** A young woman sees a walking dead in the open streets of Whitby. A train full of corpses crashes into Kings Cross. In an Asylum, a gruesome nightmare becomes horrible reality.
All this should have been a warning to Kyle and his partner Benjamin...
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England, Boat Train, Dover - London Route October 04, 1899, 5:48 p.m.
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"Grace!"
The voice of her sister reached only hazily through the thick veil of her dream, in which she had been drowning and which she could no longer remember the very next moment.
"Grace! Wake up!" the voice insisted again.
With a groan, Grace blinked and tried to ignore the small, slender slopes tugging at her sleeve. But a shrill, drawn-out whistle finally tore her entirely from the embrace of her slumber. The monotonous, piercing rattle of the train they had been traveling displaced the last remnants of her dream in seconds.
Grace looked out the window where she had dozed off while leaning against the glass. Behind the pane, the landscape flew by. The setting sun painted long shadows on the fields and hills, and the leafless trees looked like skinny hands stretching their long fingers toward the fiery red sky.
Soon, the night would have swallowed up the last bit of autumn light and covered the world in shadows. Grace's tired brown eyes gazed back at her in the window's reflection. Hazelnut-colored hair fell in short strands across her face, and the rest gathered in a thick braid. It flowed over her narrow shoulders, grazing the collar of the blue Sunday dress she had worn today to visit her grandparents in Dover. Freckles covered her nose, and she opened her mouth for a hearty yawn as she turned away from the passing fields and farms - and towards another, all-too-familiar sight: Her little sister Felice, who curled her lips into a pouted mouth.
"I'm bored!" Felice announced, wiping a strand of her street-wise blonde hair from her chubby face. The ten-year-old's fawn eyes looked expectantly at her older sister. "Play something with me."
"We'll be arriving at the station soon," Grace mumbled, giving her mother a help-seeking look.
"Your sister's right, Felice. I'm sure it'll only be a few more minutes." Her mother laughed good-naturedly, put aside the crochet she always carried on the long train journey, and glanced out the window momentarily. With an auditory hiss, a small station slid past the train and disappeared in a flash. Meanwhile, the number of houses beyond the small window of her cabin steadily increased, and the rural silhouettes gave way more and more to the scenery of the London suburbs.
