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Neil clambered up to the second floor hall, his undead pursuers hot on his heals. They ran maddeningly, shuffling onto all fours and padding after him like dogs up the stairs.

Think, you're cornered, think. Don't go to your room, you locked it--it'll take too long... a window? No, the fall would kill you... think... think... Of course. The elevator!

He prayed to God it hadn't shut, hadn't returned to the first floor. The hallway was a dead end with nothing but locked apartment doors, and nowhere to hide.

He turned his head--the ghoulish revenants were already rounding the banister one after another, almost crowding to get past their other two siblings for the kill. He sprinted to the doorway, and found it open. Quickly, he skipped inside, and kicked the bloody, severed hand out of the way. It rolled meatily and made a wet 'thump' against the wall trim in the hallway.

"Cmon, work, damnit..." he jabbed the CLOSE button with its arrows pointing inward, slamming the console angrily. Then, like an old man getting up in the morning, the doors finally began to yawn closed. Just as he was sure he was in the clear, the first of the revs slipped its spidery hands in, trying to pry its way inside.

The fuck if that's going to happen. He thought, pulling his sidearm from his pants pocket. Maybe he couldn't handle three at once in the open, but there was no way he was letting this one in. Aiming be damned, he put the barrel right between the doors, pointing square at the thing's ugly head...

BANG!

The first creature recoiled against the opposite wall, hissing in agony. Neil's last sight of the other two had them gnawing on the hand they'd procured off the floor, posturing defensively at him as the gap between them narrowed to a fine white line, and vanished.

Believe me, I wouldn't have sat well in your stomach.

* * *

After resting on the floor of the cab for a time to let his heart settle, he hit the button marked with a " B". He wasn't about to try and run outside with those things hot on his scent. Maybe he could hole up with some supplies from the basement until daytime, and hope for a rescue. Maybe the innkeep had something with a little higher caliber he could use to fight them off... maybe...

"Agh, goddamnit!" he groaned, feeling a spasm in his right arm. He tore his sleeve open to the shoulder, his bicep growing too tight inside his shirt.

The matted, smelly fur had only thickened in the ten or fifteen minutes since he'd last checked, and it now came in both yellow and grey, a completely different appearance from the thinner hairs from before. It had risen to his shoulder, and he could lean in--rub it up against his neck. As he watched, he could see his muscles stretching and shifting under his skin, and watched in terror as his veins throbbed, and his own thumb rolled like a rock in a mudslide, down his arm, resting inches below his wrist--shrinking into a padded nub with a tiny hooked claw. His other fingers morphed and began elongating, thickening at the ends with a bizarre, almost opiate sensation. It wasn't so much painful as bizarre, like having your body operated on under the effects of painkillers. Eventually, each finger cracked audibly, and swelled into what looked more like a clawed toe. Disgusted and astonished, he wiggled them, and ran his nails lightly across his stubbly face--each rough and sharp, thick and black. He cradled his arm and knelt as the activity died down, as the limb slowly continued to mutate and muscle up. Tensing his wrist, he moaned as the pad in his palm grew and spread plumping up into a black triangle amidst yellow furred fingers--and finally, just barely holding the functionality of a hand, the metamorphosis stopped.

He wished he'd had time to get his jacket from the coat rack he'd hung it on, to hide his monster arm. He'd allowed his first encounter of the night to make him lax; assuming that he'd scared away the most dangerous predator in the area. Now, alone, he'd wished he'd thought twice about staying in this place, so close to the danger zone of the Crater.

"_Fuck it, this has to stop."_ he panted.

Wait, 'panted'? He fretted, thinking the depth of his breathing 'had' changed. What if...

Shit no, please no. He thought to himself, opening his mouth, and feeling his tongue with his human hand.

Oh thank god.

What hung from his mouth was still his own--for now at least. He wouldn't be talking in dogspeak tonight.

* * *

He opened the doors after an hour or so of resting, watching his changed arm for further developments, but the metamorphosis appeared to have run its course. He wondered if like venom, the process of this mutation had been accelerated by his own enlivened state, fleeing the hungry revenants. Were that the case, he would have to strongly consider avoiding further confrontations. He didn't know how long he could manage if the change spread to his other hand, keeping him from fitting his finger on the trigger of the pistol. He began thinking about scrounging up an improvised weapon--one that he could handle with his man-paw.

What emerged in front of him was a cool, dusty, narrow hallway--poorly lit by a faintly flickering florescent ceiling lamp, that dangled amidst the cobwebs above. A fat black widow hung in an egg-filled nest, feasting on the remains of a moth that had fluttered too close. Neil swallowed, trying not to think about his own stomach, or the fact that he had not eaten in hours. He remembered the coyote-beast, and the seven or eight people it had seemingly slaughtered before attacking him. There bodies had been covered in deep gashes on the face and arms, some with huge, bloody openings where a throat should be. Those revs had devoured the animal--mind, with help from the wounds 'he' put in it--but he only imagined what trouble a whole horde of them would be, and hoped he would not be in his predecessor's position any time soon.

I can't think like that. I'm comparing myself to that beast. I won't change. I won't be a beast. I won't I won't I won't. Just keep saying it. It's not going to happen... it's not...

He kept chanting this in his head, as he spied a fork off the corridor that turned, lead to some upward stairs. They probably lead to a kitchen or something.

