Mr. Chen closed the door behind him with a backhand, making sure the latch was securely fastened. He couldn't shake off the feeling that those falling corpses might rise again.
Bob tumbled down the staircase with a series of thuds, his wails echoing as he fell. Shen Yun clung to Mr. Chen's waist, still not recovered from the string of calamities; her legs were weak, and her face was ashen.
"Are you alright?" Mr. Chen called out to Bob, who was sprawled on the next level down.
"Alive... but in so much pain." Struggling to his feet, Bob leaned against the wall and rubbed his lower back. Only then did Mr. Chen remember that he was over 50 years old.
He asked Shen Yun to hold onto the stair railing and then pulled out a high-caliber assault rifle. His eyes twinkled with a blue halo as he moved slowly down the staircase. There wasn't a soul in the building, but Mr. Chen's intuition told him they weren't alone.
