Friday 18:10 - Ellen

Cheng leaned out of the window as the train slowed down and pulled into Kings Cross station. The platform was empty, nobody was going to be boarding this train for the return journey. There wasn't going to be a return journey.

He'd received a message a few minutes ago that this service would be staying at Kings Cross and not going out again today. Some sort of 'incident' up the line, as usual. Apparently the train after his had been stopped half way down the track. Of course, they never told him the details. After all, he was only the Senior Train Manager, he was only the one who had to face the passengers – sorry, the 'customers' – when things went wrong. Why should they bother giving him any information? At least it meant he'd get off work early today.

The train came to a halt and he pressed the button to unlock the doors. The passengers streamed on to the platform, heading off to the concourse and then into the city. Cheng closed the window and began his end-of-service walk-through.

By the time he'd done the first two carriages, he'd already picked up a phone, a pair of gloves and a paperback book. People were so careless. The passengers who left things behind were probably the same ones rushing to get off the train the second he unlocked the doors. Everything he found would be written up and sent to Lost Property. The phone would most likely be collected the next day but the gloves and book were likely to languish there until the company was allowed to throw them out.

Along with the lost property there were also plenty of crisp packets, empty beer tins and unfinished sandwiches. Cheng left them alone. The train cleaning crew would be arriving in a few minutes, dealing with the rubbish was their job.

Half way along the next carriage, Cheng saw a woman still in her seat. She was sitting with her head propped against the window, eyes closed. Her bag was resting beside her.

Cheng smiled. He respected people like this, they were the exact opposite of those who leapt off the train early. Some were so relaxed – or tired, or drunk – that they didn't even realise they'd arrived in London. The trick was to wake them gently, not startle them.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hello Miss," he said quietly. "We've reached London." There was no reply, so he spoke a little louder. "We've arrived, Miss, end of the line." Still no response. So he slowly reached out his hand and very gently touched her shoulder.

As he did so, her body slumped forwards. Hear head hit the table but there was no sign of a response. Shit, she was a checkout. Best make sure. He reached out again, felt her cheek then checked her pulse as he had been trained to do. Nothing.

She was definitely dead.

Most people didn't realise how often passengers died on trains. If you were dealing with hundreds of travellers, several times a day, six days a week then it was a statistical certainty that some of them would die during your shift. Usually it was a heart attack. Often they could be saved – the train had a defibrillator and the crew had all been taught how to use it. But sometime a passenger just went to sleep and never woke up.

Usually it was the elderly, but occasionally it was a younger person like this one. It had taken Cheng a long time to get used to dealing with death, but now it was just part of the job. A very irritating part of the job. The authorities would have to be called to examine and remove the body. Then there would need to be special intensive cleaning and decontamination of this section of the carriage. Worst of all, there would be pages and pages of forms for him to fill in. So much for him finishing work early.

He pulled out his walkie-talkie and clicked the button to patch him through to the station's operation centre. "Ops? This is the Manager, train on platform 9. I've got a checkout in carriage E. Yeah, definitely. Of course I'm sure. OK, I'll wait for them. Tell the ordinary cleaning crew to avoid this carriage, yes?"

He clicked off the walkie-talkie. As he did so, he heard a groan from the woman. No, really? She was alive? Damn it. Not that he was unhappy she wasn't dead, but why couldn't she have woken up before he made the report? Now he'd look like an idiot.

The woman groaned again and he leaned towards her. "It's OK, Miss," he said reassuringly, "We're in London. How are you feeling?"

Ellen's eyelids flickered open. Beneath were lifeless grey eyes. Her hands darted out and grabbed Cheng's head, pulling it towards her. Her teeth sunk deep into his cheek and as he struggled she pulled off a large chunk of his flesh.

Cheng screamed.

The outbreak had reached London.

THE END

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