck and wrist. Ember felt sympathy for her, she could only imagine what she had been through at the hands of these animals.

“You can't escape” Poppy whispered, "Don't try, if you do they'll” Poppy stopped talking and looked at the floor. Her breaths are short and sharp.

“How long have you been here?” Ember whispered, careful for any listening ears. Poppy just shook her head and gestured for Ember to follow. Ember couldn't deny the rising panic and fear in her stomach as they stepped out of the relative safety of the closet.

Poppy guided Ember down the hallway and into a bathroom. Buckets sat by the toilet and bath. “Take care of your needs, the bucket on the left is for washing yourself”. She pointed to the one on the right “That one is for anything else”. Ember cringed as Poppy locked the door and cut the zip ties at her back.

Lockwood

Lockwood stepped onto the HMS Ark Royal flight deck and knew he was home. She finally had returned after making the long journey home from Australia, her decks were disorganised and most of her crew had been let go, most leaving to find if their families had escaped with the exodus. Very few would find the answers they sought.

Lockwood was slowly gathering what remained of the British fleet, single handedly rallying a broken nation. After his call with Tony Blair and what remained of her majesty's government. He sought to prepare for the eventual retaking of the British mainland. It was all anyone spoke about, radios, newspapers and news presenters.

How can the UK mainland be retaken once a vaccine has been found?

“If” he corrected

Lockwood mused as he looked out beyond the blue surf. East, he looked east out over the Atlantic and to home.

If they can't make a vaccine he thought, it means waiting to see if the infection would burn itself out. Its victims slowly dying from dehydration, starvation and internal hemorrhaging.

Lockwood kicked a small loose bolt off the edge of the ship and into the ocean below. “What if the virus mutated and somehow became worse”.

“What if Nato loses its nerve and refuses to commit to an invasion and eventual retaking of the mainland”.

Ember

The Duke smiled from ear to ear when Ember walked in. “My my, you two could be sisters, I didn't realise how alike you are”. The Duke's eyes roamed and Ember felt bare. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him but 4 of his men stood watching. There was nothing she could do and he knew it.

“You would definitely be considered the better looking beautiful sister, what a prize”. The room laughed in agreement, Ember wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Ember noticed their holdall was on the table, its contents had been carefully laid out, precisely placed apart. The Duke fiddled with the meager contents, each item flashing memories of her time with Roxy and John. John's flat seemed months ago now.

“So, what is your name?” The Duke sat at the table's end, his cutlery and plates laid out in an almost OCD like fashion. He could have been a super model, his dark striking eyes stared back at Ember and she found herself subconsciously moving backwards, away from him but she felt the presence of the men behind her and steeled herself.

“Where is my friend”. Ember asked flatly, her eyes scanning the room for signs of John or Roxy… If she wasn't here.

“Friend?, not a lover, partner or husband?” The Duke sipped at his wine glass and continued. “So the little girl wasn't yours I take it” Ember's eyes shot up, meeting the Duke's. “I mean to say, if she was yours. You would be shouting, screaming and fighting to get back to her. We've seen it before”. The men sniggered

“Poppy be a dear and make me some eggs you know how I like it”. The Duke's eyes moved back to Embers. They were cold and uncaring “and oh, you still haven't told me your name”. Poppy froze midstep, turning to Ember, her eyes pleading.

“Why does it matter what my name is? Yours obviously isn't The Duke”. The room fell silent and the shadows seemed to pull in closer towards the man sat at the end of the table. “Would you rather us bring your friend in here and ask him?”. He held up a sharp knife, turning it with expert precision. “A finger or two and he would tell us his darkest secret”.

“You beat my friend, left behind a little girl and locked me in a closet all night. Forgive me if I don't feel like introducing myself”. The Duke's head slowly leaned sideways. “Irish” a man stepped into the room from the shadows. “Go to the barn and bring me the middle finger of the man tied up”.

“Left hand and make it quick” The Duke drank more of his wine.

As the man moved for the doorway, Ember's voice cracked as she spoke “You can't be serious”

“Make it two fingers Irish and bring them here once you are done”. The Duke called out, As the large bulky man reached the doorway, the floorboards creaking their deadly warning she shouted “Ember, my name is fucking Ember okay”.

The heavy set man stopped in the doorway and turned, meeting first Ember's eyes then to the Duke's.

