The Umbrella Conspiracy - By S. D. Perry Page 0,23

he'd entered was all dark wood and dim light. For the moment, there was no sound except the pulse of blood in his ears. He looked down at the body, wondering exactly what it was, what it had been. He had felt its hot, fetid breath against his face.

It wasn't a reanimated corpse, no matter what it looked like.

He decided it didn't matter. For all intents and purposes, it was a zombie. It had tried to bite him, and creatures like it had already chowed down on some of Raccoon's population. He needed to find his way back to the others and they had to get out, get help. They didn't have the firepower to handle the situation alone.

He ejected the empty clip from the gummy weapon and quickly reloaded, his chest tightening with stress; fifteen rounds left. He had a Bowie knife, but the thought of going up against a zombie with only a knife wasn't all that appealing.

There was a plain-looking door to his left. Chris pulled at the knob, but it was locked. He squinted at the key plate, and wasn't all that surprised to see an etching of what looked like armor. Sword, armorthere was a definite theme developing.

He moved down the wide hall, listening for any sound and taking frequent deep breaths through his nose. The goo on his vest and hands made it hard to tell if there were any more of them around, the smell was all over him, but it could be his only chance to avoid another close encounter.

The hall turned to the left and he took the corner fast, sweeping the Beretta across the wide wooden expanse. There was a support pillar partially blocking his view but he could see the back of a man just past it, the slumped shoulders and stained clothes of one of the creatures.

Chris quickly edged to the right, trying to get a clear shot. The zombie was maybe forty feet away, and he didn't want to waste his last rounds. At the sound of his boots against the hard wood floor, it turned, shuffling slowly. So slowly that Chris hesitated, watching the way it moved.

This one seemed to have been dipped in a thin layer of slime, dull light reflecting off of its glistening skin as it stumbled almost blindly toward Chris. It slowly raised its arms, its pale, hairless skull wobbling on its emaciated neck. Silently, it shuffled forward.

Chris took a sliding step back to his left and the zombie changed direction, veering toward him eagerly, closing the distance between them at a slow walk.

Just like in the movies; dangerous but dumb. And easy to outrun...

He had to save ammo in case he got cornered.

There were stairs at the end of the hall, and Chris took a deep breath, readying himself. He stepped back, giving himself enough room to maneuver-and heard a gasping moan behind him, a fresh wave of rancid stink assaulting his senses. He spun, the realization hitting him even before he saw it.

The festering zombie was only a few feet away, reaching for him, bits of its putrid gut spilling out across its shattered abdomen. He hadn't killed it, hadn't waited long enough to make sure, and his stupidity was about to cost him.

Ah, shit!

Chris sprinted away and down the corridor, dodging both of them and cursing himself. He passed the thick support beam, almost to the stairs-and stopped cold, seeing what waited at the top.

He caught only a glimpse of the ragged creature standing at the head of the stairs and spun away, raising his weapon to face the attackers that shambled toward him hungrily.

From the shadows beneath the steps came a heavy, gurgling sigh and the scuffing of wood; another one.

He was trapped, there was no way he could kill them all - door!

It faced the side of the stairs, the dark wood blending so well with the shadows that he almost hadn't seen it. Chris ran for it, grabbing at the handle, praying that it would open as around him, the creatures closed in.

If it was locked, he was dead.

Rebecca Chambers had never been more afraid, not once in her eighteen years. For what seemed like an eternity, she'd listened to the soft scrape of rotting flesh brushing against the door and tried desperately to think of a plan, her dread building with each passing minute. There was no lock on the door, and she'd lost her handgun on the run for the house. The small storage