No thanks, not going back up. He thought. Turning back, however, he spied a fire axe in a glass case.

"Fuck, hello. Wherever have you been hiding?" he said with renewed certainty. He was right about to break the glass when he paused, and looked back over his shoulder, up the stairs. He could still hear the revenants, gibbering and scraping their bare heels against the floor above.

Shit, they'll hear me. But I need it if more of them come.

He tiptoed softly up the cement stairs. Getting a better look at the door. At one point, this place probably had been a relatively nice little inn with room service. It was lucky they'd dug out a basement for the elevator shaft, instead of just these stairs. He'd never have found his way back here without getting cornered two or three times.

Checking the safety on his gun (he made sure he wouldn't perforate his own kneecap, running around with it in his pocket), he quietly wished he'd scrounged for a holster after his predator ran off. Given he was fast running out of ammo though, that might not even be an issue soon. After a bit of fumbling, he managed to eject the magazine without blowing a finger off.

"God I wish I'd spent more time with Gus learning how to use one of these things back in school." He'd always been on 'that' particular end of gun control ideology, and though he'd picked up a few friends in the loop with NRA, he'd scoffed at their "dumb fascination with destruction". Now, he almost felt like the stupid one. Still, while he was no expert on anything--least of all the ins and outs of firearms--he did have time on his hands. After futzing around for another ten or twelve minutes, he'd figured out how to get the bullets in and out of the magazine, and ascertained that he had five rounds left.

"Five good shots. I hope this works, or I'm going to be food very quickly, " he whispered, sliding the magazine back into the weapon.

Although their was no point in expecting his shots would kill all of the creatures, he at least hoped to wound and deter them. At least enough to make it a fair fight.

I suppose I'm not in a rush. Unless there's more down here I don't know about...

He briefly ran through the dilemma of whether to make noise now, and secure the axe, or wait, and risk the outcome if he had to shoot another creature while still in the basement.

On the one hand, they hear the noise, come down, I shoot them with what I have. I run out of ammo, and they're still hungry, I have an axe... and on the other, I chicken out, find a fourth or fifth down here, empty out, and I've got nothing, the ones upstairs hear me anyway. Either way, I've got the elevator, but down here I'm trapped. Up there, I'm chased out into the night. I guess it comes down to how well armed I am.

But was it really practical that there would be more of them down here? They'd come from the outside, after all, and only after a wounded prey had drawn them in.

I guess if there's signs of life, they'd be more interested. Wait...

He sniffed the air almost reflexively.

No, it's musty down here, no one's been down in awhile. No blood, no decay. No fear...

He blinked. How did he know that--that there was no 'fear'? It had just clicked, in his mind.

'I'm' not afraid. I'll do this.

He steeled himself for action. Raising a booted heal, he kicked in the glass case.

CRASH!

Almost immediately came the thumping of feet down stairs.

Act, quick, don't hesitate, don't goof.

He kicked away the glass, not needing another injury, and picked out the axe as quickly as possible. Already he could hear thumps against the door.

Shit, they picked up on me fast.

He ran up the stairs, set the axe at his feet, and drew his gun, switching off the safety. The banging had already grown stronger, more incessant, as the creatures piled on. He could hear them hissing and snarling behind the door frame.

Don't jam on me. Please tell me I loaded you right.

He closed his eyes, drew breath to center himself, then opened them. Taking one last steady breath, and aiming for where he'd get the most hits on a torso at eye level, he squeezed the trigger, and didn't stop until the bangs cut into empty clicks. Howls of pain and rage ensued from the other side of the door, and the slamming stopped. But that didn't stop Neil. He dropped the handgun, picked up the axe, and put the full weight of his body into the door, as he slammed it open.

WHAM!

There was a loud metal clang, as the revenant that had been pounding at the other side slammed into a stove, its head displacing a pot of boiling water and landing on a burner that had been left on, frying with a sizzle. It let out an agonized scream as its skin carbonized.

Its companion limped forward, reaching and drooling hungrily despite the hole in its stomach that was seeping a glowing gold ichor. Neil knew not to let the creature touch him--contact with this sort of highly irradiated variant was enough to induce Rev Burn, and subsequently, fever that would kill him. He thrust forward with the axe, jabbing the creature back, and then subsequently brought the weapon down as hard as he could, wincing, and hoping to god the creature didn't have much blood left in wherever the blade buried itself.

The corpse fell to its knees, spurting glowing fluid from its shoulder, which had nearly been cleaved through. The ensuing mess hit his shirt, and flecks of filthy blood sprayed on his face. He squinted, anticipating the inevitable searing pain, the built-up, irradiated liquid burning into his skin--

--but short of being disgusted by the mess, nothing happened. He blinked and turned, facing his first aggressor again. It had rallied, getting to its knees, ready for another assault. Reassured somewhat, he hefted his axe again, and charged the creature.

As the axe head collided with the revenant's ribs, there was an audible cracking, and spittle showered from its mouth. Its head thrust forward, then whipped back, slamming into the counter top behind it, and with a sickly thud, the entire back of its skull caved in, staining the cabinets in gore.

Neil turned, faced his second downed opponent, and gave one last swing, straight into the creature's head, before it could attempt to move again.