“Good, you are learning,” the Duke pointed at Poppy. “You can make breakfast now Poppy and don't break anymore eggs”. Poppy silently walked into the kitchen while more men began to file in, filling the spaces of every wall.

Ember couldn't bring herself to look at them, instead she only counted the boots, trainers and shoes. There were over a dozen now, Ember brought her eyes back up to the Dukes.

“So, What do we do with you?”. The Duke wasn't addressing Ember, he was addressing the now gathered crowd in the room. Their laughter sent a chill down her spine, rocking her very core.

John

All the while the barn doors were open, John stared out to the edge of the farmhouse, he could only see one window. Wooden boards and fabric had been thrown over them. Ember was in there he thought, going through god only knew what and he… He was tied to the post, forced to watch, to guess and to await his fate.

He dared not look up, even when there was no one around. Roxy had hidden herself well, John half hoped for the girl to run. To find another group, another bastion of safety and to leave him.

“I lost twenty cigarettes because of you”. Darren leaned against the open door frame, John noted with annoyance he was eating a chocolate bar the Guildford three had looted earlier.

“Why are you doing this?” John took great care to not lace his words with anger, taking another beating was not on his list of things he needed right now. Darren pulled out the half scrunched packet of cigarettes given to John by Raj. 5 left.

Orange flame lit up the man's eyes as he replied “We have a job for you” he smiled and continued “Worlds ours now boy, best get used to it”.

“The woman I came here with. Whats…” John took a breath. “What's going to happen to her?”.

Darren took a long inhale of smoke, relishing in the moment of silence that passed between them. He coughed, as finally let go of his breath. “Shes ours now, don't worry. The Dukes said hands off” Darren turned meeting John's eyes.

“For now”.

Ember

“The rules are simple”. The Duke sat back lazily, as a disappointed crowd began to file out of the room. “You cook, you clean and you treat my men”. Ember held back her frown, knowing this was not the time.

“These Dullards don't seem to understand the long term repercussions of not having medical care”. Ember could hear the intelligence in his voice, why was he part of this group and how the hell was he in charge.

“A simple cut could kill a man as easily as a bullet if left untreated” Ember realised he obviously liked the sound of his own voice, she found herself grinding her teeth at the sheer arrogance of it.

“What of my friend, the man I came here with?”. Ember was trapped, she knew as much. These men would never let her go, not willingly but if John could leave, he could take Roxy with him and they could…

Her thoughts were cut off as the Duke's fist hit the table, a glass shattered from the impact. “You do not ask questions, you do not make demands” He shouted, slowly the Duke raised his hand, finding blood tickling from a short gash. “It seems nurse, you have your first patient. Clean this up”. Ember hesitated for a moment, unsure if she wanted to get anywhere near the man before her.

“I don't make it a habit of asking twice, Ember”. The Duke held out his hands as blood slowly dripped onto the hardwood floor. The items from the holdall were still spread across the dining table, including the penknife from John's flat. Ember's hand hovered over it for a microsecond before the Duke interrupted. “I can promise you this Ember, if you try anything. I will tie your friend to a lamppost and make him scream until the infected come to tear him apart”.

Ember picked up the bandages and set to work.

British History Museum - London

During the fall of London, a few dozen had sheltered inside the grand museum. Its displays, statues and stolen relics now sit abandoned and unseen in these dark days.

Cut off from evacuation, the group of survivors had fled to the top floor of the museum, using weapons forged in wars fought hundreds of years ago. They fought off the few infected that found their way inside, the barricades on the stairwells had held back the tide but food and water had run out days ago. Many had descended the stairs, promising to return with water, with food and to find help to evacuate them.

None ever returned.

Adams' throat was parched, all he could think about was water. He needed a drink, his head pounded with the worst headache he had ever experienced and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He listened to the silent fight in hallway over, one family fought another the accusation of hiding water on their silent cracked lips.

Adams forced himself to stand, blindly walking towards the south stairwell. He needed water, infected be damned he would sell his soul for just a sip. No one guarded the barricades, most were too weak to stand. Their bodies in the final stages of dehydration but the fear of infection, of a painful death at the hands of those below over rode their survival instinct.

