Free Rise of the Dead by Jeremy Dyson Page A

closed doors except a couple of offices and a closet full of cleaning supplies. The corridor behind the chapel is empty and silent. I cross to the door and shine the beam of the flashlight into the chapel through the small rectangular panes of glass. Rows of empty pews sit before an altar in darkness.
    Quentin points the beam of his flashlight at a nondescript black double door at one end of the hall. In the opposite direction, a smidgen of sunlight infiltrates the darkness through the slim glass panels of the exit doors. Checking the outer doors is a priority, so I head toward that end of the hallway first. The handle doesn’t budge when I try to pull it open. So I head back to the opposite end of the hall.
    "Any idea what's in there?" I ask Quentin.
    "You can do the honors," he says. He steps back from the black metal doors. "I'll cover you."
    We head to the opposite end of the hall, and I put my ear to the surface of the black metal door. The only sound I hear is the hard pumping of my heart. I press the handle down and push it open. The inside of the room is coffin-dark. The beam of my flashlight passes over the tiled walls, several rolling tables, then lands on a coffin lying on its side on the floor. The sight of the open coffin causes me to panic immediately. I sweep the flashlight quickly across the room. The light sweeps over a corpse with blood dribbled down the front of his suit and necktie coming toward us. Before I can fix the light back on him, Quentin fires a couple of shots into the darkness. I adjust the light back on the corpse and Quentin fires off a round that snaps the head of the thing back and sends it crashing into a steel table.
    A second later the radio squawks. “Everything alright?” Joey asks.
    “We’re fine,” I respond. I use the flashlight to scan the darkness again to be sure there aren’t anymore. Quentin lowers his gun and steps out of the room. I almost head out behind him, but then a thought occurs to me. Training the flashlight on the body, I stare at the blood-soaked hands.
    “Wait,” I whisper to Quentin.
    “What?” he says.
    “That guy had blood on him. He wasn’t alone in here.”
    We look again around the empty room. “Where did other one get to then?” says Quentin. “I haven’t seen one open any doors yet.”
    “We must have missed it somehow. We better check out the chapel,” I suggest.
    The light inside the small chapel comes in through a giant mosaic window near the rafters. When we open the door, I hear a quiet groan. We crouch down and take cover behind the back row of pews.
    “Shit,” sighs Quentin.
    “Did you see where it is?” I ask.
    Quentin shakes his head. We listen to the silence for a few moments. I elevate myself enough to see over the tops of the seats. At first glance, nothing seems out of place. We duck along the center aisle towards the altar. As we approach the front row,  I spot a bloody handprint on the edge of the pew to our left. A pool of slick blood seeps out into the aisle. Quentin raises the gun, and I realize I am holding the flashlight still, but gripping it more like a weapon now. On the floor, an elderly man lies unmoving in a black suit. Bloodstains cover his white collared shirt. There is a bite on his right hand and another bite on his other forearm that appears much worse. Out of the corner of my eye I see Quentin raise the gun.
    “Wait,” I blurt. I push Quentin’s arm, so the gun isn’t pointing at the body. The chest of the unconscious man appears to rise slightly. “I think he’s breathing.”
    Quentin nudges the leg of the man on the ground a couple of times. The man remains unresponsive. Quentin notices me watching him expectantly. “Well, I ain’t checking him for a pulse,” he says.
    “Damn it,” I mutter.
    We leave the man on the floor and walk out of the chapel. We take the dark hallway and unlock the door to the lobby.
    “It’s clear,” I announce. “But we found a guy in the chapel who has a bite