Leonor (“Nono”) Vasconcelos Montalegre
As you put what little possessions you have in the back of the taxi, you reflect on your good fortune in the last few days. Not long ago you were almost down and out, worried where your next meal and bed was coming from, now you are taking a taxi to the airport ready to begin the flight home.
Sure the sudden influenza epidemic was worrying it had even broken out in Lisbon, but it wasn’t going to stop you getting home to Portugal.
The taxi’s radio seemed to be listing areas of the city as best avoided, something about violet gangs and rioting, but the details being relayed by the dispatcher seems a little vague and many of the areas mentioned mean nothing to you.
“Uh do you want me to put that case in the trunk?” the driver was indicating the intricately painted laminate case that housed your prize competition Kendo equipment
“No thank you, I’ll take it in the cab with me” you reply in a voice that reveals how anxious you are to get to the airport.
“Okay” he says as he closes your door before opening his and sliding behind the wheel. He coughs, notices the look flash across your face, “Don’t worry it’s too many cigarettes not the flu”
He starts the taxis engine and slips into the traffic…
For the next five or so minutes, the journey had been relatively uneventful, sure the traffic seemed heavier and faster than usual accompanied by blaring horns and flashing headlights, and there seemed a large number of police cars, lights flashing and sirens screaming, mostly heading for the centre.
Yet despite the heavier traffic flow, or because of it, you are making good time, you should be at the airport with time to spare. Enoying the journey you look out the side window noting the look of panic on many of the faces in cars speeding in the opposite direction, and that’s when it happens.
As you reach the intersection a beat up looking, red pick up with music blaring too loud from speakers mounted on its roof. Swerves to miss a pedestrian and sideswipes your cab, sending it spinning to a halt, the pick up carries on until stopped by a telegraph pole.
For several moments shock renders you helpless then the situation reasserts itself. In the front of the cab the driver slumps over the steering wheel, odd gurgling noises indicating that he lives. Your leg hurts but seems uninjured. From the broken telegraph pole exposed cables spark and jump showing the presence of electricity.
You try to open the cab door, but realise that you probably need to release the lock from the front, you get ready to shout for help when you see a group of oddly moving pedestrians slowly, some with what looks a drunken shuffling, move towards your stricken cab…