Harry could make out zombies sitting on benches in the back of the truck. Up front two female zombies stood in the truck’s headlamps, facing two large men armed with long cattle prods. Their bio-suits were made of extra-thick material and smeared with the body fluids of the zombies they’d thrown in the truck.

‘Kneel!’ one of the men ordered. ‘Hands on heads.’

Harry still had his Nikon swinging in his right hand. He flipped to video mode, starting to shoot as a third rubber suit came round the side of the truck. This one was female and held a device that looked like a police speed gun, the screen at one end reflecting off her plastic visor.

‘Can’t you understand, zombie scum?’ one man roared.

Harry had unconsciously edged along the side of the souvenir store to get closer to the action. He took a shot of the zombie’s agonised face as she got dragged to the back of the truck by her matted hair.

He realised you couldn’t have an effective quarantine while hundreds of people roamed the streets crusted in bodily waste. But, since most zombies were happy being locked in a cell with regular meals, the brutality of the roundup seemed unnecessary.

‘Got one round the side,’ the rubber-suited female shouted. ‘Big heat signature. Gonna be a strong sucker!’

Harry panned his camera back from the rear of the truck and realised two things. First, the weird detector thing the woman was holding was an infra-red body-heat detector and, second, it was being aimed down the side of the building, right at him.

53 OLIVE PALM DRIVE

The Nikon flailed from its strap as Harry spun and ran.

‘We’re not going to harm you,’ a loudspeaker on the cop car announced. ‘Step out with hands raised.’

Harry had made four steps before there was a pop, like a giant champagne cork. The rubber-suited woman had fired an electric stun bolt. Harry felt it glance the back of his calf, but it was at the limit of its range and what remained of its momentum wasn’t enough for the barbed tip to hook his trousers and release its sting.

Rather than go back to the freeway, where he’d be exposed, Harry charged along the embankment until he reached the back of a mini-mall. He sprinted past a dry cleaner’s, an attorney’s office, a yoga gym and a dollar store with a zombie sprawled in front of its main doors.

Harry doubted the round-up crew could chase in their thick suits and rubber boots, but he was spooked so he kept running. After a left-right glance – seeing the cop car still parked a couple of hundred yards up the road – Harry sprinted across four lanes, then kept low as he cut down a suburban side street.