The Screaming (Book 1): Dead City by Matthew Warwick

radio crackled through the perspex door that lead to the drivers cab at the front of the train just near to where Zac was timidly starting to fidget in his seat. He raised his head and crooked his neck forward looking into the cab. The driver was a chubby blonde lady in her 40’s, wearing a long sleeved blue shirt. As she reached for the radio mike, her orange talon like painted finger nails clashed with the dingy blue shirt and her industrial surroundings. Zac stifled a look of surprise at seeing the driver, before internally cursing himself for his irrepressible preconceptions of what a train driver should look like. With the sullen atmosphere suspended over the rest of the carriage and Zac’s need for distraction from his gnawing guts, watching the driver offered a marginal distraction. The radio incoherently barked into life as she held the mike to her mouth. Her plump yet graceful exterior quickly turned to agitation as she began to yell back into the mike.
                  Zac’s bubble burst as his only source of serenity, rapidly evaporated and the gnawing soon filled his stomach once again. The train started to slow until it was crawling along the track at walking pace. Zac looked through the perspex door and out on to the darkness ahead, as the train lightly banked to the left and a stream of light parted the gloom. Another station. Posters for Les Miserables lined the wall above the track. This time the brakes engaged, sending shivers down Zac’s back like finger nails down a blackboard. The train eased along the platform and he turned to look out over his shoulder. 
                 
    “WHITECHAPEL” The sign read.
     
                  Disbelief filled Zac’s face as he saw the platform scattered with people.
     
    “More people, desperate to get to loved ones?” He pondered.
     
                  But something was dissimilar to before. No huddles of families, or frantic running about. In fact there was an uneasy calm. Tens of people spread along the platform, with no obvious association with one another, their heads following the train as it eased to a halt. Disbelief turned to shock, their faces, grey and weathered, blood streaming from their mouths onto torn and dirty clothing. Red eyes blazed in the artificial station lights, as the crimson fluid wept from tear ducts.
     
                  The passengers on the train started to shuffle uncomfortably, some moved closer for a better view of the carnival unfolding outside the carriage, several laughing nervously.
     
    “Is this some kind of fucking prank? I haven’t got time for this shit.” Shouted a clearly pissed off yuppie in a fitted pin stripe suit.
     
                  A small blonde woman wearing a skirt and white blouse, slowly stood up and eased backwards into a corner of the carriage, her face fixed on the assembly outside. An edgy silence filled the carriage, which was quickly broken by a claxon of loud beeps as the sliding doors hissed into life and glided apart the length of the train. The warm breeze carried a rancid stench into the train. A young man who stood directly outside the door, stepped forward, his shirt caked in an apron of dark red. A large gash down his temple dribbled yet more blood, as his head jolted from side to side probing the carriage interior. Drops of blood whipped to the floor with every sudden flick of his head.
                 
    “Are you ok?” A voice tentatively asked from the huddle of increasingly uncomfortable passengers.
     
                  The voice focused the youth’s attention on a middle aged woman in a green coat, who sat passively to the left of the open doors. His head snapped to the right locking his glossy gaze on her. She flinched and shuffled back in her seat, holding her handbag up in front of her like some sort of offering. The man didn’t so much as blink as his mouth slowly slumped open and his chest