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the junction where he had last seen his colleague , he was already out of breath. Looking into Bittacy Rise now, he could not believe what he was seeing. Kieran was attempting to fight off three other police officers, who were rapidly overwhelming him. He swung wildly at them with the baton he held in one hand, while clutching tightly at a wound in his neck that was readily pouring copious amounts of blood down his yellow jacket and pooling around his feet.
    Was this really happening, Muz asked himself, standing there in momentary stunned immobility. What was going on? Why were those other officers attacking Kieran? Though both his common sense and training told him not to rush into a situation that he didn’t understand, he knew he had to help his oppo’.
    The three men, all Herts police officers, were actually growling , as they repeatedly lunged at Kieran, who was still managing to put up a valiant though failing fight. Every time one of the men got near enough, he smacked him hard round the head with the bulbous metal tip of his baton, with a sickening crack. In a normal situation, a blow to the head like that would instantly drop any man, possibly permanently. But, though this caused the Herts officers to stagger back momentarily and shake their head, unfazed by what should have been debilitating pain, they instantly returned to their savage attack.
    Kieran’s legs were beginning to buckle now, as the rapid loss of blood gushing from the bite wound in his neck was beginning to take effect.
    Muz ran over. He hoped that the attacking officers would keep their attentions focused on Kieran and not realise he was behind them, long enough for him to get in a few hits from the rear with his own baton.
    Before he reached the small group though, Kieran’s knees tremb led and he collapsed. Though their attack was uncoordinated, this was all the opportunity the other men needed. They were on him with the speed and ferocity of a pack of hyenas on a floundering deer. Pinned to the ground, Kieran could no longer put up any fight, as all three men began to feed on him. Snarling and snapping at each other, with the vicious eyes of half-starved wild dogs, they furiously tore chunks from the exposed skin of his face, while ripping at his clothes to reveal more of his flesh. One of the men grabbed Kieran’s hand and gnawed on the fingers, teeth crunching against the bones of the digits.
    Muz stopped running to his colleague’s aid now, terrified by the brutality of the men’s attack. He had been to many violent incidents in his time, some involving people with mental health issues, who when they attacked, did so with an animal-like strength and ferocity. Despite this, never had he imagined men could behave in this way, greedily feeding on the raw flesh of another living human.
    His mind went completely numb and he was rooted to the ground, a r abbit caught in headlights. His eyes were locked on Kieran’s, who was staring back at him with a silent plea. There was nothing he could do for him now though. His wounds were too grievous to survive and Muz knew he had little hope of beating back the deranged men. If he even tried, he would surely end up as dead as Kieran soon would be.
    He remained standing there, watching in horror, the panic coursing through his mind making even the simple decision to turn and run impossible to formulate. As he failed to react, one of the Herts officers noticed his presence.
    Looking over his shoulder, the officer glared at Muz with open malice and uttered a low, guttural growl. The only thing that saved Muz from the man then launching at him was the sudden wafting smell of Kieran’s hot intestines, which another of the men had now exposed, tearing open the police officer’s abdominal wall with his bare hands. Deciding that Muz posed no threat to him enjoying his meal, the man turned back to Kieran’s juddering body, hunkered over him, and bit into the writhing, wet entrails.
    With a badly trembling