Bridge Street.

Survival.

Back to Tom And Jerry, it was one of the best cartoons when I was growing up. The bus turns the corner, driving into a male Z wearing nice clothes apart from blood stains; I would presume he was on a night out with friends. Slow-motion so we can see the full force of the front of the bus crashing into the Z, with the lads' expressions inside the bus. Tom slams on the brakes, but it is too late; the dead Z rolls away while the bus comes to an emergency stop. Tom presses a button that opens the bus doors; Jerry quickly gets out, so he can make sure the person is alright. Unbeknown to him or both of them that a Z virus has spread. A gunshot sounds on the quiet night soon after. Jerry is quick to run back into the bus.

While panicking, shouting, "Drive, bro! Fucking drive!"

His urgency sparks Tom into action as he puts the bus in gear and quickly drives off.

Tom asks, "What happened?"

Jerry tries to calm his nerves by taking a brown tobacco pouch, rizla and filters from his dark blue coat pocket; he is trembling, trying to roll himself a smoke as he explains what happened.

So let me show you what happened when Jerry stepped off the bus. He starts looking around to see where the body is, but at first, he can't see anything, only tire marks in the snow, until he hears scraping. The Z comes crawling around the corner. Half of its face is rotten off; its legs look like they have been Roy Keane tackled. Jerry is too focused on the Z crawling on the floor to notice another Z slowly creeping towards the stunned Jerry. In slow motion, a bullet bursts out from the strolling Zs forehead, which snaps Jerry back to the land of the living, because it wisps past his ear. Well, the rest, you know, because he didn't stick around to find where the bullet came from.

The English police officer unlocks the portable toilet door after finishing; he starts walking towards the four-bed caravan, creamy complexion. Cream net curtains that will only stop complete visibility into their home from afar. The police officer is adjusting himself, dusting off his heavy black bulletproof vest. He walks up to the caravan windows; being nosy, he peeks in to see a lad in his mid-twenties sprinkling a powder substance over candy floss after repackaging them to sell for children to consume or even adults; he sees something else that grabs his eye, but first another thing catches his attention is faint knocking coming from inside a red shipping container, you know, the big ones they have at the docks, well there is one not far away from the portable toilet. The police officer goes over to it, placing his ear beside what he hears.

A faint female voice from inside asks, "Can you let me out please, Mr? I need the toilet."

The English police officer quickly looks around to see if anyone has noticed him being nosy; lucky for him, no one has spotted him.

The police officer arrives back to his partner, that is speaking with the owners of this winter wondering, they are a married couple.

The Mexican police officer asks, "Is it just you two?"

The deserted shut-down rides lay dormant around the fairground; during the day, they bring joy to all the kids.

The man puts his cup down on the table, and he responds, "No, our son is in our caravan."

The English police officer is typing something on his mobile.

The Mexican police officer asks, "Is it just you three that run this place daily?"

The woman is about to respond, but her husband says, "No, we have another family that helps out, but they have needed to go out of town for a family emergency."