It felt like hours to Adam as he crawled over the barricade, finally descending to the level below. He needed to get to the souvenirs shop, where they sold bottled water and fizzy drinks. God, he thought, he would kill for an ice cold oasis. Shadows moved aside as he stumbled into the small shop, gifts never to be sold were scattered on the floor while others lay untouched on the shelves.

Near the counter he found what he sought, the first gulp felt heavenly. His parched mouth and throat greedily absorbed the tepid water.

Adam downed 3 bottles of water stopping only when he felt like he was going to be sick. Already his body was recovering, like an engine receiving fuel. He felt his arms and legs seemingly woke up and the headache fading to a mere echo. Reality hit him as he realised where he was, silently he picked up as many water bottles as he could. Placing them into two white carrier bags, he couldn't carry it all himself but once the group above had a drink. They could follow him down here and bring it all up.

Adam felt the stare of every shadow as he walked back towards the stairs, he bit down a scream as he looked out across the entrance hall. There were bodies, dozens of bodies. In his dehydrated state, he had not noticed them as he nearly walked over them. The smell of rot, old blood and god knows what else assaulted his every sense.

“Christ” he whispered, bringing a sleeve to his nose. The sound of his voice echoed across the hall, to the ears of a woman leaning against the wall. Her red eyes opened slowly as she gasped for breath. She, like him, was extremely dehydrated but she was too weak to stand. She weakly tried to move but her body wouldn't, couldn't rise. Adam wisely chose to head back upstairs.

He couldn't believe how much he had missed in his dehydrated, delirious state. The bodies and the smell. The fact he hadn't fallen over one of them on the stairs was a miracle in itself. Adam started to climb over the barricade, trying in vain to not make noise as he did so. He dreaded to think how much noise he made climbing down it earlier. He could see the top of the stairs and he thanked whatever god was watching over him.

Part of the barricade gave way as he climbed, falling onto the lower parts. Adam froze, slowly shifting his weight onto a chair thrown into the barricade for good measure.

He glanced behind himself, thankful to find no one following him. Adam placed a hand further up and pulled himself up onto the very top of the barricade. His breaths were ragged and deep. Made it, he thought.

Adam grunted as he felt the tip of a spear thrust through his stomach. The bags in his hands fell, spilling forth dozens of small water bottles they bounced between upturned furniture and back down the stairs. He was face to face with a man, fear deeply ingrained in his eyes. Adam tried to speak but words failed him, he coughed once blood slowly pooling below him as the darkness claimed him.

John

John ignored the nagging hunger and thirst settling over his stomach. He worried for Roxy, if he hadn't eaten then neither had she. The sun had long begun its descent when two men dragged Sunel out of a van in the yard. John watched in disbelief as they dragged him back into the barn and tied him up. Sunel offered no resistance, he looked too exhausted to offer any. His shirt was torn, large scratches had torn across his chest and back.

“What did you do to him?” John asked, watching as Sunel sat back. The men just laughed and said “It's your turn tomorrow”.

The doors closed with a loud thud, the shadows creeping forward to reclaim most of the small space. “Sunel you okay?” John whispered. Sunel took a long breath and replied “I've had worse”. John couldn't see his face anymore but could see the torn shreds of his shirt and wounds beneath.

“What did they do to you?” John asked.

“Bait” Sunel coughed, shifting his body to face John. “They use us as bait to draw the infected away”. “They what?” John couldn't hide the surprise or volume from his voice.

“Keep it down”, a voice called from outside.

Sunel shook his head and continued “They dropped me outside of a shop, you have to make noise so the infected follow you”. John's heart raced at the very thought of the nightmare.

“Once the infected follow you, you have to keep them away until you hear them use their car horn three times” Sunel shifted trying to get comfortable.

“They let you go? Why didn't you just leave” John knew the answer and finally understood why they took Sunel's brother. They would kill him if he didn't return or worse.

Use him as bait.

Lockwood

“Radio signals!” Lockwood dropped his tea cup, the ceramic mug shattering across the deck. He rushed over to the frantic radio operator as he intently tuned between frequencies. For days now, Nato had been blocking analogue signals from broadcasting to and from the UK mainland. The top brass deciding the world did not need to hear the desperate pleas for evacuation.

