Phineas swept the room, taking in the stately elegance of the environment as he realized he was alone; whatever had made the noise, they weren't there. The solemn ticking of a grandfather clock filled the cool air, echoing off the shining black and white tiles. He was in a dining hall, the kind he'd only seen in movies about rich people. It was decorated with expensive art and a fireplace with swords and a coat of arms hung over the mantle. There was a closed door to the right of the fireplace….

Phineas lowered his weapon and started for the door, still awed by the wealth of the "abandoned" mansion. The dining room had polished red wood trim and expensive artwork on the beige stucco walls. The large table could easily seat twenty, although it was only set for a handful on people. Judging by the dust on the lacy place mats, nothing had been served for weeks.

Except no one is supposed to have been here for thirty years!

He wrinkled his nose, frowning. There was a vague odor in the air, a faint scent of something unpleasant-Something familiar.

.One summer when he was a kid, the chain had come off his bike when he'd been out on a ride with some friends. He ended up in a ditch about six inches away from a choice bit of road kill, the dried up, pulpy remains of once might have been a woodchuck. Much to the amusement and concerns of his friends, he'd vomited his lunch over the carcass, taken a deep breath, and puked again. He still remembered the sun-baked scent of drying rat, like thickly soured milk and bile; the same smell that lingered in the corridor now like a bad dream.

FUMMP…

Phineas edged toward the door from which the sound came from noticing the door was not closed all the way. With a gentle tap the door swung inward, into a dim hall with green flecked wallpaper. A broad-shouldered man was standing not twenty feet away, his tattered and stained clothes and his stance indicated he was drunk or injured.

Gotta be sick, dying maybe…

Whatever was wrong with him, Phineas didn't like it; his instincts were screaming at him to do something. He stepped into the corridor and trained his Beretta on the man's torso. "Hold it, don't move!"

The man completed a rotation and started toward Phineas, shambling forward into the light. His-its-face was deathly pale, except for the blood smeared around its rotting lips. Flaps of dried skin hung from its sunken creaks, and the dark wells of the creature's eye sockets glittered with hunger as it reached out with skeletal hands-

Phineas fired three shots that smacked into the creature's upper chest in a fine spray of crimson. With a gasping moan, it crumpled to the floor, dead. Phineas staggered back, his thoughts racing in time with his hammering heart.

The cannibal attacks, the disappearances, only one explanation…

Zombies.

No, no way, that was fiction- but maybe a sickness or some kind of disease, mimicking the symptoms. He had to tell the others. He turned and grabbed at the handle, but the heavy door wouldn't move, it must have locked itself when he'd stumbled-

Behind him, a wet movement. Phineas spun, eyes wide as the twitching creature clawed at the wooden floor, pulling itself toward him in an eager, single-minded silence. Phineas realized that it was drooling, and the sight of the stinky pink rivulets pooling to the wooden floor finally spurred him to action.

He fired again, two shots into the things decaying, upturned face. Dark holes opened up in its knobby skull, sending tiny rivers of fluid and fleshy tissue through its lower jaw. With a heavy sigh, the rotting corpse settled to the floor in a spreading red lake.

Phineas didn't want to make any bets on it staying down. He gave one final futile yank on the door and then stepped carefully past the body, moving down the corridor. He rattled the handle of a door on his left, but it was locked. There was a tiny etching in the key plate, what looked like a sword; he filed that bit of information in his confused, whirling thoughts, and continued on, gripping his Beretta tightly.

There was an offshoot to his right with a single door, but he ignored it, wanting to find a way to circle back to the front hall. The others must have heard the shots, but he had to assume there would be more creatures running around here like the one he'd killed. The rest of the team might already have their hands full.

There was a door at the end of the hall on the left, where the corridor turned. Phineas hurried toward it, the putrid scent of the creature-

-the zombie, call it what it is-

-making him want to gag. As he neared the door, he realized the smell was actually getting worse, intensifying with each step.

He heard the soft, hungry moan as his hand touched the knob, even as it registered that he only had two bullets left in his clip. In the shadows to his right, movement.

Gotta reload, get somewhere safe-

Phineas jerked the door open and stepped into the arms of the shambling creature that waited on the other side, its peeling fingers grasping at him as it lunged for his throat…