Frankie screamed and fell back, almost knocking Beth over. The soldiers were shooting at the bus driver, not the kids, but the terror thundering through her brain wasn't listening to logic. It was screaming that bullets were flying and she needed to get out of the way.

The driver jerked as a bullet hit him in the head. Red sprayed out of the back of his skull then he fell back. He hit the road, limbs spread-eagled, and a dark pool formed around his head.

Frankie froze. A man had just died in front of her. One minute he was living, breathing, talking; the next he was a bloody shell on the road. Her brain couldn't process what had happened.

A hand grabbed her arm. Someone shouted her name - Allison, hovering in front of her face. Sound penetrated the fog of fear shrouding her mind.

"We have to get out of here," Allison yelled.

Frankie looked again at the bus driver, lying dead in the road. Reality snapped in, hard enough to make her gasp. If she didn't run she could join him in a puddle of her own brains and blood.

She fled.

Screams rang out around her, a medley of pain and panic. Somewhere in the confusion she lost sight of Beth and Melly. She screamed their names but everyone was screaming - hers was just one voice among many. She wanted to stop and find them, make sure they were okay and not lying dead in the road, but her feet weren't listening. She was too scared to stop.

Frankie and Allison ran past the bus and back the way they'd come, heading into town centre. Before this, Frankie hadn't been much of a runner. She could go around a track if PE required it, but she wasn't interested in running as a hobby.  

Running for your life was completely different.

She didn't know what she expected to find when they reached town centre. Somehow, in her naïveté, she'd thought that once she got closer to home, she could pretend this nightmare wasn't happening. The horror might be happening in her town but it wouldn't be at her doorstep. Bad things didn't come to people's homes. Home was safe. That was how it was supposed to be.

But reality didn't give a crap about how things were supposed to be.

Holmsley was in chaos. Crashed cars were skewed in the road or half-mounting the pavement, their doors flapping open. The air was thick with the stink of petrol. People raced around in a blind panic, screaming and shouting for help. A woman sat in the middle of the road, her hands pressed to her ears as if by blocking out the sounds around her, she could pretend none of this was happening. And everywhere Frankie looked she saw the sickness; the coughing, the retching, clammy skin and glazed eyes, the drool and blood slavering from open mouths.

Whatever this thing was, it was spreading. Fast.  

"Oh my God!" Allison cried. "What are they doing?" 

Three clammy-skinned, bloody-mouthed people had wrestled a fourth to the ground. Frankie didn't know what they were doing but the screams and frantically kicking legs chilled her. 

"Why are they attacking people?" Allison cried, pressing her hands to her face in horror.  

The sick were banding together, forming small groups that chased people down and pounced on them. Frankie was horribly reminded of wild animals bringing down prey.

She tripped over something, landing on her hands and knees on the pavement. She rolled over and a gasp choked her. A body lay behind her, a middle-aged woman, staring sightlessly up at the sky. Blood stained her mouth and neck. Frankie had been so focused on her own survival she hadn't even seen the dead woman lying right in front of her.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

All around her people were screaming the same question, but no one could answer it and no one seemed to know what to do.

The woman she'd tripped over wasn't the only body; ahead of her, a thin man was sprawled in the road, his arms and legs at crooked angles, blood pooling around his face. He'd been trampled to death. 

Bile rose in Frankie's throat and for a horrible moment she thought she'd caught whatever sickness was plaguing the town. But she wasn't coughing and there was no fever running through her veins.

Allison grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "We need to hide," she cried.

Someone knocked into Frankie as they ran past, and she almost hit the ground again. The world seemed to spin around her, dissolving into a blur of screams, running shapes, and splashes of blood.

Keep your head, Frankie.

She'd tried to take charge back at the bus when she thought the greatest danger was getting sick. But that was before an innocent man was murdered in front of her. It was harder to keep your head after that. But Allison hadn't fallen apart and if she could cope, Frankie could too. Running and hiding sounded like the best thing to do, but not until she'd found Melly and Beth. She'd left them once - panic driving her away from the soldiers and the gunfire. She wasn't leaving them again.

"Beth," she screamed. "Melly." There were so many people screaming around her, she didn't hold out much hope her friends would hear her. Assuming they were even anywhere nearby and hadn't been gunned down back at the roadblock. 

Frankie clenched her fists. She couldn't think like that. Her friends had got away, they were here somewhere, and she was going to find them.

She scanned the streets around her.  

A silver Toyota swerved around a corner, ploughing into a frantically pedalling cyclist coming from the opposite direction. The cyclist flew over his handlebars, bounced off the car bonnet, and rolled into the road. He didn't get back up. The Toyota kept going until it hit another car and swerved into a lamppost. The blare of an alarm added to the cacophony. A man scrambled out of the driver's seat, holding a hand to his head. He didn't get further than two steps before a threesome of the sick descended on him and wrestled him, screaming, to the ground.  