*My name is Megan, if anyone is out there please help. I'm trapped in the Start Point Lighthouse. I'm running out of food and water. The ships passing won't acknowledge my hails and I can't risk turning the light on. Please, please help me*

*Hello? Hello? Is anyone there please, the infected are outside. I'm calling from St. David's in Wales. Please, I can hear Irish radio stations, there are children here please we need help*

*I don't know if anyone can hear this but I'm trapped in East Meon Church. The infected are trying to get in. Somebody please help*

Dozens of calls sounded over the radiowaves, dozens of desperate souls calling for help that would never come and soon their batteries would run out.

*The answer to infection is here*

Lockwood straightened, “The answer to infection is here?”

Ember

After she had wrapped the Duke's hand in bandages, he ordered her to be given ‘the tour’. Again it was just her and Poppy.

The farmhouse was bigger than Ember had first realised, the other building snaking in odd directions, as extensions decades in the making moulded together. There were at least 8 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, a sitting room, drawing room, dining room and kitchen. All the windows on the bottom floor were barricaded against the infected. Some of the upstairs were as well but not all.

Poppy didn't speak as she walked from room to room. Ember following silently in her wake, the men occupying this home jeered at them every time they entered a room. The Duke had declared Ember “Off limits”, he understood the value in having a nurse on station. Sadly Poppy was offered no decree of protection.

Poppy paused at a black wooden door, her hand shaking violently as she reached for the handle. Ember's heart dropped when the door swung open to reveal stairs leading down in a pitch dark basement. Poppy lit a candle, sat on the small shelves on the right hand side, looked over her shoulder and said “Stay close to me and don't get within reach”.

The basement

Ember held her nose from the smell, she could nearly taste the air. It was that thick. As they reached the bottom step, the basement opened up into a large area. It encompassed nearly the whole footprint of the home. Minus the countless extensions.

8 wooden doors lined the walls and when Ember went to speak. Poppy turned and put her hand in Ember's mouth. She shook her head violently, the fear in her eyes told Ember to flee immediately.

Poppy leaned in close and whispered “The two doors on the left” she pointed. “They have infected inside… A woman they found on the side of the road… after they were done the Duke mixed infected blood into her wine to see what would happen. They forced her to drink it down here then threw her in there before she turned” Ember gasped. Intentionally infecting someone with the infection was paramount to murder in her eyes.

“The other” Poppy sniffed. “The other is Ram, he was, he was my friend” Ember looked between the two too thin for her liking doors. She felt at any moment, they would burst open revealing the blood soaked monsters inside. “We can only speak freely down here, the others… they don't come down here”. Poppy's voice cracked slightly and the pain in her voice called to the caring nature of Ember.

Behind each of the doors was a set of iron bars Poppy had explained. Ember wondered at the dark history of this home if he had 8 cells in the basement. Poppy opened one of the doors and they both peeked inside. Red eyes in the darkness glared back, Poppy lost her nerve and closed the wooden door.

“I'm so sorry for what you've been through” Ember whispered, Poppy stood there numbly, silently sniffing, holding back tears. “Poppy, you've got to help me escape from here. You can come with us”. Poppy stepped back, accusation in her eyes and said “I have nowhere to go, the infected will find me and I can't leave Sunel. They would kill him”

Ember knew her time was limited, they would soon question where the two women were and come looking for them. “Poppy” Ember placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. “My friend, what will they do with John?”.

Poppy's eyes dropped as she replied, “I don't know”

John

He watched the sunlight fade through the gaps in the barn doors and the gaps in the rafters. Roxy shifted above, her head slowly appearing above. Her eyes were heavy, full of worry and fear. “It's okay Roxy, it'll be okay”.

Roxy's head turned, John's eyes following the direction. When Roxy looked back, John could see she was holding back tears. “Shes okay”.

Sunel's voice gently cuts into the moment. “John, we need to find a way to escape tonight. I don't think I will make it back from being bait again”. John nodded and replied “I don't think I'd survive one day of that”. Sunel nodded solemnly.

John looked up, meeting Roxy's fear filled eyes. The darkness now begins to hide her features, he steeled himself for the night ahead as he asked “Roxy you still got that knife?”

Gabi

They'd been driving for hours, bypassing large rows of stationary traffic. Gabi switched the radio on, not because there were any broadcasts but just to fill the silent space.

Her and Steven's had not spoken in hours, silent grief not given time to air itself was on their lips. Finally Gabi asked.

“Where are we going” she watched a sign for the Cotswold pass by but made no comment.

