Jon's blood ran cold.
The growl lingered for only a moment before the house fell silent again.
He did not move.
His breathing became so shallow that even the sound of his own heartbeat seemed louder than his lungs.
Someone is in here.
No. Not someone.
Something.
His fingers instinctively loosened from the silver book tucked beneath his arm. Every instinct screamed at him to run, yet his feet refused to obey.
The hallway ahead stretched into darkness. Afternoon sunlight reached only a short distance beyond the living room, leaving the far end cloaked in shadow.
Jon stared at nothing.
"...Hello?" he called again, though his voice had become noticeably weaker.
"I... I am a student from the university."
No reply came. The silence pressed against him.
He glanced toward the family photograph resting on the television cabinet.
The elderly man smiled warmly from the frame. Beside him stood an equally cheerful woman, while a little girl held a birthday cake between them, her grin so wide it almost seemed infectious.
It looked like an ordinary family.
A family that should have been enjoying a peaceful afternoon.
Not...
Whatever this had become.
Scrrr...
The sound came again.
This time, Jon knew exactly where it came from.
The hallway.
Something was dragging across the wooden floor.
His muscles tightened.
He slowly took one cautious step backward toward the front door without taking his eyes off the darkness.
Then another.
His heel brushed against the edge of the rug.
The growling stopped.
A faint tapping echoed from within the hallway.
One step. Two.
Then Another.
Something was walking toward him.
Slowly.
Very slowly, the figure finally emerged from the shadows.
An elderly woman.
Her grey hair was long and disheveled. Her blouse hung loosely from her frail frame, stained with dried blood near one shoulder.
Her posture was wrong; her back leaned slightly forward while one arm dangled limply by his side. Her head tilted unnaturally to one side.
Most disturbing of all...
Her empty and lifeless eyes. They were the same milky grey Jon had seen inside the stadium.
She simply stood there, watching.
Neither of them moved.
Jon swallowed.
The old woman's chest did not appear to rise or fall. She looked less like a living person than a puppet waiting for unseen strings to pull it forward.
Jon slowly edged backward again.
The old woman's foot moved.
One step. Nothing more.
Jon stopped, and the woman stopped.
A cold realization settled over him.
'She is following me.' Understanding this, Jon took another careful step.
Again, the old woman mirrored him. She simply matched his movement without hurry.
The hairs on the back of Jon's neck stood upright. The situation was more terrifying than the eye met. He dared not turn around.
However, thankfully, the front door was only a few steps away.
Slowly...
Do not provoke him.
He took another step, and the old woman's bare feet scraped softly across the wooden floor.
Scrrr...
After an agonizing number of minutes, he reached the door. His fingers searched desperately for the door handle, his eyes never leaving the infected woman.
Just a little farther...
His fingertips finally brushed cold metal. Relief flooded through him, and his shoulders relaxed.
Then his elbow struck something.
A wooden chair.
It wobbled.
Jon instinctively reached for it; however, it was too late.
The chair toppled sideways and---
CRASH!
The sound exploded through the quiet house.
The effect was immediate.
The old woman's head snapped upright; her cloudy eyes widened, a guttural roar burst from her throat, and she lunged.
"Shit!"
Jon threw himself sideways.
The old woman's outstretched hand missed Jon's face by inches before crashing into the wall behind him.
Wood splintered and paint scattered across the floor.
Jon's eyes widened.
That strike had left a hole in solid timber.
The old woman twisted with terrifying speed. Gone was the slow, stumbling figure from moments earlier.
Now she charged like a starving animal.
Jon sprinted.
The living room suddenly became a blur.
The old woman slammed into the overturned chair, sending broken pieces skidding across the floor without slowing in the slightest.
Jon grabbed the nearest object he could reach--another chair and swung it with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The wooden legs shattered against the old woman's shoulder.
Jon expected it to be done and over; however, the impact only staggered her briefly.
The broken remains slipped from Jon's hands.
"...You have got to be kidding me."
The old woman roared again.
Jon abandoned the chair and ran.
The coffee table stood between them.
He vaulted over it, but the old woman did not.
Instead, she charged straight through it.
The table exploded into splinters.
Glass flew across the room.
The television toppled from its stand and smashed onto the floor in a shower of sparks.
Jon nearly lost his footing.
Think. Think!
Running forever was impossible. He glanced behind him.
The old woman was fast, though not as fast as Jon, but fast enough.
Then Jon noticed something else.
Each time the old woman changed direction, she slowed. Her movements were explosive and dangerously powerful but clumsy.
Jon darted around the sofa.
When the old woman attempted the same maneuver, her shoulder clipped the armrest, shifting with her the entire sofa several inches across the floor.
Another opening.
Jon circled the dining table, and the old woman crashed into one of the chairs, knocking it aside before continuing the pursuit.
That was when another realization flashed through Jon's mind. Due to the persistent scream and chaos in the stadium, he hadn't figured it out, but now he did.
'Those milky eyes, they are blind, aren't they?' He immediately changed direction again.
The infected woman overcommitted, and her momentum carried her into the wall. The impact shook framed photographs loose, and they crashed onto the floor.
Jon did not stop moving, though.
His mind whirred in overdrive as he forced the old woman through the narrowest gaps in the room.
Around furniture, between chairs, and past the fallen television.
Every obstacle bought him another second, which meant another chance to think.
Then his eyes landed on an open doorway.
The kitchen.
Without hesitation, Jon sprinted toward it.
Behind him, the old woman's roar echoed through the shattered living room as she followed him.