Robert was about to break into a tirade when he suddenly froze.

“I’ll be there”? Are you alone?” He blurted out urgently. The commander exchanged glances with the Gorgons; one of the soldiers, Stan, if I’m not mistaken, moved forward, his face contorted in a mask of panic.

“I’m alone,” came the short response. The man said something else, but no one could make it out: the connection cuts swallowed his voice.

“Chris?” Robert asked anxiously. No response. “Christopher?!”

The empty hall echoed with a rustling repetition, and then the room sank into an unsettling silence. Almost tangible. The soldiers froze in place. Robert continued to hold the radio close to his face. For a moment, his expression darkened and fell before he straightened with a determined movement and looked around at everyone with focused eyes.

“We're going up and out. Now. We'll pick up Chris on the way,” Sbort added before Norman, who had stepped forward, could speak. Robert's voice was quiet and firm. The commander glanced at Stan – the dark-haired man with cold blue eyes and a scar above his upper lip – who had lowered his chin to his chest, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Taren, I…”

Robert didn't have time to finish. From the first floor, we clearly heard the sound of rasping breaths and shuffling footsteps; slow, as if someone were dragging their feet. Everyone froze, listening. I didn’t even realize I had clamped my fingers into Sam’s hand, digging my nails into his skin.

No, there was no doubt those were footsteps; but not just one person's. And that horrible, chilling, raspy breathing… Sam’s face went ashen.

“R.. Rob.. ert?” Dort stammered. I felt my knees shaking. My whole body was trembling.

The commander of The Gorgons kept his eyes fixed on the stairs, while I, as if chained, couldn’t move to turn around.

Robert waved his hand a couple of times. Moments later, Sam and I were separated. Stan, holding a pistol, took Sam by the arm; Norman pulled me toward him. Sbort was the first to begin climbing up, and we all followed one after the other. The soldiers moved in unison, almost silently, while the entire room was filled with the sound of shuffling, groans, and other disgusting noises.

Step by step. Higher and higher. I could already see the growing shadows on the floor. I started to hyperventilate, everything blurred in front of my eyes, and I wanted to run back, but Norman held me tightly, dragging me along. The landing ahead was clear, we only needed to reach it and cross the hallway to the door…

And then, the last step. I turned around to take one last look down the corridor.

A scream pierced my ears. I didn’t realize at first that I was the one shouting. Coming out of the doors and pavilions, they filled the corridor.

Ancient Northern legends spoke of the Queen of the Gloom, the personification of death; of how she would come into the world on Judgment Day and shroud it with her sister, the Mistress of the Ice Marshes, with ice floes and cold. This was why it was believed that death's breath was frosty, and why the sense of her presence made one shiver.

And in that moment, I felt death's breath touch my neck, sliding down my spine. In that moment, I felt the presence of death beside me. In that moment, nightmares came to life.

The infected were undeniably dead. With such wounds, life was impossible. But the infected kept coming.

I screamed. I wailed, unable to be silent. Norman immediately pressed me to him, covering my mouth with his hand, and I felt how I was shuddering from within, how everything inside me was tightening; I was trembling, shaking as if in a painful fit. Darkness clouded my vision.