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You stand and quickly move across the room. From the edge of a column of boxes, you watch the doorway.

The zombie staggers past the doorway and out of sight. Another figure comes into view, a short, round monk in dark robe and black cape. Long strands of milky saliva slink from his wide gibbering mouth. He follows the cardinal past the door. Behind him follow two infected women in black and white nun's robes and tall, pointed hats. Their feet shuffle across the marble floor, and one's dress lifts to reveal her barefooted and the source of the heavy scratching noise. Long toenails have hardened out, the shape of horns.

Next passes a smaller figure—a young acolyte in a thick, cream-colored vestment stained with dirt and spotted with blood. He leans backward, and a three-foot tall crucifix juts out of his stomach. Blackened blood dries at the bottom of the post, and you clearly see it has impaled his midsection. Even in undeath, he fails to let the crucifix fall.

As the procession of living dead clergy passes the door, you stand and…