London 2010
Chapter 1It was little more than a run down bedsit; a bare bulb hung suspended from a cracked ceiling rose above is head. The dilapidated once white walls and ceiling, badly in need of a coat of paint were stained with damp and mildew, but it was that overpowering foetid stench, clearly recognisable as blood that assaulted his nostrils; pervaded his mouth; encapsulated his teeth. Instinctively he awoke; sat bolt upright in the bed with the frightening realisation that he was covered in the stuff and that they had finally caught up with him. The stake! He knew it was inevitable. No-one could have lasted this long and still remain alive, yet he felt so alive now, so vital. Licking his lips, tasting the blood, he observed that the confines of down in the small hairs of his chest
