18th of February, 2012

  Ian Barber wasn’t really paying much attention as he strolled into the busy London café. The sixteen-year old had decided to catch a breath of fresh air on the cold Saturday afternoon after visiting some friends and family in the capital, especially after the previous couple of weeks. There was the constant movement from north to south, getting ready to start college and the typical everyday drama that popped up on the news or in his daily life.

  Frankly, he just needed the time to relax, and after throwing on his red tartan jacket this morning, he figured a walk along the Thames would be as good as anything else.

  The café he picked was just a few minutes walk from the river itself, and without thinking, he ordered a tea to try and warm himself up. Soon enough, he was sat by the café window, pulling out a scratched, but fully intact smartphone. Not that he actually used many of the fancier features, he wasn’t particularly that interested in all the apps that it had to offer, outside the more practical ones. Maps or the news for example. He never quite understood the obsession people had for mobile games. Then again, he wasn’t really a gamer either. Much like his choice in tech, he was more up for practical interests. Woodcarving was one such hobby, and he had already put it into practice with courses.

  This was just another day for Ian. Another day to unwind and get in touch with people before he got back into the work.

  He had no idea how much more different that day would become.

  “And now, we go back to New York City, where the victims of the Mall attacks are being treated…”

  Frowning, Ian looked up towards a flatscreen television fitted above the café counter. A few other customers were also watching it with a look of casual interest. This was the first time New York had got brought up since the attack itself, Huh, I wonder what the reporters have managed to scoop up this time.

  The screen blinked to reveal a middle-aged woman standing on a busy street, with her back facing what appeared to be the front of a hospital. “Thank you, Duncan, it has been a couple days since the brutal attack on one of Manhattan’s shopping centres that left thousands of American shoppers and foreign tourists severely injured. An attack that through luck or careful calculation incredibly left no one dead.”

  Ian placed his phone down, and quietly had a sip of his tea. It had been all over the news, some group had come out of nowhere and went on a rampage in a public mall. That on its own had been horrible, and he could imagine how terrified New Yorkers would have been. But it hadn’t caused much alarm here in the UK. It was the same with near enough every other horrific thing that came on the news. Terrible, tragic, but then most people shrug their shoulders, offer their sympathies and some support, and then move on.

  Having done some volunteering for some of the charities trying to help out those groups of people, Ian felt more invested in the plight of the people caught up in trouble. However, his concern and, perhaps morbidly, his interest, only got piqued further when later that day, another attack was reported, this time in Washington DC. Same thing, hundreds of people getting injured, and yet, no casualties. And further still, no one claiming responsibility.

  Now by that point, people were getting interested – even if more than a few Americans were beginning to panic. Why would someone go through all that effort to plan a massive attack on the public in broad daylight, only to merely injure people? Terrorists and extremists would be leaving corpses and destroyed buildings behind them, especially in two distant locations. And pranksters wouldn’t go to that kind of extent to get their fun, surely.

  And as the injured were shuffled into hospitals, more attacks came, this time on the other side of the world in Asia. That had taken everyone off guard, and other cities across the world were reporting the exact same attacks.

  And still, yet again, no one claimed responsibility.

  So far at least, London had been spared that, but Ian could still tell there were more police patrolling the streets, and a quick look around the café showed that most of the people were directing their attention towards the tv screen now. People were worried, and had every right to be. That was part of the reason he had come to London, to make sure the people he knew here were alright.

  “…and what about those rumours of the attackers looking more like monsters Carla?” spoke an offscreen newsreader, “That has been on a lot of people’s minds.”

  In the café, a rough looking man visibly scoffed, “What a load of bollocks!” he cried out, quickly turning his attention back to his newspaper. Ian narrowed his gaze at him for a second, unnerved by his sudden dismissal, before looking back to the screen.

  That being said, I’m not quite convinced on monsters attacking people in the malls either. The victims could just be panicking or someone decided to blow everything out of proportion as some kind of scare tactic.

  Ian tapped his finger against his tea mug, But hell, some of these attacks are going on as far away as China, and they are all saying the same thing? I’m no expert, but I smell a rat.

  “It’s funny you should say that Duncan.” The reporter declared, “I’ve recently spoken to one of the nurses inside this hospital. She told me that not only more patients have stressed that they were attacked by strange, furred creatures, some of them have started to act more aggressively. Others are increasingly sick and some in critical condition despite not having severe injuries from the attacks.”

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  The café went that little bit quieter, as more people started looking towards the screen and talked to each other in hushed whispers. Shifting in his seat, Ian leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the TV, Some of them are dying? What? Some people got maimed really badly, but I’ve not heard of anyone being near death as a result.

  It didn’t make sense, had someone lied or had something changed?

  “I don’t have any confirmation on this.” the reporter continued, “But it does add to all our questions, who are these mysterious attackers, what are their aims and why ar-“

  Her voice trailed off, doing a double take over her shoulder. And then Ian heard it. Something faint scratching it’s way out of the speakers. The camera juddered, and sharply swung to the right to get a view of what looked like the front doors of the hospital.

  Ian felt a chill in his chest at the sight of the swarm of people hurrying out of the building, doctors, patients and visitors alike. Some were only quickly walking out into the road, looking dazed as they spread out, as if not sure why they had even left the hospital in the first place. But others looked far more alarmed, some were already running, constantly looking over their shoulders as they scrambled to get away. A bare handful were shouting at the rest of the crowd, their words unintelligible through the TV screen, but between the frantic waving of their arms and their pale faces… there was something else.

