The van slowed and pulled over onto a side street where a parked police car was waiting with two police officers and a worried looking black man waiting outside of it. One of the officer's uniforms was caked in blood and he looked as though he had been in a serious fight, but somehow he guessed from looking at the man they had with them it wasn't him who had done the beating. The door swung open, one officer taking the cuffs off the new man as he was pushed into the back while the other had his pistol drawn and aimed squarely at the two until the door slammed shut once again and the van moved off. Tom was starting to think that the police really had tightened up on their training since the infection had begun: he couldn't remember the last time they had been so... efficient with him. He smiled at the thought it might be his reputation, which was mostly undeserved but greatly encouraged.
"Hello, my name is Solomon" The man opposite him said, his breathing and sweating at this close proximity clearly indicating he was terrified but trying his best to hide it, but whatever he was so shook up about was unlikely just to be himself. Thomas wasn't in the mood for conversation, so instead he stared at the man's offered hand until it dropped to his lap and then continued to look out of the window. He could feel the man glancing at him serruptitiously and put up with it for several minutes before he felt the need to say anything.
"Name's Tom, which I'm sure you know already. Suppose the guards told you I eat babies and rape grandmothers? Well, only on weekends. Now stop staring at me, I'm thinking". To the Solomon's credit he hardly seemed shocked or worried by the words and tone they were delivered, but Tom held off on respecting the man until he saw how he handled himself behind bars. It broke most people, and had broken him the first time. Solomon reeked of someone who had spent little to no real time behind bars and so was in for a shock when he got to one of the world's worst prisons.
The ride went on uneventfuly for several minutes more with progress being slowed by rush-hour traffic. Thomas was suddenly aware of screaming coming from somewhere near the rear of the van, and it took him several seconds to work out a few of the people were screaming 'infected'. All about him there were suddenly people streaming past the van from behind, obviously trying to get away from something or someone. His world suddenly exploded into noise and pain as the van was pitched onto it's side, the loud, grating metallic thud of a car hitting the side of the van being unmistakable as was the the then continuous sound of the car's horn as whatever unseen driver was operating it was no doubt slumped over the steering wheel. The crash only lasted a few seconds, and he began to realise he was lying on top of an equaly dazed Solomon who was reaching his hand to his elbow and coming away with some blood. The welcome breeze from the street cooled the air inside the previously baking cell. The breeze? The Door was open.
From his position on the ground he could see the feet of a few dozen London citizens fleeing up the street, meaning no doubt the vehicle had spun a 180 degrees in the accident. Tom wasn't going to waste any time thanking god or whoever had given him this break, but he couldn't help grinning as he climbed out of the back of the van, the grin turning to a wince as he noticed he's injured his knee and left hand in the accident but hopefuly not too severely. Freedom was his as he clambered to his feet and took his first step down the street.
"Don't move. Get back inside the van, NOW!" the voice of one of the police officers who had been driving the van called out behind him. From the sound of him he was even worse injured than he or Solomon, and he sounded close. Too close. Tom spun round, sweeping his arm where he hoped the cop would be pointing his pistol at his head. He was quick enough, knocking the gun away which fired once as it hit the ground before punching the man as hard as he could in the throat, crumpling him to the pavement as he clutched at his throat trying to breath. The wound wasn't serious Tom knew, and soon the officer would be back on his feet, no doubt radioing for backup or trying to catch him once again. He slowly picked up the Glock 17 from the ground and casualy shot the officer twice in the head, hardly giving the man time to raise his hands in a feeble attempt to defend himself.
He noticed a spare magazine on the man's body armour and reached down to take it, pausing once as the body twitched spassmodicaly. He noticed eyes looking intently at him and without thinking raised his gun in their direction, right at the head of Solomon who was leaning out of the back of the van and from the look on his face had probably seen the entire incident.
"I'd be running if I was you" He said with a smile, lowering and tucking the pistol into his belt at the small of his back and pocketing the magazine. He walked away from the van and hopped onto the bonnet of the nearest abandoned car, its engine still running and radio playing some kind of modern pop song. Whatever the people had been fleeing from was no longer there, but what was most likely was someone had seen some other pedestrian have a nose bleed and assumed the worst, vocalised their opinion and in minutes there were a hundred people fleeing from rumours and paranoia. Tom smiled, and smiled even wider when he saw the abandoned suit and clothing store opposite him. The owners would be back soon enough, so it was time to get out of the prison clothes he had worn day in day out for several years now. Freedom was already tasting sweet indeed.