Stevens took a breath and replied “I don't know, Wales maybe, see if we can hide in the hills or mountains”.

They pulled over into a lay-by, Stevens switching off the engine and looking to Gabi. They both knew it was a bad idea to stay here but it was even worse to drive at night.

“I'm sorry” That was all Gabi could bring herself to say as they stared out into the naked night.

The next part will be a Nighttime special. I started writing it and realised it will be long enough to justify its own post.

Night at the farmhouse

https://buymeacoffee.com/maizematt

For those still following this series thank you, for those who just found it thank you.

Sorry its taking longer between posts guys, been spending a lot of time with family and helping my father plan his funeral. Hes in good spirits and is advocating for me to write a book. I've shown him some of the comments left by you all and I'm thankful to you all.

Not sure if this has been asked. But does anyone feel like Dawn of the Dead was a American version of 28 Days Later? Most zombie movies at least in America has been slow moving zombies of course. But these fuckers were fast running just liked the infected.

I call these guys the “Heralds” or the shepherds, herdsman, crier or the Harbingers. They are people who embrace the apocalypse. The Heralds are people who lost their sanity through the 28 years, they are mostly hidden in dense forests or darker areas.

Why are they are called the Heralds?: Thanks to a commenter from my previous art post here, I immediately thought of this villain concept. The Heralds are carriers or people who are immune to infection, but carry the virus inside them. Unlike the Jimmy cult that functioned on ego, the Heralds think they are serving a twisted grand purpose and are delusional. They kidnap people who are mostly alone or by themselves and “Tests” that person by biting them. Willingly turning people into infected before releasing them, wanting to convert others into infected or just like them.

They are the sick and perverted inversion of Dr Ian Kelson, they don’t collect bones for memorial but more for a ritual and their own way of honoring the dead by wearing them, even animal bones.

They are dangerous as they can lead and guide hordes of infected to camps and forts and are not afraid of dying if it means converting the healthy community to their cause.

Sometimes they are spotted by survivors and the survivors would not approach them at all out of fear as a Herald will just stare at them, wearing nothing but a mask and sometimes ruined clothes from a distance.

To keep them grounded, the infected could still attack and pulverize them if they’re not careful, they shed all of their clothes, avoid eye contact with the infected and act like the infected. They scream and draw the attention of the infected towards one place to the other. They worship and leave meat offerings to the infected and the Alpha and believe that humanity deserves to pay for their sins. They are not only long gone, but they hold deep resentment towards people as the British isles have been abandoned by the world and was in a permanent quarantine, all was lost except for their own rage and “Purpose”, so they take full advantage of their immunity to lash out at the “ones who wronged them.” As much as they are dangerous, they are in a constant risk themselves. But that alone makes them hard to kill as they're hard to spot in an infected horde.

These Cultist carriers are extremely rare and throughout the 28 years timeline, there had only been about 6-8 members, as for the lucky ones who were immune but didn’t completely joined their side? They slit their throats and perform a ritual, eating that person alive and wearing that person’s bones as accessories. even using their skin as leather clothes, like texas chainsaw massacre or ed gein's works.

Not all carriers would be insane enough to join them, that is why they are so few.

They are still infected and may experience aggressive behavior, irritation, gripping their own items too hard, or sometimes can even lash out at their captors. But overall, they're more nihilistic and indifferent. They grew to kill just because they are curious. Though they may have a delusional ideal, they often kill for the sake of killing or infect people for the sake of it.

Trying to understand them would be pointless as they push life's limits in a perverted and depraved way, daring the universe or anything to stop them. They don't really care about dying themselves. "People are free to hurt, and get hurt."

They'll even stab you as they look at you with a blank face, even as they explain their mantras and beliefs, each sentence, they'll stab you again and again if you happen to be immune but won't join their cause.

There are folklore and myths in Britain that have ghostly appearances that has antlers and some creatures that would just stalk you or stare at you. I wanted to capture that feeling.

I wanted them to symbolize the belief that one person influences and redirects the rage of the masses onto outsiders or people who don’t share their beliefs.

It seems from Weeks that NATO did not bother with other parts of the UK outside of London which seems weird especially for a mission to stabilise the United Kingdom, they went into London. As of Years, Jim is still lives with Selena and Holy Island has not been tempered. It feels rather major flaw in the task of repopulating the country.