  They’re terrified… what? Ian leaned forward further, shoving his mug aside.

  “Sorry…” started the reporter, pausing for a moment before she spoke again, “Yes, it appears that the hospital is being evacuated, we don’t know why, but we’ll try and work it out now, if only we can find someone…”

  On screen, one of the doctors, his face deathly pale, suddenly noticed the cameras, and sprinted towards them. He clutched his arm as he ran, panting uncontrollably… as if he had been running for a while.

  “Doctor!” the reporter called out, “What’s going on i-“

  “Get out!” the doctor shrieked in a tell-tale American accent, beelining towards the camera with such speed, Ian almost flinched as his face filled the camera. “Listen to me!” he screamed, “We’re so wrong! This wasn’t just a mob! This was biological, chemical, I don’t know! But the patients are changing! We need the army here! We need to evacuate Manhattan!”

  He started screaming something else, only for a new figure to suddenly emerge into shot and pull the struggling doctor back. And that was when Ian saw it and he faintly gasped at the sight of the doctor’s arm – the one he had been holding – and could see it was stained in blood. A whole chunk of fabric had been ripped out of his white coat, and in its place, a visibly deep bite mark that ran a horrifically brilliant red.

  “The hell…” Ian finally uttered. All around him, everyone in the café was now staring at that TV, hooked to what was going on.

  “Just take a breath…” stressed the man who had just appeared to grab hold of the doctor, barely audible over the increasing sound of panic coming through the speakers.

  The reporter had stepped back into view, her fuzzy microphone already out, “Doctor, I don’t understand. Changing?”

  “Yes!” bellowed the doctor, “Is no one listening! We need to run! Quarantine the area! The infected, they are killing everyone in the hospital! We can’t stay here!”

  Over Ian’s shoulder, the man with the newspaper gazed at the screen with visible annoyance, “Probably some pr-“

  Then came the sound of shattering glass, accompanied by a high pitched scream.

  The camera jerked again, far too fast for Ian’s eyes to track. But the sudden crash punched through the air, accompanied by the screech of metal. Someone else screamed, as the camera stabilised.

  Ian’s heart missed a beat. A yellow cab’s roof was crumbled more than a tin can, but it was now splattered red as a broken, bloodied corpse was sprayed out over the top of it. But what stood above that caused the entire room to gasp. At first, the creature looked vaguely human, except its limbs were covered in a haphazard mess of brown fur, veiny skin and bulbous boils that pulsed in the light. What had been its legs had stretched and twisted into a horrific double jointed shape that didn’t look human in the slightest.

  Then its head snapped up. And this time, the scream didn’t come from the TV, but from within the café. What had been once a human face was twisted and torn almost beyond recognition, ears had drifted up the side of the head and twitched eagerly, and its lips with spread wide apart, if only to make room for the small muzzle that erupted from what should have been a human jaw. The creature snarled, baring its viciously sharp teeth at the film crew.

  It… it looked like some kind of mutated dog or wolf, crossed with a human.

  “What the fu-“ someone started to shout in the background.

  Then with a feral shriek, accompanied by the sound of more breaking glass, the creature lunged at the camera. The world on the other side spun as suddenly, horrified screams rang through the speakers. Howls soon accompanied them, sending a terrified judder down Ian’s spine. He threw himself back, whacking the still warm tea mug aside. But he didn’t hear it shatter; his eyes were still fixed on that screen. A crack had visibly appeared, not even hiding the limp hand that appeared on the monitor.

  “She bit me! Get back from it!” Someone could be heard shouting over the horrific chorus. But then, the wolven feet flashed into view, not one pair… but dozens, as if a whole pack was on the attack. A howl pierced the speakers once more, before within a blink of an eye, the scene was gone. Instead, they were staring at the elderly news reader again. He himself was staring blankly into the distance, mouth only slightly moving, just as stunned as Ian was.

  Something or someone must have snapped him back into reality, as he turned his gaze back to the studio camera. “I… I don’t know what is happening there, we hope Carla is okay… we’ll be holding this broadcast until we can verify what is happening in Manhattan…”

  In the café, someone was sobbing. And with a sudden scrape of metal on wood, a young family rose to their feet and swiftly hurried towards the door. The mother held her crying younger son close, and the father dragged the older daughter by the wrist, even as she was constantly asking what had happened on the TV, not quite understanding what had just happened.

  Even the newspaper man stared at the screen in silence, before shakingly slurping what was left of his coffee. “Fuck this…” he wheezed. He stumbled to his feet and rushed towards the café door, following the family out.

  With that, shouts and cries sounded out all around Ian, as everyone suddenly piled towards the exit. Ringtones rang through the café, as patrons desperately tried to get a call out. Someone cursed, as an older man was shoved to the floor by an another as they scrambled to escape, as if terrified that they would be next if they didn’t flee now.

  Ian didn’t move. He sat, frozen in his seat as he stared at the now blank screen… But the image of that creature… that werewolf leaping at the camera was still imprinted on his mind.

  As the last person filed out and the café fell silent, Ian became aware of just how quickly he was panting, feeling the burn of bile at the back of his throat. W…what was that?!

  Little did he know, on that day, the 18th of February, 2012, humanity had just witnessed one of the first Ferals.

  Their first glimpse of the Retrovirus.

  And with it… the beginning of the end for human civilisation.