Not breathing, I paused, door at my back. They shambled across the cold stone floor, two lines of them, feet beating a ragged tattoo.
They’d seen me!
They turned as one staggering in my direction. The putrid stench was choking and twenty disintegrating faces regarded me curiously.
I hated being new at zombie line dancing.
This story was written for Lisa McCourt-Hollar's 55 word challenge