8
Sunday the 22nd of February 2015. 2:16 p.m.—a day that will be remembered for many years to come.
The day of my very first call-out.
Nerves have slowly got the better of me. I’m trying my utmost to swallow them down, but it’s hard. I’d like to think that it’s just pure excitement, a surge of adrenaline—but I know it’s not. Andrew’s a little worried, too; I can see it in his eyes.
But I won’t let him down.
I can’t.
“So how far’s this farmhouse?” I ask, holding onto the sides of my seat as he speeds down one of the narrowest country lanes I’ve ever seen.
“It’s not that far. Maybe another fifteen miles or so. It’s just outside Port Talbot. I had a feeling we’d be back up this neck of the woods.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some teacher got infected nearby. She said she’d caught it off her
