125

You cut toward the western hall and hope to make it to the Gathering before the zombies reach it.

A damp wind blows through the corridor, and your running feet clomp on the tiles. Your heart pounds and head feels locked in a vise, as you run the short distance into the Gathering and round the tight corner to view the kitchen area empty. You fly past the center table, avoiding hitting against the sink or stove, which may make noise. Racing to the eastern doorway leading into the Sanctuary, you pause for a moment and glance down the side hall where the zombies should be. Nothing. Even in the near darkness, no figures or movement of any kind can be seen. You take a few steps closer to the hallway and peer down the empty corridor, listening now for any sounds of the wayward zombies.

In the distance, sounds of light growling make their way back to you. Then you hear scratching—brief bursts of nails against stone. The sounds get louder, and you turn toward the other hallway, the one from which you came. A clawed hand reaches into the room and grips the wall.