Frankie called her friends' names again. An answering shout cut through the chaos. She ran in that direction, Allison on her heels. Someone crumpled to the ground in front of her, overtaken by wrenching coughs, but Frankie didn't even slow. All she could think of was getting to the people she cared about and making sure they were okay.

Another fleeing person barrelled into her, half-spinning her around. Frankie had never seen panic before, not real panic, and she'd never felt. Now it was all around her, carved into the faces of people scattering throughout the streets, carried on their cries, curling tight fingers around her windpipe.

"Frankie!"

She knew that voice. She swung around. These were streets she'd known all her life but the madness overwhelming them left her feeling disoriented and dizzy.  

Allison grabbed her arm and pointed. "There!"  

Beth and Melly darted across the road opposite them, Vanessa hobbling behind. Miraculously she'd kept her high heels on.

"What do we do?" Beth cried. Her hair was escaping from her usual braid, and her face was white with terror.

A curious sort of calm settled on Frankie's brain. She was still scared out of her mind, thoughts ricocheting around her skull too fast for her to make sense of, but her friends were here and if she didn't keep her head . . . she didn't know what would happen.

Across the street and to their left was a black-fronted jeweller's, its front door hanging ajar. "Follow me," Frankie said.

They ran for the shop, dodging the panic-stricken and screaming, and shoving past anyone that was sick. All around them people were falling to their knees, clutching their throats and gasping for breath, succumbing to whatever this horrible sickness was, or being pulled to the ground by people already afflicted.  

Frankie ran faster.

She hit the door to the jeweller's with her shoulder, knocking it the rest of the way open, and ushered her friends inside. It was a small shop, the walls painted dove-grey, the floor carpeted in plush purple. A glass-topped counter occupied the far end of the room, while glass display cases were arranged in neat rows in front of the other walls. There was no one inside; the staff had probably run outside when the commotion started.  

The girls ducked down behind the counter.  

Frankie's breath rushed out in a long sigh. She couldn't begin to fathom what was going on out there but they were safe - at least for the moment. Outside, all they could hear was screaming. Beth sobbed, her fist wedged in her mouth to keep herself quiet.

"What the hell's going on?" Vanessa snapped. Her black eyeliner was smudged on one eye and Frankie had a mad urge to reach out and wipe it away. It was the least significant thing she could do, but right then but it was the only thing her brain could focus on.

"Is anyone hurt?" she said. Her own voice surprised her – it sounded too calm, too level. Shouldn't she be screaming and crying like everyone outside? That would probably come later. Survival first, breakdown later.

"I don't think so," Allison said. Beth could only manage a whimper. 

Melly slumped to the floor, her soft features twisted with shock. Her grey school-skirt rode up around her plump knees; there was a graze on one knee where she must have fallen. 

Frankie glanced down at her own legs. She'd fallen too, but luckily she wasn't hurt. A sore spot on the right side of her knee would probably become a bruise, but nothing that would keep her from running.

"Vanessa?" A shaky voice came from the doorway.

Everyone stiffened. Vanessa's eyes met Frankie's and a flash of fear passed across her face.

Frankie eased herself into a kneeling position until she could see the doorway through the glass countertop. Jess-or-was-it-Becky stood there, her school-shirt torn and hanging off one shoulder.

"I know you're in here, Vanessa," she said. "Please don't hide from me." Her voice broke on the last word.

Frankie nudged Vanessa. "She's your friend," she hissed.

Vanessa climbed to her feet. "I'm here, Becky."

"Oh, thank God." Becky's voice ended in a sob. "What's going on?"

It was a question Frankie realised she was going to hear more and more often. But no one had an answer.

"How should I know?" Vanessa snapped.

Becky took a step forward then stopped. A cough wracked her body, bending her double.

Vanessa backed up until she was against the wall. "She's got it," she cried, her voice higher-pitched than normal.

Frankie straightened up. Becky's gaze switched to her. There was fear there but also that glassiness Frankie had first seen in Lesley's eyes. Becky's skin was pallid, sweat-sticky.

"She's got it," Vanessa repeated, stabbing a finger at her friend.

Becky took a few steps forwards. "Please . . . I don't know what's happening to me," she whimpered. She gasped and retched.

"Stay away from me," Vanessa snarled.

"What's wrong with you?" Allison said, climbing to her feet.

"Nothing and I plan to keep it that way. You want to get sick like those people out there?" Vanessa swiped a hand in the direction of the shop windows.

Becky gave a terrible moan and vomited up bright red blood. Allison gasped and fell backwards. Beth and Melly were too frightened to move. They clung together, Beth burying her face in Melly's shoulder.  

Frankie stared at the sick girl in front of her and didn't have a clue what to do. School had run through basic first-aid but this was completely different. And, if she was honest with herself, she was frightened to get close to Becky. She didn't want to get sick, and there was no knowing how contagious this thing was.

Becky vomited again. Blood sprayed across the carpet. Her eyes rolled up in her head, her hands helplessly twitched. "Help me," she gurgled through a throat full of blood then she crumpled to the floor and lay still.